The monster hunkered over its victim, the sounds of its feeding somehow pronounced in the dark stillness of the ship's passageway. Night routine, what a stupid tradition to keep up; here of all places. He had advised the Captain against it, but the Skipper was too enamored of his newfound friendship in the leader of these creatures. Taking careful aim, the Chief leveled his weapon at the brain stem of the ghoulish freak feasting on what remained of Seaman Jones. He would only have one shot, these things didn't kill easily. Breathing out, he steadied his grip and pressed the trigger.
The bright flash of the zip gun blinded the Chief momentarily. Cursing himself for a fool, he belatedly pressed his eyes closed, trying like hell to banish the afterimage of the arc of the shot. When he had his dark-eyes back, he looked for the monster’s body and only found what remained of Seaman Jones. Fuck.
He backed quickly out of the p-way and shut the heavy bulkhead door, spinning the lock and jamming it. There was no guarantee that it hadn't gotten past him, but he expected he'd be dead already if that were the case. Trusting in his logic, the Chief signaled to the waiting Seamen on the other side of the now-sealed door. He regretted the loss of Jones (the boy was a good shot); but only for a minute. There were far more important things to worry about right then and he had no desire to lose more of the boys in his detail.
Picking up the nearest phone, he reported in, received his repeat-back and hung up. The Chief motioned four of the five men in the p-way with him and left the fifth on guard at the B-Door. As they made their way through the darkened ship, the Chief cursed the darkness yet again and peered ahead, looking for the next door leading into the engineroom. He hoped the freak couldn't figure out the inner workings of that room, Engineman Beckett had just been telling him on the way to this rock that a knowledgeable man could operate the whole ship from there and Chief had no desire to test the boy's word.
Somewhere up ahead, someone from another detail screamed. Something like real terror laced that cry, which was suddenly cut off. The boys behind Chief tried to surge around him and he restrained them, mostly by willpower. No sense rushing off to their own deaths, the thing was too good a hunter to approach one-on-one. Spotting the next door, the Chief stationed two of his boys outside and carefully stepped through the circular opening, ducking his head from reflex more than anything.
Two of his boys trailed him inside, heads on a swivel just like he had taught them. It was mostly training and drillwork keeping their shit together, but he would take what he could get at this point. He couldn't blame them. Hell, he didn't want to be here, either, but someone had to do it and he was the Chief. Seeing no sign of survivors, Chief signaled the withdrawal and sealed another B-Door. Leaving yet another man to guard hurt but he had to get this thing locked up as quickly as he could and would brook no backtracking.
After reporting in again, Chief made his way to the next door, mindful of any space large enough for a man to fit in, three boys following him with zip guns at the ready. Another scream, this one from closer, probably the next door. Chief growled to himself. What was the Ensign up to, feeding them to the thing? Muttering a prayer to the Universe to save him from dunderheaded officers, Chief picked up his pace.
Rounding the gentle curve that made up the Beltway, Chief immediately disapproved of what he saw when the final B-Door came into view. That thrice-foolish Ensign had dispositioned his boys all wrong, everyone with their backs to the door as if the freak had a gun or some other projectile weapon. The Chief quickly took up the correct positioning, directly across from the door, his back to the opposite p-way wall. Grimly, he surveyed the area just beyond the doorway.
It was a fucking slaughterhouse past the door and the officer was trying to tell him something. Chief couldn't make out what he was saying; the blood was suddenly rushing in his ears. A rage reminiscent of the Chief's youth sprang up in his breast at the waste of an entire detail just to secure a single door. It was probably fortunate for the officer that the Chief wanted to risk as few lives as possible or the kid would already be dead.
Striding across the p-way, the Chief grabbed the door and began to swing it shut when the damn fool kid grabbed his arm. Leveling his gun at the boy's face, the Chief had stone cold murder in his eyes, but the kid was still talking. "CHIEF! It's been trying to close the door!"
That moment of confusion while the Chief tried to puzzle out why their very objective being fulfilled by the freak they were hunting was a bad thing proved to be the opportunity that the creature needed. Chief felt a sudden pressure in his chest and then he was back against the opposite wall of the Beltway, trying to catch his breath. He watched in seeming slow-motion as the thing grabbed the B-Door and pulled it to, the lock spinning and then stopping suddenly.
Gasping weakly, the Chief looked down at his chest, sure that something must be pressing on it. Instead he looked upon the ruin that was causing the horrified expression on the faces of the Ensign and his detail. The realization that he was dying seemed to come slowly to his sluggish mind and no one can know if he fully grasped the idea before the glaze of death covered his once-bright blue eyes.
The Ensign, a little slow to come to his senses, watched the Chief crumpled to the floor and then felt the distant THUMP of the engines starting up just before he was pressed to the floor of the Beltway. His last thought as the acceleration caused him to lose consciousness would have made the Chief proud, "What a fuckarow."
The bright flash of the zip gun blinded the Chief momentarily. Cursing himself for a fool, he belatedly pressed his eyes closed, trying like hell to banish the afterimage of the arc of the shot. When he had his dark-eyes back, he looked for the monster’s body and only found what remained of Seaman Jones. Fuck.
He backed quickly out of the p-way and shut the heavy bulkhead door, spinning the lock and jamming it. There was no guarantee that it hadn't gotten past him, but he expected he'd be dead already if that were the case. Trusting in his logic, the Chief signaled to the waiting Seamen on the other side of the now-sealed door. He regretted the loss of Jones (the boy was a good shot); but only for a minute. There were far more important things to worry about right then and he had no desire to lose more of the boys in his detail.
Picking up the nearest phone, he reported in, received his repeat-back and hung up. The Chief motioned four of the five men in the p-way with him and left the fifth on guard at the B-Door. As they made their way through the darkened ship, the Chief cursed the darkness yet again and peered ahead, looking for the next door leading into the engineroom. He hoped the freak couldn't figure out the inner workings of that room, Engineman Beckett had just been telling him on the way to this rock that a knowledgeable man could operate the whole ship from there and Chief had no desire to test the boy's word.
Somewhere up ahead, someone from another detail screamed. Something like real terror laced that cry, which was suddenly cut off. The boys behind Chief tried to surge around him and he restrained them, mostly by willpower. No sense rushing off to their own deaths, the thing was too good a hunter to approach one-on-one. Spotting the next door, the Chief stationed two of his boys outside and carefully stepped through the circular opening, ducking his head from reflex more than anything.
Two of his boys trailed him inside, heads on a swivel just like he had taught them. It was mostly training and drillwork keeping their shit together, but he would take what he could get at this point. He couldn't blame them. Hell, he didn't want to be here, either, but someone had to do it and he was the Chief. Seeing no sign of survivors, Chief signaled the withdrawal and sealed another B-Door. Leaving yet another man to guard hurt but he had to get this thing locked up as quickly as he could and would brook no backtracking.
After reporting in again, Chief made his way to the next door, mindful of any space large enough for a man to fit in, three boys following him with zip guns at the ready. Another scream, this one from closer, probably the next door. Chief growled to himself. What was the Ensign up to, feeding them to the thing? Muttering a prayer to the Universe to save him from dunderheaded officers, Chief picked up his pace.
Rounding the gentle curve that made up the Beltway, Chief immediately disapproved of what he saw when the final B-Door came into view. That thrice-foolish Ensign had dispositioned his boys all wrong, everyone with their backs to the door as if the freak had a gun or some other projectile weapon. The Chief quickly took up the correct positioning, directly across from the door, his back to the opposite p-way wall. Grimly, he surveyed the area just beyond the doorway.
It was a fucking slaughterhouse past the door and the officer was trying to tell him something. Chief couldn't make out what he was saying; the blood was suddenly rushing in his ears. A rage reminiscent of the Chief's youth sprang up in his breast at the waste of an entire detail just to secure a single door. It was probably fortunate for the officer that the Chief wanted to risk as few lives as possible or the kid would already be dead.
Striding across the p-way, the Chief grabbed the door and began to swing it shut when the damn fool kid grabbed his arm. Leveling his gun at the boy's face, the Chief had stone cold murder in his eyes, but the kid was still talking. "CHIEF! It's been trying to close the door!"
That moment of confusion while the Chief tried to puzzle out why their very objective being fulfilled by the freak they were hunting was a bad thing proved to be the opportunity that the creature needed. Chief felt a sudden pressure in his chest and then he was back against the opposite wall of the Beltway, trying to catch his breath. He watched in seeming slow-motion as the thing grabbed the B-Door and pulled it to, the lock spinning and then stopping suddenly.
Gasping weakly, the Chief looked down at his chest, sure that something must be pressing on it. Instead he looked upon the ruin that was causing the horrified expression on the faces of the Ensign and his detail. The realization that he was dying seemed to come slowly to his sluggish mind and no one can know if he fully grasped the idea before the glaze of death covered his once-bright blue eyes.
The Ensign, a little slow to come to his senses, watched the Chief crumpled to the floor and then felt the distant THUMP of the engines starting up just before he was pressed to the floor of the Beltway. His last thought as the acceleration caused him to lose consciousness would have made the Chief proud, "What a fuckarow."