Dark Space

[BlackBishop]

Hartman would hear no protests in Yivlov's panicked cries. The engineer seized Hartman's hand, and the pilot lead him back toward the circular hatch from whence they came. The tethers began a steady pull as Wallace activated the spool's retraction, and the trodden march coupled with that reassuring pull was enough to quiet the cries of Yivlov, at least momentarily.

With eyes forward, Hartman felt an immediate jerk from Yivlov's grip. So frightfully sudden with such force, the motion pulled Hartman's arm painfully backward to the lament of snapping bone. The steel gripped hand of Yivlov relented, and by the time Hartman turned around to face the engineer he was gone. His tether groaned with strain as it was pulled taut upward into the blackened abyss. While there was no sight of Yivlov in that nightmare canopy, the engineer was heard.

The panicked cries of Yivlov over the comms took on a more immediate deranged horror. All that heard the screams, both in the Nostra and aboard the bridge of the Ark, were filled with the dreadful sense of what they heard was a man under torturous pain, a man being eaten alive.

So horrid were those cries that Wallace muted his comm, unable to endure hearing them a moment longer. Hartman continued her laboured march toward the hatch with an encroaching sense of dread, endowed with the inescapable feeling that whatever thing took Yivlov had menacing eyes set upon her.

Upon reaching the hatch, Hartman pulled herself inside. The spool mechanism groaned as it struggled with its task of retracting the pair. Once inside the airlock of the Nostra, Hartman peered into the void, and with great relief, saw the form of Yivlov emerge from the utter black. She took hold of whatever nook his vac suit would allow, and pulled him through the hatch. The door sealed shut with a hiss, and an alarm blared a warning of compartment pressurization. With a blast of atmosphere, the airlock sealed and became breathable once more.

Upon inspection of Yivlov, there was a fleeting relief that he was still alive. Yet that lifting feeling would soon dissipate with the realization that beneath his helmet the man still screamed his torturous screams. Hartman reeled back as the dour notes pierced through his helmet, their hellish tune conveying the horror the man had just endured.

Yivlov would scream until his voice was coarse, and left but a beleaguered strained cry from a raspy throat. What exactly the engineer, this astute and rational man witnessed in that void none could say, save that whatever it was had thoroughly broken the man's mind.

Upon inspection, Harman could see that there were tears in Yivlov's vac suit of queer making. They were exact pin hole punctures of the same size, and found with marveling precision all over his suit, and seemed to form a sort of uncanny pattern. It was a small miracle that Yivlov was pulled in when he was, otherwise he would have surely succumbed to a lack of oxygen and the effects of the vacuum.

The horrific screams of Yivlov, however, dissuaded further inspection from Hartman in that moment. The visor of Yivlov seemed to become struck with a black tint, a sheen that obscured the man's face. With his earsplitting screams filling the airlock compartment of the Nostra one could only imagine the dreadful condition the Engineer was in.

Wallace stood on the other side of the airlock door, peering through the porthole, his vac suit donned in case he had needed it. His pale and bewildered expression telling of the relief he must feel in not having to have ventured out into the void himself. The voice of Wallace crackled over the comms.

"What the hell do we do now?"

 

[Jeeshadow]

"We wait ensign..."

Hartman then activate the comms,

"Nostra to bridge. We will require additional assistance in fixing the convection with the Ark. Furthermore Yivlov is still screaming. His vac suit had been compromised with small holes in a strange pattern. I am also unable to see his face due to a black sheen on the helmet. Furthermore I believe my arm is broken. Could the group heading to main engineering be routed to assist?"

 

[Aedan777]

"Negative Nostra, restoring power is too much of a priority. Your situation does not sound critical, so hold on until Lieutenant Zoric and his group restore main power. Bridge out."

 

[Jeeshadow]

"Negative Nostra, restoring power is too much of a priority. Your situation does not sound critical, so hold on until Lieutenant Zoric and his group restore main power. Bridge out."

Click to shrink...

Hartman took a breath to suppress some choice words,
"Aye sir. I will have Wallace check for a med kit. After that we will examine Yivlov. I will keep you apprised of our status."

 

[BlackBishop]

It was undoubtedly a small mercy that Zoric's team was not on the bridge when the horrified screams of his subordinate Yivlov shrieked through the comms. His return to the flight deck yielding no results, the chief engineer had already left through the hatchway accompanied by Lieutenant Longwell and crewmens Juarez and Shariff toward the lift shaft. Just how the leading engineer would have reacted to the shrill cries of Yivlov, a man he had trained and groomed for this imperative mission, none could rightly say.

Back on the Nostra, Wallace was successful in finding a medical kit from the ship's storage locker. He strode to the airlock purposefully and opened the hatch. Still Yivlov screamed, the hellish pitch almost seemed tangible as it froze the pilot's feet and nearly sending in full retreat. Hartman, however, remained resolved and no doubt lent some courage to her copilot, for he reluctantly stayed, handing the medkit to his superior officer.

With the aid of Wallace, Hartman began stripping Yivlov from his vac suit to ascertain the nature of his injuries. His helmet was unlocked with a resounding hiss, and pulling it up, the horrific sight beneath made both pilots gasp and step backward.

Yivlov was a mere shadow of his former self. His skin was corpse grey, his eyes black as the abyssal darkness that tried to take him. He looked almost skeletal, his once robust physique wasted away in the mere moments he was subjected to that horror beyond. His face was twisted in deranged terror, his lips curled in a perpetual unending scream. It was abundantly clear that whatever ailed this man, it was well beyond their skill to heal.

Back on the bridge of the Ark there was a bit of excitement between the learned minds that poured over the Nostra's survey data. The neutrinos managed to carry something out of the abyss after all, relaying a spike of energy that seemed wholly queer and unfamiliar. Acting on a hunch and reaching through the forgetful fog of cryosleep, Aris cross referenced the data with the Ark's own flight manual and found that it was a power signature suggesting the residual burnings of an FTL drive.

The signature lay a light week ahead of the Ark, its discovery heralding the end of nothingness that the crew had formerly perceived.

 

[Jeeshadow]

Hartman just stared at Yivlov. She wasn't sure how long it was until Wallace snapped her out of it with a simple,
"Sir, what do we do?"

Hartman looked at the Ensign then activated her comm for a secure link,
"Dr. Hull-Smith, Commander Sevcheko, we have opened Yivlov's vac suit. He, um, I can not describe it. He has not suffered from any known symptoms of exposure to vacuum," she then related a physical description of Yivlov's condition along with several images, "please advise on what to do next. Nostra out."

 

[Dadarian]

Hartman just stared at Yivlov. She wasn't sure how long it was until Wallace snapped her out of it with a simple,
"Sir, what do we do?"

Hartman looked at the Ensign then activated her comm for a secure link,
"Dr. Hull-Smith, Commander Sevcheko, we have opened Yivlov's vac suit. He, um, I can not describe it. He has not suffered from any known symptoms of exposure to vacuum," she then related a physical description of Yivlov's condition along with several images, "please advise on what to do next. Nostra out."

Click to shrink...

"I'm on my way."

 

[KnightDisciple]

Chief Engineer

Zoric cursed his fellow command staff in his mind. Cursed the would-be-tyrant of a Commander, and cursed the uncaring senior staff with no regard for his need for further staff to restore the whole damn ship's functions.

"Should have just requisitioned everyone..."

He felt lucky that he'd even gotten Johnson with him now.

"Right, okay. I'm going to take point. Juarez, Johnson, you're in the middle. Longwell, Shariff, you're in the rear. We'll fix the door later. Ship first. Let's go."

With that, the Chief Engineer began the long, tedious travel down the shaft. He didn't trust the low gravity of the lift tunnel, so he stuck with the ladder. He opted to alternate between climbing and almost sliding down, seeking to use the reduced-but-not-entirely-gone gravity to his advantage.

"We don't stop unless there's an obstacle, or we reach the main engineering deck. Period."

 

[Carol]

Dr. Aris​

'Fascinating,' Aris thought as her eyes looked over the results again. 'Looks like a FTL drive was activated... was it our own to escape the void? But, if that was true, why is the signature ahead rather than behind?' Whatever the case it might be, she was given the smallest piece possible for the puzzle -- capable only of producing more questions than answers. Her comms unit lit up as she called the bridge.

"This is Doctor Aris reporting. Commander, I have identified a signature consistent with the residual burning of a FTL drive about a light week ahead of the Ark. Thus far, it is the only identifiable signature." ​

 

[BlackBishop]

The excitement of the science team's discovery was short lived as the realization only gave way to more perplexing questions, questions with no answers. In any event, further delving into the mysterious FTL signature would have to wait, for more pressing matters needed the crew's attention.

Hull-Smith, thoroughly deprived of nicotine and less than amiable because of it, ventured through the maintenance hatch in an attempt to catch up with Zoric and his team, before breaking off to attend to poor Yivlov. To the doctor's surprise, Zoric and his companions were still on the lift landing, on the other side of the sealed lift door.

A discovery of their own had halted their advance through the dark tunnel that was the lift shaft. Johnson had found the remains of a journal, floating in the low gravity darkness. What was left of the book was merely a few pages, the rest appearing to have been torn from the spine of the hardcover. Shariff held his flashlight aloft as Johnson read out loud from the book.

From the pen of H.R. Rhodes...

400.12.3

From whence came this alienating desire for solitude I cannot rightly say. It is against all notions of normalcy that I find myself ever and anon seeking the exclusion from others. It is a whim that I find not altogether agreeable. I do not wish to be alone, yet when the opportunity came to slip out of the cryotube before freezing I seized upon it with considerable delight.

Even now, walking these hallowed halls of our technological apex, though positively giddy, I long for company. The curt and matter of fact replies of Mother, soon dissuade all approaches of conversation I might have with her. Had I known that this lonely impulse would have stole me as it did, I would have installed more personality in her design.

At least I know that when I bore of my lonesome stewardship of the Ark, I can settle into the deep frozen sleep that's taken the other colonists.

That will please Mother.


The journal supposed an obvious connection to the tampering of the lift door, and suggested that somewhere in the ship, this H. R. Rhodes roamed, though he would no doubt be dead, as life support systems outside of the flight deck were inoperable.

Upon Johnson's mystified reading of the journal, Hull-Smith briefed Zoric of the peril facing the Nostra, and the chief engineer ordered their advance with all due haste.

Zoric lead the team down the cavernous lift shaft, sticking to ladders set within alcoves that ran along the length of the shaft, using the rungs to propel himself forward in the low gravity. It was a long journey through the dark shaft, and with only the tracking lights to guide their way. After some time, nearly a half an hour of drifting through the shaft, the team came upon the landing for the Atrium deck. From here, the team would have to part from Hull-Smith, as she moved through this deck to reach the emergency airlock, where the Nostra awaited.

As they begun to say their goodbyes, Zoric became alarmed to find one of their number was missing. Somewhere along the way, they had lost Juarez, who had followed last among their ranks.

Attempts to reach him on short range comms were to no avail, and Shariff began shouting through the darkness toward the traversed shaft, yet was met only with silence. Engineering lay still another half hour ahead, and Sevchenko had already relayed the urgency in which the ship's systems must be restored. Zoric's team looked anxiously toward their superior awaiting his order on what do do with the missing man.

 

[Dadarian]

"Well you guys, let's this husk back to into the pressurized area so I can figure out his extreme diet weight-loss plan."

At a raised eyebrow, Hull-Smith just shrugged.

"He's been screaming for how long now? The only lights on are in his chest, not upstairs. Jesus I'm jealous of his vocal strength tho."

With a second thought, Hull-Smith patched into a private comm to her recently-berated second.

"We've got another problem patient, this one freaky-class. Ditch doing what you're doing atm and meet me at the airlocks. Bring a gag and something to knock him out, a truncheon if drug-based assistance isn't available. Make it snappy."

 

[Space Jawa]

Zoric lead the team down the cavernous lift shaft, sticking to ladders set within alcoves that ran along the length of the shaft, using the rungs to propel himself forward in the low gravity. It was a long journey through the dark shaft, and with only the tracking lights to guide their way. After some time, nearly a half an hour of drifting through the shaft, the team came upon the landing for the Atrium deck. From here, the team would have to part from Hull-Smith, as she moved through this deck to reach the emergency airlock, where the Nostra awaited.

As they begun to say their goodbyes, Zoric became alarmed to find one of their number was missing. Somewhere along the way, they had lost Juarez, who had followed last among their ranks.

Attempts to reach him on short range comms were to no avail, and Shariff began shouting through the darkness toward the traversed shaft, yet was met only with silence. Engineering lay still another half hour ahead, and Sevchenko had already relayed the urgency in which the ship's systems must be restored. Zoric's team looked anxiously toward their superior awaiting his order on what do do with the missing man.

Click to shrink...

Longwell cursed under his breath. Juarez had been right behind him, and now suddenly he was missing without a trace.

"How did I miss that?" He wondered.

Whatever was going on, it left him longing for a weapon. Why on Earth didn't they have any? To say that the lack of a means to properly defend themselves was an oversight would be a massive understatement at best.

"This mission keeps getting worse all the time." He grumbled under his breath.

 

[Jeeshadow]

"Wallace, see if you can find a sedative in that med kit. Lets settle him down a bit. After that, see if you can find anything for my arm."

 

[KnightDisciple]

Hull-Smith, thoroughly deprived of nicotine and less than amiable because of it, ventured through the maintenance hatch in an attempt to catch up with Zoric and his team, before breaking off to attend to poor Yivlov. To the doctor's surprise, Zoric and his companions were still on the lift landing, on the other side of the sealed lift door.

A discovery of their own had halted their advance through the dark tunnel that was the lift shaft. Johnson had found the remains of a journal, floating in the low gravity darkness. What was left of the book was merely a few pages, the rest appearing to have been torn from the spine of the hardcover. Shariff held his flashlight aloft as Johnson read out loud from the book.


The journal supposed an obvious connection to the tampering of the lift door, and suggested that somewhere in the ship, this H. R. Rhodes roamed, though he would no doubt be dead, as life support systems outside of the flight deck were inoperable.

Upon Johnson's mystified reading of the journal, Hull-Smith briefed Zoric of the peril facing the Nostra, and the chief engineer ordered their advance with all due haste.

Zoric lead the team down the cavernous lift shaft, sticking to ladders set within alcoves that ran along the length of the shaft, using the rungs to propel himself forward in the low gravity. It was a long journey through the dark shaft, and with only the tracking lights to guide their way. After some time, nearly a half an hour of drifting through the shaft, the team came upon the landing for the Atrium deck. From here, the team would have to part from Hull-Smith, as she moved through this deck to reach the emergency airlock, where the Nostra awaited.

As they begun to say their goodbyes, Zoric became alarmed to find one of their number was missing. Somewhere along the way, they had lost Juarez, who had followed last among their ranks.

Attempts to reach him on short range comms were to no avail, and Shariff began shouting through the darkness toward the traversed shaft, yet was met only with silence. Engineering lay still another half hour ahead, and Sevchenko had already relayed the urgency in which the ship's systems must be restored. Zoric's team looked anxiously toward their superior awaiting his order on what do do with the missing man.

Click to shrink...

Longwell cursed under his breath. Juarez had been right behind him, and now suddenly he was missing without a trace.

"How did I miss that?" He wondered.

Whatever was going on, it left him longing for a weapon. Why on Earth didn't they have any? To say that the lack of a means to properly defend themselves was an oversight would be a massive understatement at best.

"This mission keeps getting worse all the time." He grumbled under his breath.

Click to shrink...

Zoric continued to swear in German for a few moments before he clenched his fist.

"We can't stop everything. I want to search for him, but we need to get the ship's systems back up. His life support will last him long enough. We're continuing on."

With that grim decision done, the Chief Engineer turned and continued his descent to the engineering deck.

 

[Another Amoeba]

Dr. Stone
​

FTL signatures. Damn that Idiot Bischoff! He'd jumped? Was the cryosleep taking too long? Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, standing to leave, "Doctors, I'll leave you to it. Ring me if you need me."

He began compiling a message.

[[ Attention Security Team: In light of recent events, the Ark and its environs are to be considered generally hazardous and disorienting outside of secured areas. Be on your guard. Shapiro, arm up. We're reinforcing the lift. ]]

 

[BlackBishop]

Doubtless it was a painful decision on the part of Zoric to leave his man behind, and trust that Juarez' disappearance was not of malicious design. Longwell dutifully followed in silence, as did the others. Only Johnson protested, yet his argument fell on deaf ears for Zoric had made his decision. So the engineering team lumbered onward down the dark shaft toward the engineering deck.

Hull-Smith parted from Zoric and his men here, for there was scarcely anything she could do for the missing man, and judging by the Nostra comms, Yivlov was in need of immediate attention. The leading doctor of the Ark made her way through the ship's atrium deck. Here was the immense living quarters of the colonists, though empty now as its inhabitants slumbered.

Her mind focused on the task at hand, if only to shut out the nagging need for a cigarette, she almost didn't notice the queer sight, that once it registered in her mind, compelled her to stop. The atrium garden, a vast chamber that should be nothing more than a bed of dirt until such a time that the colonists would awake and begin planting, was as a lush forest. Trees, flowers, bushes and grass grew with lush greens, violets, and yellows. The doors to the garden were locked shut, but through the windows the doctor could see the vexing sight. The terminal displayed the atmospheric read out showing the chamber was still receiving life support, and upon thinking back on it, Hull-Smith could have sworn she heard music from within.

It stopped Hull-Smith for merely a moment, for her determination remained undaunted and she soon continued her heedless trek.

At the emergency airlock, Hull-Smith passed through the docking chamber, unmoving of that void that stretched on endlessly without, her helmet visor turned only to the recon ship's airlock door on the other side. The relief of Hartman and Wallace at seeing Hull-Smith was palpable. Wallace refused to open the airlock unless he was back in the Nostra, unwilling to expose himself to the void beyond that loomed menacingly just outside the unsealed docking ring. Hartman, who had experienced the horror without first hand, was in no mood to object.

Together, Wallace and Hartman moved Yivlov inside the Nostra and opened the airlock for Hull-Smith. Once inside, the doctor could see that Yivlov had been given a sedative, and the broken arm of Hartman had been treated with a brace and sling. The mild sedative given to Yivlov had begun to diminish, as his subdued whimpers had once again risen to hoarse screams.

The doctor hailed the bridge of the Ark, calling for her assistant before her examination began in earnest.

Hull-Smith found indeed there were slight pinholes in Yivlov's vac suit as she stripped him of the protective garment. The holes seemed to follow a strange swirling pattern about the thighs and hips of the suit, as well as across the respirator pack on the back. The man's jumpsuit, however, displayed no such markings.

She found Yivlov, of obvious unsound mind and totally unresponsive to stimuli, save for whatever horror was locked in his mind setting him to scream, displayed symptoms of being anemic and ischemic - that is deteriorated muscles and a lack of blood supply to tissues. Further inspection revealed an astonishing amount of blood loss, yet there was no sign at all of how, nor trace of blood to be found. It was as if something out there had robbed the man of his vitality and precious life fluids. Not only that, but black liquid secretions were discovered around his orifices, mainly about his eyes and the corners of his mouth.

The fresh eyes of the doctor also perceived a layer of some black residue over both the vac suits of Hartman and Yivlov.

The perplexing case was so utterly shocking, so outside the realm of what any medical text could convey, that the only solution seemed to be to put the poor man into cryogenic freezing until such a time that his baffling condition could see some solution. By the time Doctor Buchanen arrived, pale and shook from his lone journey through the ship, Yivlov's screams had ceased, and after a violent convulsion, the man died.

The utter horror perceived by the engineer Yivlov, had broke his mind before it robbed him of life. It was a terror only he perceived, though a glimpse was given to Hartman, and cracked ever her steady demeanor. That it's true naked terror was isolated from the rest of the crew was a small mercy.

The same could not be said for what Zoric and his team were about to encounter in Engineering.

 

[Jeeshadow]

"Commander, do you have further orders for us? Perhaps the scientists wish to study the black residue on," Hartman pauses for a moment, "Zoric and I's flightsuits. Also I am worried that if the engines start back up, with the Nostra not completely docked, it will be yanked lose damaging both the Nostra and Ark. Also, we have the matter of the body..."

 

[Dadarian]

Doubtless it was a painful decision on the part of Zoric to leave his man behind, and trust that Juarez' disappearance was not of malicious design. Longwell dutifully followed in silence, as did the others. Only Johnson protested, yet his argument fell on deaf ears for Zoric had made his decision. So the engineering team lumbered onward down the dark shaft toward the engineering deck.

Hull-Smith parted from Zoric and his men here, for there was scarcely anything she could do for the missing man, and judging by the Nostra comms, Yivlov was in need of immediate attention. The leading doctor of the Ark made her way through the ship's atrium deck. Here was the immense living quarters of the colonists, though empty now as its inhabitants slumbered.

Her mind focused on the task at hand, if only to shut out the nagging need for a cigarette, she almost didn't notice the queer sight, that once it registered in her mind, compelled her to stop. The atrium garden, a vast chamber that should be nothing more than a bed of dirt until such a time that the colonists would awake and begin planting, was as a lush forest. Trees, flowers, bushes and grass grew with lush greens, violets, and yellows. The doors to the garden were locked shut, but through the windows the doctor could see the vexing sight. The terminal displayed the atmospheric read out showing the chamber was still receiving life support, and upon thinking back on it, Hull-Smith could have sworn she heard music from within.

It stopped Hull-Smith for merely a moment, for her determination remained undaunted and she soon continued her heedless trek.

At the emergency airlock, Hull-Smith passed through the docking chamber, unmoving of that void that stretched on endlessly without, her helmet visor turned only to the recon ship's airlock door on the other side. The relief of Hartman and Wallace at seeing Hull-Smith was palpable. Wallace refused to open the airlock unless he was back in the Nostra, unwilling to expose himself to the void beyond that loomed menacingly just outside the unsealed docking ring. Hartman, who had experienced the horror without first hand, was in no mood to object.

Together, Wallace and Hartman moved Yivlov inside the Nostra and opened the airlock for Hull-Smith. Once inside, the doctor could see that Yivlov had been given a sedative, and the broken arm of Hartman had been treated with a brace and sling. The mild sedative given to Yivlov had begun to diminish, as his subdued whimpers had once again risen to hoarse screams.

The doctor hailed the bridge of the Ark, calling for her assistant before her examination began in earnest.

Hull-Smith found indeed there were slight pinholes in Yivlov's vac suit as she stripped him of the protective garment. The holes seemed to follow a strange swirling pattern about the thighs and hips of the suit, as well as across the respirator pack on the back. The man's jumpsuit, however, displayed no such markings.

She found Yivlov, of obvious unsound mind and totally unresponsive to stimuli, save for whatever horror was locked in his mind setting him to scream, displayed symptoms of being anemic and ischemic - that is deteriorated muscles and a lack of blood supply to tissues. Further inspection revealed an astonishing amount of blood loss, yet there was no sign at all of how, nor trace of blood to be found. It was as if something out there had robbed the man of his vitality and precious life fluids. Not only that, but black liquid secretions were discovered around his orifices, mainly about his eyes and the corners of his mouth.

The fresh eyes of the doctor also perceived a layer of some black residue over both the vac suits of Hartman and Yivlov.

The perplexing case was so utterly shocking, so outside the realm of what any medical text could convey, that the only solution seemed to be to put the poor man into cryogenic freezing until such a time that his baffling condition could see some solution. By the time Doctor Buchanen arrived, pale and shook from his lone journey through the ship, Yivlov's screams had ceased, and after a violent convulsion, the man died.

The utter horror perceived by the engineer Yivlov, had broke his mind before it robbed him of life. It was a terror only he perceived, though a glimpse was given to Hartman, and cracked ever her steady demeanor. That it's true naked terror was isolated from the rest of the crew was a small mercy.

The same could not be said for what Zoric and his team were about to encounter in Engineering.

Click to shrink...

In that corner back part of the mind that always turns even as you prepare for the worst, Hull-Smith pondered whether they brought any tobacco plants to make more cigarettes from. All the while, she also got herself ready for the second autopsy in as many hours.

"Wallace, get multiple samples of that black glue. If I don't see five when I'm done I'll really be angry. Hartman, go to whatever counts as library on this foresaken vessel and get me books on and references too both the molluscum phylum and deep-water parasites. Bring them to me on the pronto. Also get what med-items you can, at this rate we'll be short soon."

Connecting to a wider bandwith, Hull-Smith continued.

"Stat report. Yivlov dead. Conducting immediate autopsy. Out."

 

[Aedan777]

Absolutely nothing was going right, not a promising sign for the future of humanity.

"Hartman, noted on the unsafe connection between the Nostra and the Ark. We'll refrain from activating the engines until that issue can be resolved. Though considering the difficulties you previously reported in using the Nostra's engines, I wonder how effective the Ark's will be. That black residue you mention could be an important clue to understanding our position. Collect a sample and bring it aboard for further study. We don't know what it is, so exercise caution and maintain hazmat procedures for dealing with it. Dr. Aris will lead the analysis of the sample.

Also, Lieutenant Stone, go recover Juarez. He probably got lost, don't leave him in the dark for too long."

 

[Carol]

Dr. Aris​

Being ordered to investigate an unknown and potentially dangerous substance was suboptimal to Aris' health; she was an explorer, yes, but no discovery could leave her lips if she died to it. Thus, like the ways of old, she would tackle the coming crisis with strict procedure and safety standards. "Martinez, you heard the commander," she said, "let's find an isolated area to study the sample. I don't want any impurities in the results." She stretched for a moment to knock out the final hold of weariness. "Oh, before I forget, we are doing this by-the-book. Our safety is of the utmost importance, so remember everything they taught you in school — we'll be using it."

 

[Space Jawa]

It pained Longwell that they were leaving Juarez behind to no end. It was a regrettable action, but one he agreed was necessary one all the same. They had to restore power to the ship, and time was running out to do that before major consequences began to take effect. Putting the search for a single man ahead of that would have been an irresponsible course of action. Him breaking off to go look for that one man on his own would likewise been short-sighted. Even unarmed, he was still the only one in the group who was there primarily for his ability to fight. Abandoning the main engineering team in a vain effort to find one person, to put that team at risk, would have been a poor decision on several levels.

 

[Jeeshadow]

"Ensign Wallace, be sure to get 10 samples. I need 5 to take to meet up without scientists. Once I do that, I will head for the archives, Doctor."
Hartman then turned on the comms,
"Dr. Aris, I will be heading to the archives near the atrium. Any chance we could meet somewhere so I can deliver to you the samples from the suits?"

 

[Another Amoeba]

Dr. Stone​

Recovery operation, disorienting environment. Just like going caving.

[ [ All members of the Arc Security Team, report to the Lift. Bring Flares. ] ]

Him and two others would comprise the search team. After they reached the landing below, they'd set flares. Not just for their own reference. No matter how hopelessly lost Juarez was, they could expect him to follow the light.

Their team would be fast and tight-knit, covering each others backs as they swept through the belowdecks, marking the path to safety as they went. If a soldier got separated, they returned to the lift the moment they realized it. There's no need to lose someone else.

The rest of the Ark's security team would stand ready at the top of the shaft. Call it paranoia, but something inside Dr. Stone liked the prospect of a highly trained force keeping that thing locked down. He iterated these orders to his men as he suited up. Keep it textbook, and they all might just survive.

 

[BlackBishop]

At the main lift door on the flight deck, what remained of the security team assembled under the direction of Lt. Stone. The anxious look shared among the men was no doubt apparent to Stone. The team had been through arduous conditions planetside, seeing action in war zones across the world, yet here in the vacuous void of space, they have encountered something beyond anything Earth could have prepared them for.

Yamuto, Beechum, and Shapiro filed in with the rigid stance adopted by ones of military background. Upon word from Lt. Stone, the team dropped to the floor and commenced the tight crawl through the maintenance hatch toward the lift. Darkness greeted the team as they emerged on the other side, and began their descent down the opaque tunnel that had already swallowed one of their own.

By this time, Doctor Aris and Martinez of the science team were suited up in an envirosuits and sending a dispatch to the Nostra.

[ [ Lt. Cmdr. Hartman Bring samples to cryogenics laboratories asap. Science team is enroute to prep the lap and begin study of the anomaly. ] ]

The young researcher's nerves were visibly frayed as he lingered by the turbo lift and nervously fired off multiple questions regarding the mysterious substance without even waiting on answers. After some meditative exercises, the scientist took a steady breath and disappeared into the maintenance hatch with Aris close behind, bound for the laboratory on the cryogenic deck.

Back at the Nostra, Wallace dutifully collected the samples with the crude yet effective method of sealing the vac suits of Hartman and Yivlov in a HAZMAT bag. The pilot made it clear that he would not tamper with the substance more than he had to, and was more than happy to leave the handling of the material to Hartman and the science team.

As for the poor, unfortunate Yivlov, Hull-Smith began a cursory autopsy right there on the deck of the Nostra, much to the chagrin of Hartman and Wallace. The procedure yielded little results beyond what Hull-Smith had already uncovered. Yivlov was in a state of advanced muscle atrophy - far more advanced than what in extended period of time in cryosleep would indicate. He suffered from extreme blood loss as well, and tissue damage due to poor circulation.

The doctor determined his cause of death to be exsanguination. Loss of blood.

It was clear that the case of Yivlov warranted further study, and Hull-Smith and Buchanen soon had the body of Yivlov strapped upon a stretcher, and set out toward the medical facility on the cryogenics deck.

Hartman would not stay idle, and with the HAZMAT bag in her hand, and a hesitant Wallace in tow, the two pilots left the Nostra, and followed Hull-Smith and Buchanen into the atrium deck. They soon broke off from the medical team, heading toward the archives as the doctors proceeded through toward the lift shaft and on to the cryo deck.

As the hatch to the archives was opened to countless rows of sealed compartments, it became apparent that someone had rifled through the chamber. Even in the darkness, with pale emergency lighting casting long shadows across the room, it was clear that many of the compartments were open, with books and data discs left out on the floor.

The information strewn about the room was pertaining to all maters of subjects, from dog training and gardening, to the Ark's FTL drive, the pilots determined. Wallace would also find a strange note, crumpled up and appearing to be torn from a journal...

...I am, at last, weary of solitude. Digger has been a wonderful companion, and has grown to a healthy young dog despite my wariness of the condition in which I found his embryo. Still, while the dog dutifully listens to me, his master, he is not one for conversation, though a shade better then the silent plants I've cultivated in the garden. Obviously. I have begun toying with the idea of waking others from sleep - despite the protests of Mother.

They would be those I deem of peak mental prowess, able to hold my interest in conversation. I have not walked this technological labyrinth alone these last two years with but a dog at my side only to succumb to social awkwardness.

My chief candidate is, with a measure of adolescent like giddiness, Thomas Moore, the famed father of the FTL drive. I must admit I have developed a sort of obsession over this technological break through - and here on the fringe of the solar system, I feel there is much we might discuss...

Click to shrink...

Putting aside the strange discovery, the pilots would begin combing the archive for the material in question; molluscan phylum and deep-water parasites. Able to find the information in question due to the neat organization of the items within the archives, the two were out in a few minutes, and on their way to deliver the sample and data to the cryo deck.

Time had begun to drag on, and the crew of the Ark were approaching the second hour since waking. By this time teams were dispersed across all decks of the ship, one of there own was missing, another dead, with another in critical condition, all the while the ship's primary systems were offline. Those left on the bridge waited with bated breath for some word from the security and engineering teams.

With communications being down, they would be slow to learn of Stone's curious discovery on the cryogenic deck. Stone's men were frustrated, and reasonably so. It soon became clear of the hopelessness of their daunting task. The Ark stretched 2 kilometers from bow to stern, and was easily a half a kilometer wide. After what seemed an eternity there search was yielding no results, though there were more peculiar discoveries made.

It was clear that they were not alone in the deck. At some point, someone walked among the twisting corridors and chambers of the ship's sprawling cryogenic facility. It began as a peculiar feeling of being watched, a discarded personal item, such as a coffee mug, book, or clothes. Then came the journal page torn from a book...

...My relationship with Moore has become stagnant, and I grow tired of his company. We have been fighting for the affections of Ms. Harper - that exquisite starlet we woke in a regretful fit of lust.

The flesh is weak. As am I.

Now, the poor woman, tired too of us, especially after her startling confession, has taken to the same solitude that once held me in its grasp, and has bulked all of my efforts for her companionship.

Moore, meanwhile, is ever present and refuses to leave my side. It is all the more irksome given the liking Digger has taken to the physicist. He has scoffed at my suggestions of returning to cryo, and keeps prattling on about this subspace he has discovered. It is intriguing, I admit, to think there is another dimension, one that does not yield to the same laws of space and time, and one we might tap into for near instantaneous travel, not to mention the near countless application on the fringes of imagination...

Click to shrink...

Most startling of the security team's discovery was found in a dressing room for wakened colonists. Upon the ceramic tiled walls was a great mosaic, a mural painted by an unknown hand, and with unknown materials - for it was void of any bright colours of good and decent works of art, but rather loathsome blacks and crimsons.

It was a great swirling pattern and characters, as if some unknown scripture displayed upon the wall. At the forefront of the painting were three distinct shapes. On the left, a great black blot, a pulpous mass blacked out the swirling characters of the background. Next to it was a triangle, and finally a circle. The last two were perfect in their rendering, that much was clear. The shapes were drawn with immaculate mathematical precision belying that of the free hand.

The astonishing discovery aside, the security team still saw no sign of Juarez. Yumato, clearly frustrated, suggested they splits up into two teams in order to cover more ground. The team looks anxiously to Stone, clearly eager to be over with the search and back to the relative safety of the flight deck.

All the while the gnawing feeling of being watched never left them.

 

[Another Amoeba]

Dr. Stone
​

"This subspace he has discovered." The doctor turned the words around in his mind. They couldn't have possibly...

Dr. Stone stopped himself from dwelling on the obvious conclusion and made for the door, "If Juarez hasn't gone to any of the obvious gathering points, we'll never find him."

That painting behind him-- Good God! How haunting, how majestic it was in its loathsome reds and blacks.

When Charles was five or maybe six, his mother and father took him to the Himalayas. One night, they'd sheltered against a glassy cliff face, their Sherpa lighting a fire which the adults kept burning until dawn. A segment of snowdrift had melted away as he slept. Charles woke to find that they weren't resting against a cliff at all, but the side of a forsaken temple turned over to the snow. His parents had already wiped down even more of the edifice, uncovering four looming figures that stood tall like demons. Nuclear shadows. Probably Nepalese guerrillas vaporized about two centuries ago, according to mother. She walked him to the remnants of their gear fused into the ground. The guide offered a prayer.

Charles remembered reaching out with his stubby gloved hands, grasping at the distorted weapons, but he never touched them. The shadows had eyes, angry white pinholes that never looked anywhere but directly through him. His hand slunk back. He tried once, twice more to reach them, but was again repulsed. This was something to sacred, or too profane, for him to disturb. He didn't have the right.

That was what it felt like to look at the mural. It was time to move on, for everyone's sake. "Without Mother, we'd just have four more people wandering aimlessly about, and I'd rather we not spend the next few hours bumping into whatever funhouse surprises Rhodes and his merry band of lechers left scattered about for us. We'll return to the lift until we hear from engineering. Let's revisit the areas closest to where they lost him on the way back."