he said as Mag looked at the rig, “All of the mining tunnels are equidistant from the hab, so unless they got turned around and ended up going down a fabricated shaft that wasn’t part of the original compound, they should be converging on the hab bloc by now.”
“This is a big place, but sound carries in these things. It’s only because of the buzz of people and the hum of the power lines that most people don’t notice what their neighbor is saying,” added Samuel as he continued to move his light back and forth to scan the perimeter, “Back home the first thing that happens during a blackout is listening to everybody’s business.”
“You don’t realize just how loud people are until they shut up,” said Ben as he joined the group, “This place is a tomb.”
“Copy that, move out,” said Mag, giving the signal to move forward.
The squad continued down the main avenue of the hab as their lights illuminated evidence of one or more brutally violent firefights. The spent shell casings were all shotgun cartridges, the standard issue weapons provided to security forces in Grotto space. The guns and corresponding ammunition were cheap to manufacture and the weapon itself, not to mention the wounds it created, were highly effective in the execution of security operations. Samuel silently pointed out several more drill bits and even a saw blade embedded in the walls, some of which were crusty with old blood.
Patrick stepped in a pile of dung that seemed to have bits of bone and teeth in it. The squad as a whole each gave thanks for the power of their re-breathers to filter out what they imagined must have been a horrible stench permeating the hab. Ben wiped his finger across the guard rail of a gangplank once they’d ascended a flight of stairs to reach the second level and his finger came away with a fine layer of dust.
“Not to be overly creepy or anything, considering what we’ve just been through, but now that I’m looking at it, this whole place is covered in dust,” Ben observed as he looked at the rest of the group.
“So?” said Patrick as he ran his own hand over the rail to see for himself.
“The major contributing factor to dust,” Mag said, “in a sealed environment, is human skin cells. We shed more than most folks realize. Sure, it’s a mining compound, but you wouldn’t have this much of a layer after ten years of being sealed up.” She hefted her rifle into a more aggressive posture.
“I’ve seen this sort of thing on derelict ship salvages. Pretty standard story actually. Malfunction or damage sets the vessel adrift, the air filtration systems stop working even though life support stays active, since it’s on emergency backup grids. If there’s even one survivor who stays alive on the ship for more than a few months without dying of starvation, thirst, or whatever, then the ship is covered in a layer of dust.”
“That’s some knowledge that’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life, thanks, Boss,” piped up Aaron as he lifted his head weakly. Aaron’s face was covered in a fine green sheen, as if he’d dunked his face in pond water and come away with a patina of scum.
“At least you’re still alive to be haunted,” said Patrick as he did his best to smile reassuringly, then to Mag he said, “We’re two flights up, one more flight to go then maybe twenty meters and we’ll be there.”
Progress was slow going, as each marine checked and re-checked their corners, all of them now keenly aware that the creatures could be anywhere, and that someone, somehow, could possibly still be alive inside the hab.
In answer to their silent questions an ear-splitting shriek erupted in the darkness, but it was impossible to tell from what direction it came. It was answered by the staccato pounding of a combat rifle. Suddenly, more inhuman voices rang out of the dark and the sounds of running feet and scrabbling claws could be heard all around them.
“Get up the stairs! I