Connection With Host - Error 134 (1/2)
[there] [is] [whispers] [between] [the] [stars]
Falmo'o opened his eyes to get a look around before moving at all. His rear eyes were almost glued shut by blood and his side right eye was blurry, but it was good enough to see that the ceiling was pristine.
The lights were flashing, though, and he could hear voices. It took him a minute to realize it was humans talking, with the strange accent like Tanyee.
”What do you mean you've lost contact with the Imperium? How the hell does hypercom 'lost contact'? I was just talking to them a minute ago!” all a welter of different voices.
”EVERYONE SHUT UP!” a male roared out and the power behind the voice made a headache surge being Falmo'o's eyes, like a hot spike of pain through his brain.
”Is it the Mantids? Oh, God, it can't be the Mantids, can it? Fuck the Mantids, let them come. Look, get the goddamn coms working you stupid bastard. This is why you don't trust a man with anything past hitting someone in the face with a chainsword. First we start hearing those whispers now this? I was talking to Imperium Command. Get the comms back up.” - more babbling.
”I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!” the male roared out again.
The pain made Falmo'o groan in the sudden shocked silence.
”Shh, did anyone hear that?” a female's voice asked.
The lights flickered and someone made a noise of distress and fear.
”Shut. Up.” was hissed at the person.
Falmo'o scrabbled to get up.
”It's over there,” someone, it sounded like Taynee said, her voice full of anxiety.
There was the sound of capacitors charging as Falmo'o hacked and spit out a wad of clotted blood on the polished durachrome floor.
”It's behind the holocore,” someone said loudly in the silence.
Falmo'o managed to stand up slowly. He began moving out from behind the big computer bank he had been laying behind. His hooves clacked on the durachrome flooring.
”Shh,” someone whispered.
”Get ready...”
”Everyone keep your eyes out...”
He came around the edge, turning his upper torso and facing the humans.
They were all wearing the same kind of jumpsuit, just different colors. Falmo'o could see Tanyee slightly behind the gathered up humans. More of them that Falmo'o had ever seen before. Male and females, some of them massive like that Combine Marine he'd met. All of them without armor. Only the big ones carrying weapons that he wasn't familiair with.
”WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? KILL IT! HOLY SHIT IT'S DROOLING BLOOD! WHAT? WHAT? JESUS CHROMIUM CHRIST!” were all the yells. The sheer rage and fear rolling off of them made his head ache with sharp pain.
”Tanyee, Briggs, Dorden,” Falmo'o gurgled, opening his side and rear eyes again.
”JESUS CHRIST! LOOK AT IT!”
Falmo'o reached toward them, clopping around the computer all the way.
”What is it? What the fuck?” some of them yells.
”Help me, humans, help me,” Falmo'o said, coughing up more blood.
One of the big male ones stepped forward, lowering the weapon. Two of the females stepped forward, both lifting flamers.
”No, wait, don't,” Falmo'o got out raising his four hands.
The male opened fire, the heavy slugs tearing Falmo'o apart, even as the females bathed him in flame so hot it felt cold.
-----------------------
Falmo'o coughed, getting blood again. He groaned, getting to his feet with the clattering of hooves as he heaved himself up. The air was thick and it was hard to breathe, smelling of smoke, hot metal, seared lubricants, and burning insulation. Every breath seared his lungs, stabbing pains deep in the abdomen. Those red pulsing lights had extended from the wall and were putting out the spinning strobes of red.
Looking around Falmo'o spotted a breathing tank and mask, sitting with three others, inside an alcove that had just opened up. Clattering over to it he pulled the tank out, slung the strap over his shoulder, then put the mask on the end of his nose. He hit the button and breathed in gratefully. By the fourth breath the pain had eased up and Falmo'o looked around.
He was in Docking Arm Three. That much was obvious from the stencils on the walls.
Three, three, which one was three? Falmo'o wondered to himself, moving forward. He could remember that three of the docking arms were damaged and badly, three had ships on them, two were still usable but empty.
He put the thought out of his mind and trotted toward the direction, according to the stencils, of the Main Hub. Whatever had happened to this arm, he didn't want to mess around with it.
Everything about Terrans was terrifying, deadly, and horrible.
One of the blast doors was held up by a heavy duty durasteel jack, the pole bent slightly and vibrating, but still holding. Falmo'o ducked underneath the door, ignoring the way it groaned, and kept moving. The smoke had gotten thicker, streaming into the direction of the docking ring at the far end of the docking arm.
When he got the Main Hub he turned around and looked down the hallway of the docking arm. Smoke was streaming through, not too quickly, but still streaming, which meant a hull breach.
Falmo'o may have been an experienced Covert Action Specialist, but he was still a fully trained engineer.
The station leaking was bad.
Next to the main blast door was a lever that read ”manual override” as well as a pistol in a holster hanging from a strap.
Written in Lanaktallan was: Turn and fire fast on your right.
Falmo'o grabbed out the weapon, a Terran weapon of unknown design, turning to his write at his waist even as he threw his lower abdomen to the left.
Most High Vu'urtunkoo was hit four times by the pistol before Falmo'o let off the trigger. The Most High had a neural whip in his hands that had been wrapped with Terran durachrome to attach a chainsword blade to it. The Most High had been pulling back to strike Falmo'o with it when the weapon hit.
”Traitor,” Vu'urtunkoo spit out. He coughed up blood. ”You reek of humans.”
”You reek of failure,” Falmo'o replied. He level the pistol and pulled the trigger, ignoring the slightly painful recoil.
The bullet hit Vu'urtunkoo in the face, splitting open his head and showering his brains behind the Lanaktallan.
A large crab, the size of two fists put together, slid from out of Vu'urtunkoo's mouth, the back of its shell shattered, and fell on the durachrome floor even as the Lanaktallan's body slumped.
”Traitor,” the crab squeaked as Falmo'o stepped forward and stepped on it, crushing it with the crackle of chitin.
Falmo'o looked around and saw the airlock. He dragged Vu'urtunkoo over to it, then went back and got the crab too because why not? He cycled the airlock, watching Vu'urtunkoo freeze and tumble out into space, falling toward the black blot in the sky that was the neutron star.
The whispering started again, making Falmo'o stagger back, putting his upper two hands over his ears. If anything, the whispers got louder.
”Stop, no, get out of my head,” Falmo'o whined. He staggered to the side, slapping the button to close the airlock.
The whispers slowly decreased until he couldn't hear them.
They hadn't been voices, just sibilant sounds, no cadence, no real rhythm, just multiple slow steady hisses overlapping one another.
Falmo'o reminded himself he was a Executor Covert Action Specialist, a being who excelled at sabotaging the Neo-Sapient and Near-Civilized species to set back their progress without ever being caught. Not even other Lanaktallan were privy to his knowledge.