Lair by Carl Stubblefield (recommended reading TXT) 📕

were interested in armor, and that seems to be something it is familiar with, having acted in this capacity before. I can almost say it is eager to try out some new things. I can also see that it is talking to your spear. Visible streams of intermittent energy are being sent back and forth, and I know intuitively that they are data packs, but I cannot translate the pulses.”

“So you’re my new sidekick, huh?”

“Not so much. This form is too insubstantial to be a true functional homunculus, but there is enough to form a triple-ply armor, so we’ll start with that for now. I vastly underestimated the amount needed to form a functional Nth body, so this will have to do. You’ll need a lot more metal if you want to make that a reality. I’ll have my hands full trying to work out communication for the foreseeable future, especially how they can be influenced to function,” Nick murmured, obviously fascinated by the turn of events.

“Good, because I don’t think we’re going to have the luxury of time. When you were gone, the volcano started acting up and we are slowly losing power. We have less than a day, so we have to go as soon as we can. I didn’t let the time go to waste though, I did manage to make a large bag of holding,” Gus said, proud of himself.

“How big…” Nick said hesitantly.

“Oh, it’s huge, you would be proud of me. It’s all part of my plan to clean up these zombies.”

“Ok, but you should know what happens if a large enough bag gets turned inside out…”

Gus gulped, waiting for the bomb to drop.

“…you create a singularity, Gus. A frelling black hole! Don’t go screwing around without guidance again! And I’m sure you didn’t store it in any particular way to avoid it getting knotted and wound around itself?”

This reunion wasn’t going exactly how Gus would have liked. “Well, come and see it and we’ll fix it. From what I could tell, nothing bad has happened yet, right?”

The glittery figure did a facepalm and motioned an arm to indicate ‘lead the way.’

Chapter Forty

Below the Surface

Methiochos was frustrated that his minions could do nothing to access the manor now that they had cleared away the opposition. The observers couldn’t manage any voice commands, having lost significant amounts of coordination in their conversion. He had even tried having the Mantids squeeze them to see if they could force out enough of a command code to open the manor but the result was as intelligible as a whoopee cushion.

Methiochos could speak, having retained much more of his humanity. He also remembered the key phrases that would activate higher command functions. Saying them out loud, his gravelly voice echoed off the empty chamber. Lead from the front. He would have to go himself once he knew what he needed. It would take just one more cycle, he could feel that, the answers were close. It would be nice to leave this dark prison.

Methiochos sunk his tendrils in the magma for what he believed was the last time. He was almost to full strength. The pain that came after absorbing too much energy would be endured. After he was complete, it would be his time to act.

45 years ago…

Using his power, Methiochos widened and molded the bone of his left arm into a large plate shield and crawled into the airway, he hardened it into cortical bone, retracting the blood vessels as the hard bone solidified. It wouldn’t do to get a bleeding debuff if something hit the shield. He tried to access the ship’s computer on his communicator but all he received was a buffering icon. Dammit! Without that he couldn’t check on ship status or monitor crew locations. If you want to get anything done, you have to do it yourself!

His common sense screamed that progressing into the airshaft was the most stupid thing he could do, but he pushed those concerns away, attributing them to watching too many horror movies in his youth. Besides, one must lead from the front.

Dust and clumps of material that could have been the cousins of dryer lint had built up in the corners of the square ducting. Fortunately, the dust showed a clear path for whatever had crawled through here. Methiochos followed the trail in an army-crawl.

A hiss of static and feedback hit his ear. “Do you read me?” a voice buzzed.

“I hear you,” he responded, turning down the sensitivity on his cochlear communicator.

“It appears that Dara was last logged in to the infirmary before she went back to her room. I am sending a squad to investigate, and will meet them there. Holmes out.”

After a couple more turns, the access panel had burst outward, the wire mesh forming a flower bloom shape. Methiochos climbed out of the walkway, only having a five-foot drop to the floor of the darkened room. From the scant light available, he could tell that this was the general crew barracks. A flash of shifting shadows caught his attention as someone or something scuttled in front of the band of light leaking under the door. A bunk next to him began to shake as the occupant wriggled and writhed.

Pulling his multitool off his belt and flicking on the flashlight mode, he saw a pallid face of a crewman with a black scratch across one cheek. His eyes were bloodshot and his body vibrated, back arching while his feet kicked back and forth like he was riding a bicycle. His face looked ashen and devoid of expression despite the turmoil his body was enduring.

He heard another scratchy-scratching in the distance and tried to illuminate it with his flashlight. All he succeeded in doing was more fully disclosing his own location. Swinging the light around, he saw that others that were resting had similar scratches on their faces and necks, though they were totally inert.

A screeching noise ripped through the relative quiet of the barrack, as