I was lying on a fold-up cot riveted into the floor. The room had a curved wall on the left-hand side – sorry, port side – that told me we were in a ship, next to the hull and, judging by the sound, beneath the waterline. The walls were undressed steel. I assumed I was in some kind of smuggling hold on the Mountain Princess. Looking around I could see other cots, and there were various bits and pieces of gear scattered about. I could see an opening to a separate area of the hold. Someone had draped a drab grey blanket over the opening but light was creeping around it. I could also hear voices from the other side.
‘I’m not sure this is a good idea,’ I heard Mudge say as I downed some more of Papa Neon’s special pills, some painkillers and a mild upper. Just to get me out of bed. I noticed I had some red lesions on my skin. They bled whenever anything touched or rubbed against them. I saw that they had been dressed as well as circumstances would allow.
‘Morag will not wake him unless it is safe,’ I heard Rannu assuring Mudge as I stumbled towards the blanket curtain. Feeling the familiar tug from the back of my neck, I reached behind me and removed the plug; looking down I saw an extension line that led to the next room. This was the connection that had allowed me to enter Gregor’s safe environment. The almost imperceptible movement of the huge docked ore carrier was making my stomach roll. I tried not to heave and wished I had a cigarette.
‘Rannu, while your faith is a beautiful thing I’m not convinced it’s going to stop me from being torn limb from limb,’ Mudge again.
‘I will avenge you,’ I heard Balor growl with relish.
‘Oh that’s very reassuring,’ Mudge paused. ‘You… you’re looking forward to this, aren’t you?’ I reached the blanket and tried to pull it aside but only succeeded in pulling it down. ‘What are you doing?’ I heard Mudge ask incredulously.
I staggered through into the next compartment. Balor, Rannu and Mudge stood in a semicircle around what looked like a high-tech glass coffin crossed with a stretcher. It was secured to two workbenches. I recognised it as a man-portable intensive care unit. It was similar to those used by Carrion, as we squaddies rather unfairly called battlefield medics because they were under orders to strip cybernetics from the injured and dead. This one had presumably been modified to handle biohazard containment, though I couldn’t see it holding if Gregor got angry somehow. Morag and Pagan were leaning against the bulkhead furthest away from the coffin to my immediate right -sorry, starboard. Both were obviously tranced – I could see wires extending from their neck ports to the portable ICU.
I leant against the doorway fighting for breath. I couldn’t remember ever feeling this weak before. Mudge glanced behind him. He was focused on aiming his AK-47 at the portable ICU. Rannu was doing the same with his gauss carbine and Balor appeared to be slinging his Spectre/grenade launcher combo and extending his spear into a trident configuration.
‘You got a cigarette?’ I asked Mudge.
‘Bit busy right now. Balor, clearly an automatic weapon is more appropriate than a fucking fishing spear.’ Even Rannu was glancing in askance at the eight-foot-tall, heavy-conversion cyborg. Balor was just grinning.
‘Okay, we’re waking him up.’ I heard Morag’s voice. It seemed to be coming from Pagan’s staff, which was lying across his lap.
‘Are you sure he’s ready?’ I was surprised to hear Rannu ask. His answer was the clear top of the ICU sliding down. Rannu and Mudge tensed ever so slightly while Balor looked on in eager expectation. Some smoky chemical gas or other, could’ve been oxygen for all I knew, drifted out of the ICU. I decided that if the-thing-that-was-once-Gregor was going to kill me I was going to have a cigarette and even a drink if I could find one. I decided that I wouldn’t tell Mudge about the TTTWOG acronym; I didn’t think anyone else would thank me if I did. I turned and headed back to my cot.
‘Easy, easy. Easy!’ I heard Mudge from behind me. I wondered if they’d considered that pointing guns and antique poking weapons at him might encourage a fight or flight response. Probably not. I heard much shuffling and shouted commands from next door as I located my cigarettes and was pleased to find Mudge’s hip flask. It probably contained vodka but it would be good vodka, and I’d always felt the Russians and the Scots had a lot in common.
‘Gregor, are you okay?’ Pagan’s voice. I think he was trying to be soothing but instead it sounded patronising. If I were a dangerous human/alien hybrid his tone would upset me.
‘Okay, everybody needs to just calm… Balor? Balor!’ It was Morag’s voice now. I considered grabbing a gun but I seemed to be swaying and decided I would probably be more danger than use. Nausea overwhelmed me. Fortunately I could see a bucket nearby and I managed to reach it before I puked up what looked like bile and blood. There was the sound of rapid movement next door and a low growling noise.
‘No!’ Morag said. It was a voice similar to the one my dad would use when scolding a bad dog. I assumed she was talking to Balor. I spat out the residue of vomit in my mouth and clambered back to my feet. It was as if I could feel myself rotting from the inside. I cleaned my mouth with vodka and spat that into the bucket before taking a tenuous sip of it. I kept it down despite the burn. It didn’t quite get rid of the taste however.
‘Balor, can we not antagonise the potentially dangerous alien life form, please?’ Mudge asked. ‘You did turn off the kill order, didn’t you, dear?’ he added.
‘I think so,’ Morag replied. I didn’t like how unsure of herself she sounded. I lit up a cigarette. The mouthful of smoke was somehow reassuring and making me feel more nauseous at the same time.
Making it back to the entrance to the next compartment, I leant heavily on the hull. Gregor was standing in front of the ICU. He was crouching slightly. It was the stance of a cornered predator. The black pools of his eyes were looking around the room. Going from person to person. Sizing them up. Waiting for them to move. I had more time to study him as he wasn’t moving so quickly and kicking Balor’s arse at the moment. He looked like someone had taken one of Them and tried to squeeze it into a human shell without making any allowances for human physiology. Which in a way was what had happened. Recognising the human bits of him – the familiar, if warped, features of my friend – somehow made him/it (I was still confused by that) seem more alien. He looked at me as I took another drag from the cigarette and fought my nausea. I nodded at him. He seemed to stare at me. I was too ill to be unnerved. He opened his mouth. I was relieved to see healthy-looking human teeth, though they looked more perfect than I remember Gregor’s being. He screamed, sort of. I put my hands over my ears as the noise went right through my skull. Even my dampeners kicking in didn’t seem to do much good. Morag had her hands over her ears. The others were grimacing. I’d heard a similar noise before, when I had dreamed of the alien spires, but this was different, distorted, discordant, angry.
Gregor’s mouth closed with an audible snap of his teeth. Rannu and Mudge were still nervously covering him, Pagan was behind them, Morag was standing just in front of them and Balor was edging round the side trying to flank him.
‘Guys, lower the guns, yeah?’ I suggested.
‘What a great fucking idea,’ Mudge said. ‘If he gets too excitable I can just beat him unconscious with my enormous cock.’
‘Do you want me to go and get that from your bag?’ I asked him. ‘Seriously, all we’re doing is threatening him and then you wonder why he’s not acting calm.’
‘He’s right,’ Morag said and moved directly into Mudge’s line of fire.