Chapter Twenty-Seven - Airlock
He was running, tearing down corridors, rushing up passageways, turning and turning. Running at random. Running in an absolute blind, demented panic. Running in terror. Running away.
He was panting for breath, his heart pounding, legs stiffening up, ankles aching, his throat tightening and burning.
It was right behind him, keeping pace with him. He couldn't shake it. However far, however fast he ran it would always be right behind him. He knew it. He could feel it.
He could hear it.
It was chanting in that unearthly echoing voice:
Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer
Consprir'd against our God with Lucifer
And are forever damn'd with Lucifer
It wasn't tired. It wasn't out of breath. It would never tire, would never give up.
Neither could he. He had to keep going for Graeme, for Alizen, for everyone.
He tripped, stumbled and staggered forward. He was barely upright, just managing to stay on his feet, legs almost useless. He blundered round a corner.
Into a dead end.
It was a large chamber. The exploded components of three shiny red armoured spacesuits were hanging in front of him, suspended on stands like the ones in Sprite.
It was an airlock.
He turned around, ready to run back the way he had come.
He saw it. It was moving down the corridor towards him. Something was wrong, out of joint. It was travelling at speed, at an accelerated running pace but its limbs and body only appeared to be moving at the rate of a man taking a leisurely stroll. It was gliding, its feet not making contact with the floor.
His escape route was blocked. It would be on him in seconds.
It was a futile gesture, an empty last resort but he did it all the same. His hand darted out stabbing at the controls.
It was zooming towards him. It was now just metres away, hurtling to the door.
It slammed shut in its face. He hit the lock button.
Stupid. Pointless. That door would never hold it. And he had nowhere left to run to. He was trapped, trapped in an airlock. An airlock! There were always two doors to an airlock. There was another way out. But that would mean suiting up and stepping outside, into Hell. Where would he go then? Sprite was gone. Or was it? But even if it was still out there he would never be able to find it, never be able to reach it.
'Mark.'
He spun round in alarm expecting it to be in there with him. It wasn't. A screen had come on. It was standing in the corridor in front of the airlock doors.
'Journey's end, Mark. There's nothing left for you to do. It is time, time for my apotheosis, your species' apocalypse. It's time to die, Mark.' It waved its hand.
A second screen lit up. The words 'DEPRESSURISATION SEQUENCE INITIATED' appeared.
'You know, Mark, on reflection I think this is a much better way for you to go. The gun would have been too quick. I make fate. I can change my mind if I want to.'
He was already at the locker pressing the open button. He tore off the tunic. He grabbed the undersuit desperately pulling it on. He would never have time.
'It's an interesting way to die, Mark.'
It was on. He hit the control box at his right breast. The suit clicked as it adjusted to him then beeped the all clear.
'If you'd stayed in the lab you could have seen how Dr Thorley went, you'd know what to expect then. Foreknowledge is so valuable.'
He staggered over to the nearest suit, stood on the yellow footprints, grabbed the frame.
'I'm rather disappointed you didn't stay to enjoy the floorshow. One likes to be appreciated.'
'Suit-up, stage one!' he yelled.
Nothing happened.
'And I put so much effort into that little display. There was real artistry there: craftsmanship as well as showmanship. Theatre. Spectacle.'
Was it the power drain? Or wasn't it switched on? He glanced round desperately. The screen was reading 'DEPRESSURISATION FIFTY PERCENT COMPLETE'. Not enough time. He wouldn't give up. There was a pedestal by the side of the suit with controls on it. He hit the on switch. A small monitor lit up. Two commands: SUIT-UP and EMERGENCY SUIT-UP. This was an emergency.
'WARNING – CHOOSING THIS OPTION WILL OVERRIDE CERTAIN IMPORTANT SAFETY PROTOCOLS – CAUTION ADVISED – THIS OPTION ONLY TO BE…….'
He'd already waved his hand over CONFIRM.
'That's exactly the trouble, nobody takes the time anymore.'
'SUIT-UP, STAGE ONE!' screamed Fenton. He couldn't possibly have enough time. 'DEPRESSURISATION SEVENTY-FIVE PERCENT COMPLETE' flashed across the screen in front of him.
There was the sound of a small explosion as the floor beneath him blasted open. He clutched at the rails for support but they were already moving, shooting down, taking him with them. He plummeted into the pit, landing with a force that jarred every bone in his body. Pain stabbed at the base of his spine.
Bolts fired, ramming together the leg sections of the suit, roughly sandwiching him. He winced at the impact. They locked onto each other, pummelling him as they snapped onto his undersuit.
'Relax. Don't struggle. You won't enjoy it if you do. If you're not careful you'll miss the moment. You'll never get a second chance.'
Its voice was sounding increasingly distant. Of course, the air was going. He could feel it. He was panting for breath, his vision was starting to blur. He raised his arms. He was struggling to get words out. He was trying to shout 'Suit-up, stage two,' but he was gasping. Before he could manage it there was a dull thump, the sound of another explosion, but this one seemed more subdued, a consequence of the thinning air. The two halves of the torso and arms slammed into him, smashing what little breath was left out of his body, winding him. Desperately he sucked at thin air. There was a second's delay as the segments of the arm sections expanded and contracted, entwining themselves around him then they were knitting together, clamping onto the undersuit, hundreds of tiny metal hammers simultaneously tap-tapping at the top half of his body.
It was still talking but he couldn't make the words out anymore. Something was thumping in his head. He could hardly breathe. His vision was blurring. He was blacking out.
The platform he was standing on suddenly jerked upwards, his head vanishing through the neck of the helmet. There was a dull clang as it attached itself to the suit. The visor snapped down in front of his eyes.
The last thing he saw as consciousness slipped away were the words 'DEPRESSURISATION COMPLETE', the last thing he felt was a sharp jolt to his back.
Blackness.
He was woken by a deafening howl of wind around his head and ears. He was breathing in oxygen, panting with joy. His brain was throbbing in his skull, his body aching as if he had been kicked all over. He couldn't move. The suit was standing immobile, frozen. But he was alive. The relief of that kept the claustrophobia at bay. There was a white light shining into his eyes then he saw the data as the suit ran all its emergency safety checks. He heard a burst of static as his earslugs tuned into the suit's systems.
On the screen the thing stood in silence in the corridor. Impassive. Inscrutable.
The emergency suit-up had saved his life. He'd only had to give it one command and it had done everything for him.
The safety checks were over. Familiar words appeared.
'PLEASE GIVE VOICE SAMPLE FOR SYSTEM IDENTIFICATION'
'Hope,' whispered Mark Fenton.
'''Hope,'' Mark?' His head jerked in surprise at the tinny voice in his ears. It was coming through the earslugs. 'That's rather corny isn't it? Besides, there is no hope for you. Wouldn't your last ordeal awaits be more appropriate?'
He shivered.
'ALL GO – SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL' appeared in front of him.
'I don't know what you think you're trying to achieve,' whispered the voice.
'I'm trying to stay alive!' he instinctively shouted back.
He stepped forward, hesitantly. Power surged th
rough the suit.
'You surprise me, Mark. You've got more backbone than he ever gave you credit for. Behind you, Mark!'
He turned round awkwardly in the clumsy spacesuit, pain shooting up his injured spine. He was moving as quickly as he dared.
Beyond the spacesuits a door was sliding open, revealing a tall horizontal tunnel, a passageway of ribs and criss-crossing girders, Pandemonium's superstructure. There was a ladder bolted to what appeared to be the ground, a treacherous skeletal floor of thinning metal strands and narrow beams, black space yawning between them. There would be no gravity out there, beyond the artificial field. The tunnel disappeared into darkness but tendrils of dazzling white light flickered at its end, raging bolts of energy bursting brilliantly, furious flares interspersed by brief bouts of blackness. The visor rapidly darkened to compensate but the light still blazed intensely.
He was right under the fracture.
'Mark,' the voice grated in his ear, 'I can see you want to drag this out right to the bitter end, prolong your miserable broken little fractured life as long as you possibly can. That's fine. The longer you endure the more I enjoy it, the more nourishment I suck from your fear, your desperation. I'll give you a bit longer, Mark, I'll give you one last chance. Run, Mark. You've got a head start this time. But believe me, soon you'll tire of running, tire of living. I look forward to your despair. In the meantime you'd better run. Keep on running Mark.'
Grimly he walked forward. Leaving the airlock he stepped into the tunnel.
He was stepping out of Pandemonium. He was stepping back into Hell.