Clockwork Raven Ep. 1: The Hollow-Eyed Girl Part 3

With a start McShane came awake. It was pitch black and for a panicked moment, he had no idea where he was. A shift in weight toppled him from his precariously balanced perch and slammed him onto the deck, his elbow striking the corner of something sharp. He could hear the sound of scuffling from nearby coupled with the labored breathing of one of the fighters. Something warm and sticky splashed his face in tiny droplets and he tasted blood. His violet eyes snapped wide open, all traces of his fugue gone.
Activating his heat-vision he allowed the deck to suffuse with a faint red glow. From the glowing pipes that filled the left side of his vision he ascertained that he was lying on the deck of the engineering suite and that the coolant systems had been deactivated. Steam splurted from vents on the floor, causing little plumes of red in his vision. In between these puffs were a pair of figures that darted back and forth around the edges of his sight. It took him until one figure yelled again to realize that the fighter was Cian. This noise was a shrill cry of pain, unlike the other one that had brought him into wakefulness. Bright beds of heat filled his vision as blood flew into the air, Cian's blood.
Rolling to his feet he lashed out at the other figure, one hand flexed into a rigid blade striking the side of the attacker's neck. With a shriek, one that seemed to echo not just on the deck but also in Ian's head, his adversary wheeled around to face him. As it did Ian gasped, lurching back, away from his opponent. He cut his eyes over to where Cian slumped, cradling her left arm tight to her chest, right hand clamped over the wound. A bright spot of heat flared across her left bicep, a long gash, and quite deep judging from the amount of blood seeping between her spidery fingers.
The reason for the gash was self-evident. Even with the little detail that his infra-vision allowed, Ian could see that his opponent's left arm ended, not with a hand, but with a sixty centimeter long blade that gave off a heat similar to living bone. The viciously hooked blade was edged in a bright bloom of heat, blood no doubt. On instinct Ian's hand dropped to his holster, snatching one of the revolvers hanging there. The black, long barreled pistol seemed to glide free of the holster, Ian's thumb pulling back the textured hammer. He had entered what soldiers call fight-time or zero time, a state where things move blinding fast, yet excruciatingly slow.
The elegant etching on the pistol seemed to twinkle in the crimson of his vision, the word  Virtue shimmering like calligraphic fire.
His finger clenched on the stiff trigger and a loud thk-CHANK echoed around the deck. His attacker stopped dead in it's tracks, staring down at the fifteen centimeter long spike protruding from it's chest. The assailant glared at Ian before collapsing to it's knees and keeling over onto it's side.
Ian whipped around, the heel of his right hand clipping the control for lights. As the backup lights guttered on  Ian's vision faded back to the visible spectrum, the red glow fading from his violet eyes. The half-blood captain knelt alongside his second in command, hand deftly returning Virtue to it's holster. He gently prized Cian's wounded arm away from her chest to examine it. A massive gash marred the pale flesh of the exposed limb, carving a horrific line across the triceps and biceps. The arm was clearly useless. Cian weaved where she crouched, the gash had ceased to pour blood and now only a slow ooze seeped free.
McShane swore under his breath, thoughts racing though his head. What was that thing he had just shot? Where had it come from? Why was it here? He had no answers so he pushed the questions to the back of his mind. Instead he laid Cian gently onto her back, elevating her savaged arm to prevent further blood loss. Then he rose to his feet, he dashed to the nearest juncture of corridors, silently praying to whatever god would listen that Einnïn had remembered to restock the narthecium kits three months ago. He tore the small box from it's wall housing and opened it on the run. Morphal styrettes, antiseptic bandages, sutures, blood bags of every type, surgical tubing, and IV needles, everything was there.
He hit his knees and slid the last two meters to where Cian lay, ripping open the bandages as he did so. Wrapping the sticky, white mesh around the tattered flesh he caught a whiff of the antiseptic. Cian moaned, the muscles bunching in her delicate jaw, on the brink of losing consciousness. That sound, and the reek of the alcohol soaked gauze sen his mind spinning back to the battlefields of Umbra where he had spent  six months among dead and dying soldiers. Shaking the unpleasant memory from his head Ian popped open the top of a styrette and jammed into Cian's thigh She flinched, grumbling, "Hate those things..."
As he tossed aside the spent tube Ian chuckled despite himself. After every cut, stab, gunshot, or broke bone the one thing Cian could not stand were needles.
"Chal'chya," he teased, the Cemoragh word for infant, and slipped one end of the surgical tubing around an IV head. The other end he affixed to the port on the αO-type blood bag. Inserting the needle into Cian's right arm he anchored the blood bag to the side of a console and tapped the mico-bead in his left ear.
"Seskra, tell me you saw all that," he said. Silence crackled over the link for a moment before the pilot responded, "I saw Cian suffer injury, although at the hands of what, I do not know..." Ian frowned, hand clenching on Cian's, "No life signature at all?"
"None besides yourself and Cian," Seskra replied. "I am, however, detecting movement all over the ship. None of these are giving off any heat, so they are not crew members. I cannot see anything I'm afraid, the ship is without primary power so all cameras are inactive."
"What?! How?!"
"Unknown"
"What d'you mean 'unknown'? You should be able to detect a primary class power drain right?"
Not without my sensors...which you slaved to the primary power."
"Um...okay...I see the flaw in that...Can you at least tell me where the movement signatures are?"
"Very well. I see one signature on deck one, one signature on deck two, three signatures on deck three...and one behind you captain."
Ian whirled, hands flying to his pistols, raven-dark hair whipping around his shoulders. Something heavy struck him across the jaw, sending him tumbling to the cold, hard deck. Sparks exploded in his hazy vision and the iron tang of blood told him he had bitten into his tongue. As his vision cleared he was greeted by the sight of feet, human, chalk white and bare with the cuffs of tattered fatigues decorating the ankles. Gashes and scrapes criss-crossed the appendages but no blood flowed from the abrasions, the flesh underneath had the pallid and swollen look of the recently drowned.
As his sight cleared fully he saw the hazy specter bent over Cian's supine form, blade-like appendage questing for her throat.
He lurched to his feet, fighting the aching throb in his jaw. His left hand glided in practiced movement to the hilt of  Virtue, his right flying to his lips. He shrilled a whistle at the corpse-thing, pistol sliding free of it's holster. The creature moved with impossible speed, shifting focus and beginning a shambling run at this new aggressor before Ian's pistol had cleared it's low-slung holster. It moved with a weird grace, movement that would have seemed jerky now seemed smooth and coordinated, legs thudding heavily to the deck, arms held akimbo, head cocked to the left.  Everything shifted back into fight-time as the speed of the creature slowed to a mere crawl. This was the feeling Ian loved best, he was in control. The world inched past at an infinitesimal pace while he moved with greater speed than normal. His keen eyes took in all variables at once and his brain made it's decisions. He knew what was happening, he knew what he had to so. With a deliberate carefulness he allowed the barrel of Virtue drift up to point at the charging thing.  
Thk-CHANK!!! The revolver fired once, punching a fifteen centimeter long spike into a soft, pallid leg. Bone cracked, the creature staggered but remained on it's collision course, slightly less graceful now. No blood seeped free around the spike.
Thk-CHANK!!! A second round fired, this one tore into the left shoulder, filling the room with a sickening crackle of cartilage. It spun halfway around, pausing, still showing no apparent signs of pain.  
Thk-CHANK!!! Thk-CHANK!!! Thk-CHANK!!! Three more spikes decorated it's chest, driving it back into a wall. It glared at Ian, tensing for another charge.
Thk-CHANK!!! A last spike entered the creature's body square between it's eyes. It's bulbous cranium slammed back into the wall and stayed there, pinned. It shuddered once, twitched, then slumped. Finally dead.
As the corpse-thing died Ian lowered Virtue, breathing shakily. He popped free the cylinder of the weapon and loaded a new one. It had taken him nearly an entire cylinder, these six shots plus the one earlier, to put his attacker down. A long sigh trickled from his thin lips as he snapped the gun closed again spinning the cylinder and thumbing back the hammer to reset the magnetic accelerator.
Sliding the weapon back into it's holster he walked over to inspect the being whose life he had just ended. As he neared the corpse it become apparent that whatever he had killed it was nothing like anything he had ever seen. A bulbous head, devoid of any feature save two massive black eyes, topped narrow shoulders. A narrow torso, still clad in the dress of an Imperial Gunnery officer, sported emaciated arms, one ending in that terrible hooked blade. Back-jointed legs supported it, terminating in human feet.
A growing sense of trepidation rose along Ian's spine at the sight of the pasty white, just-drowned looking creature, and the thought that there were still five more of them aboard his ship. He keyed the mico-bead and broadcast on an open frequency, "All crew, be aware. We have intruders on decks one and two. They're here looking for a fight, whatever they are. Shoot them on sight, but aim for the heads. They're tough bastards but nothing I know of can live without it's brain in it's skull. Good luck."

A low whine filled the now freezing air of the sparring room/shooting range. Nem'ski stopped dead, the only sensations he registered were the breathing of his companions, the hissing of the reserve power, and the soft mat beneath his feet. Remaining still he called out, "Derek, Alacra, you guys alright?" Both men responded in the affirmative and stamped their feet to allow each other to fix their positions. Derek tapped his ear-bead, "Seskra, what just happened?" The line crackled ominously for a moment before a faint response floated through, "The ship is experiencing a primary class power loss."
Alacra whistled softly.
"Damn, that's some serious hardware," he muttered. Tapping in on the conversation he asked, "What's causing the drain"
"Unknown..."
Nem'ski chimed in, "Can't you use your external sensors to determine the cause?" Slight irritation colored the pilot's usually monotone voice as she responded, "They are slaved to the primary power..." Derek snorted and muttered under his breath, "Who's brilliant idea was that?" Alacra cut him off, "Can you tell us anything?" Seskra's reply seemed to chill the very air, "There is a movement signature registering no life signs on this deck. Derek muttered, "Shit..." Nem'ski's ears swiveled to track a scuffing footstep nearby.
"Ses", he asked calmly, "Is the backup power still active?" In response to his question, harsh blue light flooded the deck blinding Derek and forcing Nem'ski and Alacra's  secondary eyelids to slide down, tinting the world like glare shades. The lights dimmed until the light barely penetrated the blackness. Derek turned to the other two, his face ominously underscored by the lights, and gestured to the dining area where more scuffling noises were pacing back and forth aimlessly.
All three spun towards the arms locker. Alacra reached it first, blunt fingers punching in the key code as Derek hung back watching behind. The locker clanged open and Alacra snagged a scatter-gun and began thumbing shells into the breach. A slight blip of movement on the edge of his vision caused him to train his weapon on the doorway to the dining hall. A whining tone behind him told him that Nem'ski had loaded his pulse-rifle. As the other Eluvian joined his compatriot Alacra motioned to the door. Nem'ski nodded as Derek clacked to bolt of his rifle closed and formed up behind them.
Alacra's ear bead crackled to life on an open channel and McShane's lilting accent piped into his ear, "All crew, be aware. We have intruders on decks one, two, and three. They're here looking for a fight, whatever they are. Shoot them on sight, but aim for the heads. They're tough bastards but nothing I know of can live without it's brain in it's skull. Good luck." Nem'ski motioned for Alacra to take point with his scatter-gun while he followed and Derek covered the rear.
"Clear" , Alacra determined, "Let's sweep the deck room by room. You heard the Captain, tight fire discipline and aim for the head. We have no idea what we're dealing with here boys so let's be professional shall we?" They advanced into the dining area sweeping back and forth, stocks tight to shoulders, muzzles slanted at belly height. A shadow flitted across the room and Alacra twitched his head, like he was trying to rid himself of an annoying insect. Nem'ski glanced at him strangely.
"Something in the back of my head," Alacra said by way of explanation, "like some bizarre muscle twitch...like one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three stop. Then it repeats..." A clatter from the kitchen cut off however Nem'ski would have finished that sentence. The trio of soldiers fell gracefully into formation and, through use of hand signs, determined a plan. Alacra would lead and make a surreptitious entrance while Nem'ski and Derek would enter louder so as to draw fire and give Alacra room to use his scatter-gun.
Another clang caused the party to jump, Derek's rifle swinging over to the apparent source of the noise, further down the corridor near the elevators. The occasional creak of the ship, the pop and ping of metal, sounds a spacer crew usually found comforting, had suddenly taken on a more menacing tone. It seemed as though the ship were constricting around them. The air gained a chill, frost creeping up the bulkheads and walls and slicking the deck beneath their feet. As they moved towards the kitchen their breath fogged before them in eerie, ghostly clouds, hiding the sights on their weapons.
At the swing door to the kitchen Alacra held up a clenched fist to halt the others. He whispered, "We do this slow and careful, just in case." The others nodded and rechecked that they were loaded and un-safed. Alacra nosed the door open with the barrel of his scatter-gun and Nem'ski and Derek swept in, bare feet slapping on the floor. The immediate corridor was clear but  a rattle of steel pots from behind the racks caused them all to twitch. A vague horror hovered over the three men setting nerves, honed in a dozen fire-fights, to a razor's edge of tension.
Another sound, this one not a rattle or shuffle but a hiss, stopped the team in their tracks. Unlike the previous noises that had come from the surrounding area, this new noise came from directly above. Three weapon barrels tracked up to the ceiling, trepidation gripping the three crewman in bands of iron. Derek flicked on the light on his weapon to scan the ceiling. There was nothing, no intruder, no targets, no anything. Just the ceiling, now a harsh blue-white, icicles hanging down like spear-points.
The events that followed this shift in focus Nem'ski would try to reconcile for the rest of his days. A rapid scurrying foretold the entity, not the clatter of shod feet either, but the slapping of bare soles. All three soldiers dropped their gaze towards the sound but only Alacra was able to fully realize just what approached the trio. His feline mouth contorted in a hideous scream as the men were knocked to the floor by the unseen force. A terrible, child-like shriek filled their heads with buzzing noise and agony. Something sliced across Nem'ski's left ear, sending sparks of agony down his already tortured skull, his vision fuzzed and he seemed to be staring at the wall through a tunnel. A pair of bare feet stalked past, moving with an eerie grace; and...was it just a trick of the light or was there a kind of smokey after-image trailing behind the limbs like some nebulous cloak?  A loud CHOOM!!! was heard, then someone screamed again, the sound echoing grotesquely. Then blackness...

Vision came back in slow blips. His eyes cracked open but the light seared into his sensitive eyes and they slammed shut of their own volition. When he, again, tried to force his lids open the right one responded, however his left one refused to move. He pawed at the eye to figure out why, what he found almost sent him back into unconsciousness. Blood matted the tawny fur together over the socket. A lot of blood, more than he could have lost from his aching ear. Clearing the sticky substance from his sight, the Eluvian gunner forced himself into a sitting position, head spinning, stomach lurching. For a moment he could do nothing but gaze around. Blood, shining black in the faint light, pooled around him, small constellations of it decorating the floor. As his dazed mind re-centered itself his eyes played across the floor and gradually the full weight of what he was seeing settled down upon Nem'ski. His guts iced and he gasped, battered brain reeling. He knelt in a veritable lake of blood, feet and knees almost glued in place by the congealing liquid.
Now he looked around himself frantically, searching for the source of the rapidly cooling vital fluid. His eyes lighted upon Derek's bald pate, also smeared with black-crimson streaks. Rising sharply to his feet the traumatized Eluvian grabbed his friend's arm and began shaking him. The human groaned and shifted, arm batting Nem'ski's away. His blue eyes flickered open, glazed and unfocused. He floundered for moment, movements sending grotesque ripples though the pool of saccharine fluid that covered the floor.
"Nems...," he croaked. "W'happened?" All Nem'ski could do was shake his head, and wince as the movement caused the left side of his head to flare with pain. Confused Nem'ski brought his paw up to his ear, or rather, where his ear had been. A ragged protrusion of flesh, a few millimeters tall, was all that remained of the pointy ear. He sighed, there went his chances of any companionship on the next shore leave. Eluvians prized symmetry as a characteristic of attractiveness and a male with one ear was far from the most popular man in the room. Derek had managed to lever himself in a slump and was busy wiping blood from his eyes. He looked around at Nem'ski, cerulean eyes wide.
"Where's Alacra?" He asked. That simple question froze Nem'ski in his place. Whipping around Nem'ski's heart quailed at the thought of what he might find. What he did find would stay with him forever, haunting his sleep, and visiting him in those quiet little moments that one reflects on memories. The first thing he saw was the arm, a copper-furred forearm lay beside him, matted to the floor. Slowly panning his gaze up, Nem'ski let out a moue of horror. Alacra lay on his side, amber eyes wide, mouth locked open in a rictus of sheer agonized terror. The fur around his throat was stuck together but Nem'ski had been in enough battles to know what the fur hid. Alacra's throat had been slashed clean through down to the bones, that would account for the blood Nem'ski thought grimly. Steeling himself he continued his inspection of his brother's body. Ragged slash-marks covered most of Alacra's torso, his black tunic tattered and clinging to him, soaked. The stump of the left arm lay flung forward as though reaching for it's missing component, the right was lying parallel to the body, still clutching the scatter-gun. The corpse's belly had been split as well and ropes of intestines lay under a coat of frost.
Nem'ski turned away, teeth worrying his bottom lip. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, steadying himself and pushing back the horror he had witnessed. Then he stopped, for he had seen something odd about Alacra's scatter-gun. Allowing his eyes to reopen he turned back to the sanguine spectacle. Teeth gritted he reach out and prized the weapon from his brother's stiff fingers. Turning the rifle in his hands he played his sharp gaze down it. The barrel held no oddities, neither the pump or body, there! The light on the receiver that indicated the weapon was loaded was red, indicating that the weapon was empty. Nem'ski tensed.
            "Derek," he called. "Check the clip on your rifle." Without question the mercenary popped free the forty-round capacity mag, and promptly dropped with with a sharp cry. The empty magazine made a hollow clattering sound on the metal deck. Derek shook his head in disbelief, "I don't understand..." Nem'ski closed his eyes once more, trying to suppress the sheer impossibility of what was happening.
"Hand me my pulse-rifle," he requested softly. He stood, brushing dried blood from his knees and accepted the crusted weapon from his comrade. He flipped the rifle and inspected the receiver, empty. He shook head in confusion and half turned to Derek to say something when the man tapped him on the shoulder.
"Nems...look," Derek's voice was hollow and frightened. The Eluvian gunner spun quickly to see what new development had shaken his friend. Upon completing his rotation he froze, shock widening his yellow-green eyes. The bulkhead before him had been ravaged by weapons fire. Bullets  sat deep in their impact craters, the shells lying mired the now congealed blood. The characteristic sphere-shaped depression in the titanium spoke of pule-rifle fire, and here and there were the tight-grouped splashes of a scatter-gun. Blood covered the wall as well, bright arterial blood slashed crimson lines through the constellations of pockmarks and here and there were drops of iridescent silver fluid. Nem'ski moved towards one of the oily spatters, dabbing a paw into it. He drew back with a hiss as the liquid seared like ice against his skin. Derek just stood there, staring, unable to move. The idea occurred to the pair of men at the same instant, there was a chunk of time that neither of them could account for. Something had happened in that time that had resulted in the death of Alacra Shul'war and possibly something else. Neither soldier had ever seen blood like that and both had seen just about every kind of blood in the galaxy.
Derek heaved himself free from his trance, fingers moving up to his ear-bead, "This is Suwarov, Shul'war...Shul'war's dead and there may be more that just the things the captain described on board. If anyone is on deck three please report position. Safety is most definitely in numbers at the moment. We will be moving towards the lift leading to medical. If you can make it we need to protect the doc."
Nem'ski nodded at Derek, concurring with his comrade's statement. The doc was the only non-combatant on the ship aside from Seskra but she was hidden behind several meters of titanium bulkhead. He drew in a deep breath and rolled his neck, feeling the bones pop. Shouldering his pulse rifle he slapped in a new magazine and the weapon hummed. There was a clack of metal behind him and then the rattle of a bolt. Derek placed a hand on his friend's shoulder voice tinged with sorrow, "We'll find whatever did this Nems, we'll make it pay!" Nem'ski nodded, eyes narrowed in hatred. He let the rifle fall from his shoulder into his hand and turned away. The two soldiers had begun the walk to the elevator when their beads hissed to life and the guttural accent of Einnin piped through, "This is Loinnir on deck two, I'm with Dr. Namioshi now, he's unconscious at his console and I've got wind of movement down the hall,  all I've got is my auto, and a rifle with a few clips. Any assistance rendered would be appreciated. Tyler's wounded and Abhay was on watch. I can't raise the cockpit either."
"This is Shul'war, hang in there Loinnir, We're en route from deck three. Just lost Alacra to circumstances undetermined. ETA in five," Nem'ski dropped his hand from his ear-bead and gripped the barrel of his weapon tightly, his eyes shimmering with burning wrath. He turned to Derek, "Let's sprint this." And they ran for the elevator.
Einnïn cursed as he shut down the comm channel. Alacra Shul'war's death was a heavy blow to the crew, as well as Einnïn himself. Over the four years the Shul'war brothers had served admirably and Einnïn had grown fond of the free-spirited Eluvians. Both men were expert hand-to-hand combatants and skilled gamblers. For a man of Einnïn's simple tastes that was enough to endear them to him. It a shock to lose someone who had been an integral part of the crew for years and a lack of focus in his current situation could prove very dangerous. He clenched his pointed teeth and sighted down the barrel of the customized rifle he had stashed in his quarters.
He had broken the glass from the observation window that looked into the medical bay and had blocked the door with a steel-framed operating table. He was tense, muscles rigid in his shoulders and back, hands locked in vice grips on his weapon. After finding the doc unconscious at his shattered console, and shaking him rapidly awake, he had watched as the Delveriin had wandered in a dream-like state to where the girl from the derelict ship lay, covered by a sheet. He began to examine her furtively until a puzzled Einnïn had steered him to where the injured Amy Tyler had collapsed by the blocked door, clutching her side. The Cemoragh Security Officer had found here slumped by the lift at the other end of the deck, hands locked around the grip of an empty auto-pistol. A ragged gash had ripped though her flank and a sizable puddle of dark fluid had collected around her. Her face was alarmingly pale and her eyes jittered under their freckled lids. Obviously she needed medical attention so Einnïn hadn't spared a thought when he had abandoned his duties as Security Officer and rushed her to the med bay. The insectoid medic had drifted from the unconscious form on the table, mechanical arms subliminally threading a suture needle, and knelt beside Amy's sprawled silhouette.
Mere moments after the comm report from the Captain, movement had started at the end of the hallway and on instinct Einnïn had set about barricading himself inside the dead-end medical center. Flicking the safety switch off he had slid the clip free of the receiver to check the load of ten centimeter long spikes. The soft slap of flesh on metal had caused him to start. He slammed the clip home and worked the lever action to chamber the first shot with a metallic chank. This feeling was the same as the one that had visited him out in the Veil, whatever was on the ship was the source of that tension. Whatever was coming, it stopped here.
"Alert," Seskra's voice crackled in over his bead, "movement signatures detected moving from decks three and one. Converging on deck two." Einnïn sighed, rolling his tense shoulders. Nothing was  ever easy. More scuffling at the end of the corridor prompted him to activate his infrared vision but nothing came into sight that gave off any more heat that the metal bulkheads. A slight shift on the edge of his vision caused him to narrow his luminous crimson eyes intently on the section of bulkhead to the left of the cockpit access. So intently was he staring at the stretch of wall that when the lift door behind him whisked open he whirled about, finger tensing on the trigger of his rifle.
"Hold!" barked McShane as Einnïn's rifle leveled at his head. The Cemoragh raider froze, instinctively raising his rifle to the ceiling. Ian exited the lift, supporting a bloodied Cian. He shook his head and wondered aloud, "Why does my crew keep pointing guns at me?!" Cian chuckled deep in her throat, "Mayhap we all feel you're not paying us enough dear Captain. A raise may be in order." Ian snorted derisively and responded, "Sure I'll take the medical out of your salary." Both Einnïn and Ian chuckled at Cian's wry face. A scuff from the end of the corridor brought attention back to the present situation. Einnïn turned back turned back to the window, bracing his rifle on the sill. Ian stepped into the room, beckoning Tetsuki over to take charge of the injured Cian. As the Delveriin drew Ian muttered into his auditory canal, "How's our little freeloader?" Tetsuki simply pointed to the still form on the steel table. She lay limp, sheets covering her body, one hand dangling from the edge of the table. Her strange black eyes were open but unmoving.
The half-blood captain hissed in displeasure and drew both of his revolvers. He crouched beside the dozing Amy, shaking her back into wakefulness.
     "Amy, Amy, c'mon love; what happened," he asked softly. The redheaded girl stirred and blinked slowly. She shook her head, slurring her words as she explained, "Dunno Captain, weird black shape blew past me as I was coming out of the lift...I tried to fire on it but I must have blacked out. Einnïn got me to the doc and...here I am..." Ian swore softly, placing a hand on Amy's shoulder, violet eyes taking in just how much blood had stained the white undershirt she wore, and remarked softly, "You're a tough one girl, hang in there" She smiled weakly and slipped back into a daze. Leaving his wounded crewmates, Captain McShane turned to his Security Officer.
"Where're we at Einnïn?" he asked softly. The warrior frowned, "According to Seskra we have five hostiles on various decks on their way here, Alacra Shul'war is dead and Nem'ski is on his way with Suwarov." Ian closed his eyes for a moment in mourning before continuing his questions, "Any word from Abhay?" Einnïn shook his head and closed his eyes, worry for his wing-man flashing across his face for a moment.
"What the hell is going on here Einnïn," McShane snarled quietly, his long-fingered hands clenching on the grips of his pistols, "How did these bastards get on my ship? What are they? What do they want?!" Loinnir shook his head in puzzlement as he replied, "Dunno Captain. Let's keep one alive and ask it, nicely."
This last brought a cold smile to Ian's thin lips, "I like the way you think my friend, have I ever told you that?" A sudden burst of static over the ear-beads caused all to jump. The sound of gunfire piped over the channel, the loud percussive sound underscored by a loud, angry shriek. Derek was shouting to be heard but the signal was mostly unintelligible, "...nin we're...your way...near li...multiple hos...holy shi...just...on't die!" Nem'ski's voice broke in shouting, Derek, c'mon. Get in!" The sound of doors closing cut off the shrieking and the bursts of gunfire died down. Ian tapped his ear-bead and called out, Derek, Nem'ski, we're holed up in med-bay. Gimme and ETA and we can lay down some cover." Another burst of static as Derek responded, "Hoo-aah boss. ETA is..." The elevator at the far end of the corridor dinged open. "Now."
  The doors hissed open and two shapes staggered out. McShane whistled and the shapes turned towards the sound. Suddenly the temperature on the deck dropped, moisture from the pipes freezing solid in an instant. The faint lighting dimmed for a moment. The deck around Nem'ski and Derek rippled like water disturbed by a stone. Five separate rings originated in a circle around the stunned crewmen. The waves began to come faster as something began to emerge, pallid flesh stretched over bulbous skulls rose from the black deckplates. The two men were surrounded and stood there in mute, horrified fascination as a quintet of skeletal beings, each clad in the jumpsuits of an Imperial Freight crew, encircled them, clawing their way free of the warped deck. One of the creatures, a hideously tall individual with a smattering of bullet holes in his back, blocked the way to the medical bay window. He gave vent to a noise somewhere between a scream and a roar and his comrades replied, the sound reverberating though the deck.
This noise seemed to break the spell as Einnïn squeezed off a shot the whined it's way down range to strike the lead monster directly between the shoulders. The ghastly thing staggered as the heavy spike punched into it's spine with a stomach-turning crack. McShane, seeing Derek and Nem'ski frozen in fear, barked out a syllable charged with all of his rage and fear, "RUN!!!" And run they did, pushing past the staggered creature, weapons left to dangle by their straps. A hiss like scalding water burst from one of the creatures and as one they surged forward with a weird, shambling run. Their wounded comrade regained his footing in time to lash out at Derek as they passed, the long blade on it's left arm tearing a ragged gash in the meat of the raider's thigh.
Derek's scream of pain seemed to spur the beasts on and in no time at all they had drawn level with the wounded man. One enterprising individual tried for a swipe at Derek's throat and earned himself a spike in the eye, courtesy of Einnïn. It dropped like a sack of meal, almost tripping the one beside it. As though it had predicted where it's fallen ally would land, the pale shade leapt, rotating it's body in midair and continuing it's pursuit in a spider-like crawl along the bulkhead. By this time Ian was punching shots down range as well, Virtue laying on the sill beside him while he braced Sin in both hands.  He scored two hits on one of the beasts, sending it staggering into a wall. Nem'ski turned while running and one-handed a spray of bolts into another creature's knee. The leg, from the shin down, detached from the body and sent the creature tumbling to the deck. The emaciated corpse-thing began a rapid crawl in pursuit.
As they neared the broken window Derek stumbled. Nem'ski turned to try and help him but it was too late. The wall-crawling beast pushed itself into a fantastic leap, it's long-fingered hand leading. It slammed into the wounded man, hand clutching at his throat. The bladed arm followed, punching into Derek's back with a hideous crunch. His back arched, eyes bulging as blood burst from his mouth and nose, knees buckling sending him slamming into the deck, his killer still attached like some vile limpet. Ian's finger clenched twice on the trigger but Sin clacked empty, he swore harshly, dropping the weapon back into it's holster as he snatched Virtue from the window sill and fired, a roar of fury bursting from his lips.
Nem'ski vaulted the window, landing in a crouch inside the medical bay. He spun on his heel, firing his pulse-rifle with howl of anguish. Einnïn and McShane joined him, streaming shots into the pack of shrieking things. Two dropped, one literally flew apart under the hail of gunfire, the other one, the crawler, was obliterated from the shoulders up. White chunks of flesh smacked wetly to the deck amid a think filmy fluid that spurted from the rents in the creature's bodies. The other two resumed their advance, trampling both Derek's leaking body and the carcases of their comrades.
Ian turned away from the window as Virtue ran dry. He had opened both revolvers along their top break when Cian shrieked a curse and began fumbling for her sidearm. Ian turned, the agony of fear thrilling though his narrow frame. Three meters away the deck had begun to ripple. Tetsuki had returned to Amy to reexamine her bandages, the dazed medic completely oblivious to the slaughter going on around him. Ian swiftly began reloading as the top of a bulbous head began to protrude from the deck plating.
In the few seconds between Cian's warning shout and the creature's emergence Ian pieced together what was about to happen. He noted where the beast's head was oriented, where it's massive black eyes were focused. With a shout he abandoned his empty weapons and began a sprint at Tetsuki, intending to knock him out of the way. The creature, seeing McShane's intent hastened it's ascent. Time slowed to a crawl, Ian and Cian cried out, voices mingling in a single discordant note. Tetsuki turned, both sets of eyes growing wide with shock an horror and the appearance of the pallid monster before him.
Something seemed to come over Tetsuki and his mandibles opened wide in a shout of defiance that shook his fragile, injured frame. Seeing that he was too late, Ian ended his sprint with a tremendous leap, throwing himself in a full-bodied tackle at the two beings. There was a crackle of breaking chitin and the gurgle of blood-filled lungs as a  thirty centimeter bone blade punched free of Tetsuki's back. The ghostly creature held the dying doctor close as it withdrew is weapon-like appendage from its victim's chest. Ian's jump carried him into the Tetsuki's back and the trio went down in a tangle of limbs.
Back at the window Einnïn had heard the commotion in the bay behind him and turned to look. As he did Nem'ski let out a startled shout and pitched over backwards, pulse-rifle skittering across the floor. His attention divided, Einnïn floundered, unsure of who to help. Beside him Nem'ski lay pinned under one of the beastly invaders, fighting madly to keep its bladed arm away from his throat. Across the med bay the Captain rolled on the floor with another of the creatures, Tetsuki, having been thrown clear, lay in a heap on the deck beside them. His hesitation lasted a moment too long as a second creature, Derek's blood still dripping from it's arm, cannoned into the Cemoragh officer, sending them both to the deck. His head struck the steel decking hard enough to send sparks of pain lancing through his whole body.
Ian jerked his head to the side as the creature beneath him jabbed at his eyes with its weapon. Unarmed it was clear that he was overmatched by the creature. Cemoragh weren't the weakest species in the galaxy, possessing a kind of wiry strength but they were hardly the strongest creatures in the whole universe. His opponent, however, seemed to have strength to spare. Kneeling above his enemy he had the superior position and greater leverage but every time he tried to pin the creature's arms, muscles would ripple weirdly in its shoulders and he would almost be unseated. Pushing the blade arm to the side he slammed a fist into the distorted, mouthless face beneath him. Its large head snapped back but it remained unfazed. Ian drew back for another strike but his opponent had other ideas. It surged up, head smacking into Ian's face just above his nasal slits.
Stars exploded behind his eyes as what felt like concrete impacted his face. He lurched back, feeling hot blood trickle down his face. Then his whole world shifted sideways as the creature threw him clear across the med bay. Something smashed into his spine, in his limited knowledge it was most likely the table on which the strange girl rested, and his brief flight came to an abrupt end. Dazed, he dimly saw the blood covered creature regain it's feet, black eyes narrowed in hatred. It began a slow, halting advance towards him, feet catching on the sheets now strewn on the floor. Ian desperately tried to regain his feet but his limbs were only dimly responsive. Closer the monster came, feet catching on the wreckage of the med bay counters. As he lay under the overturned table Ian could see Einnïn rip free his auto-pistol and punch shot after shot into the creature above him. Nem'ski struggled with his own attacker, pulse-rifle nowhere in sight. As his own nemesis advanced Ian could feel its eyes, black and cold as space, locked solidly upon his prone form. A rattle from the creature's left caught it's attention and some dark shape blurred across McShane's fading vision.      
Consciousness returned slowly to her. She could feel icy metal freezing slowly to her shoulders, buttocks, and thighs. Naked she surmised, though she couldn't fathom why. The air was chilled and the light was barely enough to see by. However it was not the all-suffusing red light she had grown so accustomed to. This was a harsh blue-white emanating from floor panels bordering the bulkheads. She lay still, gazing up at the ceiling as her other senses returned. Her hearing, which had at first been a dim ringing, now morphed into a series of percussive chooms and and sharp metallic chanks. Shrieks and shouts underscored this. Suddenly things changed, it grew quiet for an instant, the only sound audible was the scrabble of flesh on steel, until the silence was punctuated but another shout. This last was followed by a hideous crunching sound.
Her awareness faded again and she drifted in a sea of sensation. She could smell blood, sweat, and spent fycelene. The air tasted of much the same but there was something else. Not so much a sense as a feeling, a pattern of three repeated three time pulsing in the back of her mind. As she lay there, contemplating, her world was turned upside down, literally, as the surface she lay on was thrown violently to the side. As the dark floor rushed up to meet her, her faculties of movement returned. Instinct took over and she twisted in midair, landing cat-like on all fours. Rolling behind the surgical table she had, until recently occupied she caught a glimpse of action from the corner of her eyes. Two males, one an Eluvian, one a Cemoragh, wrestled with two ghostly creatures on the floor.
As she tried to understand how she had gotten from the Star Eagle to here, she spied another of the tall, pale, things that the crew was attempting to fend off. As she noticed it, so too did it seem to notice her, massive eyes growing wide. As her own silver-blue eyes locked on its black ones a feeling of sheer hatred welled up inside of her. These things, she now realized, were the same monsters that had butchered the crew of the Star Eagle. Her gaze left those dead eyes and swept the deck. In an instant she knew what to do. Her eyes locked on her target and she began to sprint. As Ian saw the blur appear from behind the table he gasped. Sprinting across the deck was the comatose woman from the ship. She was completely nude, skin pebbled with goose-flesh from the temperature of the air. Her shoulder-length black hair whipped behind her as her sprint morphed into a crouch. Her small hands dropped out of sight for a moment and reappeared clutching Nem'ski's pulse-rifle and Cian's auto-pistol. The crouch transformed into a leap as a scream of pure hatred ripped from her throat. Strong, slim legs propelled her at the advancing monster, weapons raising to her sides.
A she impacted the tall creature it staggered, providing enough time for the girl to latch on. She had wrapped her legs around its torso, head flashing like a striking snake at the beast's throat. A sickly tearing sound announced the success of her maneuver, teeth apparently buried in the creature's throat. The beast wailed, a high, child-like sound, as it fell. As her first target succumbed and began to collapse backwards, the dark-haired woman raised her weapons, squeezing down both triggers as fast as the actions on her guns would cycle. Shot after shot pummeled Nem'ski and Einnïn's attackers.
The two beasts collapsed, twitching, to the deck as their heads became perforated by the onslaught. As the girl and her victim hit the deck, the wounded creature lashed out with its right arm and struck its attacker a vicious blow to the head. The girl was torn free and sent tumbling across the deck to fetch up against a wall. At last regaining his feet Ian scooped up his weapons. Glancing at his crewmates he could see that they appeared to be relatively unharmed as Einnïn hauled Nem'ski to his feet. Reloading his revolvers McShane slammed his booted foot onto the wounded creature's ruined neck. The thing writhed weakly under his boot but Ian's purple eyes might as well have been amethysts for all the mercy they held.
"Why", he rasped. "Why are you here?" The beast remained silent. Ian eased the pressure of his boot on the creatures throat and asked again, "What. Do. You. Want?" This time the creature did respond, its voice hollow and distant, "Want...herrrrrrrr....." The arm with a hand still attached pointed weakly at the girl, who had regained her feet and was proceeding to wrap herself in a blanket. Confusion flashed across Ian's gaunt face and he pressed the creature for more information, "Why?" No answer. Disgusted with the whole situation he placed the muzzle of Sin against the creature's head and asked again, "WHY?!" In the face of Ian's fury the fight seemed to go out of the thing as it responded, "Serpent's mouth must open..." At this seemingly gibberish answer Ian's already very frayed nerves snapped. A long spidery finger clenched on the silver pistol's stiff trigger. The weapon's customary thk-CHANK echoed around the now silent deck and the dying corpse-thing's head snapped back into the plating. A slight wriggle moved through the creature's frame as it died. The others stood by watching Ian's shoulders heaving, his head still bowed. He tapped two fingers on his ear-bead and broadcast over an open channel, "This is McShane to all crew, convene in the mess hall for check in. Alacra Shul'war, Derek Suwarov, and Tetsuki Namioshi are...dead. I'll explain what I know in the mess. McShane out."
"Boss," Nem'ski said, "You okay?" Ian drew in a deep breath and released it as a sigh. His maddened violet eyes locked on Nem'ski's emerald ones, the searing glow fading to a softer expression. McShane seemed in control of himself now. A brief smile flashed across his face, "I'm fine Nems. Really." He laid a hand on Nem'ski's shoulder as he turned his attention to the girl who now huddled in the corner of the darkened med bay. She had covered herself with one of the soft green blankets that had hidden her body when she had been comatose. As Ian approached she looked up from her huddled pose, icy silver-blue eyes appraising him calmly. He crouched down, eyes meeting hers, but maintained a distance of two meters. She examined him for a moment before speaking, "Hello." it was said calmly. Without fear or hostility. McShane was wrong footed, here was a situation that he had no idea how to deal with. He opened his mouth to speak but it was a moment before hie found the right words.
"Are you..okay?" he asked hesitantly. Her expression was thoughtful for a moment before answering, "I don't know...am I?" Her responses, stated so calmly and not at all off-put by her state of undress or her apparently unfamiliar surroundings, we're astounding. Ian was flabbergasted, "What d'you mean?" The girl was still, real fear entering her eyes now, "I...I don't remember... I remember the Eagle but before that...nothing..." And with that the icy veneer crumbled and the proud, calm woman devolved into a weeping, shuddering ball. Slightly relieved that the appraising stare and haughty pride were gone Ian slid closer and took the naked, trembling girl in his arms. She clung to his jacket with torn, bloody fingers, her tears freezing as they fell to the chilled deck. He held her close, long fingers running through her hair. Oddly enough, the simply action of comforting another living being seemed to recenter him. In the background he could hear Einnïn conversing with the others, maybe saying something to him as well but it simply faded into a buzz. All he could think was that they were safe. All the fear and fury that had filled him during the fight was gone. He was calm now, not happy by any sense of the word, still shaken, but he felt the tension ease out of his wiry frame. He blinked confusedly at the sudden change, staring absently into Tetsuki's quarters, just off the med bay.
Realizing that the girl's, wracking sobs had subsided into slow breaths he released her. However she didn't push away like he expected her to. Instead she simply raised her head and drew in a great, shuddering breath. Ian settled back on his heels, eyes sweeping the girl's tear-stained face. Narrow jaw, high cheekbones, a high brow ridge, and large eyes, coupled with the short spacer's haircut lent he appearance of a rebellious ganger but her expression was much too soft for that. As he stood Ian extended a hand to pull the girl to her feet.
"You have a name love?" he inquired. The girl hesitated for a moment, her fear and indecision making her seem much younger than what Ian guessed to be mid twenties. Mutely she shook her head but Einnïn interjected, holding a pair of dog tags.
"Lupa," he remarked. For the first time the girl smiled, revealing perfect white teeth, canines slightly longer than an average human's. She giggled for a moment as Ian and Einnïn looked on, puzzled. Seeing their bafflement she explained, "Lupa, from Latin meaning either she-wolf...or bitch. It's perfect." McShane couldn't help but grin. He straightened up and gently shook her hand.
"Well then Lupa, I'm Captain Ian McShane. It's a pleasure to meet you." he said. There was a groan from behind them as Cian hauled a pale-faced Amy to her feet. As the two made for the elevator Ian interjected, "Ah, Cian, Einnïn will escort Ms. Tyler to her bunk. If you're feeling up to it would you assist our guest in finding some clothes?" The Cemoragh engineer nodded her assent and slipped out from under Amy's arm, handing her to the waiting Einnïn.
Placing an arm around Lupa's shoulders she directed her to the other lift remarking softly, "Let's go find you something to wear. I'm sure the rest of our male crew would appreciate your current outfit but, even though we're technically a civilian ship, there is a dress code to adhere to." Lupa flashed a brief grin as the lift doors closed. As they did Ian turned to his Security Officer, holding out his hand, "Lemme see those will you?" Einnïn shrugged and dropped the chain into Ian's palm, before helping Amy into the lift. As the doors slid down Einnïn's crimson eyes bored into Ian with an appraising curiosity. Ian examined the two tabs of metal in his hand. One was inscribed with the name "Lupa" the other was etched with the human numerals "115". Ian frowned in consternation, the tags offered no hint of the girl's background or why the creatures had boarded his ship to come after her. He scowled and spun the chain around one narrow finger pensively. As he did something on the chain smacked painfully into his knuckle. Cursing softly he unwrapped the chain from his hand to examine the offending object. The thing in question was a small ring of metal worked in the shape of a snake, consuming it's own tail.
The symbol sparked a moment of recognition in him but he could not quite recall where he had seen such a thing. Banishing the though from his mind he slipped the snake off of the chain and tucked into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He double tapped the earpiece, "Seskra, what's the state of power?" The voice that came back at him was an odd mixture of agonized mourning and synthetic control, "Power drain is...gone Captain. Restoring light now..." Ian shielded his eyes as the overheads flickered back into life painting the deck in a soft light. As he entered entered the lift he keyed his comm again, "Seskra?"
"Yes Captain?" she replied. Here he hesitated, unsure of how to phrase his question, "I feel completely insensitive for not having asked this in the five years I've known you but...how do Delveriin honor their dead...?"
The comm crackled for a moment before Seskra returned, "I do not know. My brother and I grew up in a reservation run by the Empire. Honor him as you see fit." Ian nodded sadly and assured her, "We'll give him a proper spacer's burial."
"Very well," he replied, "I'm sure he would like that. Thank you for your courtesy captain. It is appreciated." Ian glanced up at the camera and gave a courtly bow. As the lift dinged and door opened Ian McShane breathed deeply and straightened his jacket. His crew would want answers but he had none to give. Being captain was so overrated.

Day 6 15:00 Standard Time
It had been three days since the attack. The corpses of the creatures, the crew had taken to calling them "ghasts", had been incinerated. The three fallen crew members Alacra Shul'war, Derek Suwarov, and Tetsuki Namioshi had been given proper services, prayers made to the goddess of the void, and the bodies committed to the Veil. The Raven had been fully repaired and was now underway to the nearest civilized system. The crew sat in the mess hall eating and conversing in low tones. Since the attack, the crew had taken in a subdued attitude and all would be glad when they reached civilization. Ian sat at the head of the table and surveyed the people under his command. Einnïn and Cian sat to his left and right respectively, further down were Abhay, who had been knocked unconscious early on during the attack, and a pale, grim faced Amy. At the far end of the bench were Nem'ski and the new addition, Lupa.
The girl had proven herself a capable medic and by unanimous vote the crew had allowed her to take the position left vacant by Tetsuki. Ian was a bit leery around her however. He wasn't quite sure the she was telling the truth when she claimed to have no memories before the voyage of the Sea Eagle. One of his first priorities after making port was to have her examined by a psych doctor. There was also the matter of the small metal ring in the shape of a serpent. He was fairly certain that it had something to do with what the ghast had said: Serpent's mouth must open.
As his mind wandered his gaze did as well until he found his violet eyes settling on Lupa. She was a most entrancing girl, tall and slender with an athlete's physique. When she moved it was with an assured, almost lethal, grace. Her motions were fluid and economical. Her eyes though, those were what made her unique. Stand the woman up alongside any troupe of dancers and she'd fade into anonymity. Until those silvery-blue eyes found you. Her stare was one part targeting laser, one part appraisal, and one part curiosity. Lupa stirred under McShane's contemplative gaze, leveling her own stare at him. They held each others eyes for a moment, a strange tension building between the half-blood Captain and the human medic. Then Ian grinned, he realized he liked her, not many would match stares with a Cemoragh, even a half-blood, with so little regard for their macabre appearance. She was totally unafraid. Yes, he decided, he liked her. He didn't trust her as far as he could EV-Walk naked but he liked her.
He touched two fingers to his brow in a casual salute and spooned in a bite of food. He sat back, content for the time being. Questions still nagged at him but he set them aside. He was Captain and as such had plenty of time to ponder them. For now though, all he wanted was to enjoy a meal with his crew, adrift in space. The only place he felt free.