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“Today’s the day, huh?” came John’s voice from the cell next door. His voice filled with disappointment. “The day you exit one floating tin can for another?”
I kicked off the itchy wool blanket to the bottom of my cot and rolled onto my back. The sterile light from the end of the hall casting stripes on the rusted steel ceiling overhead. My cot creaked under my weight, the metal springs digging like bruising knuckles into the line of my spine.
“Yeah, seems that way,” I sighed studying a particularly thin piece of ceiling. Electrical wires barely visible through the area where the rust had bubbled and crumbled.
Certainly, someone should have repaired this issue long ago given the easy access I had to short-circuit all the locks on his block. Then again, where would we escape to when the whole prison floated two clicks away from any other colony? There weren’t even any life-ships for max security prisons, the guards on million-dollar contracts to secure a life for their families in case of their demise.
“You have any regrets?” John asked, the morbid curiosity clear in his voice.
Hmm, now that was a question, wasn’t it? I mean, of course I had regrets. Who didn’t? Like this tattoo I got when I was twenty of a mermaid on my calf.
But that wasn’t what he wanted to know. He wanted to know if I regretted how I got here.
If I had regrets about hunting down the man who assaulted my daughter and slicing that blade clean through his throat before going after all his buddies that stood by at the party.
“Not a single one,” I replied. “I’d do it all again if I could, just I’d make it last longer and hurt more.”
Down the block a heavy door clicked and swung open with a low groan. Sitting up, I responded in turn with a crack of my joints.
Boots sounded on the cold concrete floor as the guards approached my cell. Every step like the ticking of a clock on countdown. Step, step, step…
“Titus Saint Romane,” one of the guards rattled off as another unlocked my cell. His face solemn, an undertaker come to send his charge to the gallows.
I met his uneasy gaze with a cold one of my own. “Present,” I replied calmly despite the rapid acceleration of my heart.
“It’s time,” the head guard announced as the others came into my cell with a pair of cuffs and ankle shackles.
I nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. Where in the hell was I going to run to? If I had intended an escape I would have hung myself from the exposed plumbing overhead. But death was death, and I rather I died doing something useful.
The metal cuffs were cool on my skin. Clicked shut to just the point of pinching. A reminder that despite any pity they felt over my impending demise, I was just another killer in their charge.
As I emerged from the cell that I had inhabited for the last four years, I was met with the sight of arms extended out from between bars. Hands clasped in a mockery of prayer as inmates muttered their condolences when I trudged by.
But their prayers were not for me. Not a wish for my survival.
No.
They were thanking whatever God they hoped would hear them for not being chosen this time. Praying they would be overlooked in the next lottery as well. Content on living out their existence floating in a hunk of metal in space with nothing more than three meals a day and ten square feet to their name.
Not me. I received my blessing years ago. When the universe sought to grant my wish for revenge. I didn’t even fight the officers that arrested me.
On the contrary. I walked into the courtroom with a broad smile and no remorse for the lives I took. Content on serving whatever punishment they deemed to be satisfactory for the monster that cut short five young lives.
Five young promising men that got off Scott Free from any repercussions. Because God forbid, they face the consequence of their actions. That they take a stray mark on their reputations as the rapists they were.
No.
They had bright futures ahead of them. Despite the trauma, physical and mental, they had imparted on an innocent woman. But of course, ‘boys will be boys’.
And fathers will be fathers. So, I did what any good father did and took care of the problem.
In silence, we marched our way through the prison rig. My chains rattling with every step that they dragged along the smooth concrete floor. The bite of metal in my flesh reminded me of how unfair life was. How bullshit the system when capitalist pigs come to power and rig the system to protect their own.
But this isn’t a commentary on our judicial system. That’s not the reason you’re reading this right now. Is it?
The last door opened up to the ships dock. A room that was disturbingly sterile in comparison to the rest of the ship. The only area not covered in decades of rusted steel and peeling paint.
Quickly we made our way across the bridge to the open door of the military vessel. Its maw hanging open to expose the dim gullet of its interior waiting to swallow me whole. The navel captain waited with his soldiers for the hand off.
Orders were given around me as I changed custody. As I was directed through the bowels of the ship directly to the interior dry dock that held my tomb. A small metal submarine that looked almost comical in its size. Reminiscent of those toy submarines one buys for a child that looks nearly like a balloon.
The exterior of it was painted navy with a red stripe down the side. A myriad of scratches exposed the metal shell, the harsh lighting almost highlighting the dents that pocked its surface. The name SM-13 blocked out on the side.
But inmates knew this beast by another name.
The Iron Lung.
A class six midget submarine that had been in service for over half a century. The most durable of coffins that had only seen two haul breeches in all of its service.
But despite its multitudes of expeditions, not a single captain had managed to make it back alive.
I was released from my shackles as soon as the tin can came into view.
“Tidus Saint Romane,” the captain rattled off as he came to face me. “Today you are boarding a one-man vessel, the SM-13. We are currently enroute to a class 2 moon that has recently been overtaken by a Blood Ocean. It is the first of its kind as we have satellite imagery that indicates the presence of life on its surface.”
Sure, sure, keep telling yourself that. It was hard not to roll my eyes at the drivel the man was spewing. We all knew what this really was. It was the most economical electric chair they had.
Seal in your inmate to a submerged iron casket. Have him do the most rudimentary exploration and imagery. Then wait for the oxygen tank to run out before you reel him back in.
He lowered his clipboard to look me in the eye. “I understand you were locked up not too long ago. You’re familiar with the dwindling supplies on our passenger ships,” he explained giving me a hard once over.
“I’ve read over your file, son,” the man said his eyes softening just slightly. “Can’t say that I agree with your methods, but if someone had done to my family… well let’s just say that I can’t imagine I wouldn’t be exactly where you are right now.”
Well, this was new. I certainly didn’t expect to get empathy or sympathy for my circumstances.
He had my attention. My curiosity.
With a sigh, he swallowed hard composing himself. “It’s dire out there. Demeter encountered a stray meteor last month,” he explained.
My stomach lurched. The largest agricultural vessel we had, was gone?
“Your job today is important,” he continued. “We’ll get you set up on the basics. But all of the information you can gather…our lives depend on it.”
My mind filled with questions. Questions I kept to myself. How, for the vast expanse of nothing, was me climbing into this tin can going to help?
If this man had read my file, he knew that I knew there was nothing out there. These oceans held nothing.
I nodded my understanding. There would be no arguments from me. I knew that this was coming eventually. I knew it the day I made my decision.
The next two hours were a blur. I was dropped into the sub as a technician ran me over all of the controls. I would have a finite amount of oxygen. The port would be welded shut as would the entrance. I’d be navigating my sonar alone. Taking photos to send back to the surface as I went to help map the bloody depths.
They couldn’t guarantee my return, or that of the submarine. It was a risky move having just lost 50% of their crops, to also gamble a deep dive vessel on a death row inmate. Then again, this tin can was nothing more than a survey sub that could do little more than move and take pictures. There were far more valuable vessels with much better equipment to be found.
“Beginning descent,” came the crackled voice over the intercoms. “Cruising depth in roughly forty seconds – standby.”
There was a rough bump as they dropped me into the surface of the ocean outside. Mild bobbing as the whole thing began to sink down like a waterlogged corpse.
“I’m seeing some voltage irregularities from the instruments, Titus,” the voice announced, “So keep an eye out for sparks, or flames, or anything like that.”
“Sounds reassuring,” I muttered to myself. Because of course this old rust bucket wasn’t just avoiding implosion from the immense pressure of the ocean of blood outside. It was also at risk of blowing up from the inside as well.
“Approaching maximum depth. We’re still holding strong,” the speaker began to crackle as the voice cut in and out. “We’re starting to lose radio signal. We’ll be at cruise depth soon, so – and be care – out”
The coms went silent. Only a faint hum of the electronics filled the space as the thick liquid surrounding my metal tomb seemed to throb and pulse like a living thing. If I closed my eyes I could hardly tell the difference between the sound of my own heart rushing in my ears and the thrumming outside.
The map they had given me was simple enough. So, I charted my way to the first point of interest.
Smooth is the word I would use. Easy. That should have been my first red flag.
A soft whirring as the vessel made its way through the thick blood was almost soothing.
I settled the vessel at my first location and went to take a sonar photo. The image was startling and alien. I was captivated in that moment.
It reminded me of the old textbooks with photos of the ocean floor. Vibrantly colored coral reefs reaching up towards the sunlight above. This didn’t make any sense, there wasn’t supposed to be life. And this moon certainly wasn’t one that had life on it prior to the quiet rapture.
Repositioning the vessel, I snapped another photo.
Again, in grainy values of grey and black, this alien structure taunted me.
The Quiet Rapture happened over fifty years ago, and not a single scientific mind had an explanation for it. According to historical records it was an event that happened overnight. Every single habitable planet, known and unknown, just vanished, along with whatever and whoever happened to be on them. In their wake, leaving an empty universe of asteroids and lifeless moons.
The only remnants of life and humanity were those on space stations or starships at the time. In the panic that followed, many sought answers in the one place that humans often looked to explain the inexplainable.
God.
Theorizing that those who disappeared were the embodiment of evil. God striking them down to humble humanity for our hubris. Or they were the lucky repenting believers who were taken to the glory of heaven.
Scientists suspected it might have something to do with a black hole, or a time space anomaly. Until they found the first blood ocean. A barren moon found with its deep crevasses filled with – well blood.
Samples were taken. It was human but had no other identifiable genetic indicators. It was as if someone had created a factory that produced blood and dumped it into this moon’s surface.
And then they found more. And more theories formed.
Leading the charge was that some alien life was experimenting with terraforming.
Of course, the fanatics saw this as their confirmation of rapture. Claiming to their cultists that God was handing out his verdict and filling these moons with the blood of the sinners he deemed unworthy to enter His kingdom.
Bullshit of course.
Or maybe not. I had never given God any credence before. And even if I did believe, there was not altar you could get me to worship a tyrannical God who allowed so many to suffer under its gaze.
As I neared the second site, there was a creak and a pop. One of the compression valves had sprung a leak. I worked quickly to patch it up and readjust the valve.
On the floor, tucked under the small tool kit I found a letter, old and smudged and shoved into a corner. I pulled it out.
This is not an expedition. It is an execution. When they put you in here, they don’t want you to return. And even if you do, and even if they keep their promises…what freedom awaits for you? A few dying ships in a sea of dead stars?
If there is still hope, it lies beyond the veil. Hope in this void is illusionary as the starlight. I will choose to breathe my last breath here at the bottom of an ocean, unseen, unheard, and uncontrolled.
They will get their execution.
I will get my freedom.
“Well, that’s dark,” I muttered to myself before shoving the note back into its crevice for the next poor sap to find.
I set the vessel to cruise towards the next destination. Watching the numbers on my radar tick by at a snail’s pace.
A terminal glowed green next to the deep sea camera. I flipped it on, knowing that I was only eating at my own energy source. But they weren’t expecting me back, nor my vessel. I had already resigned myself to my fate.
C.O.I. informational terminal. A local electronic database updated before each descent. Last updated today 5/378.
[entry] eden
[body] space station eden is the largest man-made structure that still exists in the wake of the quiet rapture. It was formerly the main station for mars and the populace still maintain a strong sense of martian patriotism and idependence, making them a constant threat to the sanctity and security of the C.O.I. it has a current population of 468 and has the only known remaining trees in its interior garden.
The C.O.I. considers eden a threat to all collective well-being after their attack on filament station.
How interesting. I didn’t expect the terminal to work, let alone that the crew had been updating one housed in a death chamber.
Something dragged lightly on the haul of the sub. I made my way to the navigation controls and redirected the sub as sonar indicated I was closing in on a solid object.
A blood chilling sound echoed, sending vibrations through the walls. Something between a low wail and a groan. I prayed it was just the ghost of the poor souls who had come before me cursing me for willingly tossing my lot in with them. It was too soon for the vessel to collapse. And I dared not think it was any living being beyond my enclosure.
I turned back to the terminal going through the entries.
[entry] SM-13
[body] one of four in-service underwater crafts fashioned by the c.o.i for use in conviction realization in the blood oceans. it is designed for deep liquid photography and analysis.
<redacted>
all rumors of the sm-13 and similar crafts being used for so-called mob justice by way of forced suffocation or otherwise have been proven false.
This didn’t surprise me. Everyone knew what this vessel was, so it felt odd that they would redact any information at all about it.
As the sonar began to herald another object, I stepped away to captain this ship. I slowed on approach of the second site. The image taken on my screen…
I rubbed my eyes, because surly I was mistaken. There was no way I was staring at the image of a half-decomposed skeleton. A mammoth beast that looked like it had its bones shattered by force, decaying flesh slophing from its remains.
Please let this reach the satellite, I prayed to the universe. Let them know we aren’t alone.
My pulse was in my throat as I finally stepped back from the image now seared into my mind. Back to my controls. Back to the task at hand.
Something bumped into the vessel. I checked the sonar, banging on the screen lightly when it gave no warning of approaching an object. A panel near the intercom fell off in a spray of sparks catching me off guard.
I hurried to the toolbox. Grabbing the roll of electrical tape and pliers to allow me to stave off this minor emergency. Just as I tucked the last of it back into the panel, the sonar began to tick its approach on a large object.
I checked the map. There wasn’t anything marked out in this area. Nothing sizeable enough to cause the sonar to trigger at least. I halted my journey double checking that my bearings were correct.
The ocean beyond wailed once more stopping me in my tracks. I froze in place, eyes wide as the sonar which had been frantically beeping its warning in my face became calmer, became quiet. Confirming the active retreat of some colossal being keeping me company in these depths.
I returned to the terminal, my curiosity piqued as I sought whatever answers I could find to explain away the gnawing fear growing in my mind.
Scrolling through entries I was met with text after text that began to sound increasingly like crazed consipracies.
[entry] SM-8
[body] hopefully they don't redact this before updating the database. what most people don't understand is that not all subs are built equal. the sm-8 isn't a burner sub. it really is for exploring and surveying blood oceans. if they send you down in the iron lung they don't give a fuck if you come back, or if the sub comes back, because it's a pile of garbage and you're a piece of shit. you come back with photos, great. you sit down there and suffocate quietly, even better. but if they send the sm-8 down, one of the scientists is piloting and they all expect them to return.
and now the sm-8 is in the blood ocean in pieces. no, not "hit a rock" pieces or "sprung a leak" pieces. it looks like something tore it up, and the weirdest thing is that nobody else seems surprised. we might have found the first planetary life since the rapture, and they're acting like it's no big deal. i know you're next in line for realization in the iron lung, and usually that means you won't be seeing the stars again, but they don't have a sm-8 anymore. they have 3 burner subs, and a lot of curiosity about at-5. and maybe that means you have a chance.
[entry] The Titan
[body] <redacted>
Fuck. I backed away slowly from the terminal.
SM-8 was gone?
In the days prior to my life turning sideways in the worst possible way, I was a scientist. I worked with teams on sample processing and had known about SM-8. While the samples it returned never furthered our research beyond discovering more and more could not be explained, it was the heartiest vessel known to man.
I knew SM-13 was a death trap. Everyone did. But to find that I wasn’t being lied to. That I was indeed on a critical mission in one of the last vessels capable of exploring the bloody depths. That shook me to my core.
Then those bones... The entry known only as The Titan. All information completely redacted from the logs? And why? What was there to hide from the men sent down to their graves? What secrets could you need to keep when dead men don’t speak?
Another scrape of the exterior and I nearly had a heart attack from the shock. A quick glance at the sonar showed no objects picking up. As quickly as I could I spun to snap a photo. My mouth went dry at the monolithic eye that stared back at me.
Click
The image appeared closer.
How could that be? The eye alone was already larger than the screen.
The vessel jolted, sending me sprawling to the ground. The haul around me groaned and creaked as the panels began to bend under immense pressure. As if a large rope were being pulled taut around the submarine like a boa constrictor.
A pipe burst with a gush of steam.
A seam cracked letting in a jet of thick dark red blood. The metallic scent filled my senses.
I tried to stand, but the vessel was tossed around once more. My hands slick with blood I couldn’t find a grip. My head bounced off of the wall, my nose crunching until I could taste blood in my mouth.
Though if it were mine or the ocean I couldn’t tell.
In one final attempt at understanding, I managed to get enough leverage for one final photo.
A pair of deep sunken eyes and a large maw of jagged teeth gaped open staring back at me. And with one last squeeze, the haul burst open. Blood filled my nose and mouth, obstructing my vision as I struggled to breathe in the absent air. My lungs were on fire.
And then.
Nothing.