The Void

CHAPTER 30

“Proceed,” Jack Hammerson said, not able to take his eyes off the thing on the stainless-steel table.

Doctor Phillip Hertzog nodded from within his sealed suit, and stared back down at the grotesque cadaver.

“Amazing,” he said softly, moving up to the head. Using two fingers, he pointed to the forehead. “You see these?” He indicated some darkening discs around the two standard eyes.

“I do,” Jack Hammerson said, moving a little closer, and rolling slick shoulders. He hated wearing the high-grade biological suits, as even with their own air-con units, they were as uncomfortable as hell.

“I think they’re the beginning of additional ocular organs.”

“Extra eyes?” Hammerson remained impassive.

“Oh yes.” Hertzog looked up. “The ultimate predatory advantage. Multiple eyes exist in a few other deadly hunters as well — the spider has eight, of course. But also, the praying mantis has five eyes — two large compound ones and three smaller ones in the center of its head.”

Hammerson just nodded, and Hertzog turned back to the corpse, picked up a probe and prized open the lips. “No human teeth remaining.” He pushed down, causing the jaw to distend like a gaping fish. On either side of the mouth, there looked to be odd growths. “And these look like the beginning of maxillipeds — usually only see these on crabs or insects.” He whistled. “Amazing.”

“I already got that. What else?” Hammerson said abruptly.

“The change is as fascinating as it is significant. And all undertaken in a matter of hours — this is bio-alteration on an unimaginable scale.” He looked up. “The only thing that makes these sorts of gross physiological changes is radiation, and that usually takes a generation. Or…” He bobbed his head from side to side.

“Or?” Hammerson tilted his chin.

“Evolution,” Hertzog said.

“Yeah, and even I know that takes longer, and is usually forced by changing environmental or competitive conditions,” Hammerson responded.

“Very good, that’s right, Colonel; it can take many generations. Whatever these poor souls were exposed to was some sort of highly advanced and accelerated mutagen.” He grinned. “And after all, isn’t that what evolution is? A mutation that benefits a species? And all selected by Mother Nature herself.”

Hertzog blinked to clear some perspiration from his eyes, and Hammerson could see an already glistening brow behind his visor. “Okay, I’m going in.”

Hammerson craned forward, watching closely.

Hertzog’s hand and scalpel hovered over the creature’s chest for a moment. The flesh was all lumped and contoured more like that of a reptile, but with clear plating, and at the joints the segments had started to separate — more indicative of an arthropod.

“Uh…” his hand wavered indecisively. “Okay.” He pressed down on the flesh.

Hammerson saw the man’s finger on the blade bend as he applied pressure, but the flesh wouldn’t cut. He pressed down harder.

Plink.

The slim blade broke at the center. “Oh my god, these things are tough sonsofbitches,” Hertzog said.

“Tell me about it,” Hammerson said. “Most took half a dozen rounds before they even began to slow down.”

Hertzog looked down at the multiple bullet wounds. “So I see.” He then leaned toward a small silver table containing his instruments and grabbed at the bone saw. He clipped on another full-face splatter-mask and flipped it down.

“Well, we’ll see what we see then.” He started the small spinning disc, and brought it down on the mottled flesh.

The leathery hide separated, and then came the deeper grind of steel on bone. Hammerson took a few steps back and folded his arms. It took Hertzog ten minutes to create the Y-shape incision of a standard autopsy, when it should have taken him two.

When he was finally done, he used a chest separator to prize apart the massively thick rib cage. Then Hertzog stared down into the cavity, his brow furrowed.

“What the hell have we got here?” He started to delve into the open chest, and Hammerson came closer.

“Oh god.” Hertzog clicked his tongue. “No wonder they were tough to take down. Even if you could penetrate the ribs, you’d have to stop two hearts.” He moved some organs aside.

“So…” Hertzog cleared his throat. “We have two functioning, oversized hearts with connected pulmonary trunks. No discernible liver or spleen, and the lungs…” He edged some viscera aside. “…look atrophied and now resemble something more akin to a tracheal breathing apparatus.” Hertzog looked across at Hammerson. “I think this thing was on its way to being able to absorb oxygen through the pores in its skin.”

Jack Hammerson remained impassive and the doctor continued.

“Massive monogastric digestive system typical of an alpha carnivore.” He grimaced behind his visor as he cut into the gut. “Jesus Christ.” He used to pair of long-nosed forceps to hold up a partially digested human hand. “Its last meal.”

He set it aside and continued. “The bladder and bowel have merged, creating a single waste elimination system like that of a reptile or insect.”

Hammerson watched, trance-like, as the autopsy progressed to the brain, and then the musculature and skeletal system. When Hertzog stepped back from the flayed carcass, he looked exhausted, and a little green.

“I know this was once a man, but that seems incredible now. Looking at it, if I didn’t know what I now know, I would say it was more alien than human.” He pointed to a gray blob in a dish. “Even the brain has reduced in size and is more an elongated mass along the spinal cord. This thing might work on a hive mind type basis.”

“Like bees or ants?” Hammerson asked.

“Yeah, most likely.” Hertzog picked at the long gray organ.

Hammerson’s eyes narrowed. “So who or what controls the hive?”

Hertzog looked up and hiked his shoulders. “The queen?”

“Give me your theories, Doc, as this thing is nothing but bat-shit crazy. I need answers… guesses even,” Hammerson said.

“Okay.” Hertzog nodded. “Theory one: it’s the spores that might be forcing an evolutionary leap in organisms that come into contact with it. The primitive gas is just there for environmental support — their lungs are adapted to it.”

“Evolutionary leap?” Hammerson straightened. “Tell me how that big bug-eyed thing is some type of new and improved human being?” Hammerson’s brows came together. “And another question: I know some creatures, and now people, turn into these monstrosities, and others into the gray sludge — why?”

Hertzog looked back down at the body and sighed. “Jack, there’s a lot more we don’t know than we do know, right now.”

“Then give me your best guess. We’re running out of time.” Hammerson was also running out of patience.

“Okay, okay,” Hertzog said. “Well, the glutinous material is an aggressive, mutated form of a normal slime mold that is really only acting as a vector for the spores. The spores’ only job is to embed itself in an organism, the host, and then work their way into its DNA.”

Hertzog raised a finger. “Then, massive changes are triggered. For some, the spores trigger catastrophic alterations, totally breaking down the host’s cellular structure and thus converting it into nothing more than the viscous biological material — the spore carrier. But…” he waggled his finger, turning to the HAWC commander, “…just like the sperm knows to fight its way to the center of the ova, these spores know to seek out something in the host’s DNA strand that tells it that one being is suitable for total breakdown to spore sludge, and another is designated to a type of warrior class… or breeding class.”

“Breeding?” Hammerson felt his gorge rise.

“Sure.” Hertzog pointed back to the flayed cadaver. “This biped had functioning reproductive organs.”

“A breeding population… to start an invasion.” Hammerson began to grind his teeth. “And we’re the raw material.”

“Maybe.” Hertzog flipped up the secondary visor and then tossed it onto a benchtop. Behind his primary visor, his face ran with sweat. “You asked before how the biped could be some new and improved human being. Basically, it’s not,” Hertzog said. “Not for around here anyway, but think of it in terms of how the human race has reached an evolutionary plateau, and other than some height variations, as a species, we’ve pretty much stalled now.”

“Go on.”

Hertzog nodded, talking as he stared down at the strange body. “Well, in the past, environmental factors forced evolutionary changes in creatures, to us — in response to hot or cold, we grew or lost fur. We came down from the trees and stood upright when the jungles were turning into grasslands. We humans grew big brains to outwit our predators. But the thing about growing big brains was it meant a harsh environment didn’t change us anymore, we changed it. If we needed fur, we didn’t have to grow it; we simply killed an animal and wore its fur instead. We also didn’t need to find caves anymore, we built our own. Our big brains meant we didn’t have evolution forcing changes on us anymore.”

“And these spore things are forcing evolutionary changes because they think our world is harsh?” Hammerson was incredulous.

“They might if we didn’t think about from a human being’s perspective.” Hertzog responded. “But what if this stuff is forcing evolutionary changes on us because to something non-Earthly, this is a harsh environment. Or worse, the world it’s creating will be brutal and therefore it might think it’s helping us by preparing us physically for an environment, a world, significantly harsher.”

Hammerson groaned. “So it’s terraforming and transforming us into creatures that can survive in its home environment.”

“Why not? Changing us to adapt to a world ruled by tooth and claw.” Hertzog gave Hammerson a half smile. “Whatever came down in that shuttle is not from our corner of the universe. And perhaps where it came from, its world was horrifyingly hostile.”

Hertzog folded arms over a blood and mucus-spattered suit. “Where exactly was this material picked up from?”

“We believe it came from inside a fragment of asteroid the Orlando plucked from space. However, NASA extrapolations tell us that it came from the void — endless space — it could have been traveling for a billion years.”

“Hmm, until we found it. Or it found us.” Hertzog cursed softly. “And we brought it home, huh?” He sighed. “There’s one more thing, Jack. I don’t believe this biped had finished changing.”

“Hadn’t finished changing? Jesus Christ, this just keeps getting worse.” Hammerson stared for a moment, his mind working. “What would it eventually have become when it did finish?”

“I, for one, never want to find out,” Hertzog said softly. “But that’s not the worst of it. These bipeds can and will breed, and the slime is loaded with spores. Everything about them is designed for rapid reproduction. This could spread catastrophically in a crowded environment.”

Hammerson sighed heavily. He had hoped that the autopsy would reveal something he could use to stall the order from Chilton. Some kind of weakness in the creatures, some weapon they could use, or even some hope of slowing down the contamination spread. But there was nothing for it.

Hertzog looked alarmed. “Jack, if it were my call, then step one would be to clean up the source of the infection. We can’t let it get out. Ever.”

“No, we can’t.” Hammerson knew he had no choice now, and no more time.