Payback by Martin Lochman

Payback by Martin Lochman

The Thing That Absorbed László and The Thing That Absorbed Janusz are still in the middle of the mess hall, and even though they don’t appear to possess eyes or any other kind of discernible visual organ for that matter, Helmut can’t shake the feeling that both are watching his every move. Not that he is moving a whole lot at this particular moment, standing frozen like a statue in the doorway some five meters away, beads of sweat running down his face. He knows exactly what he needs to do–he can see himself doing it in his mind, and it’s far from a complicated process (take a step back, then reach out to the control panel on the wall and close the door), but his muscles are lead, the surge of adrenaline spreading through his body notwithstanding.

What finally springs him into action is the emergence of the third Thing, just as sudden as that of its two predecessors. It pours down from the ceiling akin to an especially thick pancake batter, landing within arm’s reach of terrified Helmut. As this soft, jiggly blob on the floor, it doesn’t look very threatening–but that’s precisely what László and Janusz must have thought when they decided to take a closer look. Poor guys–sure, Helmut didn’t like them, they were lazy, cheating the clocking-in system, deliberately taking their time with tasks that could be accomplished much faster, but they didn’t deserve such an abominable end…

More instinctively than out of his own will, he jumps back and slams his hand down on the control panel so hard a jolt of pain shoots through his entire arm. A split-second after the door slides into place, something slams into it from the other side, producing a loud, wet, slapping sound, and he somewhat hazily realizes that he just narrowly escaped becoming Helmut That Was Absorbed By The Thing. Had he snapped out of his funk but a moment later, the Thing would be surely liquefying his flesh and converting it into extraterrestrial biomass now, or whatever it is Things do after absorbing human beings.

He furiously shakes his head, trying to bring both his panicked thoughts and racing heart under control. What is he supposed to do now? Get off-board? He is stuck on a freighter in the middle of the cosmic void, weeks away from the nearest inhabited system. Call for help? Again, the same problem. Fight? He is a mining supervisor, not Ellen Ripley, plus he has absolutely no weapons at his disposal–and if he did, would they even be effective against the Things?

So preoccupied is he with contemplating his options, that he doesn’t notice the Thing slowly leaking through the air-tight door of the mess hall until it touches his ankle. The resulting sensation is indescribable, burning hot and ice-cold at the same time, curiously playful and menacingly purposeful, an odd mix of contradictions that completely paralyzes Helmut. He can’t move or breathe or think–his entire existence seems to be imploding to nothingness, gradually replaced by something else, something which is impossible to conceptualize.

Then his instinct kicks in, and he screams. He screams louder than ever before in his life, that single verbal release channeling unimaginable terror. He kicks his leg, somehow managing to break the Thing’s grasp of it, and starts running away.

Two things become painfully apparent not long after that. First, he doesn’t possess much in the way of cardiovascular endurance, and it’s very difficult to keep a certain pace if you can’t breathe. Second, there is only so far you can go on a spaceship. Taking both into consideration, his mad dash ends fairly prematurely in a place that would, under normal circumstances, provide a strong sense of comfort but that right now represents nothing more than a dead-end–his quarters.

The sight of his immaculately arranged belongings briefly reanimates the scattered remains of his logical thinking ability, and he returns to the corridor–only to be confronted with the Things closing in on him from all directions.

“No, no, no!” he whimpers, backing into his cabin, the ugly certainty gripping his insides in a vise.

As his back hits a wall and there is nowhere else to retreat, he collapses on the floor into a pitiful sobbing mess, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms tightly around his head.

#

László and Janusz, both very much alive and well, stand by Helmut’s sleeping pod, watching their colleague thrash around wildly and elicit screams so high-pitched it’s almost difficult to believe that they originate in his vocal cords. A warning about exceeding the safety parameters of the simulation flashes on a small screen above the pod, but the men are ostentatiously ignoring it.

“Should we pull him out yet?” László asks, his voice betraying the slightest hint of worry.
Janusz shakes his head.

“Let’s give him a few more minutes.”

László is about to say something else when Helmut’s ear-piercing screams suddenly mutate into a low, dog-like whine. At the same time, a small dark stain appears on his trousers and begins growing larger.

“Look, he pissed himself! Come on, I think he’s had enough.”

“A. Few. More. Minutes,” Janusz says, enunciating each word. When his colleague opens his mouth to continue protesting, he adds: “Tell me again: how big was your pay cut last time? The one before that? And how many of those stupid reprimands have you received?”

László bites his lip, his features slowly hardening.

“Exactly!” Janusz says considerably more amicably and gives him a friendly slap on the back. “So let the bastard stew. He’ll think twice before reporting us to HQ again!”

—