The Galactic Plumber

Dead Ships and Bad Plans

There are bad situations, and then there are bad situations.

Being ankle-deep in a sewage tsunami? Bad situation.Trying to fight off a sentient toilet abomination? Worse situation.Being trapped on an infested ghost ship while an ancient cosmic horror whispered in my skull and a nightmare monster was actively hunting us?

Worst.Day.Ever.

The lights flickered erratically as the Acheron trembled beneath us. The Warden was coming, but something else was stirring—something deeper in the ship.

The thing in the containment chamber, the one Captain Aurelia Voss had called a fragment of the Entity, had spoken. Its voice was like a ripple in my brain, a whisper I could feel more than hear.

"You cannot hold me forever."

Yeah? Well, I'd love to hold it for at least long enough to get off this ship.

Voss worked furiously at the control panel, her fingers gliding over the ancient interface. Her golden tattoos pulsed in response, glowing brighter as she muttered something in a language I didn't understand. The containment field flared, but it wasn't looking good.

Ryker stood beside her, rifle raised. "I assume you have a plan?"

"I assume you have a ship," Voss countered.

I didn't like that response.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I said, stepping between them. "Let's just clarify something here. Are you saying the only way off this haunted tin can is our ship?"

"Yes," Voss said without hesitation. "The Acheron is too far gone. It won't last much longer."

Fantastic. We were adding a self-destructing ship to the list of problems.

Benny, who had been nervously watching the readouts, swallowed. "Uh, Logan? You might want to see this."

I leaned over his shoulder. The ship's internal sensors were still working—barely. And they were showing movement.

A lot of movement.

Dozens of lifeforms. No, hundreds.

They were waking up.

The Longest Walk to the Airlock

"Okay," Orla said, checking her pistol. "Let's get something straight. We're in a dying ship, with a rampaging monster, a literal fragment of a cosmic horror, and now a small army of… what? Undead crew?"

Voss shook her head. "Not undead. Changed."

"Ah," I said dryly. "That's so much better."

Benny groaned. "Can we just go?"

Voss took point, leading us out of the control room and back into the Acheron's rusted, overgrown corridors. The ship moaned around us, metal twisting like it was alive.

I did not like that.

Our path took us through a service hallway, past the shattered remains of long-dead consoles and flickering emergency lights. Every so often, we heard something move in the shadows—skittering, clicking, a whisper of air where there shouldn't have been.

The Warden was close.

We were almost to the docking bay when Benny grabbed my arm. "Wait. Do you hear that?"

I did. A low, rhythmic thudding.

Footsteps.

And then the shadows at the far end of the hall shifted.

Figures emerged. Twisted remnants of what had once been the Acheron's crew. Their bodies were wrong, stretched and warped by the same black infestation that had spread through the ship. Their faces were partially human, but their eyes were nothing but empty voids.

They didn't speak. They just moved.

Fast.

Run First, Panic Later

"RUN!" I shouted, not waiting for anyone to argue.

We bolted.

The creatures shrieked, launching themselves after us. They were fast, limbs twisting unnaturally as they closed the distance.

I heard Benny yelp behind me. "This is bad! This is very bad!"

"No kidding!" I snapped, dodging a loose pipe.

Voss suddenly stopped in front of a sealed blast door. "Here!"

"What do you mean here?!" I skidded to a stop, nearly slamming into her.

She placed both hands against the door, and the golden sigils on her arms flared. The metal groaned, and the door ripped open, folding inward like something had just bent the laws of physics out of spite.

I did not have time to process that.

We dived inside just as the creatures lunged—only for the blast door to slam shut behind us.

The room was dark, filled with old cargo containers and half-functioning emergency lights.

"Okay," Benny gasped, "we're alive. That's good. I like being alive."

Ryker helped Orla to her feet, then turned to Voss. "Tell me you can do that trick again when we get to the Nebulon-7."

Voss gave him a dry look. "Wouldn't be much of a plan otherwise."

I was about to relax for a half-second when I noticed something.

The cargo bay wasn't empty.

At the far end, crouched on a pile of debris, was another figure.

At first, I thought it was just another infested crew member.

But then it lifted its head.

And I saw its face.

"Holy—" Benny stopped mid-curse.

Because the thing looking at us?

It was me.

The Thing in My Skin

I did not have time for existential crises, but this was pushing it.

The doppelgänger stood, moving with eerie familiarity. Its features were exactly mine—down to the grease stain on my sleeve and the perpetual exhaustion in my eyes.

It even had my stupid smirk.

"Oh, this is deeply messed up," I muttered.

The thing that looked like me tilted its head. Then it spoke.

"Chief Engineer Logan," it said, in my voice.

My actual skin crawled.

Voss frowned. "It's mimicking you."

"No, really?" I shot back.

Ryker raised his rifle. "Is it dangerous?"

The mimic grinned—my grin—and took a step forward. "Only if you are."

That was not reassuring.

Orla aimed her pistol. "I vote we shoot it."

The mimic's grin widened. "I vote you don't."

Benny muttered under his breath. "I hate this mission. I hate this mission so much."

The ship shook violently. Something big was moving. The Warden. It was close.

Voss glanced at the ceiling, then back at the mimic. "We don't have time for this."

The mimic nodded. "No. You don't."

And then—before anyone could react—it moved.

Not at us.

At the controls.

I barely had time to process what was happening before alarms blared.

The mimic had just triggered the launch sequence for the cargo bay's emergency ejection system.

And the bay doors were opening.

Into space.

"Oh, come on!" I shouted as the air began to rush out.

Because apparently, things weren't bad enough.