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With the salvage operation looming on the future’s horizon, and the usual silence of the ship’s night hours dragging on, Lascarone found greater solace in one of the few cafeterias rather than his own bed. Whether that was the disorder his repeated naps brought upon his sleep schedule or the restlessness bred by an encroaching mission, he was unsure, yet he sought comfort in those large bustling halls.
Stepping through the double doors, he acquainted himself once more with the little amount of personality that had been spared for the interior design. A wavy horizon, cutting between a white sky and orange ground, replaced the usual glare of the metal walls. Coloured plastic seats mounted upon hollow metal legs crowded circular tables while long benches ran the perimeter of the elongated dining areas. Vending machines stood resolute against the wall, their delicious contents ransacked by hungry paws. The place proved spotless; a result of the rigorous reminders around the place chastising litter; but even so the janitors still worked. Lascarone watched as the cleaners sweeped the floors amidst the ghosts of the prior hours, disposing of the little waste the ghouls had left in their wake. Some sat huddled around coffees and comrades as they endured the waning hours of the imposed night.
Lascarone felt welcomed. The meek hum of the fridges, the vast space, the splash of colour…it proved oddly comfortable.
Lascarone navigated through the maze of chairs and tables, arriving near the serving area with paws in pocket. A skeleton crew of caterers tended to the graveyard shift, fur nets over heads and plastic gloves over paws.
“Bridge Officer,” one welcomed him with a blunt tone.
“Morning,” Lascarone said. “Just a coffee, please.”
“How you want it?”
“Little bit of milk, no sugar.”
The caterer said nothing and got to work. Lascarone puffed out air and looked up at one of the screens mounted above the counter. A teleshopping channel played on mute, trying to sell their wares to whatever battered souls were still awake.
Gonna need to ask someone to get some better TV in here.
“Sir?”
Lascarone jumped and turned around, presence at his shoulder. Stanmer stood there in a set of black gym clothes, shocked expression upon her face as she recoiled.
“Cazzo, you snuck up on me,” Lascarone sighed.
“Sorry sir, I didn’t realise you were that easy to scare.”
“When I’m running on fumes, yes. I’m easy to scare.”
Stanmer cocked a smile.
“Did I catch you in the middle of a nap again, sir?”
“Ha. Very funny.”
Lascarone turned back to the counter, looking up at the screen.
“What are you doing down here? You were dismissed hours ago.”
“Operations has me running comms during the rescue mission. No sense in sleeping just to be woken up so I took a trip down to the sports centre.”
“Empty?”
“Couple of people in there but it’s pretty empty, I guess. Do you go, sir?”
Lascarone shot Stanmer a look. Stanmer’s face remained sincere.
“Oh. You were being serious.”
“Yes sir.”
Lascarone looked down at his stomach.
“Well…I used to deadlift. Years ago. Then they gave me a good bed and internet in some comfy quarters upstairs and…well, the rest is history.”
“I’m sure you can get back into it.”
“If you’re willing to be my alarm to get me out of bed, sure.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be qualified for that, sir.2
The caterer returned and placed the cup of coffee upon the counter, turning back to their colleagues. Lascarone muttered thanks, picked up the drink, and turned to face the room.
“Want to sit?”
“I’m gonna grab something, I’ll be with you,” Stanmer said.
Lascarone waded back into the maze and sat down, taking a sip of his coffee. He indulged in his beverage for half a second too long and he felt the scorching reprimand upon his tongue, recoiling from his drink.
“Of course,” he muttered, wincing.
Placing the drink down, he sagged in his chair and stared at the wall.
The woes and stress of the last day would soon bleed into the next.
Ten corpses coming home.
What rotten luck.
The brutal nature of it all was that it didn’t phase him. Not for long, anyway. Operatives came and went in body bags or otherwise. New faces, optimistic and bright, replaced the old envisages that had been torn to shreds and punctured by bullets. Blood spilt and down the drain it went, never to be seen again.
Apathy was sanity in such a necessarily horrid line of work.
Stanmer sat opposite, rousing Lascarone from his doldrums.
“That was quick,” he said.
“Energy drink,” Stanmer said, brandishing a plastic bottle wrapped in bright packaging. “Keeps me awake.”
“What flavour?”
“Apple.”
“Nice choice.”
“Thanks, sir.”
The duo let the silence linger. There was no need for words, no need for formalities. Rank and office meant nothing; they fell into redundance before the warmth of company and camaraderie, a duo that could erode almost all.
“What are you thinking of doing after this operation, sir?”
“Cut the sir, Stanmer, we don’t need to do that here.”
“I didn’t realise you were so humble.”
“Comes with the sleep deprivation. What did you ask again?”
“What are you gonna do once the operation is over?”
“Nothing too extravagant. Eat, drink…sl—”
“Sleep.”
Lascarone shot Stanmer a look. She chuckled.
“All the rookies live in fear of your reprimand but, I’ve gotta say, you’re pretty predictable.”
“Thank you, you’re so flattering.”
“Comes with the sleep deprivation.”
Lascarone snorted.
“Glad to see a sense of humour prevails all that’s going on.”
“It’s an exercise in sanity at this point.”
“Tell me about it. Coffee and dry jokes get me through the day.”
“I’m not dissimilar. I tend more towards the gym, I guess.”
“That’s a good habit to have. Better than how most deal with it all.”
“You have any stories?”
Lascarone thought.
“A buddy who stress ate a lot is all that really comes to mind. Emptying out the barracks fridge on the regular, pissing a lot of people off.”
“That must have been annoying.”
“Absolutely. I felt bad for him. Those things escape your rationality. It’s hard to just stop like people expect you to.”
“I don’t know if I’d have the patience. It’s one thing to stress eat your food but my stuff is my stuff. When we’re all toiling through the day, it’s the little things that keep you motivated.”
“I understand that. Last thing you want is to come back expecting a great meal and someone’s stolen it from under you.”
“Grounds for murder in some circles.”
“God, those must be some very hungry people then. Clearly the canteen isn’t doing its job.”
“What a waste of funding.”
“With coffee like this I agree.”
Stanmer smiled and looked away. The comfortable silence returned, albeit only for a few moments.
“I hope they get back okay.”
Lascarone sighed.
“Nothing’s confirmed.”
“So we don’t know they’re all dead either. I’m an optimist, I’m choosing to bank on them surviving.”
“When you’ve done this as long as I had, you get used to lowering expectations. Reality’s harsher than you want it to be.”
“How do you mean?”
Lascarone sipped his coffee and placed it back down, wiping his mouth.
“It’s a difficult business up here. It was a lot harder down there – so much harder than anyone can really be prepared to deal with – but the tenure you get onboard isn’t cushy either. It’s a lot of disappointment, a lot of heartbreak…a lot of pain a doctor can’t heal. Whatever nasty things are going on down there, whatever’s blocking them from contacting us…it’s best to not get your hopes up.”
“What happened to Brutta Notte don’t die easy?”
“We’re all flesh and bones at the end of the day, Stanmer. They don’t go easy…but they die just like the rest of us.”
…
Not a word could be spoken within the elevator. The oppressive pressure of the three floors above made the air too thick to breathe, made the heart sting. Uniform and weapon felt useless, helmet and mask felt suffocating. The elevator shrank second by second, cramming terror and regret into an ever-reducing prison.
Impending doom lingered in the inaction of the descent. Giancarlo couldn’t shake it.
Helicopter crash. Alex turned into a statue. Maxim left at the mercy of a monster. Aelwin lost in malformed slumber amidst corpses.
Only two left.
Alvotolini said nothing.
The elevator’s downward crawl squealed, slowing to a halt.
Nothing moved.
Giancarlo closed his eyes, a single tear squeezing out from one of the corners.
We’re this close. We’re this close and now the elevator’s stuck.
“What do we do, sir?” he managed.
For a moment, Alvotolini said nothing. He stared at the shut doors, entranced by misery and despair, as if waiting for them to open. His right paw, made limp by avolition, graced the panel and pressed a button.
Nothing.
“Sir?”
Alvotolini mustered the strength to turn, approach the corner, and sit. He made conscious effort to avoid crushing his tail as he lowered to the ground, placing the objective container beside him and removing his helmet. Giancarlo watched as he tossed it aside with complete abandon, not so much as glancing at the discarded apparel.
Alvotolini’s gaze was pointed to the floor. Eyes glazed with sadness recognised nothing there. They were empty, void of the determination they had shone with hours prior.
Not a word spoken.
Giancarlo had never seen defeat so irreparably dominate someone.
He didn’t know what to say.
The silence dragged on. The ringing returned, unhampered by the world. The discomfort, the stress, the paranoia; they all grew under the influence of such a maddening sound.
Giancarlo, faith wavering, sat down beside the silent Alvotolini. He removed his helmet and balaclava, easing them down beside him. The risk of a camera above identifying the canine, of learning of his entire life from a few frames of footage, meant nothing in the face of the peril they had faced.
Alvotolini spoke, uttering his words in a frail voice.
“I failed her.”
Giancarlo said nothing.
“She saved my life. I couldn’t even save hers.”
Giancarlo said nothing.
“All of this…death. One after another. So fast, no punches pulled. I thought I’d be used to it by now.”
Giancarlo expected tears. Sobbing. Uncontrollable wails of anguish. All he could hear was dejection. Disappointment. Shame. An almost apathetic tone enforced by inconsolable regret.
“I’ve known death for so long. I thought I knew how to keep it away from us. To keep everyone safe. One mad descent into this nightmare…and I feel like a fool.”
“None of us knew what we were getting into, sir.”
“I should have known,” he said, voice flaring with self-loathing. “It’s my fucking job to know. And now I’m sitting here in a broken elevator and I…just…”
Alvotolini struck the side of the elevator with the bottom of his boot.
“Fuck!”
The eruption rescinded into nothing. Alvotolini grimaced, shifting position with a paw to the side of his head.
“A broken elevator, an underground maze filled with magical monsters and robots…and this stupid headache.”
“I wish I could offer you something to help the pain, sir.”
Alvotolini looked over, heaving. He hesitated.
“You are helping. You’re always helping me. Of everyone on the ship, you’re the one I trust the most to have our back.”
Alvotolini looked away.
“What I said up there…I didn’t mean it. I was panicking.”
“We all panic, sir.”
“I’m not meant to. I’m meant to die before that happens. Here I am, sitting in this corner like a kit…and Aelwin is up there paying the price of my own fuck-up.”
Giancarlo felt so useless. A redundant idiot watching his leader suffer, unable to issue not even a single word of comfort. It felt futile; like remedying a gunshot wound with a pound of dirt. Experience failed him. He sat there, out of his depth for a situation he had been trained to deal with.
“Are you scared of dying, Gian?”
Giancarlo looked over. Alvotolini kept his gaze on the floor, speaking.
“You don’t have to answer if it’s uncomfortable. I just…I don’t know how I feel.”
“It’s okay.”
Giancarlo pondered the question for a moment.
“I…I don’t know.”
Alvotolini said nothing. Giancarlo elaborated.
“I always knew it was a possibility. A bullet or some other awful way to go. I’ve seen familiar names on the roster list disappear for good. Our line of work doesn’t guarantee retirement. But I always felt…fated.”
Alvotolini turned his head towards him.
“Fated how?”
“That it wouldn’t happen to me. Happen to us. As long as I kept a level-head, things would work out…even if it seemed like they weren’t going to. Now that I think about it, it sounds like a coping mechanism.”
“How do you mean?”
“Like a lucky charm. A trinket. A prayer. It’s a way of trying to instil control on an uncontrollable situation. A method of believing you can truly master anything…because that’s where the danger lies for us. The things we don’t know, the things we can’t control. By believing in these powerless little things…it makes us feel like we can domesticate any danger.”
Giancarlo shifted.
“I think I believed that I was going to survive because I had to. It was the only way it could end, in my head. But now that we have our backs to the wall and…and it’s just us…it’s hitting me that maybe I won’t get out of this one.”
Giancarlo found an odd calm in confronting the frail mortality under uniform and fur.
“That makes sense,” Alvotolini said. “Indulging in blind optimism.”
“It’s the only way to stay sane doing this.”
“Exactly. Believing you’re special enough to endure the worst.”
Giancarlo placed a paw against his vest. The sturdy protective plate met his touch, reassuring him of its vow to shield him from bullet and blow alike.
“I don’t know either,” Alvotolini said.
“About dying?”
Alvotolini nodded.
“When it’s so far away, it’s not a bother. Something you can put off thinking about for a while, even doing this. You focus on your training, what’s in front of you, and dying isn’t part of the equation. I’ve seen my fair share of it.”
“All those years fighting, sir?”
“Exactly. But now…I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve been scared. It’s not just getting shot, it’s…it’s something else entirely. Turned into wood. Held captive forever. Lost in an induced coma.”
Alvotolini exhaled.
“Being able to do something nice before it ends…that’d be good.”
Giancarlo nodded.
“It’d be nice to see home again. If I had to pick a place before it’s over…a day back in the family house wouldn’t be so bad.”
“You have your mother, don’t you?”
Giancarlo’s tongue tied into a knot. His throat closed. That loving figure crossed his mind, standing at the door of his puphood refuge.
“She’s still back home, yes.”
Alvotolini issued no reassurance, no comfort. Giancarlo didn’t blame him. To try and promise survival under such circumstances – trapped in a metal box far below the ground – would be a wad of spit delivered in his face.
“What about you, sir?”
“A nice beach, maybe. A day out going to restaurants, walking around. Dying to a sunrise, ideally.”
“Who would you take with you?”
“No one.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I have no one.”
The answer was immediate, delivered without hesitation, yet Giancarlo could hear a hint of pain in his tone.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s nothing. I was never on good terms with my family…left them a while ago when I was young. I never sought out a relationship or many friends. I kept to myself and I fought all over the world for awful people. Part of me wishes my parents had stopped me getting into the army…but they’d never given a shit.”
Alvotolini scoffed.
“You know what’s weird?”
“What, sir?”
“That dying alone doesn’t seem that bad to me. Everyone wants friends and families around them, big processions and memorials…I don’t want to hurt anyone with that. I wouldn’t want to put my loved ones through grief. So all of this, stuck in an elevator where no one can find you, it’s…better this way. Cleaner for everyone.”
Giancarlo disliked that idea; the notion that his demise would hurt more than just himself, that its corrosive claws would sink into his mother and tear her apart from the inside; but he kept his protest quiet. Even then, he fell back on that coping mechanism. Trapped in a box, suspended in a shaft of unknown height, Giancarlo still believed he was destined to survive. That life would go on.
But reality was not what he expected. Life was not as benevolent as he wanted. The elevator would not move under the imperative of his will to live. Time marched on, the world rotated on its axis, and billions of people went about their day; every one of them oblivious to the evils residing below…and only a couple capable of remembering the five poor souls lost beneath dirt, concrete and unholy machination.