Chapter 4: Any Other Way

In his many years working for the BRPD, Hellboy had witnessed his fair share of death and strangeness. Krampus? Punched the guy back in the winter of '75!

This time, though, felt weirder. Perhaps it was the slow realization that those vampire sisters had stuck him in a stone coffin for a few centuries. That, or that everybody alive now failed to recognize Hellboy, as if he never existed at all.

Hellboy engaged Vincent and her team in small talk, which slightly eased those feelings. There was hesitancy at first to talk at all, due to current circumstances. After the first few zombies were eviscerated, though, conversation began in earnest.

Vincent issued curt commands and one-line commentary. Despite the limited word-count, her humor was cutting and witty.

Shen kept mostly to herself. She only spoke in curse-laced commentary directed at the zombies, or the CEC. Given how fiery these tirades were, Hellboy thought she should have dyed her hair red like Vincent instead of azure. What wasn't shaved, that is.

Ramirez was the biggest talker. He quizzed Hellboy on old directors and movies. Hellboy wasn't the biggest film buff, but the familiar subject matter kept him from being alienated. This not only allowed him to connect with Ramirez, who smiled all the time even if Hellboy answered half the questions wrong, but the others as well.

Irons was the most hesitant to speak. He commented and laughed when appropriate, but a notable emotional distance existed between him and the others. Hellboy, noting this coldness, decided to engage Irons in conversation.

The man was a mechanic, or what passed as a mechanic in the future—employed twenty-eight years by the CEC (a "lifer" from what Vincent said with a chuckle). Irons had worked aboard over a dozen vessels and a score of colonies. But the Ishimura was different.

"Different how?" Hellboy said.

"Oldest vessel in the corporate fleet. Flagship really. Miasma of history and import," Irons said, smiling. "Surprised me when I got the reassignment notice."

You and, if Greggs is right, every regular aboard the ship, Hellboy thought.

Their hushed conversation continued. Eventually they hit upon the most contentious issue: Unitology. Everyone else in the party seemed to tense, even wince in Shen's case. Hellboy just had questions about the initial premise.

"Let me get this straight," Hellboy said. "This 'Marker' was supposedly found by this scientist, Michael Altman, at the bottom of the Chicxulub crater. Somehow, someway after retrieving this thing, it bestowed divine knowledge upon him?"

"Not exactly 'divine' but greater than any known to man," Irons said beside him, rubbing a stone on a necklace that resembled a fat double helix between his right index finger and thumb. "The Marker, as the holy texts state, endowed Altman with numerous revelations."

"Such as?"

"That intelligent life beyond humans exists in this universe. That we are not alone, and that death is not permanent."

"Is that Convergence?"

Irons nodded his head. "Where everyone's spirits will connect in universal harmony and bring forth life eternal."

That sounded a lot like what religions Hellboy knew offered. What a number of cults offered, too.

"Doesn't it sound appealing?" Ramirez chimed in. He, along with Shen, took the center, while Vincent took point. Irons and Hellboy guarded the rear. "Mystic space rocks."

Before Irons responded to that jab, the group turned a corner. A dozen bodies were strewn around the hall they entered; mutilation was apparent. A strange growth was visible along the walls. One body, back against the wall, appeared like a living man resting. That illusion disappeared as its head lulled over, showing half its face gone, skull exposed.

Shen hunched over, started to heave. The strands of blue hair on the sides of her head, more on the right than the left, cascaded down.

"You okay, Shen," Hellboy said, placing his stone hand on her shoulder.

She brushed him off, straightening up, wiping her mouth with her hand's back before brushing her hair back. "Yeah, Big Red, I am. Some food I ate didn't agree with my stomach."

"Yeah," Ramirez said, "sloppy joes from the mess."

Shen shot him a nasty gaze. "Fuck you."

"Quiet!" Vincent said. "You want every zombie on the ship to find us?"

That silenced everyone. Hellboy walked over to the mass on the walls. The stuff, flesh colored, covered everything up to the ceiling like lichen on a tree. As he stared longer at it, he noted how it moved ever so slightly. As he listened, he heard soft exhales.

"Damn stuff is breathing," Hellboy said.

"Sounds like it," Vincent said, joining him. "How did this stuff even get here? The bodies?"

"Probably, but why? This damn thing likes to spread in the most violent way possible, why waste hosts for interior decorating?"

"Perhaps its aim isn't just to alter humans." Irons joined them. His right hand clutched the miniature Marker. His left hand clutched the plasma saw just as tightly. "Perhaps it seeks to transform the environment around it."

"You mean terraforming," Shen said. She kept as much distance from the corpses and wall-growth as possible. "That's great, a self-supporting virus."

"I don't think it's a 'simple' virus," Ramirez said; everyone gave their attention to him. "Look at all that it's doing."

Pandemonium, revivification and diabolical shit. Those facts passed through everyone's head without a single word spoken.

"It is of alien origin," Irons said, gazing now at the corpses along the hall. "All we know is the changes wrought to the Ishimura. We cannot speak for its behavior in its natural habitat."

"Wherever it originally came from," Shen said, her sights on a corner of the wall not stained with necrotic flesh or bloodstains. "Remind me to file a formal petition to EarthGov to bomb the place."

"If the Necromorphs don't kill us first," Ramirez said.

Vincent sighed. "Don't tell me you are actually going to call the zombies that…"

Ramirez shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed. "Well, they're not your typical zombies. No voodoo, or supernatural origin–"

"That we're aware of," Hellboy interjected.

"—that we're aware of, right. Also, this also started after discovering an alien object from a previously unknown alien civilization. For all we know there's an alien ship down there in some canyon."

Hellboy's eyes widened. "You got the name from Alien!"

Ramirez smiled. "Honoring a cultural touchstone. Biologists do it all the time with any new species discovered."

"Yeah, but they use Latin. You know, to make it sound scientific. This sounds more like a SyFy Channel rip-off."

Before Ramirez could retort, Necromorph cries filled the hall. Everyone except Hellboy, who had only his stone fist, brought their plasma saws to attention. They marched as quickly, and quietly, as possible. Several corpses and alien lichen-covered hallways later, Vincent motioned them to stop. The hall branched off in a T-intersection. Continue down straight or turn right and head down a different hall–one occupied with Necromorphs.

Vincent poked her head out then pulled back in a second. She turned to the group and whispered, "We have a score of Slashers. All trying to break down a door. I can hear survivors crying."

"What's the plan, boss?" Ramirez whispered, as well.

"One team goes and finds a vent, or some other safe way into the room away from those things. Another team distracts them while the rescue takes place."

Hellboy smiled. "I already know which team I'm on. Who's joining me in the beat down."

"I will," Irons said, already moving.

Vincent nodded her agreement. "Let's do this!"

Hellboy and Irons marched right into the adjacent hall, a cover for Vincent and Ramirez to go further down the original hall. Shen took Vincent's former position. The Slashers, despite all the footfalls, remained focused on busting through the door. Panicked cries battled over the bucking metal.

"Vincent wasn't kidding," Hellboy said. The undead horde clustered around the door dividing the hall in two, a necrotic wall. "This is going to be a pain."

"Thomas," Irons said.

Hellboy raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Thomas Boxleitner. He worked with me in the mechanics division. He had a wife and two kids back on Triton, always showed pictures." Irons' face grew tense, eyes starting to water. "He was a good man. Now he is one of them."

Hellboy noted a Slasher in the horde that wore industrial garb similar to Irons. It appeared slightly smaller than the others, a crop of brown hair like a dirty mop-head. Its head turned, and from its maw came a gurgled roar.

"I'm sorry," Hellboy said, his voice cracking.

Irons chuckled, mirthless. "Monsters. Demons. Aliens. Words relegated by the majority of humanity to the playground of popular fiction and myth."

"Irons?" Hellboy asked. The Necromorph horde began to shamble their way. "You sound…"

"Crazy? Or developing so?" Irons said, readying his plasma saw. "I know. That goes hand-in-hand with Unitology, at least according to mainstream.

"I ask you this, Hellboy: what is crazier? Not believing that there is something more to existence beyond the work shift? Or believing that even though humanity has settled almost every known corner of the galaxy, there mayhap still be a chance to find intelligent life?"

Hellboy remained silent. No aliens and mythical creatures… Back in Hellboy's time a week wouldn't pass without something from either category stirring up trouble. That screamed wrong on a fundamental level.

Irons continued: "I have found answers to those questions, but now I have new ones. Most prominent–" Irons held his Marker between his fingers so Hellboy had a clear view "—how does this fit in with Thomas's death and rebirth?"

Hellboy noted the look in Irons's eyes. It wasn't derangement like a mad cultist, but willfulness. Similar to the look in the old professor's eyes when confronting an ancient evil. The strength to shine light on truth in the darkest corners.

"We'll find those answers," Hellboy said. The Slashers were only a few feet away, death's stench almost overpowering.

Irons grinned like a prisoner on death row. "Perhaps."

That word uttered, both Hellboy and Irons charged, meeting the Slashers. Necrotic bone and flesh flew. Inhuman, pained cries filled the hall.

The damn things impressed upon him how tough they really were. Slashers with arms and legs broken from Hellboy's stone fist or Irons's future saw, attempted to fight on, rolling onto their open stomachs and attempting to crawl. Hellboy eventually ripped a talon from one, placed it into his flesh hand, and proceeded to crush and cut.

Ichor covered him, staining his new pants. Crap, how he wanted a pistol–even if he was more likely to hit the wall!

He heard a deep grunt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Irons smash a Slasher's head in with the butt of his plasma saw. Sweat glistened on his exposed forearm, shoulders sagging slightly. Behind the duo, lay two dozen destroyed Slashers–but it appeared like more had joined in.

Hurry up, Vincent, Hellboy thought, stomping a hoof onto a Slasher's taloned hand. I don't think we can keep this up.

A pained cry, the kind a living man made when fatally wounded, cut through the Necromorphs' cries. Hellboy grabbed the Slasher that he had stomped on, quickly raised it above his head, mindful of the remaining talon swinging around, and threw it onto others in the front.

"Irons!" Hellboy bellowed as he turned toward his friend.

A Slasher had stuck its talon deep into Irons' shoulder. The pointed bone poked out from his back, blood gushing. Twin scarlet lines flowed from the corners of Irons's mouth. The mechanic attempted to pull the limb out.

"Irons," Hellboy said, dodging a Slasher's swipe. "Don't pull it out!"

Irons, without even turning his head, nodded. His plasma saw fell from his hands with a weak thud. He then sunk to his knees.

"Irons!"

Hellboy attempted to intervene. Despite his best efforts, though, the horde kept him away.

His height afforded him a rather upsetting view: Irons, whose spine-based tube (Hellboy heard it called a RIG?) had turned sickly yellow, held his Marker pendant and prayed. The Slashers, despite the easy prey, shambled around him. The reason why soon glided into view.

It resembled a manta ray with its flat form and long wingspan, but that's where the comparison ended. Long talons reached out from its wings; its mouth, a rotated bird's beak, parted, allowing a syringe-like proboscis to stretch out. It rose to where it stood a head taller than the kneeling Irons. Wings folded out for a deathly embrace.

Crap! Crap! Crap! Hellboy punched and gouged with abandon. There were too many bodies between them, though.

Pistol shots rang out. Some Slashers fell or stepped back. Flesh chunks flying from impact with rounds. This was collateral. The main target, that manta-looking thing, suffered several rounds all over its body, forcing it back from Irons.

"Get away from him, fuckers!" Shen said, reloading the pistol. "You're not taking another one!"

The aggressive body language and fiery proclamation reminded Hellboy of a pissed Elizabeth. Despite the dire circumstances, thinking about his old friend brought a smile to his face.

Shen fired off a few more rounds at the manta looking Necromorph, then holstered the sidearm. She pulled her plasma saw out and went "down and dirty". Slashers lost limbs in precise, controlled swipes like the actions of an experienced surgeon with a scalpel. Hellboy joined the new assault.

Irons, witnessing how desperate Hellboy and Shen fought to rescue him, rose. As he picked up the plasma saw on the floor at his side, the manta-looking Necromorph dove—proboscis and talons all aimed towards the mechanic.

Despite his wound, Irons brandished the plasma saw, cutting off the proboscis. The thing went limp immediately.

Between the three of them, any remaining Necromorphs were eviscerated and pummeled. Once finished, vile ichor and twisted body parts covered everything around the door–including them.

"Now that we've killed all of them–" Shen lurched then vomited. Hellboy placed a hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it away. After a few dry heaves she composed herself, wiping away a spot of yellow ichor on her right cheek. "Let's address that wound, Irons."

The wound was terrible: the talon had pierced through flesh and bone, out the other side. Blood poured steadily. Hellboy, privately surprised Irons remained conscious, helped Shen to move him back where they had started their charge. Most sanitary area, everything considered.

Once out from the hall-turned-charnel house, they set Irons down. Shen, much like Greggs back in the Tram tunnels, pulled out bandages and small containers from the pouches around her waist.

"Here," Shen said, opening a bottle and shaking out a circular, blue pill. "This should dull the pain."

Irons mouthed a thanks and took the pill. A pained expression cut across his face as he swallowed the painkiller. Fresh crimson droplets spilled down his mouth's corners.

Shen applied a spray, undoubtedly the same as the one Greggs had applied to Hellboy's own wounds. After a thick layer of foam formed around the impaled talon, she wrapped a crisscrossed series of bandages around it.

"That should stymie the bleeding," Shen said, wiping blood off her gloves with a small white hand towel. The cloth turned red when she finished and placed it back in a pouch. "As long as he doesn't aggravate the injury."

"Thank you," Irons said, his smile as weak as his voice.

Shen huffed slightly. "Don't thank me yet. If we actually want to treat that properly, we need the appropriate equipment and facilities."

Hellboy had a feeling that he knew where "appropriate equipment and facilities" was found.

Irons voiced Hellboy's suspicion. "Medical Deck."

Shen bit her lower lip and nodded.

Hellboy said, "I need to go back anyway, so it's not a–"

"Go back?" Shen asked. "Do you know how many Slashers there probably are now? Especially with the morgue?!"

I didn't even know they had a morgue there, Hellboy thought, before he said, "Probably more than what we fought here, also with some weird shit like the leaper and that manta-thing…"

Irons coughed, pained and raspy. "Don't worry about me. Others need aid," Irons finally said.

"This guy acts like I have taken the Hippocratic Oath," Shen said, looking at Hellboy before turning her gaze at Irons. "My job is to keep the team alive, and despite how Ramirez may act, you are part of that team now. None of this 'altruism' bullshit."

"What the hell happened?"

Ramirez stood there at the intersection's mouth, amazed and horrified at the carnage. Vincent, pushing aside several equally awestruck crewmembers in uniform similar to Greggs', jogged over to them. When she was close enough for a good view of Irons's wound, her mouth clenched.

"You okay to move, Irons?" Vincent asked.

Irons nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly.

Hellboy and Shen, on the left and right respectively, helped Irons into a standing position, careful to avoid touching his wounded shoulder. Despite that, and the blood loss, he stood without any perceptible wobbliness.

"Shen," Vincent said, "go with Ramirez. Escort Irons and the survivors to safety. I'll continue on with Hellboy."

Shen began to protest, but Hellboy placed his flesh left-hand on her shoulder. She cocked her head back and looked at him.

"We'll be alright."

Shen looked skeptical but kept her doubts to herself. "Alright. Let's go, Irons."

Ramirez led the survivors down the hall back to the Bridge. Two survivors, grateful to their saviors, carried Irons. Shen covered the rear. Hellboy and Vincent watched them. Before the line turned a corner out-of-sight, Shen gave a worried backward glance at Hellboy and Vincent. Briefly, Hellboy prayed they would reach safety without further incident.

"Let's go," Vincent said, already turning in the other direction. "We have a doctor's appointment."

Time was not on his side. Kyne had already spent considerable time reprogramming the Ishimura's guidance computers. Success would send the Planet Cracker diving into Aegis VII, ensuring that the Nercromorphs never reached Earth.

Despite Kyne's backdoor access, it was an arduous process requiring multiple passwords, a lengthy acceptance procedure, and running between several consoles. What remained of the Bridge crew was interfering as well. Remote computer access, forced session expiration, and various other virtual impediments. All these steps, all this interference, left wide room for failure. Any of the creatures infesting the ship could shamble in and attack him, or another survival-minded crewmember could attempt misguided heroics.

I must succeed, though, Kyne thought as he input more numbers into a console, briefly looking at the column-like computer hardware conglomeration inside a cylindrical chamber composed of multilayered plexiglass. The soft azure glow taunted him. The alternative is extinction.

"Don't give up," said a reassuring voice. A voice that Kyne had ached to hear again for many years—a soft voice associated with hyacinths and Spring.

"I won't." Kyne paused for a moment, then said, "Not with you here."

Amelia Kyne's footsteps grew louder behind him. If Kyne paused from his work and turned around, he would first observe her smile: a tiny, delicate expression. After he spent a few minutes staring upon that miracle, his eyes would note everything else: her shoulder-length blonde hair, which shined like gold in the Viennese sun; dark cerulean eyes; a simple floral dress accentuated these extraordinary features. A living memory from the happiest time in their lives.

"I know you won't, kochanie. Amelia wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his left cheek. "There is another way, though."

Kyne sucked in a shallow breath but continued. Another way? To request aid ensured this plague's spread. Medical Deck, with state-of-the-art laboratories and the best medical and science professionals on CEC's payroll, failed to produce a cure before falling. That only left scuttling the Ishimura.

Amelia, noting her husband's skepticism, explained: "Every pandemic has an origin, a patient-zero. This one, though alien in origin, is the same in that regard."

"Aegis VII…" Kyne said, realizing where his wife's thoughts were heading. "After the Marker was uncovered."

Amelia brought her lips close to his left ear, whispering as if confidentiality, "Yes. Everything started with the Marker and will end with the Marker."

A statement that applies to our love, as well, Kyne thought, a melancholic grin on his face.

Amelia, who always knew how to read his moods, moved around him, to place her hands upon his, where her face stared up into his. Her warm touch was a pleasant reassurance that brought a smile on his face.

"Return the Marker to the planet. Bury it again, where it was found. Set things right, Terrence. Make us whole."

If anyone else had used his personal name, Kyne would have reprimanded them, but Amelia had—she was the exception. The sole exception.

"Make us whole," Kyne said, those holy words jolted through his very being. "Altman be praised."

"Altman be praised." Amelia pulled him into a tight hug, caressing the back of Kyne's head.

Tears welled in Kyne's eyes. "I thought of you every day, Amelia."

"And I you, Terrence."

They held each other. A man and a ghost. How real a ghost, though! Amelia's warm touch, her floral scent. The engines' hum a facsimile of his racing heart.

"I need to leave again. Consider what I said, Terrence." Kyne nodded his head. They separated, mortal coil separating them once more. Ame said, "Beware the Crimson King. He will lead you astray, my dear."

Crimson King? A sinister title attached to someone Kyne knew not. Before he inquired about more details, Amelia had disappeared. In a mere blink, he was alone once more.

Kyne sighed. He rubbed his gloved hand over his chin, pondering his options. A purposeful collision against Aegis VII's barren crust guaranteed that this xeno-borne pathogen never reached Earth. Yet, if laying the Marker back to rest also ended it without killing those left…

He debated the two choices with himself. The pros and cons absorbed him so much that he failed to hear approaching footsteps.

"Dr. Kyne."

Kyne turned. Marching towards him from the left accessway of the circular room with ferocity was the head of P.C.S.I. Security, Alissa Vincent, an industrial tool in hand. Her narrow face was scowled in a grimace. She was not pleased.

"Vincent…"

"Cut the greetings," Vincent said, pointing her right index finger at him. "You're not crashing the ship."

I just had this conversation with Amelia, Kyne thought. This similar discussion would end far more aggressively than that one, though.

"I had no other choice, Vincent," Kyne said. "This is the only assured method that prevents these…things from spreading!"

"After you kill everyone left on the ship?"

"If I don't, more will perish."

"Whatever happened to the Hippocratic Oath, Doc?"

The unfamiliar voice boomed from the hall Vincent emerged from. Whoever–or whatever–stepped out from the shadows shocked Kyne.

"A devil?" Kyne whispered in equal parts awe and disbelief.

The massive scarlet creature closed its eyes and sighed. "I swear…Why does no one recognize me? I was covered on Good Morning America, for Christ's sake."

Its accent was clearly North American and male. That dialect observation, though, took a back seat to the sight of the gently switching tail on the floor. And the hooves. And the stone-fist…

Everything about it was so different, so…alien. In any other circumstances Kyne would have experienced delight like any scientist and Unitologist, and ask numerous questions, as well. But normalcy, much like his wife, had departed abruptly.

"Who are you?" Kyne asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Another sigh from the creature. "Hellboy."

"What a unique…name."

The name reeked unoriginality. Who had thought to call it that?

"Now that introductions are done," Vincent said, cracking her fists. "Back to the topic at hand."

Yes, suicide options. "There is no alternative, Vincent," Kyne reiterated.

"There's always another way. One that doesn't involve killing innocent people."

Kyne had originally thought Vincent like any other ship-born chief security officer: all bluster, no substance. Her determination, regardless of dire odds, demonstrated a deep resolve and strong will. The CEC–and the Church–either had failed to vet her properly or underestimated her. A recurring theme with this disaster.

Hellboy walked up beside Vincent. The creature's giant size was evident when he was next to her. "To piggy-back off what Vincent said. We do have another option."

Like Amelia suggested? Kyne thought.

Hellboy continued: "I met someone on Medical Deck. She was doing research into the virus that's causin' all this. Almost there to finding a cure even."

"Almost is vastly different to actually having one." Despite that protest, Kyne's curiosity was piqued.

"Trust me, doc. I know. All she needs, though, is a certain person on this ship, and she's confident that she'll complete it."

Kyne shook his head. "You will never find her. If the creatures that have run of the ship haven't killed her, then how would you find her exact location without communications?"

A soft burr interjected. Vincent activated her RIG. A smiling Second Officer Chic appeared in contrast to the grimy industrial setting.

"Comms are back up ship-wide. We also have the Comms Array operational and sending an SOS message." Chic briefly removed his glasses and wiped at his eyes.

Hellboy and Vincent smiled, and despite himself, Kyne as well. "That's great news, Chic," Vincent said, eyes never leaving Kyne. "We should have our engine troubles sorted out here momentarily, hang tight." She closed the call.

Miracles that shone light in the darkness. A buzz filled Kyne's entire body. Hope excited him. But the pragmatic scientist inside him tempered that.

"We may have reached out for aid, but we still need to contain this outbreak," Kyne said, hoping his tone was controlled. "If the infection spreads beyond Aegis VII and the Ishimura, Earth will surely fall."

"Any suggestions?" Vincent asked, half seriously. She probably expected him to have no answer to the question everyone has mulled over since the Marker's discovery many weeks ago.

Kyne briefly looked at Hellboy. Amelia's words returned to him. Beware the Crimson King.

Committing himself to this course, Kyne shared the plan Amelia had provided to return the Marker to Aegis VII. When he had finished, Hellboy said to an obviously skeptical Vincent: "Sounds like a good enough plan to me."

"Yeah. We actually have options. Damn I missed having some." Vincent turned her gaze on Kyne. "What do we do about him, though?"

Kyne looked Vincent in the eye and said, "I know the punishment for unauthorized scuttling."

"What about murder?"

The last word hung in the air like a neck in the gallows. "Mathius suffered a mental breakdown. I attempted to sedate him, but he resisted," Kyne said, watching his voice's tone. "He escaped from White's and Chic's grasp, knocked me down, then proceeded to choke me. Fearing for my life, I used the syringe. I believe the both of you know the rest."

Vincent remained silent. Hellboy simply nodded his head, an act that simultaneously meant he was listening and wished Kyne to continue.

"First Officer White in the past has expressed his unfavorable opinions towards Unitologists. Considering that, and the heightened communal paranoia and trauma, an act of self-defense was interpreted as murder."

That was Kyne's testimony, sincere and honest as any scientific paper he had ever published. Vincent was not swayed. Her eyes had narrowed, predator-like. Hellboy, on the other hand, appeared more neutral.

"Are you familiar with surgery, doc?" Hellboy asked, before Vincent declared Kyne guilty.

A topical shift, Altman be praised! "I am more a doctor of the sciences than medicine, but I have dabbled."

"There's a guy we know with a shoulder wound that requires some advanced surgery. Do you think you could help him?"

"With the appropriate equipment, yes. But Medical–"

"Is overrun with Necromorphs," Hellboy interjected. "Trust us, doc. We know."

"Necromorphs?"

Hellboy shrugged. "That's what we're calling them."

"Look, Kyne," Vincent interjected. "We don't have that much time. Our friend needs help. If you play ball, I guarantee your safety."

Kyne wanted to laugh. "No one is able to guarantee your safety, let alone mine."

A pause in the negotiations, then Vincent, with clear disgust, said, "I will also support you in any subsequent CEC investigation."

Kyne sucked in his breath. CEC corporate investigators were referred to as inquisitors, and with good reason. Their objective was equal parts evidence gathering and blame pinning. This incident, especially considering how publicly unsavory many details were, required multiple heads to roll. Unfortunately, the usual scapegoats—captain, colonial governor, and other senior staff—had already experienced an untimely demise. That left only surviving senior Bridge officers, Chief Officers (such as Kyne), and head of P.C.S.I. Security to report what happened.

If Vincent managed to corroborate a story that placed Kyne in a more positive light (not attempting to wreck a billion-credit starship, for example), then that meant the worse outcomes were mitigated or prevented. To arrive at that point, though, required stopping the infection.

Kyne, spirited from his conversation with Amelia, nodded. "I will help you."

Vincent remained silent, her gaze drilling into Kyne's very soul. Hellboy, huge grin on his face, walked over and offered his left flesh-hand. "Thanks, Doc. We appreciate it."

Roasted peanut aroma assaulting his nostrils, Kyne recalled Amelia's warning. Beware the Crimson King.

Kyne gripped Hellboy's hand, shook, and said with faux conviction, "Pleasure to work with you."

A/N: We have officially concluded the first third of the story-a late Halloween treat! Hopefully everyone has enjoyed the ride so far. I am looking forward to sharing more with everyone. As always please Fav and Follow. Also, please feel free to leave a review. I always look forward to feedback.