Powdered Flesh

“Place the breaching charges!” Petty Officer First-Class Jonan Karhell yelled.

Petty Officer Second-Class Barabbas Orkis and Spaceman James Richardson, placed the hollow charge warheads on the hull of the glossy ship. Once the charges were placed and the fuses armed, the two backed up to the other side of the corvette’s boarding tube, with the airlock blast doors closing. There was a light hiss as the boarding tube then decompressed its atmosphere. Once done, Barabbas pulled out the remote detonator and pressed the red button.

Jonan looked through the thick bullet proof window a moment later. He placed his helmet over his head, sealing his spacesuit, while raising his ROA2 Carbine into the air. “Charges have breached! Move in!”

Barabbas glanced behind him, watching the ten Royal Space Navy sailors of various ranks, most fresh out of basic training. “Wish we had some Marines here.”

Spaceman Richardson patted his friend on the shoulder, looking into his helmet. “Don’t worry man. We’re boarding an abandoned yacht, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Barabbas pumped a 10-gauge shell of steel shot into his ROA5 shotgun. “Please don’t say that.”

— —

The twelve soldiers walked into the luxurious cabin. Barabbas raised his foot, noticing that he was planted firmly on the deck. “Seems like the power is still on for the artificial gravity at least sir!”

Jonan Karhell walked forward, his helmet mounted lights sweeping across the darkened interior. He fixed his gaze on a leather couch, his lights casting a shadow over a round object just peeking over the back. He motioned two of his men forward while he approached.

Barabbas activated the magnification zoom on his helmet as one of the Spacemen, a young buck named Carl Scalenger, lightly poked the object with the tip of his rifle. As he did, powder flew into the air, causing the young man to jump and shout loudly into his helmet’s microphone.

“What is it?!” Jonan yelled.

Carl pointed with a shaking finger, even as the figure crumbled. “It’s… it’s a person sir. What’s left of him anyhow.”

Barabbas walked up, scanning the air with his helmet’s atmospheric scanner. “Sir, there may not be any oxygen left, but there is an atmosphere, mostly carbon dioxide and nitrogen. He shouldn’t have dried up like that.”

Jonan Karhell nodded. “Corpsman Benson, take a sample of the man. Scalenger, I want that rifle placed in quarantine. Something’s not right. I’m going to contact the captain to relay that we have a potential biohazard on our hands.”

The soldiers went to work on their tasks. As the Corpsman gave Carl a sterile plastic bag to place his carbine in while he started to get out sample tubes, Jonan Karhell ordered two Spacemen to stay with the two while the rest of them made their way to the bridge.

Barabbas looked to the walls while the remaining eight soldiers started down the long luxurious corridors. Plastered over the glossy white panels was a multitude of paintings, photographs, various collections of insects and animal parts; all strange things. The paintings and photos were almost all of a single Orcish man, with glorious blonde hair, stark white suits lined with exotic furs, multicolored ties, and makeup, lots and lots of makeup, especially face powder. The collections were equally strange, with insects, teeth, and dried body parts stuck to boards in strange patterns, some even looking like faces. The young Orc shuddered.

Richardson whistled. “Seems this guy felt all high and mighty about himself.”

Barabbas glanced at the bulkhead hatch just ahead, rimmed with solid gold. “He certainly had the wealth to back it up.”

Jonan grabbed the wheel on the massive hatch and gave it a turn. “It’s unlocked. Barabbas, Lulak, up forward with those ROA5’s. We’ve already found a dead man on this ship, we don’t need to join him from whatever bastard turned him to powder.”

“Right.” Barabbas grunted, with Petty Officer Third-Class Bandertono Lulak joining up besides him as Spaceman Richardson was ordered to open the door. The two took aim as the heavy steel plate was hinged aside, revealing a brightly lit command bridge. A sensor in Barabbas’s helmet went off; oxygen. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he and Lulak quickly entered the bridge, sweeping the room, looking for signs of life.

“Room’s clear sir. Clear, and full of fresh air.” Barabbas raised his shotgun in the air as the rest of the sailors streamed in.”

“Keep those helmets on, I don’t care if the air is lemon scented and tasting of rainbows, we aren’t going to be bringing back any stragglers, microscopic or otherwise. Last thing we need is this crud spreading to the rest of the ship.” Jonan ordered.

“Sir yes sir.” Barabbas nodded as he made his way over to the helm. “I’m checking the readout of the ship here sir. It seems like only the lounge is lacking in oxygen, where we found the body specifically. In fact…”

The sound of the hatch slamming shut reverberated throughout the room, the hissing of hydraulics accompanying the loud clang of steel as it locked the group in tight.

“Barabbas, was that you? Did you just lock us in?” Jonan asked briskly.

The officer shook his head, even as he double checked the control panel. “No sir. In fact, I can’t even undo it from this console. If I’m reading this correctly, there seems to be two other control panels that could do this and lock me out. One in engineering, and one in the master cabin.”

Spaceman James Richardson growled with a hint of a whimper. “So what, are we going to split up and get picked off like in the movies?”

Jonan clenched his jaw, ignoring Richardson. “Tell me, are both areas pressurized with oxygen?”

Barabbas examined the readout. “No sir. Only the master cabin.”

Jonan looked behind the Petty Officer to a narrow, sealed off hallway. “Let me guess, it’s the one with the hatch closed.”

Barabbas looked towards the hatch. “Aye sir.”

Jonan cracked a smirk as he looked at the unusually tall Barabbas. “That hatch is too thick for any of our small arms to make a dent in. But you on the other hand…”

Barabbas cracked his knuckles as he moved his fifteen-foot frame over to the hatch, towering over even the twelve-foot-tall Petty Officer First Class Jonan Karhell. With his mighty fists and nearly two-ton weight behind him, he slammed his gloved fists into the hinges, causing metal to spall as the onslaught continued. Barabbas growled after several minutes, fists starting to ache, looking instead at the turn wheel. He latched on, fighting against the hydraulic locks as he forced it to turn open, bending the surrounding steel around it. The damage to the hinges and the brutalization of the turn wheel was too much for the door to handle, and it fell forward flat on the deck.

Bandertono looked up at his fellow sailor. “Now you’re a freaking Orc.”

Barabbas chuckled as he brought his shotgun to bear. “Sir, the master cabin is just at the end of the hall. Let’s get-“

A machine gun popped out of the hallway ceiling, unleashing a spray of .300 Orc down the hall. Barabbas’s arm was grazed lightly as he swung out of the way, though only managing to penetrate through the upper layers of his space suit. The rest of the sailors opened fire, shredding apart the gun turret in short order.”

“What the hell was that?!” Lulak shouted.

Jonan growled. “Clearly a gift from the person that’s doing all of this. Did anyone get shot?”

Barabbas felt a sore spot on his arm, feeling the self-sealing gel layers already enveloping the perforated zone. “Yes, but I wasn’t penetrated.”

Jonan glanced at the rest of them. “Anyone else?”

Almost as soon as he said that, James Richardson collapsed on the ground, with his hand that was covering the wound falling from the hole. Foam frothed at his mouth from inside his helmet as his skin started turning bone white. He reached up in the air, trying to grasp for life, only for his body to fall apart into powder.

Barabbas looked at the young officer, fresh out of the academy, now dead with nothing to show for it. He growled, rushing towards the hatch at the end of the hall, the rest of the sailors in tow as they collectively slammed into the cabin’s hatch, shearing the metal from the wall from their collective weight.

A finely dressed man wearing a gas mask, sitting on a luxurious bed, opened fire with his machine gun, only to be met with the collective firepower of all nine Orc’s, turning him into a fine pink mist.

Barabbas looked over the man’s corpse. Every part of his skin was covered with powder packaged in tins on the bed. The same powder the toxic air was turning the man into.