Dead Space: Martyr by Brian Evenson Page B

faces. They were all men he had been with in the moon skirmishes, men who not only had died, but died by his hand, so that he could take their oxygen and survive. One by one, they came forward while Hennessy continued to batter him with the iron bar, kneeling beside him and then leaning over him to suck the breath out of his mouth. When the last one finally came, he died.

20
    He dropped the iron bar, exhausted, and limped back to his chair. He wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve and closed his eyes.
    It was only after sitting there like that for a few moments, his breath gradually slowing, that he started to realize what he’d just done.
    He opened his eyes and saw the mess on the floor and retched. It was barely recognizable as a human form anymore, the limbs twisted and turned in the wrong directions, the head flattened out and split open on the top. It was much worse than when his brother had exploded. He looked away. Had he done that? How? Dantec was a skilled and seasoned fighter, much stronger than he was—when Dantec had grabbed his shoulder, he’d been paralyzed with pain. No, he couldn’t have done this, he couldn’t have gotten away with it.
    But if not him, then who?
    And where was his brother? Was this really happening or was it just what they wanted him to believe?
    “Shane?” he said.
    His comlink suddenly crackled. Tanner’s voice, unless it was someone pretending to be Tanner. “—eed me. Plea—spond. Hennes—”
    He went to the screen, which was now spattered with blood.
    “Tanner?” he said. “I’ve lost Shane.”
    “—aa—” said Tanner. Hennessy saw his face for just a minute on the scanner, looking grim; then a startled expression crossed Tanner’s face and he was drowned out in static.
    Hennessy turned away from the control panel to see, just behind him, his brother.
    “Shane,” he said, and smiled. “You’re all right after all.”
    Of course I am, Jim, he said. You don’t think a little thing like that could hurt me, do you?
    It must have been a trick, Hennessy told himself.
    His brother leaned against the control panel and stared down at him. I need to speak seriously with you, Jim, he said.
    “What is it, Shane?” asked Hennessy. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”
    His dead brother looked straight at him, his face thoughtful, just as it had often been before, when they were younger.
    You did good, brother, you stopped him, said Shane. But this is a very dangerous time, you are too close. Too close to be able to hear clearly. The whispers, they may take you. You mustn’t listen to them, Jim. Get free, stay clear, keep your mind to yourself. Or you may be no more. Tell all the others the same.
    “But . . . I don’t . . .” Hennessey stuttered, groping for words. “I have to be honest, Shane. I’m not sure I understand exactly what you’re talking about.”
    Let them know, said Shane. The Marker is the past, and the past must remain undisturbed if we are to continue as we are. You have already awakened it. It calls out for you even now. But you must not obey. You must not listen. Tell them that.
    “Who am I supposed to tell?” asked Hennessy.
    Everybody, said Shane. Tell everybody.
    “But why don’t you tell them, Shane?” he asked. “You know so much more about it than I do!”
    But Shane just shook his head. It’s already begun, he said. He reached out and touched his thumb to Hennessy’s forehead. His touch burned like ice. And then, as Hennessy watched, his brother slowly faded and was gone.

21
    He felt bereft, and very lonely. He went to the observation porthole, slipping on the carcass on the floor on the way. Somebody should move that, he thought. The whole cabin reeked of blood. Maybe Shane’s out there, he thought, like he was before, but all he could see was the murky water, cut through by the light, and the edge of the Marker. Yes, it was definitely glowing now, its light pulsing slightly.
    He stared at it. It was trying