Paradigm Shift

Chapter 8

"Well. . ." Celene's voice wavered in fear, "there's. . .Smith a—and Peterson. . .Dr. Sydnee—"

"She's dead."

"What?" Celene shriveled a bit at the sound of the heart breaking news. "How?"

"It already got to her. . ." Taylor sighed and loosened his grip; Celene moved away. At first, the lights down the hall started to flash, but in an instant, so did the ones right before them and then the horrible noise started blaring. "It's the fire alarm!"

Together, Celene and Taylor raced down the hall to the cafeteria. Their breath was in their ears along with the incessant ringing of the alarm.

—-

When they finally ran through, the doors closed automatically. Loudly, Rachel shouted over the alarm exclaiming Dr. Sydnee was dead. Red lights flashed on and off until Celene ran to the end of the hall and turned off the noisy horn and flashing lights.

"Is everyone accounted for?" Rachel paced the  room: everyone stood still in their place as she mentally took role. Her head did a double take before everyone realized there was something amiss:

David Peterson was missing. . .

A hiss from the doors sounded signifying an entrance. "Arty," Dr. Watson voiced, "have you seen Peterson?" He calmly asked. Artemis slowly shook his head no and began to inquire about the apparent emergency.

Rachel sighed, "alright, everyone stay here at all costs: I'm going to go find Peterson." Not a single soul objected, leaving the rest to silently stare at each other except for Dr. Watson who decided to eat.

—-

Two minutes before. . .

Everything had been quiet except for the distant hum of the generators while David Peterson laid down on his bed. He decided to play a little earthly ambience of birds and rushing water—the comfort of home just at the tips of his fingers, but as he reached over, he dropped his circular speaker and watched it roll across his bedroom floor right before a pair of inorganic feet.

It was Artemis.

Bending down, quite stiffly and precise, Artemis grabbed the round speaker and turned it off with an audible click of the switch. The android never smiled nor did he even blink at Peterson who so casually said hello. Instead, he offered to whip up a drink—Artemis held up a black cocktail shaker that had bumps and minor divots and poured out thick black liquid, the consistency of molasses, into a little shot glass, mixed vodka in it, and handed it to Peterson.

"Peterson, do you know exactly why you are here?" Artemis questioned

"Yeah, just some minor terraforming project—ah, what is this?" He held up the glass; the thick mucus like syrup trickled down his lip.

"You'll see soon enough," Artemis innocently chuckled. And he was right—Peterson coughed once, clearing his throat, then again more harshly. He kept coughing and coughing until blood seeped out of his mouth. Laying back, he choked on his blood. . .Artemis holding him down. . .his stomach shivered as he frothed at the mouth. . .

Just as Peterson's body finally loosened and fell still, Artemis patiently waited for his sons birth: crawling out of the gaping mouth, a white, pale (yet quite small) spider clawed its way to the surface of the skin. For a second, it waved its short, arm like pedipalps as in hello, then, the spider sunk its fangs into the soft skin. It throbbed as it sucked the blood right out of the veins and arteries, giving life to the spider as the abdomen and thorax turned bright red. After a few seconds more, the hairy legs soon turned bright red; the short stiff hairs stood straight up, and as Artemis leaned forward, he ran his finger just above the small cluster of eight eyes, down the thorax and then abdomen, carefully caressing the two spinnerets protruding beneath the top of the abdomen.

Digestive fluids oozed into the holes punctured by the fangs, and the epithelial tissue dissolved into a digestible liquid. The galactic spider slurped Peterson up.

"My child," Artemis reached out his hand to let the red spider crawl on, "growing boys need their food for strength." He reached below the counter and pulled out a tray full of shivering yellow dots—baby spiders—and placed his son with his sisters. Slowly, but ever so surely, the red spider ate away at the clustering yellow swarm, grabbing them with its pedipalps and stuffing it into its fangs. . .

—-

There, on the bed, Peterson laid serenely still as death himself; Rachel scrunched her noise from the smell. She hurried to the bed, pulling the covers down—

"augh—" she gaged. Peterson's body had been carved out with jagged cuts and bruises circling the deep pool of blended organs. Rachel moved to stare at his face; his eyes closed and mouth softly shut—it was too early for rigor mortis. There! Just then, the liquids pooled in the gaping stomach rippled; a little white tail peaked through. A human finger instinctively reached out to touch it, but before Rachel could comprehend what she saw, a bloodied spider like creature leaped out of Peterson's stomach and straight to her face—Rachel's features were pulverized on impact. . .