Lunatics Radio Hour
The history of horror and the horror of history.
Lunatics Radio Hour
Lunatics Library 46 - Space Horror Stories: Part 2
Listen in to the final installment of our Space Horror series. We will conclude with two epic space horror stories for you.
Pariah's Last Breath was written by Curtis A. Deeter and narrated by Denali Bartell. Check out Denali's work here. Follow Curtis on Facebook @AuthorCurtisADeeter and Instaram is @Curtis_A._Deeter.
Orion Beckons was written by Benjamin Cooper and narrated by Mike Macera. Keep tabs on Benjamin's work here: www.MindofBenjaminCooper.com and listen to Mike's band Beach Therapy on Spotify.
Get Lunatics Merch here. Join the discussion on Discord. Check out Abby's book Horror Stories. Available in eBook and paperback. Music by Michaela Papa, Alan Kudan & Jordan Moser. Poster Art by Pilar Keprta @pilar.kep.
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Hello everyone and welcome back to another episode of the Lunatics Radio Hour podcast. I am your host, abbey Branker, and I am thrilled and sad that we have come to the end of the Lunatics Radio Hour podcast. I am your host, abby Branker, and I am thrilled and sad that we have come to the end of the Space Horror series. So this is the second installment of Space Horror Stories. We have two very epic and horrifying, of course, space-themed stories to pull you into, and these really explore space in two totally different ways, I think.
Speaker 1:But I don't know, I'm curious, cur. I don't know, I'm curious. Curious. Everybody's thoughts, as always. Please come to our Discord and we'd love to kind of have the conversation continue there. It does not need to just be me talking to you. I would love to hear what you think about these stories, what you really take from them, and if you are a writer and you want to work with us, you can head to lunaticsprojectcom and click on submit for more information about the topics for stories that we're currently looking for and timelines. So let's just get right into it, because we have these two amazing stories that are burning a hole in my pocket. I'm just going to roll the tape and we'll come back and talk about it after.
Speaker 2:Pariah's Last Breath. Written by Curtis A Deeter, read by Denali Bartell.
Speaker 3:Rajul's final breaths were strained and her chest filled with icy, hot fire. Every time she inhaled, silence screamed at her. As she stared into its eyes, his eyes, she reminded herself the face staring back had been a familiar one, a dear old friend, but it was so horribly unfamiliar now. A grotesque, twisted visage of somebody she used to know. This face staring back was the last thing she would ever see.
Speaker 3:As dark space faded from her periphery, rajul's mind wandered and the cold didn't bother her anymore. Forever was not far away For her. It all started when she first left planetside, but it only began to end a couple hours ago. There's nothing here, man Shit. Ahmed slapped his palms on the nav console Scan again. But the power cells Scan again. Ort dammit, we've been out here for months. Ain't no way we're this alone. He turned away and grumbled something to himself about the improbability of wandering so far. Off course, rajul rolled her eyes. They'd been drifting at sublight for almost half as long as she had been pilot. This wasn't how her promising career was supposed to play out when she signed to the Pariah. She expected excitement and rewards beyond her wildest dreams. That was what the Holocure had promised. At least it was to be the opportunity of a lifetime, A chance to leave her dust-covered home planet behind for good and discover the universe's infinite possibilities.
Speaker 3:Rajul sighed and coded another scan. By her calculations, they had maybe one or two days left, and only if they decided they no longer needed life support systems Running water or O2, for example. But what good were those if they couldn't find their way home? Scan initiated, she said, results incoming less than thirty seconds. Rajul rested her chin on her fists. A far-off star twinkled, its binary mate dulled beneath its sudden flash of radiance. She couldn't help but smile as she stared into the vast array of brilliance laid before them. So many many possibilities. She sighed again. A weight suddenly lifted off her shoulders. For rare views like this, the dull stretches in between seemed so insignificant. It was hard not to feel a surge of dopamine among such giants. So many ways for an orphan to make a better life for herself. It's funny. We spend all our lives looking out, don't we? To the next block, to the horizon, to the stars. Then, when we've finally gotten where we've always wanted to go, we set our sights even farther. Great, fine, whatever. Why don't you stop daydreaming and read the scan results?
Speaker 3:Ahmed adjusted the thrusters and tweaked the pariah's trajectory with an inhuman precision. We could die out here. You know It'll be you that goes first. Think about that for a second and focus. We're dead already she wanted to say.
Speaker 3:Her reverie abruptly ended we're ghosts and no one can save us. They'd been floating listlessly for too long. The light techs blew within the scav's first few days and they were beyond reach of even the most sophisticated communications arrays. Not even Ahmed, with his built-in training mods and schema upgrades, could repair the pariah. Her life support was strained and any minute they would be oxygenless, powerless and stranded in the middle of the cluster's largest known debris field. Many folks made their fortunes out here, but many more perished, becoming yet another statistic.
Speaker 3:Well, ahmed's glare cut through the scant remains of her confidence. It always did. Give me a sec to review the output. Man, I'm not like you, I can't just dial in. And voila, here's a full report of the detailed stat in and 723 different contingencies.
Speaker 3:Ahmed shoved her aside. Let me do it. Then. He unhinged the flap behind his neck and unwound the fine wire tapped into his brainstem. The wire suctioned to the connector port and he cracked his knuckles. His eyes slammed shut and darted in their sockets. They moved beneath his eyelids like beetles beneath the sand. I wonder what he dreams about, rajul thought, since he always gets so upset when I tell him about mine. Why do you even keep me around? Rajul mumbled, pouting. She slumped in her seat and crossed her arms. You make good coffee. A second later his eyes shut open. There's a vessel.
Speaker 3:Initially it looked as if it might be another derelict scav, but nobody other than her engine is alive. Rajul squinted into the distance. All she could see were far-off stars and indiscernible chunks of space. Flotsam. Dozens of crews had scoured this sector before them. Dozens would come long after they were gone. No one, as far as she could recount, had ever found an intact vessel, let alone one with an active power signature. Of course, there were rumors about this sector when crews much better trained and far more experienced than the likes of Rajul and Ahmed went missing. It was only a matter of what stories would be told and in what circles before rumors began to spread like viruses, specters, it was said, ghosts haunting the black abyss, ghosts of those seeking their fortunes and those people who died tragically seeking refuge from an ever-changing universe that no longer seemed to have room for the human race.
Speaker 3:She ran her eyes over the report. Ahmed was right. That ship was alive. Spectres or no spectres, you really like my coffee? Sure, it reminds me how good I've got it back at center. Ahmed winked, swiveled back to his station and enhanced the viewpoint. There it was, in the center of the zoomed in display.
Speaker 3:Irrefutable evidence, alhamdulillah. She's a beaut. Is that a Mark 12? Rajul licked her lips. She wasn't sure God was out this far with them, but she damn sure needed a huge payout. Any of the later Mark series would have done fine, but a 12?.
Speaker 3:Rajul could barely contain her excitement. Oh yeah, with a Litex V1072? Uh-huh, and a built-in auto galley, her mouth practically watered. She could hear the row stakes sizzling already. Yes, yes and yes. All of that and more besides. Raj, we struck big with this one. Rajul squealed If what the report said was true and they approached with two parts patience and one part precision, the power left in the Mark's reserves should be enough to deliver them to the nearest way station. From there they could trade a bit of salvage, recharge the pariah and make it home to Senor Alive and rich beyond their wildest dreams.
Speaker 3:Ahmed engaged the secondary thrusters. He adjusted their levels until the pariah set into forward motion. Rajul watched with fascination and no shortage of awe as he tweaked and calibrated the ship's complex nav controls Alone. He's doing it alone. Most scav-like ships like the Pariah were crewed by half a dozen or more, mostly because their mainframes were piecemealed steel and gold like star-faring golems and required more than a bit of pizzazz to operate. But Ahmed made the work look mundane, boring even. Most of the time she just had to sit back and be ready to jump in if he needed her for confirmation or banter, or coffee, as it were. He held up a finger froze for a moment and then dropped it. Rajol knew exactly what that meant. She opened the port and starboard exhaust vents, dialed in their intake valves and adjusted the angle for the thrusters.
Speaker 3:The pariah turned incrementally as she guided it towards the Mark 12. The controls vibrated as the ship's outward grab shields fought to disperse the sea of debris between them and their prize. A child's long-lost teddy bear collided with the shield a hair's width from the fragile glass viewpoint, its two dead button-black eyes briefly locking with Rajul's. She wanted to look away, but she had to focus. The mark was so close. Easy now. Ahmed said Little more, little more. Hold her steady.
Speaker 3:Sweat beaded at Rajul's temples and the joystick threatened to slip free from her nerve-moistened palm. Her heart throbbed so loud she was sure Ahmed could hear it, but she held the pariah steady as the ship's trajectory changed. Nanometer by nanometer, a red light began to pulse. Shit not now Power levels below .005%, I see it. Just a little more. Raj, you're doing great. She felt the remaining oxygen siphon from the bridge. A mechanical mask dropped from the ceiling above her. She didn't dare avert her attention, but she could almost see Ahmed busy cutting off every other power-utilizing function, saving every last breath of the pariah's power for the thrusters. The pariah jerked and the lights blinked out. Total silence engulfed them. Neither said a word. They stared at the viewpoint, at the nearby Mark 12, and held their own breaths as they drew closer and
Speaker 3:closer. Plugged in, ahmed switched himself back into the mainframe. He was gone too long and Rajul's stomach tied into knots. She reached for the O2 mask and took a long, desperate drag. I could kiss you. He finally said Please don't. Rajul scrunched her nose and curled her lips. But does that mean we did it? A huge smile crawled across his
Speaker 3:face. Ahmed rarely smiled when he did all the wiring and connections beneath his skin, stretched and protruded like a thousand displaced bones. It didn't have a particularly reassuring effect, especially the way his electronics looked as if they might tear through his flesh at any moment. Rajul wondered how much of him could still be considered man. She asked him once, but the whole exchange left her feeling as if she somehow crossed a line. He dismissed the question with a joke like always. No worries, babe, he had said. I'm just me and that's all I'll ever be. You ever need something toasted though. I'm your man. She never brought it up again, but she's still worried. What if the silicone animal took over? Was he truly in control, or would the techno-beast eventually supplant the man? It was all in his files for those who knew how to decrypt
Speaker 3:them. Ahmed's sordid affair with mods began early in his military career, starting with the usual upgrades A visual enhancement here, an auditory tune-up there, bone density improvements, memory database expansions, tiny biobots introduced to artificially strengthen and repair muscle tissue. By the time they grounded him, ahmed was walking around with virtually every piece of military-grade mod tech on the market and some experimentals banned galaxy-wide under the Kepler conventions. His tech came in handy, of course, but it low-key, terrified Rajul. What if he turns against me? What if he loses control to the codes? What if he gets hacked? There were no fail-safes, no off-switches. It was only her and
Speaker 3:Ahmed. A failed Biosac and one of the universe's most advanced ex-special forces Cyberscavs. She could see the Mark 12 with her naked eye. Now it's beautiful. They spared no expense, did they? Some trust fund kid on Earth is gonna be giddy with greenbacks when the word gets
Speaker 3:through. The Mark 12 was a sleek silver goddess of a ship. She could be manned solo, but she boasted more than enough interior space for a family to ride comfortably, with all the extra amenities. The Mark 12 was a sleek silver goddess of a ship. She could be manned solo, but she boasted more than enough interior space for a family to ride comfortably, with all the extra amenities. The 12 was space travel for folks who didn't relish the inconvenience of space travel but still wanted to brag that they had explored the wild black yonder. She was faster than Hadron too. You're drooling, huh? Rajul said, wiping her chin Shut up. I'm not. She managed to compose herself, though her cheeks continued to throb rosy red with embarrassment. So how do we do this? Under normal circumstances, we'd
Speaker 3:dock. Ahmed keyed a series of commands into the pariah's mainframe and shook his head. Rajul didn't need to check their power levels to know docking wasn't an option Ever. Spacewalk. Rajul shook her head Suit up. It's your lucky
Speaker 3:day. He punched a yellow button and a hidden cubby like a retro glove box, swung open Two orange vacuum-sealed clumps attached to a series of unorganized wires and tubes dropped between them. He hit another button and the suits disconnected, slid out and began to ooze and expand on the floor between them. Rajul side-eyed the wrinkled lump of material. You're kidding? Ahmed whistled and rubbed his hands together. They might be snug, but they'll have to do. I'm not wearing one of those Ahmed shrugged Suit
Speaker 3:myself. I'll go on my own. Keep an eye on the ship's gravlock, will? Ya, I don't know about you, but if I have to choose, I'd rather die in here than out there. If I have to choose, I'd rather not die at all. He shrugged again. There are worse things than
Speaker 3:death. Raj Ahmed suited up and stepped into the airlock. It sealed with a hiss and he threw Rajul two thumbs up Without thinking. She entered her override, took control of the pariah and keyed an OTP that initialized depressurization within the airlock. Ahmed faked like he couldn't breathe and Rajul flipped him off and stuck out her tongue. Then he disappeared into black space, the airlock sealing tightly behind
Speaker 3:him. Suddenly, rajul felt as if she were locked in a coffin. It was eerily quiet inside the pariah and stiller than a corpse. Can you hear me? It was as clear as if he were right beside her, and the sudden interruption of his voice made her jump. Damn it, ahmed. She held a hand over her fast-beating heart. How is it out there, cold, I think Can't see much right now. The sound of Ahmed's deep exhalations punctuated every sentence Ton of debris, the sight of this smark, that massive space mutant. For a moment her heart skipped. Har, har, har, so funny. Can you get to the ship? Calm silence answered. Rajul cycled through the pariah's servo cams until she found what she was looking for Ahmed bounding steadily across the hull towards the derelict.
Speaker 3:No she thought. It's not just calm silence, it was utter silence, the silence of void, of one last desperate hope at finding a way home. It was the silence of two people alone in a universe filled with trillions and trillions, none of whom could help them, even if they tried. The silence of our coffin. She mused and the image brought claustrophobia screaming back.
Speaker 3:Ahmed stopped, swiveled his head like a satellite's array one way, then the other. Innumerable metal fragments hovered between the two ships, forever frozen in space, suspended in a state of infinite rest. If Ahmed timed his jump wrong, if he contacted even the most microscopic piece of debris, it would be all over for him. If he gave space, his cold, prodding fingers a place to tear in, not even his extensive mods would save him. Be careful, man. Aw, you're worried about me. That's adorable. Rajul blushed Nah, I just can't get this heap home without you. She shivered. Now would you hurry up? It's getting cold in here. Ahmed bent at the knees and kicked off the hull. He floated toward the Mark 12 like a ghost, arms tucked and body needle-tight. Rajul looked away and held her breath After what felt like an eternity. She risked a quick peek out of the corner of her eye. He's so close, just a few more meters. She thought and heard a thwunk. But Ahmed's sudden contact with the derelict was as soundless as everything else Frozen. Yet he asked Nope, not yet. Damn, I didn't take long enough. Then he chuckled and Rajul smiled with relief, plugging in now. Hopefully she has enough reserves to fill our heap with enough juice to get us home.
Speaker 3:Rajul had yet to process how she would feel if they were really going to die. So far she kept giving herself enough hope to ignore the facts. Maybe we'll find a last, second power source. Maybe the source will be enough to not only power life support but get the engine up and running again. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But maybes were no longer enough. If they were going to die, she was going to die without holding regrets.
Speaker 3:I love you, ahmed. It sounded like he choked on his own spit. Ahmed cleared his throat. Excuse me, you heard me, man. I love you. No, no, you don't. I'm not the one, I'm basically a computer. Babe. There's nothing left to love here. That's not what I mean. I lost everything, like a lot of people did. Anything.
Speaker 3:The shift didn't take. I left behind. You're all I've got. Just be careful, will ya? That's all I'm trying to say.
Speaker 3:Awkward silence followed. Rajul gulped rocks. He never took this long to find something witty to say. You too, babe, talk later. I gotta plug in. Can you revert the power currents? I don't want to release too much energy before the pariah gets a chance to siphon and convert Right. Reverting currents.
Speaker 3:Firing the engines in three, two, one, the pariah roared to life. The interior lights shot on, nearly blinding Rajul, and she felt the ever-so-light change of internal pressure as the engine flushed with renewed power. She clapped her hands, stomped her feet and whooped at the top of her lungs. Even with full gravity back on, she felt like she was floating. You did it. We're finally going home.
Speaker 3:Rajul swiveled between monitors, stopping to perform status checks at each station. Green across the board, the Mark 12 had supplied the pariah nearly 22% power, more than enough to get them to the nearest way station with their gold mine in tow. Her imagination raced from possibility to possibility. With her share of the loot, she could afford to move out of the slums Hadron, she could afford to leave Earth behind for good. She always dreamed of visiting 1E or 22B, but the thought of actually living somewhere like that had never crossed her mind. My cheeks hurt. Man Rajul tapped an erratic beat on the console.
Speaker 3:I think you weren't a kiss, you actually freaking, did it? No response, ahmed, you did it. Man, you can head back now. But he didn't move. He floated there loosely holding onto the Mark 12 as still as the floating debris around him, like another hapless piece of space flotsam. That's not funny. Can we just get out of here already? But he still refused to respond. She wrapped her arms around herself. A tingling sensation spread from her core to her extremities. Ahmed, you never took jokes this far, not like this. At least Screw you. Man Rajul choked back nervous tears before unstrapping herself and wiggling into the remaining suit.
Speaker 3:It was a tight fit, but she had no choice. She wasn't about to leave him out there, not after everything they'd been through together. What could have gone wrong? She thought their situation had gone from desperate to hopeless to brilliant, beyond her wildest dreams. Everything was supposed to be okay now. They made it. They struck it big, big enough to retire early.
Speaker 3:She set a time, depressurization, slid into the airlock and held her breath once more. Her heart was racing again and sweat beaded on her forehead and underneath her arms. This would be the first time in open space and she was stepping into the new frontier without support or guidance. In zero grav, she made her way hand over hand to the ship's external tether. Now that the power was on, she could access the panel and strap in. At least, if she were to misstep, she would be able to pull herself back to safety. The thought of floating helplessly through space turned her stomach into knots.
Speaker 3:Rajul made short work of the trip around the ship's hull. She detached from her body and watched herself as if she were a speck of cosmic dust on a meteor. There was something… surreal about being in space. She was naked, completely exposed. The entire universe was simultaneously light-years away and bearing in on her faster than light speed. Each synthetic breath through the suit's respirator echoed inside her helmet. But no matter how hard she inhaled, she could never seem to get enough air.
Speaker 3:Ahmed, she melled, staring at him across the gap. Still no reaction, not as much as a head nod or a muscle twitch. She kicked off, soaring toward her companion with reckless abandon. Luckily she made it safely across the debris field. If she was honest, she would have to admit her own well-being was the last thing on her mind. All she cared about was getting Ahmed and figuring out what in Hadron was happening.
Speaker 3:What she found, clinging to the Mark 12, was worse than anticipated, much worse. She reached toward Ahmed and grabbed his shoulder with one shaky gloved hand. She shivered. Though she couldn't feel it through their protective barriers, she knew instinctively that he was beyond saving. She swallowed glass as she turned his body toward her and gasped he was alive or in some pretend state. His eyes were jumping between closed and open, closed and open, their whites flickering behind his fogged helmet. His lips quivered as if he were trying to speak, but no words came out. Almost imperceptibly, the muscles and electronics behind his face twitched and spasmed. Then it all stopped. His face slackened, his jaw lulled. He went limp in her arms. If not for the vacuum of space, his dead weight would have dragged them both into oblivion. Ahmed, please, please, don't go.
Speaker 3:Her suit's internal environmental systems couldn't keep up with the coldness spiking her heart, spreading to the core of her soul. This was it. This was the end of Rajul's spacefaring career, the end of a life she had worked so hard to obtain with a man she had to admit she really did love more than as just a friend. She considered the debris field. It would be so easy to simply kick off the Mark 12, close her eyes, wrap her arms around Ahmed and let go. Close her eyes, wrap her arms around Ahmed and let go. A piece would tear her suit, cut one of its innumerable lifelines and maybe, just maybe, she would join Ahmed wherever he was.
Speaker 3:A scream, like an ancient dial-up tone, like a thousand thousand robots dying in an electrical fire, erupted through her comm link. She couldn't escape it. It was everywhere all at once, heart racing, vision fading from the awful cacophony. She managed to disengage their connection. Even so. She thought she could still hear the terrible phantom sound through Ahmed's sealed suit. She screamed back as loudly as she could, but her own voice was lost to Ahmed's. She could only feel the blood pulsing beneath her temples.
Speaker 3:Then, as if possessed, ahmed throttled her. His sudden, unanticipated tackle sent them both sprawling from the relative security of the Mark 12's hull into space's merciless grasp. But she was tethered. If she just clung to her friend, or whatever the nightmarish creature that had replaced him was, they would both be okay If she could just get them back into the pariah, back to one of the way stations for diagnostics. But their momentum was too great. She jerked and felt a sharp alteration of their trajectory. The cable tore from her suit and snapped back, receding away from her well beyond her desperate grasp. They were untethered, delivered to the callous clutches of space.
Speaker 3:Ahmed continued to scream. An occasional word filtered through, but it was mostly indecipherable coding language. He was foaming at the mouth and his eyes were filled with blood and flashing blue light. He snapped at the inside of his helmet and his neck flopped back and forth at awkward, inhuman intervals.
Speaker 3:Holding her one-time friend at arm's length, rajul frantically cycled through her suit's life support and integrity readouts. Her oxygen levels were abysmal. She had a few hours at most, unless she tapped into Ahmed's. What could that do? Drifting listless through space, this time, no, maybes left. It really was the end, ahmed. She said you stupid son of a-. We were so close too. We had everything we ever wanted. We were finally going to be so rich, so happy Together.
Speaker 3:Instead, they were back to nothing. At least in the pariah she didn't have a rabid Ahmed screaming in ones and zeros to contend with. At least in the pariah there was hope they might eventually find a way home. Now she was going to die, a derelict, lost among a vast sea of stars, her best friend, her only friend, clawing and scratching at her from inside his suit. A broken man succumbed to the computer within.
Speaker 3:Rajul's final breaths were strained and her chest filled with icy, hot fire. Every time she inhaled, silence screamed at her. As she stared into its eyes, his eyes, she reminded herself the face staring back at her had been a familiar one, a dear old friend, but it was so horribly unfamiliar now, a grotesque, twisted visage of somebody she had used to know. This face staring back was the last thing she would ever see. As dark space faded from her periphery, rajul's mind wandered and the cold didn't bother her anymore. Forever was not far away For her. It all started when she first left Planetside, but it only began to end a couple hours ago. But hey, she thought, pulling Ahmed tighter to her chest at least I get to spend the rest of forever close to you close to you.
Speaker 1:That story really gets to me. It really makes me emotional. I think it's one of the very few times that a horror story on this podcast has, I don't know, made me a little teary. If I'm being honest, the story was submitted by first time Lunatics writer, curtis A Dieter, and we're very, very excited that Curtis has found us and is now part of the Lunatics community and I do hope that he submits again. And of course, it was narrated for us by Denali Bartel, and I'm sure all of you are very familiar with Denali's beautiful, beautiful voice at this point. But this story just had again such a human quality to it and there was so much depth to it and I immediately thought of Denali's beautiful narrating voice.
Speaker 1:But let's talk a little bit about Curtis first. So Curtis is an author of fantasy, science fiction and horror, with two dozen short stories published in various anthologies and collections. He is the editor and founder of a Midwest regional arts and literature magazine called Of Rust and Glass and produces a related podcast with his local PBS station called Proud to Be of Dust and Glass. When he is not reading or writing, he enjoys spending time with his family, discovering new music and taste testing craft brews at local breweries. You can follow him on Facebook at author Curtis A Dieter or Instagram at Curtis underscore A dot, underscore Dieter. And again, we'll link everything in the description below so that it's really easy for you to find Denali and Curtis and all of the other narrators and writers for this episode.
Speaker 1:I'm sure this is not a very profound insight on my part, but there's something about this story that reminds me so much of Alien Romulus in that it's really a love story between a droid and android type being, or someone who is modified so much so that they're closer to droid than human, which I think is also a really interesting mechanic and a human and the complexities that come with that. And you know, in the case of Alien Romulus it's not romantic love, it's sibling love. And in this story even, you know, even though maybe there's some idea that it could be romantic love at its core, no matter what, there's a real friendship there. And this just calls to mind all of the themes we explored when we did the history of artificial intelligence in horror series, because so much of that obviously overlaps with space horror in a big way, because it really is like man versus machine, and especially in this moment in time when AI is on the rise and evolving so quickly, and there's already articles in the New York Times about people who are having these full blown emotional relationships with Chad GBT, and you know it just, it's so fascinating.
Speaker 1:And I think about the movie, you know the Haley Joel Osment movie, artificial Intelligence and and what will happen in a few years from now. You know, I don't know not to be dramatic, but I do think we're kind of at that moment in time when people maybe who struggle with human relationships or are struggling in certain ways in their lives, will find community with non-human beings, and what does that mean and what does that call to mind? So, anyway, I find this story obviously is a bit different, because this at one point was a person, but still a really beautiful and and sad journey, obviously a really gut-wrenching story that made me cry, but Denali did such, a, again, fantastic job bringing it to life. It's such a well-crafted story and the narration matches that perfectly. All right, well, without further ado, I'll take out my tissues and dab my eyes and we have one last story in this epic space horror saga to present to you. So, without further, ado O'Ryan Beckins. Read by Benjamin Cooper. Read by Michael Macera.
Speaker 4:For a long time, blackness and pain were the totality of my being. Often I questioned my own existence. In this realm, time had no meaning. My perception was not only muddled by this darkness surrounding me, but also by a searing pain that radiated from my every pore, a pain that smelled of rotting flesh, the decaying insides of a previous life. The fermented rot clogged and burned my sinuses. I pawed at my nose in an attempt to fan the odor away, but my efforts were futile. I came to know this agony as stink pain, and it was unbearable. Fragments of memories would surface briefly before retreating into the void. These splintered moments varied the warm embrace of my beloved mother or a joyous Christmas morn. After those visions had passed, the pain would mysteriously disappear, before returning with a punishing intensity.
Speaker 4:For now I was alone, once more alone with my stink pain, but this time it felt different, different and was unrelenting. The odd sensation began with a tingling in my toes. It then crept up my feet to my ankles. The tingling transitioned to burning my feet, feeling as if they were on hot coals. My calf muscles ached as the discomfort climbed up my thighs. A stifling heat engulfed me. The overwhelming taste of copper filled my mouth. My legs stiffened. I struggled to flex my feet and I felt the crunch of bone on bone. When the pain was too much to bear, I prayed for the torture to end. But death gave way to a miracle. The stink pain retreated into the abyss.
Speaker 4:Then a kaleidoscope of vivid colors swirled around me. The presence of another was undeniable. A droning hum emanated from the silent oblivion. The mechanized whirring eventually transformed to that of a pleasant female voice Orion beckons. The hushed voice said softly.
Speaker 4:The S sound drawing on until it transitioned to the familiar hissing of the oxygen pipes inside the transport ship of which I was a crew member, the recollection began to seep into my consciousness Just what had happened to me. The outline of a woman began to form from the swirling torrent of color rushing in front of me. The woman's features took shape as if she was being molded from clay. The rainbow colors of her aura vibrated excitedly, sizzling. Was this beautiful creature my salvation? She held out her hand gently, motioning for me to join her. Suddenly, the figure jolted and her face contorted. I reached out in a desperate attempt to grasp her hand, but it was too late. The clay-colored woman cracked and broke completely apart. The colors dissipated and the darkness returned. My ailments returned with a vengeance. The nothingness had enveloped me once again. But I had been given a gift, a hint to another existence.
Speaker 4:Outside the hell of this stink pain, the blackness remained for what seemed like ages. Had days passed, Perhaps years? My faith sank into the vortex of hopelessness. This ever-present nothingness was the basis of my new, muted reality. Could I dare challenge this? A bone-chilling cold gradually replaced the warmth. The sweat on my skin froze to crystallize ice. The paralyzing chill spread. My neck stiffened. I couldn't move. My senses were inundated by the timeless, frigid, stinking pain which continuously prodded me as I floated helplessly. Was this what it felt like to die? Amid the suffocating coldness of space, I felt as if I hadn't moved in eons. Yet I was still conscious. Somehow had paralysis set in. I was lost to the ceaseless onslaught of the unforgiving stink pain.
Speaker 4:Desperately, I tried in vain to move my arms. My mind pleaded for me to succumb to the numbness of the frozen eternity that had enveloped me, for I was a mere speck in the vastness of existence, my future immaterial to the universe. I could feel the years being sucked from my body, drifting off to orbit some uncharted, distant, dead star. In a way, this fate was liberating. Even the stink pain seemed to no longer have dominion over me. But then the vivid colors returned, pierced through the blackness, and illuminated my world once again.
Speaker 4:The woman emerged from the ever-rescent color. Once more, Her arms were raised prominently above her head in capitulation to the miraculous landscape of her origin. Mustering all my strength, inspired by her magnificence and fueled by a desire to end my ordeal, I reached for her. The ice covering my arms creaked in protest before shattering. The casts around my legs cracked as well, shards breaking away and floating off Limbs. Akimbo, I swam through the ether towards my savior, but instead of extending my arms in a welcome embrace, she prompted me to halt. Without hesitation, I obliged. The colorful backdrop faded away, leaving us floating in space, surrounded by stars, planets, nebulae and the many other fantastic displays of the universe. She pointed to a cluster of twinkling stars and then, in the most kind-hearted voice I had ever heard, she told me every star represented another day in my life left to live.
Speaker 1:No.
Speaker 4:I was not some existential being, nor was I dead. She explained that I was in a stasis, a state of flux, there had been an accident and if I had stayed strong, they could return me to the world from which I had departed. Please, she whispered as she began to fade, hold on my savior. My only connection was leaving, abandoning me once again. Before she dissolved, she murmured follow the light, for it will be your salvation. Orion beckons.
Speaker 4:Thoughts of inexplicable, unfathomable scenarios ran through my head. The thoughts circled into a swarm of stink pain, their decaying remnants pouring into the mold of my soul. Was a concussion to blame? Perhaps space madness? Panic set in claustrophobia, overcoming me as I struggled to break from the chains of the dark cocoon that encased me. Then a blinding light flashed and what felt like warm fluid washed over me, taking with it the stink pain. Like a baby emerging from the womb, I passed into a different but familiar world. The bright light stung my sensitive eyes. Recognizable voices chattered incessantly in the background. My arm was draped around someone and they slipped a pair of tinted glasses on me. Here, these will help. A reassuring woman's voice said your retinas may have sustained damage from the prolonged exposure in the stasis field, but once we dock at Orion Port Kilo, the medics will be able to fully restore your vision. We are all fortunate to even be alive.
Speaker 4:After the accident, I looked around. I was in a large cargo hold, a metallic tomb stacked to the brim with boxes, pallets and equipment. I was in a wreck. I asked feebly when was the stink pain? My body cried out for its accustomed body-numbing influence. We were in a wreck. We hit a piece of space junk that somehow got through the radar. It breached the hull just at the right spot while you were inspecting the cargo. Per Orion policy, the safety of the cargo takes precedent and the autostabilizers kicked in to protect the stock, despite you being within its radius. You should be dead. The failsafe somehow managed to keep you alive and in stasis, although you were writhing about screaming in agony the whole time. It looked horrible as if you were being electrocuted. We couldn't turn off the stabilizers until the fractures in the hull were mitigated and the auto-envrio systems were back online.
Speaker 4:My blurred vision began to dissipate. A friendly face came into focus. Lola, you were the woman. You were there talking to me, trying to calm me. I was speaking to you through an amplified frequency. Simon told me not to bother, that my voice would just be static. But you heard me. It worked. You saved me. If it wasn't for you, the pain would have been too much.
Speaker 4:Here. Let me help. You are weak. She took me to a cot in the corner of the cargo hold. I collapsed, curling into a ball, shivering uncontrollably.
Speaker 4:A man in a pilot uniform approached, beaming Adam, you are alive. I knew you'd make it. I had a 20-credit bet with John at Orion Distribution Center Games that you'd pull through. Well done, don't badger him, simon. He's been through hell. Lola snapped as she gently covered him with a blanket and handed him a hot cup of tea. You're going through some kind of withdrawal. Once your core body temperature stabilizes, you'll come out of it here. Take this, it'll make you feel better. She insisted, handing me a pill. I gulped it down hastily. I spoke to corporate. Simon interjected, taking a seat at the end of the cot. They were hoping you'd pull through, mostly because they didn't want to pay out on your life insurance policy.
Speaker 4:Collateral damage, right. Just another space accident, another statistic for some Orion corporate minion to record on a performance report. Lola fumed as she moved to the cargo bay control panel, her fingers moving furiously over the buttons and knobs. All we wanted was a good, paying job so we could send some cash back home, maybe accumulate some credits in a retirement account for a day that will never come. Simon remarked.
Speaker 4:Those greedy bastards at Orion don't care about us grunts, just their profit margins. Why had Orion Corporation sent us on this mission? Millions of light years away, their greed had no bounds. They would not stop until they maximized profits from every corner of the galaxy, exploiting every race and resource, or until their lackeys finally refused to no longer be human fodder for their Orion meat grinder, an automated voice echoed through the massive cargo hold. Orion Corporation is pleased to report that minimal damage was sustained in today's incident. The cargo was not compromised and there are no casualties to report. All personnel will be required to debrief upon docking at Orion Port Kilo. Thank you for your dedicated service. The medication kicked in and the gnawing void the stinkpain had left was no more. My body went limp. I knew this next voyage into my subconscious would be a healing and peaceful one, so I began to dream.
Speaker 1:I absolutely love this story. There's something very similar to 28 Days Later or the Day of the Triffids, or just something about waking up into something that you've missed or you've forgotten, and it's everything is new and different and horrible, and that's such a gut-wrenching way to start a story like this. I also think a story like this feels very poignant in this moment in time when we think about really like companies versus people and what's important to us in 2025 and beyond, with the landscape that is emerging, and I think this story obviously has a lot to say about that and it does it really well and it points things out right while using these themes of space, horror and science fiction, that we're aware of being in stasis and all these other things, but pulling us so intimately into one person's journey and the horrors and the effects of that, there's something very cold and cruel and clinical, and I think that's sort of how I walk away from the story feeling. I also, of course, have to shout out Mike Massera, the amazing narrator, mike Massera, who brought this story to life. He did such a great job and I often think of Mike Massera when there's particularly a genre story, but any type of story, but for us always, always a genre story of some sort that I don't know. I find to be really emotional, and I think he does a wonderful job of knowing kind of when to have his voice be very cool and calculated and when to bring us in a little deeper and closer. So I think Mike did a really wonderful job, as always.
Speaker 1:But let's talk a little bit about Benjamin Cooper, because this is his first time as well, being featured on the Lunatics Radio Hour podcast. Amongst the long boxes of his comic book collection Aquarium's Civil War reenactment gear and concert posters, published author Benjamin Cooper concocts his fantastic works of fiction. Having studied creative writing at the University of Iowa, he now aims to expose his creative mind to the world through the written word. You can find him at his home on the internet, mindofbenjamincoopercom, and of course, we will also link that in the description below.
Speaker 1:One thing that I'm really focusing on in 2025 personally is through my kind of creative work, is bringing something deeper into these genre stories that I tend to write or tend to tell in some ways, and I think all of these writers from the last two episodes have done such an incredible job at bringing us into a beautiful and vivid setting that you know is so, so themed and full of either we're on a space station or we are in a spacecraft, or we are galloping in a wagon in the 1800s, in a UFO descends, whatever it is, the worlds are so rich and what happens perhaps is again set in that world right, a rock full of worms that eat somebody's body from the inside out. But the point of the story isn't that, and it's not about shocking us. It's about bringing us through an emotional journey and connecting that to something in the real world today. I think everyone was incredibly successful at that, and all of these stories have something more to say than you know a sum of their parts and how they interact with this theme of space horror and all of these narrators just the dreamiest voices in the world, and I'm very grateful to everybody.
Speaker 1:So thank you all. Thank you for being on this journey with us. We will continue to trudge through this year ahead and and we're very excited for some of the themes that are coming your way, as always stay safe, stay spooky. Join us on Discord, and we're very excited for some of the themes that are coming your way, as always. Stay safe, stay spooky, join us on Discord and we'll talk to you very soon. Bye you.
