Unnamed Journal 7 - Page 17

from anyplace else. Just as he began to consider this problem thoroughly, 9ine white dust began to pour in through the vents. "What the...?" said Covey. "Run!" said Lang. They took off out of Engineering and made their way back through the airlock deck. They ran, neither knowing what it was they were dealing with, Covey knowing even less. They ran in fear. It did no good. The 9ine white dust swarmed like a whirlwind and before they made it back to the mess hall it had got Covey. Lang stopped running and watched while Covey screamed as the whirlwind spun the 9lesh from his bones. He burst like a balloon 9illed with gore but not a drop of blood touched the ground. The dust seems to draw it out of the air, to draw every part of Covey into itself, leaving neither bone nor hair. When it was all over, only the dust remained, dropping, almost drowsily, back to the deck. The dust rearranged itself in discreet piles and those piles grew and took shape and congealed until the six crew members he saw in the mess hall before were standing in front of him. So was Alera Zool. So was Dal Covey. "No reason to run, skipper," said Covey, who was not Covey. "It's me." Lang ran again, but as he ran, he looked back and saw them standing in the same place, watching him. To Be Continued… UJ