by Steve Perry
Control was packed, people crying and semihysterical and pale with shock. Windy and then two others had been murdered just outside, the sight of their bloody bodies feeding their collective terror. Cabot was dead, Vincent wasn’t there, and there were a few more screaming, pounding knocks at the inner door, frightened researchers tumbling in with stories of alien howls and invisible beings, of friends and coworkers slain. In all, it took a few moments for any kind of order to be established. One of the pilots, Lee Goldmann, finally called for a head count. There were thirteen Bunda people missing, eight confirmed dead, and no one had any idea what had attacked them.
Goldmann and the other Bunda pilot, Les Drucker, called for an immediate evac. No one disagreed, except for Chris Aquino, who didn’t want to leave without his missing lover, and a woman named Irwin, the Sun Jumper pilot who was waiting for her boss to show up. John C. thought they were nuts, but then, he wasn’t all that sure of his own sanity anymore; the feel of Di’s blood cooling against his calves was a nightmare like no other, turning part of his mind into a vague and shadowy place that he did his best to stay out of.
Goldmann took charge, sending two of the more together biotechs to the supply room for what weapons Bunda had and getting Evans to set up the AD signal on a pulse to the next outpost. Once they were armed, they’d move out to the transports en masse and go. There was no real discussion about waiting for the missing few to show, the subject unanimously ignored; maybe they’d hear the ships warming up and make it out to the LZ in time to board. If they didn’t, they were probably dead already.
Together, they waited for Karen and Rich to get back with weapons, silent and afraid as they listened to the open intercom, listened for screams. After Evans had sent out their auto-distress, he tried to get some of the others to join him in prayer, but he didn’t have many takers. John C., a lapsed Catholic, thought that if Evans had seen what he had, he’d realize that God had nothing to do with what had happened on Bunda; the Devil was more like it, the planet his now. If God had any interest at all in taking care of matters, there was going to be a war—and all John C. wanted was to get the hell out of Their way.
19
Noguchi walked purposefully through the ship, the three yautja she passed ignoring her completely. If they saw the burner strapped to her back, they didn’t think it important. She’d been dishonored, after all; what did they care if she chose to wander around in full armor, armed or not? That was her assumption, anyway, and all that mattered was that no one try to stop her as she made her way to operations.
The Shell’s control room wasn’t overly large, one long console running the length of the room with two bolted chairs, a wide front viewscreen, and the main terminal for the ship’s computer. Everything in Clan culture was based around the Hunt, their technology advanced enough to make things like piloting extremely simple; Hunters didn’t waste time or energy in areas where there was no honor to be gained.
She stood just outside control in the large, empty shuttle dock where Topknot’s transport usually sat, preparing herself for her first action. The two yautja in operations were older Hunters, past their prime, as most shipworkers seemed to be. The attitude of yautja toward their elders was respectful, a kind of unspoken understanding existing that the “retired” could Hunt, but had simply decided not to; in this way, old Hunters that weren’t lucky enough to have died in battle were still worthy of regard.
They don’t Hunt anymore, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less dangerous. If anything, the fact that they’d survived to become old in such a violent culture spoke very highly of their skills. They wouldn’t be expecting to be attacked on a ship, but she’d still have to be fast and efficient, not a movement wasted.
The door was open, making it easier for her to slip silently into the room, walking on the balls of her padded feet. Neither of the Hunters turned away from the console or from their conversation, probably trading stories of trophy Hunts. They were dressed only in harness tops and loincloths, no weapons within reach, and Noguchi managed to get within a meter before one of them noticed her. It was one of the few Hunters whose name she could actually pronounce, Prient’de, and he broke off talking, his tusks flaring wide with alarm—
—and Noguchi snapped out her wrist blades even as she swung, catching Prient’de under his chin in a swift and sure killing strike, dropping to one knee and turning, hand coming up as droplets of pale blood flew—
—and she rammed the wet blades into the other’s lower belly as he rose, realizing too late that the ooman had come to kill them. She’d never named this other, and as he clutched at the strange coils of gut that slid between his claws, toppling, hissing weakly, she thought that “Dead” suited him quite well. The light green, thin liquid that served as yautja blood was hot and smelled almost sweet, the scent filling the room as it flowed across the floor.
No going back, she was committed, and the thought made her own blood run hot. She didn’t feel proud of having killed the unarmed Hunters, but there was no guilt, either. She felt driven, she felt alive with intent, and there was a sense of righteousness in her heart that she knew would only get stronger.
Noguchi walked back to the door and closed it, pushing the lock control and turning the manual bolt. Given time and tools, the Hunters could get through—but she had a diversion in mind, something to take their minds off of the fact that they’d been hijacked.
No time like the present. She sat in front of the console, lifting the arm control from next to one of the small, circular monitors. The system activated; a series of symbols scrolled across the screen on a backdrop of red. Topknot had shown her once how their system worked, and he was going to regret it.
If I can figure out what does what…
The Shell’s system—and probably all yautja drives, she didn’t know—was image-based, each tiny picture a representation of an action or thing. All she had to do was access the right area and connect the symbols in the correct order.
She touched the sensor “pen” to a silhouette of a yautja ship and another set of images popped up—a claw, a mask, lines representing doors, other symbols that she didn’t know. There was an egg in the set, and she tapped that one; this time, the image of the queen came up, surrounded by new pictures.
She touched the queen, connecting it to a hand, what looked like a series of knots, a triangle, and back to the queen. There was a flash of green light, a warning with new options available; Noguchi repeated the series and this time there was no warning flash. Instead, the image of the queen appeared alone—and from the symbols that scrolled out beneath, she saw that she had been successful.
Bam bam bam!
Startled, Noguchi turned, saw a pair of faces through the thick window in the door, their mouths moving and mandibles flexing. They’d discovered her sooner than she’d expected, but it didn’t matter—or it wouldn’t, in a few moments. One of them signaled “stop,” fist out in front, and Noguchi turned away. Turned back to the screen, hoping that piloting the ship would be as easy as releasing the queen.
So now she knew what it felt like to be an outcast from two worlds. She’d turned her back on humanity because she’d never felt at home there, and now, by her own hand, she’d erased what Broken Tusk’s mark meant to the Clan. She would be Hunted by them, actively, and if they caught her, she wouldn’t die quickly.
In that moment, she decided that she was happier than she’d ever been in her life.
* * *
If he hadn’t had the shit so thoroughly kicked out of him, Jess probably could have managed to refuel the Nemesis shuttle on his own; not as fast as with two experienced people, but having to walk Ellis through the process took a few minutes. Each passing second stretched like eternity, and though Jess’s anger had only increased with the beating, he felt like he’d learned his lesson on letting it get the better of him, at least for the moment. They had to get gone. Briggs and his other guard could be back at any time, with reinforcements.
And if
that’s not incentive enough, something is very fucking wrong with this picture.
The tilted platform, the strange rustlings in the trees far below, the alarm that wouldn’t shut off. It wasn’t possible, but the station had a deserted feel to it, as if everyone had mysteriously disappeared. On the plus side, the freaky circumstances had stirred enough adrenaline through his bruised body that he was capable of moving. But there was also a feeling in the air like death, like no matter what they did, their future didn’t include making it off Bunda.
And it won’t, if we don’t get some fuel loaded into this thing…
Everything was ready on his end, flow rate adjusted, the mixture and filtering set. Jess looked away from the control console, over to where Ellis was trying to fit the hose into the shuttle’s tank opening. Jess watched for a second and was about to call out for the kid to twist the damn connector to the right when Ellis got it. The line hooked, Jess hit the pump switch.
Lara leaned out of the shuttle, looking as nervous as Jess felt. “What’s the holdup? Prelaunch is done, we’re a go.” She kept her voice low, her gaze darting left and right.
Jess started to give her a thumbs-up, wincing instead as his shoulder recommended otherwise. Every part of him hurt. “We’re on, three minutes,” he said.
Lara went back in, Jess turning his attention back to the fuel gauges on the console. Three minutes, and they’d be on their way. Even with the air filters cleaned and a full tank, they’d be facing death again within a week—but not at the hands of the Company, and that felt like the best they could hope for—
“Jess, look out!” Ellis screamed. Jess looked up, confused, the kid was staring in his direction but there was nothing around. Ellis finally snapped—
Wham!
Something hit Jess’s shoulder, hard, knocking him to the deck, the new pain brilliant and sharp. Jess clutched at his arm and looked up, saw nothing—
—except the air, moving. As if it had taken a tangible form, a shifting, living, creature, and he could just make out what looked like twisted knots of hair but much too high, no man was that tall—
“Get away!”
The kid, screaming, and the strange, bitter smell hovering around the invisible monster was suddenly overwhelmed by the dizzying fumes of ship fuel. Jess heard liquid hitting the ground, heard Lara calling from inside the shuttle as the air creature moved, turning toward Ellis—
—and Ellis was suddenly only a few meters away, his young face contorted by fear and purpose, the dripping, arm-thick hose in his hands. Before Jess could do any more than sit up, Ellis opened the nozzle all the way, a blast of oily fuel shooting out at the shifting thing.
At once, Jess saw the creature outlined in the powerful river of liquid—a giant after all, humanoid, staggered by the fluid jet pounding at its massive chest. Ellis was struggling to keep hold of the whipping hose, the creature struggling to escape the blast—
—and Jess heard the sharp electric crack come from the creature, from its invisible cloak, and saw the shuddering change as parts of it became clear. Jess covered his face, screaming for Ellis to shut it off, to get back, and—
BA-BOOM!
—the bright, white orange night turned to thoughtless black and Jess followed it down, the monster’s dying howl chasing him into unconsciousness.
* * *
They’d moved out in groups of four and five, each group equipped with at least one weapon, each pale, terrified individual trying to watch all directions at once. All they had were shotguns, practically antiques, but Irwin didn’t mind so much; beat the shit out of nothing at all, and one of the groups had agreed to come with her, to wait on board the Sun Jumper for Briggs. The rest of the researchers, scientists, and both Bunda pilots had headed off for the orbiter transports, docked near the top of the station.
Two men and a woman had come with Irwin, one of the men almost catatonic with fear; she and the other man, John something, had to drag him most of the way to the Jumper while the woman guarded. Beneath the droning alarm the night was strangely silent, as if all the life on Bunda was holding its breath, hiding from whatever demons had come. The woman, a redhead named Tia, carried the shotgun with the grim, no-nonsense expression of a veteran soldier. Irwin was glad to have her along.
Once they were in, the hatch closed, Irwin warmed up the ship and joined the other three in the cabin, the viewscreen dialed to show the platform outside. The fear-struck scientist was already strapped in, his eyes blank and empty, but Tia and John seemed okay. No one approached, the faraway sounds of the transports taking off the only change in the strange air. They watched for what seemed like hours, although it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes—and when the platform shook beneath them, a glow of orange light rising up past one of the envelopes along with the dull, muffled sound of an explosion, her companions had had enough waiting.
“If that was a stabilizer, the slant’s about to get a fuckload worse,” John said, turning to Irwin. “And if one of the envelopes gets blown through, the whole station’s going down.”
“Maybe your guy was on one of the transports,” Tia said hopefully.
Irwin nodded slowly. Maybe he was. And if he wasn’t, maybe it was because he was dead, and she wasn’t so hot on the idea of joining him.
“Strap in,” she said, and the relief on both their faces lent conviction to her decision. She was the pilot, these people were counting on her to take them to safety; Briggs and his twin goons were on their own.
Irwin snapped off the viewscreen and moved toward the cockpit, harnessing in and taking a final check on her passengers before she realized that she hadn’t had time to think about what had happened to Windy. It had all happened so fast.
And we were going to be together, we both wanted it, and now it will never happen. He’ll never laugh at another one of my dumb stories, or drink to old times or kiss a woman, ever again—he’s over, like some movie, dead.
Irwin brought the Jumper up, a tear running down her face for the terrible murder of her friend as they blasted away from Bunda survey.
* * *
Vincent was nearly hysterical when they finally made it to control and Briggs had to suppress a serious urge to scream at him. It was bad enough that the ASM had led them halfway around the station trying to find a lift that worked, babbling all the way about what a Company man he was. But at the sight of the corpses on the outside platform, followed by the sounds of Bunda’s transport ships taking off, he’d graduated from annoying to a possible liability.
They stood in control, Vincent pacing and tearful, his voice raised to a near shout.
“I don’t understand, who could have done this? Why, why would anyone want to kill them, why didn’t someone call us, why did they leave? Jesus, I don’t understand, where’s Cabot, he wouldn’t have left without trying to find us and—”
“Shut up,” Briggs snapped, almost as irritated with himself as with the blithering Vincent. He hadn’t expected such a savage attack, hadn’t been prepared for it, and God only knew what was happening to the three on the shuttle.
“Nirasawa, this station is under attack by person or persons unknown,” he said briskly. “Get me back to the Nemesis shuttle by the fastest possible route.”
“Yes, Mr. Briggs,” Nirasawa said, turning back to the outside platform. Briggs followed him, stepping over one of the extraordinarily dead people and wrinkling his nose in disgust. All three had been eviscerated, which didn’t strike him as the work of a Company exec—leading him to the unsettling conclusion that some outside competition was involved.
Vincent tagged after them, finally quiet, and as they reached the steps leading up to the next deck—
BA-BOOM!
Nirasawa reached back and gripped Briggs’s arm before he could fall as the platform trembled violently, continuing its gradual slant. Briggs could see a reflected glow off the side of one of the spheres. Something was on fire, something in the direction of the H/K shuttle. They’d have to hurry, t
hese stations wouldn’t withstand a serious fire and with no one to put it out, it was only a matter of time—
“The whole platform’s going to crash,” Vincent said.
Brilliant.
“I don’t understand,” the ASM whined, stumbling up the stairs behind them. “Why would anyone—”
Briggs cut him off, tired of waiting for Vincent to figure out what was right in front of him. “Think about it—your survey hasn’t turned up anything of particular value, has it… yet someone has deemed it necessary to attack your station and kill your people, on the very same day that a shuttle from the Nemesis lands. Tell me—do you really think Weyland/Yutani is the only corporation interested in the data they collected?”
They reached the top of the steps and started across another deck, the flickering glow getting stronger. Across the wide, empty expanse of dark platform was another set of stairs. Briggs sighed, feeling entirely put out with the circumstances, with the idiot botanist and the obstinate Lara and with whatever internal leak had led to the immensely inconvenient attack on Bunda’s station.
“You mean another company did this?” Vincent asked, his attempt at outrage coming out in a squeak.
Nirasawa had stopped, his head cocked as if listening for something. Briggs glanced back at Vincent, wondering what he could possibly say that would make him be quiet. Nothing, he imagined, some people were just—
“Sir—trouble,” Nirasawa said, and stepped forward with his arms raised, reaching out as if to grab a shadow. Briggs frowned, peering into the darkness—
—and suddenly, out of nowhere, a giant appeared. He was dressed in some kind of armor with long, beaded hair surrounding a full face mask. He towered over Nirasawa by half a meter, and the guard was by no means a small man.
