by Tim Lebbon
Liliya tried to translate. It was harder than trying to speak Yautja, but after a couple of minutes she thought she’d absorbed enough. A remote space station in an unimportant system, with only tenuous Company links. A waystation where a stranger might be welcome.
“Hell is people,” she said.
“What?”
“An old android saying,” she replied. “Yes, that looks good.” Maybe we can hide there for a while, Liliya thought. Maybe there’ll be someone there who understands that I can help.
Hashori waved her hand and established their route.
9
AKOKO HALLEY
LV-1657, Drophole Gamma 116
October 2692 AD
Major Akoko Halley and her crew were readying for action—suiting up, checking the weapons they kept close at all times. The major was ready first, and by the time Gove came online seven seconds later, she’d already connected with the Pixie’s computer and the base commander, Major Reece of the 5th Terrestrials, BloodManiacs.
While Halley’s suit ran a rapid diagnostic check, she sent the Pixie an order to prep all systems.
“Major Reece, what’s happening?” she asked.
“They’re coming in from the west,” Reece said. “Three ships approaching rapidly.”
“The base has air defenses?”
“Of course, but they’ve misfired. The intruders must have some sort of advanced decoy system.”
Halley saw no need to express her doubt or surprise. It had already happened.
“Tell us how we can help.”
“I thought your first order was to protect those two civvies?” Reece said, his voice dripping with disdain. Halley had hoped that the recent conflict with the Yautja might have brought Marine units closer together, but it seemed that the historical antagonism between Spaceborne and Terrestrials was as strong as ever.
Anyway, he was right. Palant and McIlveen were her prime concern. If he’d been a decent tactician, he would have seen how this inspired her question.
“Defending this base is the best way of keeping them safe,” she said. “You can defend this base, can’t you, Major?”
“Of course,” Reece said.
A pause. Halley saw the images from the base’s outer defenses, blurred action relayed to her suit’s visor via its central CSU. She looked around at her crew. They’d all seen it too. Three ships flitting and rolling in toward the base, bay doors open, hundreds of shapes huddled inside. Like huge pregnant insects, the ships were about to give birth.
“You know what we’re facing here, Reece?”
“I’ve seen the same reports you have,” he said. “East Quarter. You’ll be defending the external access there with a platoon of the 5th.”
“Thank you, Major.”
Reece signed off before Halley could.
“You all heard?” she asked, looking around.
“Let’s get busy,” Sprenkel said.
“Private Bestwick, where are you?” Halley said into her comms unit. She led her crew out of the rec room and across a lobby, heading for the East Quarter. Information assailed her, relayed both from the base’s central command and the Pixie’s computer. Her suit filtered it down and passed on what was important, storing the rest.
“East door,” Bestwick said.
“You’ve got Palant and McIlveen?”
“They’re both with me.”
“Wait inside, we’re on our way.”
They rushed through the East Quarter, and behind them from the west they heard the first explosions. Her suit showed her what was happening—dark shapes dropping from the ships and landing on the plateau, bouncing through the tall grass, unfurling, standing, and then running at the marines who defended that sector of the base’s inner perimeter. Laser fire flickered back and forth, plasma grenades bloomed across the ground, nano-shot exploded in great destructive swathes.
The Xenomorphs kept on coming.
This was warfare through strength of numbers. It had been tried before, the Company’s scientists creating armies of androids that they could send to be killed without a moment’s hesitation and, more importantly, without public outcry. That had proved too expensive, and ironically creating an android dumb enough to willingly sacrifice itself meant that it was too dumb to understand tactics, take orders, and become a quality soldier.
The Xenomorphs obviously didn’t “think” like that.
As Halley and her crew ran, she kept one eye on her visor display, and the scores of Xenomorphs being cut down beneath withering fire from the BloodManiacs. As they fell they seemed to self-destruct, blasting apart and melting across the ground. Grasses burned, sending plumes of dark smoke across the plateau.
“They’re just stupid animals,” Gove said.
“You’ve never been up against them,” Sprenkel said. “I have. They’re not stupid.”
“They’re throwing themselves in front of those lasers,” Nassise said.
“Testing our firepower,” Halley said, “and someone or something’s controlling them.”
They reached the end of the East Quarter and the main door, which stood open, and outside the daylight flared and glowed with reflected explosions from the west. Marines hunkered down inside and outside the doors, ready to repel any attackers.
Bestwick stood inside with Palant and McIlveen.
“Get suited up,” Halley said to Bestwick, and Gove lobbed a bag at her. “You two okay?”
“Fine,” Isa said. “What’s the plan?”
Halley walked past her, Huyck by her side, and stepped outside. The doors opened onto a wide concreted area, beyond which was the grassy plain leading to the edge of the plateau. To the west, the battle raged.
The Xenomorphs were dark specks at this distance, darting left and right through smoke and fire. Closer to the building the BloodManiacs formed defensive lines, cutting down attackers with heavy fire. Above the battle hovered several robot drones, relaying information to the base’s central computers and from there to the marines’ combat suits. They showed a wide plain of grass, fire, and melted aliens. As yet there appeared to be no Marine Corps casualties.
“Major Reece, tell your troops not to get too confident,” Halley said. “Those ships are still out there.”
“Of course,” Reece replied. “We’ve sent a swarm of drone missiles after the ships—no strikes yet, but they can’t evade them all.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Major!” Nassise said. “Company!”
Half a mile away, a ship was rising above the plateau’s lip, its bay doors open and Xenomorphs dropping like seeds on the breeze. The ship powered toward the base, continuing to shed the creatures as it came. Some of them landed and bounced, then uncurled and ran at the base’s eastern door. Others were already running as they landed.
As the BloodManiacs guarding the doors opened fire, the Xenomorphs started to fall.
Too easy, Halley thought. Something’s not right. Something—
The enemy ship rolled to its left, laser blasts skipping from its hull, nano explosions starring around it but being repelled by an invisible shield. The vessel rocketed vertically for half a mile directly above the base, shrugging off all attempts to bring it down.
Then it paused, hung motionless…
…and started falling again.
“Cover!” Halley shouted. The ship was no longer a ship. It had become a bomb.
She dived for Palant, but she and McIlveen were already huddled down inside the wide open doors, protecting each other.
The impact was huge, the subsequent detonation even greater. The ground shook and the air pulsed, smacking the wind from Halley’s lungs, shoving her sideways against the wall.
Out! she signaled, but her crew already understood the danger and were rushing for the open air. Halley grabbed Palant and hauled her up. Bestwick dragged McIlveen.
Outside, they turned aside from the open doors and ran.
The explosion tore through the base. The structure crac
ked like an egg, walls and roof ripped apart and thrown upward on a rapidly expanding plume of fire and smoke, spinning, roaring, burning. Flames boiled along corridors, following lines of least resistance moments before the shockwave tore the buildings open behind them. They blasted through the exterior doors with an agonized screech, as if the base was screaming its last.
Half a dozen marines were incinerated in the conflagration’s path, and five more fell immediately as the Xenomorphs reached the concrete area, ignoring the dancing flames and leaping on unfortunate soldiers knocked off their feet by the explosion.
Stunned, feeling as if she’d been punched by a planet yet still on her feet, Halley took aim and opened fire. She cut one Xenomorph in two as it prepared to bite into the throat of its BloodManiac victim. Its head toppled and fell, then exploded, taking the top half of the marine with it.
There was no time to mourn. She switched her aim and fired again, again, backing from the burning base and ensuring that Palant and McIlveen were protected.
“Sound off,” she muttered, and every one of her squad confirmed that they had survived.
The BloodManiacs had not been so lucky. Those who had not been injured or killed in the massive explosions were facing the full onslaught of Xenomorphs. Halley and her DevilDogs did what they could to help, laying down defensive fire while Nassise and Sprenkel dashed across to aid those fallen. A few got to their feet and carried on fighting. A few more were too badly injured.
Nassise grabbed one by the arms and started pulling, but a Xenomorph leapt at him. Sprenkel cut it down with a nano burst, the creature impacting the ground and self-destructing, spattering a hail of acid blood across the two men. Their suits smoked and spat, resistant to the acid for now, but the combat suits could only take so much.
“To me!” Halley shouted. “Form up! We fight off this wave, then we can help. Major Reece?” No answer. Glancing behind her, Halley realized why. The central core of the base was gone, destroyed in the ship’s suicidal attack. The control center had been located there. “Reece?”
“Another ship, northeast,” Bestwick said. The ship powered in from above the mountains, descending so rapidly that Halley thought this one was going to impact the base as well. If it took out the landing pads where the Pixie was parked…
But this ship hadn’t yet finished unloading its cargo.
The Xenomorphs dropped in lines, bouncing and rolling, uncoiling while still moving, and running at the base.
Directly at Halley and her crew.
Her combat suit marked targets, CSU merging with the others’ suits so that they each concentrated firepower on different targets. The first wave of aliens went down. Halley glanced behind her at Palant and McIlveen, ensuring that they were safe. They both looked helpless, and she wondered whether she should hand them some sidearms.
The assault on their senses was brutal—explosions, screams, the shrieks of the Xenomorphs as they attacked and died, the stench of ozone as lasers scorched the air, the heat of plasma explosions playing across their skin, the stink of blood and shit and burning flesh as the dead mounted, and the assault continued unabated. Halley had her suit to mask some of the effects, at least. Palant and McIlveen were naked to the onslaught, and they were terrified.
“Major!” Sprenkel shouted. “The ship!”
After dropping its cargo, the enemy vessel roared overhead and descended quickly to the ground, close to the cliff’s edge. Its propulsion system was not visible, but rocks and soil were blasted aside, clouds of smoke rising as it bumped to a rest.
Its rear doors were already open, and a man appeared there. He was watching the chaos.
Halley magnified the image.
He was smiling.
“Android,” she said.
“He’s the one controlling them,” Palant said.
Halley’s crew needed little more encouragement. They all concentrated their fire on the ship and the android now standing beside it, but laser skimmed aside and nano-shot exploded far from the craft.
“Still got that weird defensive screen,” Halley said. “Never seen anything like that.”
“Major, I’ve got a sit-rep from the BloodManiacs’ lieutenant,” Huyck said.
“Let’s see it.” While her crew continued shooting, setting themselves in a protective half-circle with the base’s East Quarter and its burning hub at their backs, Halley assessed the situation that appeared on her visor screen.
It wasn’t good.
“We need to get to the Pixie,” she said.
“We’re running?” Nassise asked.
She speared him with a look. “You ever known me to run?”
They stopped firing on the protected ship and made for the landing pads, half a mile across the plateau from the main base. There were signs of combat where they were heading, and Halley knew that the four pads were protected by a Marine contingent, but from what she’d seen on her screen, the BloodManiacs were fighting a losing battle against the invading force.
For every Xenomorph killed, three more took its place. The bastard controlling them was watching, protected behind some sort of blast shield. It was only a matter of time.
They ran, Huyck and Bestwick taking point, Nassise and Sprenkel either side of Palant and McIlveen. Halley and Gove took the rear, using their suits’ sensors to keep watch on their backs.
Halley felt the familiar coolness that descended around her during a fight. They called her Snow Dog, but there was respect in the name, because she was always able to view a combat situation dispassionately. Her strategies were flawless, her decisions fed by the demands of battle, not the heat of fear or doubt. She sometimes hated that in herself. She’d seen people die because of her decisions, when sacrificing a few could save many more.
That’s where the dispassion made her feel less than human. Some people thought she made those decisions lightly, but those who really knew and respected her—her real family, the DevilDogs—understood the pain that coldness caused.
Now, she was trying to find balance between two priorities. First, her mission to protect Palant and McIlveen. Second, her duty to fight these attackers and protect what was left of the base. If she could make these considerations work together, all the better.
Closer to the landing pads, she saw the destruction that had been wrought. Two BloodManiac ships were smoking ruins, and the third was swarming with Xenomorphs. Some of the attackers seemed to voluntarily lie down while others bit into their chests, smashing them apart, dashing aside as their brethren self-destructed and splashed smears of molecular acid across the besieged ships. Junctions between surfaces melted, acid ate inside. A fire began.
The Pixie was surrounded by Xenomorphs. As they tried to launch themselves onto the ship to disable it, the Pixie’s computer took them out. Weapons arrays were deployed, and heavy laser blasts had already laid waste to a score of aliens. Halley had never been so grateful to have an AI as a ship’s computer.
As the DevilDogs approached, the attacking Xenomorphs turned—as one—and redirected their assault.
“Two teams!” Halley shouted. They knew the drill. Huyck, Bestwick, and Nassise went left with McIlveen, while Halley, Sprenkel, and Gove veered right, Palant between them. The Xenomorphs charged. The shooting began.
With the combat suits running target acquisition, all the troops had to do was point and shoot. They cut down Xenomorphs left and right, and as the dead or dying creatures burst apart, the marines huddled around the unsuited civilians to protect them from sprays of acid blood. Halley tried to keep one eye on the progress of the overall battle, but the BloodManiacs’ lieutenant must have fallen or gone offline.
One glance back toward the base was enough to tell the story.
The burning buildings and their surroundings were almost completely overrun. Laser fire flashed right to left, and the dark, darting shapes of Xenomorphs streamed left to right, slinking low through high grasses, charging positions in ordered lines, leaping fallen brethren and slashing, bi
ting, thrashing when they reached Marines lines. Plasma grenades exploded, white-hot plumes billowing outward. Nano-shot speckled hundreds of smaller explosions across the battlefield. Xenomorphs crawled across the roof of the burning base and dropped behind defensive lines, emerging from the flames smoking but uncowed. More humans fell.
The Pixie was their only hope.
Halley drove forward, com-rifle warm in her hands as it unleashed its crippling firepower upon the attacking force, but the Xenomorphs were many, they were fast and silent, and they were utterly without fear.
To her left, a creature jumped into their group. Nassise shoved McIlveen aside and went down beneath the beast.
Bestwick leapt on the alien and fired her rifle directly into its head, blasting a portion aside, but it didn’t die. It bent forward and its inner jaw lashed out, smashing into Nassise’s visor, shattering it, taking his head apart.
“Bastard!” Bestwick shouted. She kicked the Xenomorph from her friend’s body and rammed a plasma grenade into its ruptured head. Gloved hand smoking with deadly acid, she and Huyck shoved McIlveen aside and fell on him as the grenade exploded.
Halley’s visor darkened against the blast and she looked away. Nassise was gone. He’d been one of her soldiers for a decade, and they had fought side by side. Wiped out in the blink of an eye.
Snow Dog took control, shoving aside sentimentality or regret.
“Billy, we’re coming in!”
“I see you,” Billy said. The Pixie’s computer had been assigned no name when they’d been given the ship, but Halley and her crew had quickly called it Billy. It was much easier than talking to a nameless entity.
“Get ready to open the aft hatch. On my order.”
“Ready. Watch out, to your right.”
Halley spun just as a burst of laser fire from the Pixie took down two Xenomorphs.
That’s what we need, Halley thought. Proper firepower.
They closed on the ship, reforming with McIlveen and the two DevilDogs guarding him. Bestwick was wide-eyed with shock. Halley tapped her around the head and she blinked, looked at Halley, nodded.
