Aliens

by Weston Ochse

  “How did you survive?” Hoenikker found himself asking. Cruz jerked his attention toward him. He stared hard at Hoenikker. When he spoke, each word dripped with disgust.

  “I fucking ran. I saw that all my friends were dying, and I fucking ran. I’ve always been the fastest, and I used that to save myself.”

  “Your rifle wasn’t working anymore,” Kash said. “What could you do?”

  “I could have not run,” he said, staring off into the distance. “I could have stayed with my friends.”

  “You would have stayed and died,” Prior said.

  “So what? At least I could live with myself.”

  “Uh, you mean you’d be dead,” Hoenikker said.

  Cruz stared at him again. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

  Étienne and Mel rushed in.

  “Is everything okay?” Étienne asked. “We heard one got away.”

  “As good as it could be,” Kash responded. “One of the glass fronts failed.”

  “Damned Fabricators,” Étienne said, punching his hand.

  Mel went over to examine the hole. As he did, Mansfield returned, fuming. His leg had been wrapped in a bandage.

  “What the hell did you do?” he roared. “You almost had me killed!”

  Cruz took one look at the man, and lunged. Prior and Étienne grabbed him to keep him from pounding Mansfield.

  “He saved lives,” Kash said. “Without his quick thinking, the creature would have killed more.”

  “He let the thing escape!” Mansfield said, still red in the face.

  “He did no such thing,” Prior said. “It’s the glass. It’s worn out. The Rat-X burned a hole in it, and escaped on its own.”

  “As if it knew how,” Mansfield spat.

  Cruz shrugged out of the grip that held him.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.” He brushed at where they’d held him. To Mansfield he said, “Make sure that before you accuse someone of something, you know what the hell you’re talking about.” Then he turned and left.

  8

  Two hours later, everyone was commanded to be present in the lab.

  Security Chief Flowers and Deputy Station Commander Thompson called them to attention. To Hoenikker, Flowers was the image of an old-school retired Colonial Marine general with a face as lined as a topographical map. He wore his hair in a high and tight, and stood ramrod-straight. Although he’d never heard him speak before, he could imagine it as the sound of gravel being chewed in an echo chamber.

  Thompson, on the other hand, was the direct opposite. As Hoenikker had heard it, the man had never served in the military. He slouched as he stood, staring at his manicured nails. All of his clothes were tailored and had an expensive sheen to them. He seemed bored, as if he wanted to be somewhere else.

  “I understand that yours is the core mission for Pala Station,” Flowers said to the group in a voice like Hoenikker had imagined, “but you’ve put everyone at risk, and the very idea is unacceptable. As it stands, Weyland-Yutani now has to explain to a family why their loved one was bitten by a creature, and then set on fire. You have security protocols in place. You knew you were to sound the alarm. You’ve practiced regularly, for just these circumstances. So why didn’t you follow the protocols?” When there was no answer, he continued, “Clearly there has been a breakdown at all levels.”

  “If I may interject—” Mansfield started.

  “You may not. I place the blame at your feet, Mr. Mansfield. That death is on you. Had you practiced shutting down the lab and locking it down enough times so that it was muscle memory for your scientists, this never would have happened. Did you expect your team to get it right the first time?”

  Mansfield shook his head and stared at the floor.

  “I’d fire you on the spot, but there’s no one to replace you.” Flowers turned to Thompson. “Sir, is there anything you want to add.”

  Thompson nodded. When he spoke, his voice was rich and polished and bored.

  “If you’re seeing me, then something terrible happened. You should never see me. You shouldn’t even know what I look like. I certainly don’t want to know what you look like. Frankly, I’m too busy to deal with your messes. There are larger problems that demand my attention. We need food for the infes— the creatures on Katanga.” He paused. “Someone has to lead the hunt for local fauna. Incidents like this take away from the time I need to accomplish what needs to be done.” He gave them a disgusted look, then started to leave.

  “So inspiring,” Cruz said under his breath.

  “Wait a moment, Deputy Commander.”

  Kash stepped forward.

  The man stopped and turned, glaring.

  “We need better support from the station,” she said. “This isn’t a fault of the lab. If we had better containment room maintenance, this never would have happened.”

  Thompson stared. “You’re saying it’s the station’s fault?”

  “We sure as hell didn’t build these.” She pointed at the containment rooms. “They are the tools we use. We take as good care of them as we can, but it’s up to Engineering and Fabrications to make sure they’re new and functioning.”

  “So it was a failure of equipment, rather than the personnel.” He looked dubious. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Kash said.

  Thompson flicked his gaze over to Mansfield. “Get a status report on my desk ASAP.” Then he left.

  Kash breathed a deep sigh.

  Hoenikker hadn’t been on the station long, but he could tell she’d broken protocol. Yet of all the scientists, she probably had the best chance of not getting her head ripped off, perhaps because of her gender. It seemed like a patriarchal system, as backward as that was.

  “She’s right, of course,” Mansfield said to Flowers. “We could have a hundred protocols in place, but if the equipment fails, then there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “If you had followed your protocols,” Flowers growled, “the creature never would have escaped into the corridors.”

  “And we would have died,” Cruz insisted. “I feel for the family of the deceased, but would you rather lose one or two station personnel, or all of your scientific staff?”

  Hoenikker held his breath.

  Flowers gave Cruz a hard stare. “That’s a pretty cocky statement, Dr. Cruz.”

  “Remember, we are the reason you are here,” Étienne said. “You are here to support us. If we are dead, you have no mission.”

  “You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” Flowers snapped, echoing Cruz’s earlier comment. To Mansfield he said, “Your team is quite talkative.”

  “When you have the smartest people in the station, and they have something to say, you tend to let them say it,” Mansfield replied. “It’s also best to listen.”

  The bureaucrat’s stock rose in Hoenikker’s mind.

  Flowers nodded. “Get that status report ASAP, Mansfield.” Then he was out, the door sliding closed behind him. Everyone let out a sigh of relief.

  “Why is it they have to be such assholes?” Cruz asked.

  “Not so fast,” Mansfield said. “Flowers was right about one thing. What about the security protocols? Why weren’t they followed?”

  “I wasn’t able to press the abort button,” Cruz began. “It just happened so fast.”

  “I was trying to get to the lockdown button by the door,” Kash added, “but between Rat-X chasing me around the table, and you entering the lab, I just wasn’t able.”

  “I can vouch for that,” Hoenikker said. “It was a perfect storm of unlikely events.”

  Mansfield listened, then pointed his finger at each of them in turn.

  “Remember your security protocols. I don’t want you to have to practice them over and over, treating you like a bunch of bad kids. You’re adults. You’re scientists, for God’s sake. But you should know them and be able to apply them.” He looked up, as if past the ceiling. “We have new
Xenos coming from the San Lorenzo and Katanga.

  “I’m going to get Engineering and Fabrications in here to fix the problems. Kash, Étienne, I want both of you to inspect everything, and make a list of anything we need repaired or replaced. I need it in two hours. I’m going to attach a service request to the status report, to put Deputy Station Commander Thompson on the hook for everything we need.”

  Kash and Étienne nodded.

  “On more thing,” Mansfield said. “No new experiments without proper approval.”

  “Wait. What?” Prior asked.

  “Yeah,” Cruz said. “Now you’re treating us like children? No offense, boss, but there’s not a scientific bone in your body. You don’t know what we’re doing here.”

  “Then school me,” Mansfield replied. “Tell me your plans, and explain the benefits.”

  “So you can decide if the experiment is necessary or not,” Kash countered.

  “That’s my job. You are the brains. I’m in charge. Had Weyland-Yutani felt that a scientist would be a better chief, they would have assigned one. Instead, you have me.” Seeing the looks on the scientists’ faces, he added, “You could do worse.”

  “I don’t know how,” Cruz murmured.

  Mansfield stared at him a moment, then turned to leave.

  “Two hours,” he said over his shoulder. “I need that service request.”

  As soon as he was gone, Kash and Étienne partnered up and began to check the serviceability of everything in the lab. Cruz left, saying something about he’d be in his room. Prior and Mel began to clean up.

  Hoenikker decided it was time to figure out the security protocols. He didn’t know what they were, so he moved to his desk, spooled them up on the display, and began to read.

  9

  Three hours later, with the service request turned in, they were once again hard at work in the lab.

  Étienne, Prior, and Mel stood at a table screening a new collection of station rats that had been captured. They needed to confirm that each had a clean bill of health before it was injected with goo. Any infection present in a rat could affect the interaction with the pathogen, and skew the results of an experiment.

  Hoenikker and Kash stood behind Cruz, who’d signed out a rifle from Security. Since Containment Room Four was no longer functional for its stated purpose, they used it as a rifle range. As it turned out, the hole created by the xeno’s acid was large enough to aim through. They’d affixed the new acid-resistant armor to the back wall, and were currently exposing it to various temperatures for testing.

  Cruz fired again, while Hoenikker and Kash recorded the results.

  “Looks like you’re enjoying that,” Hoenikker said.

  “Never underestimate the medicinal value of the simple act of firing a weapon.”

  “I’ve never fired one,” Hoenikker said. “Is it difficult?”

  “You’ve never… get over here,” Cruz said.

  “I wasn’t asking to, I was just—”

  “No excuses. The last thing we need is for you to need to use a rifle, having never even fired one.”

  Hoenikker wished he hadn’t said anything, but there it was—he had. Against his better judgment, he handed his tablet to Kash, who gave him a conspiratorial grin.

  “Go ahead. It’s fun,” she said.

  Hoenikker stepped next to Cruz, who held up the rifle. The weapon seemed twice the size it had just a few moments ago.

  “Now, you don’t need to know every detail about the M41 Pulse Rifle, just know this. It fires ten times 24mm caseless ammunition. The stock is the big end and it goes in the pocket of your shoulder. You hold it like this.” He demonstrated. “Note my finger. This is called trigger discipline. I never put it in the trigger well unless I’m going to shoot. Do you know why?”

  Hoenikker thought for a moment. “So I don’t accidently shoot someone in the back?”

  “So you don’t accidentally shoot someone in the back. Yes. You got it on the first try. Well done. Now, look at the carry handle. You’ll never need to touch it. The battery that operates the electronic firing system resides there. Now, look at the barrel. Note that underneath is a grenade launcher. We’re not going to use any grenades, or even load it. We’re inside a station. Grenades should never be used inside. On the right side of the barrel you’ll note there’s a charging handle. You pull it back to either clear a breach, eject and empty a shell, or to load ammo. Watch me.”

  Cruz placed the stock snugly into his shoulder, then moved his right hand to the trigger housing. His left hand gripped the rifle underneath the mounted grenade launcher. He aimed through the hole, slowly moved his finger into the trigger well, then slowly depressed the trigger. His shoulder flexed as the rifle fired with a loud report.

  “Easy as pie.” Cruz held out the weapon. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Hoenikker took a step back.

  “Don’t be afraid of it. It’s nothing more than a tool. Are you afraid of a scalpel?”

  Hoenikker shrugged, then shook his head.

  “Sure, you’re worried about the blade. You don’t want to get cut, right? So, do you hold it by the blade?”

  Hoenikker shook his head again, beginning to feel foolish.

  “Here.” Cruz held out the rifle. He grinned. “Just don’t hold it by the blade.”

  Hoenikker grasped the rifle as if it was made of something breakable. It was both heavier and lighter than he’d thought it would be. He turned to grin at Kash, but Cruz stopped him. Hoenikker noted that the barrel was now pointing directly at Cruz.

  “Oh. Sorry.” He turned back.

  “Always take care where the working end of the rifle is pointing. Here, it should always be pointing into the containment room, or what we call ‘down range.’ Now, sink the stock into the pocket of your shoulder.”

  Hoenikker did, and Cruz helped him adjust. Then he moved his right hand to the trigger housing and grasped the barrel with his left. Cruz adjusted his grip on the barrel. As it turned out, Hoenikker had grabbed it on the top but Cruz wanted him to hold it from the bottom. It certainly felt better. Probably offered superior stabilization, as well.

  “Aim down the barrel and line up the groove in the carrying handle, pointing it toward the target.”

  Hoenikker noted the groove and lined it up so it was piercing the air between the center of the armor and the barrel. He moved his finger into the trigger well, blindly found the trigger, and pulled it back. When it fired, Hoenikker was surprised at the noise and at the recoil into his shoulder. All that said, he also realized he was grinning. Releasing the trigger, he pulled it again. This time he was ready for it and he was able to tense his shoulder to take more of the recoil. He grinned wider and fired again. He was about to fire a fourth time when Cruz tapped him on the back.

  “Okay, killer. That’s enough for now.”

  Cruz reached out and grabbed the rifle gently by the barrel. For a second, Hoenikker didn’t want to give it back. He now understood what it was like to fire a weapon. It was actually fun. Reluctantly, he relinquished it.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I never knew.”

  “Most folks don’t. Less than one percent of people ever serve in the Colonial Marines, and with gun restrictions— unless you are a marine or know one—there’s no way you’re ever going to be able to fire an M41.”

  Hoenikker nodded. “I hope I never need to fire one, but I’d like do so again someday.”

  Cruz held the rifle with his left hand and clapped Hoenikker on the shoulder. “After this next round of Xenos, we’ll all get together and I’ll see if we can’t try out a real rifle range. I know Security has one. We’ll see if we can borrow it for a day.”

  “Hey, guys,” Prior said. “Get over here. We’ve made an… interesting discovery.”

  Cruz leaned the rifle against the workstation at the front of the containment room. They all gathered around the table, where the rats were segregated into six small glass boxes with holes for them to breathe.
>
  “What have you got?” Kash asked.

  “MPDTs. In the rats. All of them.” Hoenikker didn’t know what MPDTs were, but he hoped they weren’t contagious— at least not transferable to humans.

  “All of them?” Kash asked.

  “Who would put them in rats?” Cruz asked.

  “Are they signed?” Kash pressed. “Were you able to find a copyright on them?”

  Prior shook his head. As did Étienne.

  “What is an MPDT?” Hoenikker asked, more uncertain than ever.

  “Micro-personal data tracker,” Kash said. “We all have them in our badges, and in our shoulders.”

  Hoenikker remembered when he’d first been assigned to Weyland-Yutani and he’d had to have a tracker surgically implanted. They hadn’t called it an MPDT—just a “chip”— and it was so long ago he’d forgotten all about it.

  “Every weapon has one,” Cruz added. “It’s to track them and make certain we know their location at any given time.”

  “And the rats have them?” Hoenikker asked.

  “Yes, miniaturized versions of them, and we don’t know why.”

  Mel muttered something. No one else picked it up.

  “He’s right,” Hoenikker said. “They must be for mapping. The rats are being used to map the station.”

  “Why would anyone need to do that?” Étienne asked no one in particular.

  “I think we need to get the security chief down here, now,” Cruz said.

  * * *

  Five minutes later, an impatient Security Chief Flowers, accompanied by Security Specialist Wincotts, stood peering at the rats. Mansfield stood off to the side, looking none too happy.