Aliens

by Weston Ochse

“Oh, it did. You saw it trying to get away. It wasn’t trying to get away from me. It was trying to get away from itself. Somehow the pheromone merged with that of the rat, and it calmed. That’s not unlike what happens when a face-hugger calms its victim. Or else the rat’s brain sensed that there was no obvious threat. I’ll need to experiment further to figure this out.”

  Étienne took the cage with the unchanged rat over to the workstation in front of Containment Room One. He glanced at the Xenomorph, who was prowling the other end of the chamber. Removing the rat, he opened a small hatch to the bottom right of the glass, placed the rat inside, and closed the door. Then he depressed a button on the workstation, an access panel slid to the side, and the rat fell into the room. It immediately found the nearest corner and started scratching where the glass met the wall.

  The Xenomorph’s torpedo-shaped head whipped around. It spun, impossibly fast, tail ripping through the air. In three steps it was upon the rodent, jaw opening, then telescoping out to snap the mammal in half. The alien rose to its full height and stared at Étienne, red and silver saliva dripping to the floor. It snapped its jaw out one more time, this time catching the glass, the teeth scraping it as a lance-like tongue tapped against the barrier.

  Étienne grinned, got up, and returned the cage to the table.

  “That was fun,” he said.

  Then he grabbed the other cage, containing the rat that had been subjected to the pheromone. He took this to the workstation and repeated the process. In a moment, the rat was in the cage, just as frantic as the other, scrambling over the remains of the first as it tried to claw through the window.

  Xeno One watched the whole thing, and in a single bound hovered over the rat, saliva dripping onto it, making it frantic with terror. Curiously, though, the predator didn’t attack the tiny creature. Instead it crouched, reached down, and grabbed it in a clawed hand. It held it there as if examining it. Then it stood took two steps back and hurled the creature as hard as it could into the glass.

  The rat exploded as its skin parted with the force of the contact and its organs burst forth. Hoenikker, who’d come forward to observe, backed away in horror. Meanwhile, Étienne clapped his hands and laughed.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “What do you mean? The Xenomorph still killed the rat.”

  “Yes, but not for the reason it killed the first one.”

  “But they’re both still dead.”

  “The second one lived longer than the first. Why is that, Timothy? Why would the creature let it live, even go so far as picking it up and examining it?”

  Hoenikker shook his head with disgust. “And then throwing it against the glass.”

  Étienne turned. “You’re letting your emotions get in the way, and missing it. The pheromone I reproduced had a definite effect. We’ve achieved something measurable.” He hurried back to the workstation. “Now to record the data and see if I need to manipulate the strain.”

  Hoenikker remained in place, his gaze on the streaks of blood and guts that were slowly sliding down the vertical surface of the glass.

  Archaeological modeling.

  No blood in that science.

  Just clean facts and clear suppositions.

  He shook his head and turned away, wishing he’d never taken this job.

  34

  Rawlings would rather have been sitting behind his desk, drinking his third cup of coffee of the day. He’d already had two, one before breakfast and one after.

  Or better yet, in the mess hall. Today was Salisbury steak day, one of his favorites, but he’d be lucky if he even got leftovers. Both he and Webb from Engineering had been assigned to find a missing box of data chips that were required to fix the air conditioning in the commander’s quarters. Engineering swore they knew where they were, but as it turned out—not so much.

  And Rawlings. Hell, he wasn’t doing anything. Might as well get him to do something that’s not his job because someone else lost a box of data chips. Sure. “Get Rawlings. He’s just here to take care of pretty much everything.”

  They’d gone through two rooms thus far, and had twelve more to go.

  He sighed.

  “And you should’a seen the walls of the old deputy’s quarters,” Webb continued. “He has heads of creatures I didn’t even know had heads. So much outside’a Pala Station. I understand people hate it inside, but the outside is hella more dangerous.”

  Webb was a little over five feet tall, with an immense chest and arms. Fabrications had to make special tops for his uniform so they would fit. He was a gym rat and was always asking Rawlings if he couldn’t get them to requisition more exercise equipment. But as big as he was, he had a higher pitched voice than was normal, and was the station’s center of gossip.

  Rawlings nodded as he used his security card to open a third room. Webb hadn’t shut up the entire time they’d been searching. This room had belonged to Comms Specialist Brennan, and had been filled with boxes of supplies brought down from the San Lorenzo. Each box bore the name of the ship from which it had come, along with a barcode. Made of composite metal-plastics, they were both heavier and lighter than seemed appropriate.

  They had to move them aside as Webb used his scanner to find the box they were looking for. He’d scan, the device would beep, he’d look at the readout, and shake his head. All through it, he never stopped talking.

  “This was Brennan’s room, wasn’t it? I heard he died. Some say he was murdered.” He glanced at Rawlings, dimples on his face as he grinned. “What do you know about that?”

  “Really not supposed to talk about it.”

  “Aww, come on. We’re just passing time. You know you can trust me to keep a secret.”

  Now it was Rawlings’ turn to grin.

  Webb saw it and added, “When have you ever known me to share a real secret.” Beep. “Sure, I might pass some info around about this or that.” Beep. “What about that time there were bugs in the food? I was the one who broke the news and saved the station.” Beep. “You act as if I’m never helpful.” Beep.

  “You’re helpful,” Rawlings said. Half the Salisbury steak was already gone. He was sure of it. “I just can’t talk about it.”

  “Well, it’s not as if Brennan wasn’t going to get in trouble anyway.” Beep. “Everyone knew he spent most of his work time playing a video game.” Beep. “What was it called? Damn if I remember.” He stood up straight. “Whelp, it looks as if this room is clear. Let’s go.”

  They moved to the next room that was being used to store supplies. This one was farther away from the active corridors, and near the blockaded area where station personnel—other than security services—were unable to pass. Rawlings spied a rat scurrying down the edge of the corridor, but ignored it. He’d tired of the constant presence of the creatures, and was loath to report it. After all, he might be the one chosen to be on extermination duty. Searching for a missing box was bad enough, but that would be even worse.

  He slid the security card over the door and it opened, sending a rush of putrid air that quickly surrounded them and threatened to make the coffee return for a second showing. Webb turned his head.

  “Something die in here? Jesus.” He pulled his collar over his mouth and nose.

  Rawlings covered his face with his left hand. Surely they hadn’t stumbled on something dead? He recollected that there was a thing called a King Rat, where rats in a nest got their tails so intertwined that they couldn’t move, and ended up dying of starvation. Was that what this was? Had they stumbled upon the mother of all King Rats?

  “You first,” Rawlings said nasally, trying not to breathe.

  “Hells no.” Webb shook his head and backed up a step. “You want to go in there, then you go.”

  Rawlings felt a flare of anger. He was missing breakfast because the engineers lost a box, and now their chosen representative didn’t want to go into a room because it stank. What the fucking hell?

  Webb must have seen his face because he
patted the air, palms out.

  “Okay. Fine. Be that way. I’ll go in first.”

  “You did lose the box,” Rawlings pointed out, not willing to let it go. “I’m just along for the ride.”

  Webb gave him a sour look, but said nothing more. With a ham-fisted hand he pushed open the door. The room was like the others, filled with boxes nearly to the ceiling, except this one felt as if it was an animal’s burrow.

  “Jesus. What lives in here?” Webb asked.

  Rawlings had no idea and didn’t care. He expected there had been a carton or two of food that had been meant for the mess hall, but had either been mislabeled or mis-stored or both. Just thinking about it, he was reminded of the meal he was missing. Any goodwill he might have felt toward the pit bull of a man in front of him went away.

  “What are you waiting for?” Rawlings asked. “Let’s get this done.”

  Webb began scanning the inventory tags. He’d kept his T-shirt over his mouth and was breathing through the cloth, so he wasn’t talking. Rawlings was thankful for the silence, but not thankful for the stench.

  Webb hurried through the first two rows of boxes, then he and Rawlings had to move several aside to create a lane toward the back of the room. It was then that they noticed there was a large open space in the far-left corner. When they stepped through to continue scanning, they saw what appeared to be a dead thing lying in a large clump upon the ground.

  Rawlings tried to make sense of it. What looked like giant segmented legs were folded in on it. Beneath them was a body, possibly human. He stepped closer and leaned in. There were arms, too, folded in on themselves. He didn’t see any hands. Nor did he see a head.

  “What the fuck is that?” Webb asked, stepping beside Rawlings.

  “I have no idea. Looks like something with legs. Think it could be something from outside the station?”

  “It sure could be,” Webb said. “But the question is, how did it get in here?”

  Rawlings examined the ceiling and upper corners of the room. He didn’t find any openings or broken ceiling panels. Nothing to explain the presence of the dead creature in front of them.

  “We should call this in to Security.”

  “What are they going to do?” Webb scoffed. “Need to get a maintenance crew to take out the trash.”

  Then the thing moved.

  Both Rawlings and Webb jumped back a step.

  They looked at each other and, after a moment, Webb laughed nervously.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  Rawlings examined the ground around the thing. A pile of filthy blankets. Small bones scattered on the floor. A container stained yellow. Possibly from urine. Whatever the thing was, it had been here for some time. He surmised from the bones that it had either starved to death or died from dehydration. There were no water sources, so the latter was certainly possible. Then again, it could be both.

  Then he stopped.

  He backed away slowly.

  A single eye stared up at him through the mass of legs.

  “Webb,” he whispered.

  “You know, it looks like a giant spider of some kind,” Webb said. He held his scanner out as if to prod it.

  “Webb,” Rawlings whispered a little louder.

  The pit bull straightened and turned toward him.

  “What? Why are you whispering?”

  With a rustle like wads of paper being stuffed into a box, the thing rose on its feet to its full height. It wasn’t dead. It wasn’t even wounded. It was completely alive and terrible to behold. It was as if a human had sprung long chitinous legs from the hips. Its human legs had withered and were a third the size they should have been. They swayed as the thing moved.

  From the waist up, the creature looked almost human, but the nose had disappeared because of the enlarged mouth that took up nearly half the face. Twin rows of jagged teeth rimmed the inside of the jaw. Oddly, the eyes remained human enough for Rawlings to identify the man.

  Fairbanks. Or what was left of Fairbanks.

  Whatever had happened to him, he’d become a monster.

  Webb must have seen Rawlings’ eyes widen, because he began to turn around—but he never made it. Before he could move more than a few inches, the Fairbanks monster grabbed him by the head and bit down on it, coming away with a round bit of skull and brain matter. The creature chewed quickly as the legs adjusted themselves to stay balanced. Standing on those new legs, the creature’s head nearly brushed the ceiling.

  Rawlings couldn’t take his eyes off Webb’s face. The eyes were wide and the mouth was open as if he were about to scream. Then the eyes narrowed and his lips curled down as if he were confused and about to cry. All the while the creature chewed mechanically.

  Feeling his way backward, Rawlings used the boxes to help him navigate. Oh, how he wished he had a pistol at his hip, or a pulse rifle slung across his back. The monster watched him as he began his retreat, its hands still on the side of Webb’s head.

  Just as Rawlings reached the door, the Fairbanks monster tossed Webb aside and rushed, the four chitinous legs propelling it incredibly fast. Rawlings spun, keyed the door open, and sprinted left down the corridor, more afraid for his life than he ever had been as a Colonial Marine.

  35

  Too late, he realized he should have shouted a warning. He plowed into two maintenance workers, knocking them both to the ground. Instead of helping them to their feet, he spared a quick glance behind him and saw the monster closing fast. He turned and ran, leaving the two workers to the creature, hoping they would slow it down and condemning himself for feeling that way.

  “Shit. Shit. Shit,” he said under his breath, his cursing keeping time with his pounding feet. He came to an intersection. He hadn’t been in this part of the station in a long while. He chose left, immediately saw a blank wall blocking his way, and knew he should have turned right. He backpedaled and peered down the corridor.

  The Fairbanks monster was dragging one of the maintenance workers by her long black hair. Her arms hung limp. The creature eyed him and let out a scream that was eerily human.

  Rawlings shot down the right corridor, feeling all forty-two years of his slightly overweight Colonial Marine veteran body. He saw a fire alarm and pulled it. The alarm immediately began to ring from every speaker in every corridor, hammering at all thought.

  It was the least he could do.

  He had to warn people.

  But it backfired.

  Instead of being fearful, the alarm made everyone open their doors and step out into the corridor. They looked around, concerned as Rawlings ran past.

  “Where’s the fire?” one asked.

  “Monster,” he yelled, out of breath. “Run.”

  “What about the fire?” someone else asked.

  Then the creature turned the corner, moving rapidly and still dragging the woman by her hair. It screamed once, then lifted a leg and brought it down on the chest of a man, pinning him to the ground.

  Rawlings had to stop. He stood with hands on hips, trying to get his wind as he watched the monster reach down, pull the man up, and bite his face off.

  That was all it took.

  Everyone in the corridor screamed as they turned and ran.

  He started running again as well, allowing the wave to carry him along as they all funneled through the corridors. It was pure panic. Others joined them, not knowing what they were running from, but understanding the need. Those with more sense opened their doors, saw the stampede, and closed them again. A man tripped, sending those behind ass-over-elbows. Rawlings had to step on one to keep his balance, almost going down himself. He knew that if he had, he’d never be able to get up again. No. He needed his balance, so he took short running steps, his hand close to the man’s belt in front of him.

  A security guard appeared with a pistol drawn, but she was flattened by the mob before she could even open her mouth.

  Someone, somewhere, turned the alarm off.

  As they came
to various corridors, the mob began to dissipate, some taking the corridors, some continuing forward, some finding unlocked rooms. The problem with the station was that it was essentially a closed loop. A giant set of rectangles that had you turning and turning until you were back to the place you began. If the monster had only realized this, it wouldn’t have tried to chase after its prey. It could just stand still and let them race toward it.

  A stitch hit Rawlings’ side like a stiletto driving into his lung. He lurched to a stop, his hand held to the place of greatest pain. He leaned against the wall as those few who remained behind him flowed past like water might go around a rock. He was done running.

  Staggering back, he saw that the Fairbanks monster was about forty feet down the corridor. It had stopped. It had finally let go of the maintenance worker’s hair and was busy eating the face of the downed security guard.

  Rawlings gasped for air as silently as he could. It couldn’t come fast enough. His lungs burned. He remembered when he could run five, even ten kilometers in full battle rattle. Now he couldn’t run ten meters without the threat of passing out.

  He spied the pistol on the ground about midway between him and the monster. He staggered toward it and managed to grab it before the monster registered his presence. The safety was off. Raising the pistol, he sighted down the length, aiming for center mass. Then, noting the legs of the security guard fighting for traction, he adjusted his aim, and pulled the trigger.

  Blam!

  Blam!

  Blam!

  He fired until she stilled.

  Nothing worse than being eaten alive.

  Probably.

  The Fairbanks monster dropped its meal and glared at him.

  Rawlings raised his pistol and aimed, but his hand was shaking from the adrenaline bleed. He brought his left hand up and steadied his aim, then pulled the trigger three times in succession. Two rounds hit, knocking the creature back several steps. The legs threatened to fold in upon themselves for a moment, then they righted, and the creature skittered backward and out of sight.

  The sound of boots running toward him filled the silence.