Aliens

by Weston Ochse

  “Easy, Warrant. You’ll blow a gasket,” she said.

  Just then the power snapped off. A couple of them shouted their surprise, and a couple more swore. Darkness surrounded them all, and Hoenikker was afraid to even move. Finally, it was Cruz’s voice that rose above the rest.

  “Everyone fucking shut up.” Once the chaos ebbed, he added, “Rawlings and Buggy, grab rifles and attend the door.”

  A light blinked from a desk.

  “McGann, what’s that light?”

  “Master control. We have a direct line to a single power cell, in the event of an EMP or anything that disrupts the main power feed. It’s shielded.”

  “Can you get on there, and figure out what happened?”

  “I think so.” A dim figure in the near-absolute blackness, she hurried to the blinking light. There was the sound of a chair being moved, followed by a halo of light shining on her face as a screen lit.

  “Hoenikker, Kash, find flashlights. Check the shelves.”

  Hoenikker could barely see, but he knew where the shelves were, so he zombie-walked in that direction, hands out to be his eyes as he used his fingertips to sort through the detritus of the Engineering department.

  Kash was the first to find one. She snapped it on and handed it to Hoenikker, then she grabbed three more. She passed one to Buggy and the other to Cruz, and held onto the third, snapping it on and flashing the beam over everything, including their prisoner, who was still in place but struggling to free herself.

  “I don’t think that’s a great idea,” Kash said to her.

  “Make sure her bonds are secure, please,” Cruz said.

  Hoenikker walked over to the screen where Cruz stood with McGann.

  “Looks like a power node was disrupted here,” McGann said, pointing at the screen.

  “Disrupted how?” Cruz frowned.

  “With the exception of the master, all of our power comes from solar cells on the roof and a massive solar array we have on the south side of the station.”

  “So, the node is an intersection?”

  “Yes. I can reroute the power, but it will take a bit of programming.”

  “What could have caused the outage?” Hoenikker asked.

  “Yeah, what he said,” Cruz added.

  McGann furiously punched in commands. “I can’t be sure.” She shook her head. “It could be anything.”

  “Where’s the node located?” Hoenikker asked.

  “Near the south side of the station.”

  In his mind, Hoenikker mapped what he knew of the station. When he thought he had it figured out he turned sharply to Cruz.

  “It’s the mess hall. That’s on the south side.”

  Cruz’s eyes narrowed in the glow of vid light. “Where are the nodes located?”

  “On the roof,” McGann said. “Only way to access them is from outside.”

  “Can you go through the roof to access them?” Hoenikker asked.

  McGann answered. “Sure, but you’d have to—fuck.” She glanced at Cruz, then Hoenikker. “Do you think that’s what happened?”

  “What else could it be?” Cruz asked.

  “I suppose, depending on their ability to detect ion energy, they might have been able to detect directional energy.” Hoenikker looked up as he continued talking. “I mean, being close to a power conduit might be the same as being next to something that’s magnetized. If they have, or have developed, the ability to detect power, and understand what it is, then perhaps they could track and destroy it.”

  Perhaps this is one of the mutations Seven has acquired, he thought. Given his heightened sensory capabilities, like telepathic communication. Even if the rest aren’t so advanced, he could direct them. The thought made him shudder.

  “Ever wonder if what we’ve done here might be the doom of the entire universe?” Kash asked, joining them. “The experimentation with the pathogen, combined with the irradiation, might have helped create even better killing machines.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Hoenikker said.

  “Enough of what we shouldn’t have done,” Cruz growled. “We did it. We were paid for it. We wanted scientific advancement at any cost.” He shook his head. “Just look at what we did to our fellow humans. We allowed them to become victims of the creatures. Despite what I said, I was as disgusted as the rest of you. But Bellows had put me in charge. If I didn’t follow his instructions, it might have been one of you, or some front-office flunky.”

  The lights suddenly came on again, dimmer than before.

  “Okay,” McGann said. “We have power, but it’s not full. Something’s siphoning what power I have, and I don’t know the reason why.”

  “Hurry. Check the mess hall,” Cruz ordered.

  McGann dialed up the cameras on her vid display. She gasped and showed it to the rest in the room. They gasped.

  “What’s wrong?” Rawlings asked from the door. “What do you see?”

  “They’re gone.” Cruz ran a hand over his face. “Every last Xenomorph is gone. All that’s left are the bodies, and the husks from the face-huggers. I don’t know how they did it, but they found a way out.”

  “What about the other cameras?” Buggy asked. “Like the one in front of our door?”

  McGann punched the screen a few times.

  “There are no other cameras,” she said. “We’re blind.”

  “That devious bastard,” Cruz said.

  “What’s devious? Who bastard?” Kash asked, her face still red from their previous interaction.

  “Seven. He killed the screens. He’s mocking us. He’s warning us, because he doesn’t think there’s anything we can do. He’s saying, ready or not here I come.” He shook his head. “We had him trapped in a cage, and now he’s returning the favor.”

  Hoenikker stared at him, knowing that what he said was true and wishing that it wasn’t. He glanced around, and found where he’d laid his pistol. It seemed so small and pathetic. Was it going to be enough? Would it keep him from being killed? Dear God, why had he ever come here? He backed away from the desk on two stiff legs.

  “And now we are the hunted.”

  The sound of claws scraping against metal came from the door. Hoenikker spun and stared, just like the rest.

  He had an overwhelming sense of having to pee.

  47

  “Alright. Everyone get geared up,” Cruz said. “This is the end game—both humans and monsters are going to be coming at us. I don’t know which is worse, so we have to be ready.”

  Kash handed Cruz his helmet. “Sometimes humans are the monsters. This is your chance not to be one.”

  “Humans are always the monsters,” Cruz said, not meeting her gaze, “but there can be monsters more dangerous than us, and we’ve just spent weeks making them better.” He fit into his gear and then turned to the others. He knew how he looked. A Colonial Marine in full battle rattle was a bad enough sight to behold, but one carrying a flamethrower was enough to send them running.

  Rawlings, Buggy, and McGann all had pulse rifles, with pistol backups. Hoenikker and Kash had pistols, which was about as much as they could handle. Then there was McCune, the invisible resident of Pala Station.

  “What’s it going to be?” he asked.

  She crossed her arms and tried to look brave, but he could see the nervousness in her eyes and the way she tapped the toe of one foot. Probably meant it to show her impatience, but he’d seen enough people about to go to battle that he knew what it really indicated.

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “Well, you came all up in here with a handful of lies that fizzled when the Xenomorphs took your queen.”

  “You’re mixing your metaphors like a drunken AI that’s been head-smashed at a Humans First rally,” she said.

  “Maybe I feel like mixing them, especially since I need to decide whether to tie you up and leave you here as alien food, give you a pistol and ask you to join us, or send you packing to find your own fate.”


  “Will you give me a gun if I want to go back?” she asked, foot tapping double-time.

  “You can pull one off a dead body on the way,” he said. “Besides, we need all our guns and ammo. Not sure what’s going to happen, and we need to have our contingency plans at the ready.”

  She stared at him, the corners of her mouth curling. She was close to tears, but she controlled it. Held it back and swallowed hard.

  “Would you trust me with a gun if I joined you?”

  “Would you really choose to shoot us over the Xenomorphs?” he countered. “Your safety rests in our numbers. The fewer of us there are, the greater chance you’ll die.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He knew the answer. He just didn’t want to have to voice it.

  “Probably not.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Probably?”

  “Okay.” He grinned tightly. “No. I wouldn’t.”

  “Then I know what I have to do,” she said.

  He nodded. “I suppose you do.” He turned to the others, wiping her from his concern. “Order of march is me up front with Buggy alongside. Behind us will be Hoenikker and Kash. Rear guard will be McGann and Rawlings. Watch your rate of fire. Count your ammo. Don’t shoot anyone in the back.” He stared pointedly at the two doctors. “And for God’s sake, watch out for their blood. Even a little will burn through you until it finds daylight.”

  Everyone adjusted themselves. Hoenikker and Kash nodded to each other, as if sharing courage.

  Another scratch came from the other side of the door.

  “This is it,” Cruz said.

  He nodded to Buggy, who palmed the door open, revealing an adult Xenomorph. Its head in profile, saliva dripping onto the floor, sizzling where it landed. It made a sound of heavy breathing as the head began to turn toward them. Cruz lit it up with a gout of flame and Buggy opened fire, putting ten rounds into its chest and torso. Then he palmed the door closed.

  Cruz turned and grinned at Buggy.

  Two former Colonial Marines working as a team, wordlessly understanding what was needed to complete the mission. This was the way it should be.

  After a thirty count, Buggy palmed the door open again. They were greeted with the stench of burning carapace.

  The alien lay off to the side, curled in on itself, half burned, blood eating at the floor beneath. More importantly, it wasn’t moving.

  “With me,” Cruz said. He stepped into the hallway, turned right and moved out. Buggy strode a little behind him, not wanting to be in the range of the flame, but ready to use his pulse rifle at anything within a 120-degree forward arc.

  They didn’t get ten meters before a juvenile Xenomorph popped out of an open door. Compared to the adult, this one could have been a toy at an amusement park. Something a kid could ride. Tempting to think it wasn’t as deadly as the full-sized version. Then it leaped toward them, arcing through the air.

  Cruz caught it in a plume of fire, then backed up to give the cute little monster space to land. But he didn’t have much room to do so. Fire from two pulse rifles sounded from behind him. Rawlings yelled for them to move. Cruz kicked the smaller Xenomorph against the wall, regretting it immediately. Acid poured onto his foot. He tried to shake it off, but the pain was so intense he couldn’t help but cry out. He didn’t dare look, though, to see how much damage he’d done to himself.

  He needed to move forward.

  Two more juveniles appeared up ahead, probably drawn by the sound of gunfire and his scream. Buggy opened fire, rounds ripping into both of the Xenos. Blood and body parts sprayed the corridor until pieces of the nasty little monsters clung to every inch of the walls, floor, and ceiling.

  “This isn’t so hard,” Buggy said, turning to Cruz and grinning.

  Then the comms tech was jerked into the air and began flying down the corridor. He screamed, trying to shoot his invisible attacker.

  “Let me go. Let me go, you fucker!”

  They couldn’t see how he was being held, but it had to be the escaped Leon. Cruz raised his nozzle to fire, but then lowered it. He couldn’t do it without frying Buggy. As best he could, he began to run after them, pulling his pistol from its holster.

  Buggy managed to get his rifle around and pulled the trigger. The Leon let go and he fell to the ground, landing with a loud grunt. The rifle skittered away.

  Cruz saw blood on an otherwise blank surface, raised his pistol, and fired seven times. The Leon screamed, and disappeared around the corner.

  Hoenikker ran up to Buggy. “Are you okay?”

  Buggy had claw marks on his back and shoulder, but otherwise he seemed fine. Hoenikker helped him to his feet.

  “Son of a bitch,” Buggy said.

  From behind them came a scream.

  Punctuated by another.

  And another.

  They were the screams of a woman.

  No one needed to ask whose they were.

  McCune, the mysterious woman who shouldn’t have been on the station, was no longer on the station. Cruz wondered where she’d come from. Surely there were places here they knew nothing about?

  How many more of her type were there?

  48

  Rawlings didn’t like pulling rear guard. Facing that direction, it meant he was backing into unknown danger. He had to trust in those behind him, but it had been a few days since he’d been a Colonial Marine. He was no longer used to having his life depend on someone else.

  Back in the marines, the idea of partnership had been ingrained through exercise after exercise, until it was muscle memory. On Tuesdays during one training phase, instead of doing the morning runs like normal people, they ran backward. The first time they’d tried it, it was a clusterfuck extraordinaire.

  They couldn’t keep their spacing, tripping and falling blindly over one another, each unable to see the rest—and it was because they didn’t trust their fellow recruits. The space was constantly changing, and they were constantly looking over their shoulders.

  Until they accepted that nothing bad was going to happen. Then it started to work. Still running backward, each stared at the next person, who stared at the next, peripheral vision keeping track of the person to the left and right, maintaining the spacing.

  Trust was what would keep them alive.

  But could Rawlings trust the scientists? They’d never been through training. They were civilians through and through, and didn’t know how to operate in sync.

  Sync.

  Synth.

  What about the synths? Where were they, and why weren’t they clearing the station so that the humans didn’t have to. They were probably guarding the command suites, which made Rawlings wish he was there. Not only would he be safe and sound, he’d probably have access to top shelf liquor.

  Abruptly they came to a halt. Buggy had been skied by a Leon, which seemed to want to take him to its nest, wherever that was.

  Rawlings didn’t like being at a halt.

  He wanted to move.

  “I don’t know what’s taking them so long,” McGann said beside him.

  “Picking their nose or something,” he called back over his shoulder. “Hey up there. We moving, or what?”

  “Easy back there,” Cruz called. “We’re moving in one mike.”

  McGann cursed.

  As did Rawlings.

  A lot of shit could happen in a minute.

  A juvenile appeared, this one grabbing ceiling pipes and pulling itself above them.

  “Like fucking cockroaches,” McGann said. They both opened fire, each plugging it with a handful of pulse rounds. The creature hung on for a moment, then fell to the ground.

  Rawlings stepped forward and put two more rounds into its brain pan, careful to avoid the spray and glad he did as it sizzled and popped the paint on the walls. This was actually easier than he’d thought it would be. He was afraid it was going to be wall-to-wall Xenomorphs, but as long as they came at them one after the other, it was a shooting gallery.
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  What was the old term?

  Easy peasy—

  “Oh, shit,” McGann said, grabbing Rawlings’ collar and pulling him back.

  An immense creature came skidding around the corner, slamming into the wall. Huge chitinous legs supported it so the head almost touched the ceiling. One of its four legs looked broken, and it walked with a limp. The central figure was human, with withered human legs dangling uselessly beneath it. Twin rows of jagged teeth took up most of the face—except for the eyes, which remained disconcertingly human.

  Rawlings’ eyes widened.

  Fairbanks.

  Or rather, the Fairbanks monster. He’d forgotten completely about it.

  The creature roared. Reaching out with its claw-tipped human arms and hands, it rushed them.

  Rawlings and McGann opened fire, but it was as if the creature was fast enough to dodge the pulse rifle rounds. Its legs propelled it along the walls and across the ceiling in the blink of an eye. Wherever they fired, the monster wasn’t.

  There wasn’t enough time to call for help before the monster grabbed McGann by the head, slamming her into the wall and dislodging the pulse rifle. She managed to hold onto it with one hand, but the left hand released. Then the creature backed away and folded in on itself, using McGann as a shield.

  “Shoot it,” Buggy cried.

  But he couldn’t. Like one of those long-legged house spiders that looks impossibly large, it was able to fold itself into a smaller size, virtually hidden behind McGann. The battering had all but rendered her unconscious. She held onto the grip of the pulse rifle, probably automatically. Not knowing what it was. It might as well have been a stick.

  “What do we do?” Hoenikker shrilled.

  Rawlings tried to find the right angle, but it was as if the creature knew and adjusted each time, spoiling the shot.

  “Shoot!” Buggy called again.

  “Just watch our six!” Rawlings shouted back. “I got this.”

  McGann woke screaming.

  “Ohmygod. OHMYGOD.”

  Then the scream of someone being eaten alive. Her eyes were all whites and her mouth was all red. Her neck strained as she screamed, over and over.

  “It’s eating her,” Kash cried.