Alien, p.4
Alien, page 4
The gunfire began taking its toll, and the aliens bled from dozens of wounds, their acidic blood eating into the deck where it fell. The creatures took cover, darting behind rovers, using the machines as shields. Zula knew the Xenomorphs wouldn’t remain in hiding for long, though. The things possessed only two drives: kill and procreate. They would adapt swiftly to the current situation, develop a new plan of attack, and resume their assault. She and her companions didn’t have much time.
Evidently Amanda was thinking along the same lines. “We need to get out of here!” she shouted. “If we can reach the bay doors and get into the corridor before those things do, I can seal the doors and lock them inside.”
Zula didn’t like plans that began with if, but she didn’t have a better alternative to offer, and pulse rifles didn’t possess an inexhaustible ammo supply. Soon the weapons’ bullets would be depleted, and somehow she didn’t think the Xenomorphs would agree to a time-out so she and Davis could reload.
She glanced at Davis, and he gave a shrug in reply. The gesture was so human that if the circumstances had been different, she would’ve laughed. Davis was the only synth she’d known who’d taken control of his own programming, and was working to make himself more human. That was the reason he wore the glasses—to differentiate himself from the other Davis models who looked exactly like him. Zula liked the glasses. Combined with the synth’s bald head, they gave him a dignified, almost professorial appearance.
“All right,” she said, hoping she hadn’t just signed their death warrants. She nodded to Amanda. “Head for the doors. Davis and I will cover you.”
Amanda nodded and ran. Zula and Davis followed, walking backward, rifles held at the ready, their gazes sweeping back and forth as they searched for any signs of the Xenomorphs. The lights in the engineering bay were dim, and this struck Zula as strange. In all the times she’d watched Amanda repair lunar rovers, the lights had always been bright. So much so that they sometimes hurt her eyes. Zula had mentioned it to Amanda once.
“You can’t fix things if you can’t see them,” Amanda had said.
They reached the bay doors, and Amanda pressed a button on the keypad to open them. The doors slid apart, and Amanda hurried into the outer corridor. Zula and Davis followed, rifles up and ready to blast the aliens should they attack. But none came, and Zula found this more than a little concerning. In her experience, Xenomorphs could be stealthy when they wished, but one thing they never did was break off an attack. No matter what the conditions were, no matter what sort of opposition they faced, they kept coming, even if by doing so they were committing suicide. They were pure, unrelenting, savage aggression.
So where the hell were they?
Zula and Davis took up positions in front of the open doorway while Amanda turned to the keypad on the outside wall. She quickly began inputting a series of numbers, and a moment later the doors began to close, but for some reason they did so far more slowly than when they’d opened.
Weird, Zula thought.
“Once the doors close, they’ll lock and stay locked until I punch in the proper code,” Amanda said. “Those damn things will be trapped in the bay, and then we can—”
Zula never found out what Amanda was going to say. A segmented Xenomorph tail snaked down from above the other side of the doors. It shot toward Davis, coiled around the synthetic’s throat before he could react, and yanked him off his feet. That told Zula what the Xenomorphs had done. Rather than continue their attack head-on, they’d climbed up the bay walls and crawled along the ceiling in order to get at their prey.
She watched helplessly as Davis was lifted into the air. She didn’t fire her pulse rifle for fear of hitting her friend, and a second later he had been pulled through the doorway and up toward the ceiling. He was lost to view for an instant, and Zula stepped forward, intending to do what she could to free him. Before she could re-enter the engineering bay, she heard wet tearing sounds, followed by a scream.
Davis’s voice sounded human at first, then degenerated into an electronic buzz as his system failed. In his quest to become more human, the synth had programmed himself to experience pain in the same way as beings made of flesh and bone. Now Zula wished he’d never taken that step. It would’ve made his end easier.
Thick white ichor—the substance that flowed through a synthetic’s artificial veins—rained down from the ceiling and splattered onto the floor. A second later, Davis’s head hit the deck, bounced, rolled, and came to a stop. His eyes were wide and staring, his features frozen in a mask of agony.
I need to get his ident chip, she thought instinctively, so I can download him into a new body.
Except she’d already done that. After dealing with a Xenomorph infestation on a deep-space science station, she’d returned to Earth to have her back injury tended to by Dr. Yang. The ship they’d traveled in had crashed in the ocean, and Davis had gone down with the vessel. After more surgery and therapy, Zula had visited the craft’s crash site, diving down to the wreckage. There she found Davis’s body, and retrieved his ident chip. But she didn’t remember finding him a new body. So how could he die here if he’d already died aboard the ship?
It made no sense.
She decided it didn’t matter. Davis’s head was here, right now, and if she didn’t get his chip, he might be lost to her forever.
“Davis!” Amanda cried out. “Oh my god, Davis!” She sounded as shocked and horrified as Zula felt which, she realized, also was strange. Amanda had never met Davis, so why did she sound as if she’d just lost a dear friend?
The bay doors were only half closed, and as slowly as they moved, Zula thought she had plenty of time to dash forward and retrieve the ident chip before they sealed. Then a Xenomorph dropped down from the ceiling and landed in front of her. Its face, claws, and body were smeared with chalky-white synth blood, and she knew this was the monster that had killed her friend. The creature stepped toward her, claws raised, secondary mouth jutting forward, teeth bared and ready to tear into her flesh. Zula aimed her pulse rifle and fired.
The Xenomorph’s secondary mouth wasn’t protected by thick chitinous armor like the rest of the creature’s body, and yellow blood sprayed from the newly created wound. Zula was elated to have struck such a serious blow against the monster that had taken her friend’s life—artificial or otherwise—but the emotion was short-lived. Some of the Xenomorph’s acidic blood splattered onto the back of her right hand. The caustic substance swiftly dissolved skin and began burning into the tendons beneath, devouring her flesh with the ravenous hunger of its host.
It happened so fast that at first Zula felt nothing—but then the pain registered, and she bit back a scream. She was a Colonial Marine, goddamnit, and she wouldn’t give her opponent, human or not, the satisfaction of knowing it had hurt her. Her hand spasmed, and she almost lost her grip on the pulse rifle. But she managed to hold onto the weapon, and when the wounded Xenomorph came toward her, shredded mouth useless but claws intact and deadly, she blasted it in the ravaged mouth once more.
This time the blast penetrated farther. Its head snapped back and it shuddered from the top of its oblong head to the spiked tip of its tail, and then it went down. It hit the floor not far from where Davis’s head had come to rest, and while Zula knew it wasn’t possible, she hoped somehow that Davis was aware she’d terminated his killer with extreme prejudice.
One Xenomorph down. That left—
The three remaining aliens dropped from the ceiling, hit the floor, and assumed crouching positions. Zula knew they would leap at her in the next split second, attacking her as a group, unwilling to confront her individually now that she’d proved herself to be dangerous.
Come on then, she thought. It’s rude to keep a girl waiting.
But before the monsters could attack, Zula was yanked roughly backward. She landed hard on the floor of the outer corridor, her back exploding with agony. Losing her grip on the rifle, she couldn’t see where it went. There was a flash of the remaining Xenomorphs leaping toward her just as the engineering bay doors closed—moving at normal speed again. A half-second later she heard loud thuds as the creatures slammed into the barrier. As powerful as the Xenomorphs were, she half-expected them to break through, but the doors held. The creatures threw themselves at the doors several more times, but then—as if realizing their efforts were fruitless—they gave up.
From her prone position Zula looked up at the ceiling. Her back was on fire, and she didn’t want to move. Even breathing was agony. Amanda’s face came into her field of vision, the brown-haired Caucasian woman looking down at her with both guilt and concern.
“I’m so sorry!” her friend said. “I didn’t mean to be so hard, but the doors accelerated, and I was afraid you’d get trapped with those things.” Seeing the look of agony on Zula’s face, she added, “How’s your back? Are you all right?”
Amanda was fit, but she wasn’t any stronger than an average woman her size. As a former Marine, Zula was in better shape. How could Amanda have yanked her backward so hard? Adrenaline, maybe? She decided the how didn’t matter. Most likely the action had saved her life, even if by doing so she’d caused Zula to reinjure her back. The pain was so intense, tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Call Dr. Yang,” Zula said through gritted teeth.
She couldn’t believe it. After multiple surgeries and more rehab sessions than she could count, she felt the same as she had when she’d first woken after the explosion which had ravaged her back. How was it possible for one fall—no matter how hard—to undo all that work? Dr. Yang had cleared her for active duty, hadn’t she?
How could this have happened?
Because you’re weak, a voice inside her said. Weak and worthless. You got injured on your first mission, let down your fellow Marines, let down the superiors who trained you. You declared yourself savior of the human race, humanity’s protector, dedicated to eradicating the Xenomorph threat before it can reach Earth—and before Weyland-Yutani discovers a way to weaponize the creatures. What a joke. You can’t even stand on your own two feet. You’re pathetic.
“Shut up,” Zula muttered.
If Amanda heard her, the woman gave no sign.
Zula didn’t know where her weapon was. It was as if it had simply vanished into thin air the instant it left her hand.
“Do you want some help?” Amanda asked. “Do you think you can stand?”
Before Zula could tell her not to, Amanda took hold of her hands and pulled. This time the pain was too much and she screamed. She felt a tearing sensation in her back as Amanda—again with surprising strength—lifted her to her feet. A pulling, then a letting go, accompanied by a sickening wet sucking sound. Her legs buckled beneath her, and her hands slipped out of the grip. She fell back to the floor, hit it with a smack, and lay there, unable to move. It was as if she were a marionette whose strings had been severed. The pain in her back had lessened, though, and she was grateful for that much.
Amanda’s gaze fixed on something that Zula couldn’t see. Her eyes widened and her face paled. Zula heard cracking and popping noises, and although her face was pointed in the wrong direction for her to see what was causing the sounds, she heard softer noises—scratching and scrabbling—and had the impression of movement behind her. Amanda backed away, shaking her head. As she did so, she lifted her gaze, as if whatever she was looking at was growing larger.
A shadow fell across Zula, and then something large, white, and blood-streaked stepped over her. It lunged toward Amanda. Whatever the thing was, it was bipedal, and it reached for Amanda with a pair of hands that terminated in sharp ivory claws.
It’s a Xenomorph! Zula thought, but it didn’t resemble any she had seen before. It was the same size and shape, but instead of being encased in black chitin, this thing looked as if it was made entirely out of bone. At the center of the creature lay a long, thick spine shot through with metal rods. That’s my spine, she thought. She didn’t know how it was possible, but somehow her vertebrae had come to possess a life of their own. They had torn free from her body, grown and changed, the form twisting and expanding until it had become a hideous parody of a Xenomorph.
The creatures were nightmarish enough on their own, but this thing—created from a vital part of Zula’s own body—was far more horrifying. It moved with stiff, jerky motions, and it was slick with Zula’s blood and shreds of her skin and muscle.
She opened her mouth, but could not speak. Had she somehow been infected by an alien, so that this thing had grown inside her? She didn’t remember that happening, but even if it had occurred, it made no sense. Why hadn’t she died when the Xenomorph ripped free?
Amanda continued retreating from the bone creature, but she wasn’t watching where she was going, couldn’t take her eyes off the monstrous obscenity, and she backed up against a corridor wall. Zula wanted to shout a warning, although she knew it would be useless, and she still couldn’t make her voice work.
With a sudden swift motion the skeletal creature grabbed hold of Amanda’s shoulders, its claw-like fingers sinking into flesh and muscle. Amanda cried out in pain, but her voice was quickly silenced. The alien opened its mouth to reveal two rows of sharp teeth, and then a secondary mouth emerged, also made of bone. The secondary mouth shot forward, punching into Amanda’s throat. Blood gushed from the wound, and Amanda tried to cry out again, but all that she managed to do was cough forth a gout of crimson.
Her gaze fixed on Zula, and her mouth moved as if she were attempting to form words, but none came. Then the light in her eyes dimmed, and her body went slack. The bone alien regarded her for a moment before picking up the body and hurling it down the corridor. Amanda landed with a heavy thud, like a rag doll filled with sand. She lay still, arms and legs bent at odd angles.
The bone alien loomed over Zula, giving her a clear view of the thing. Like others of its kind, the creature possessed no visible eyes, but she knew it was looking at her. It crouched down and leaned its head close to her face until only a few inches separated them. Zula would’ve scrabbled backward to get away, or the very least turned her head to the side so she wouldn’t have to look at the thing straight on, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t even close her eyes to shut out the skeletal visage.
This is it, she thought.
The explosion that had shattered her back hadn’t killed her. Neither had the Xenomorphs she’d fought since then. She’d survived the synthetics that had been programmed to stop her and Davis. She’d even survived being hunted by her fellow Marines. She’d escaped death a dozen times over, and hadn’t even reached her twenty-fifth birthday yet. Now she never would.
Mentally steeling herself, she waited for the bone alien’s secondary mouth to shoot forward and bury itself in her flesh—but the creature didn’t attack. Instead, she heard a voice in her mind—cold, cruel, mocking. It was the same voice she’d heard before, and this time she knew it came from the Xenomorph. Somehow the monster was speaking directly to her mind.
You’re not good for much, are you, girl? You got taken out of the game on your first mission. You betrayed your fellow soldiers, betrayed the Corps. You started a one-woman crusade against Weyland-Yutani, as if a crippled ex-soldier could accomplish anything. You couldn’t save Davis. You couldn’t save Amanda. And you can’t even save yourself. There’s only one thing you’re good at, Zula. Do you know what that is? Failing.
Zula couldn’t reply, but a tear rolled down her cheek. The Xenomorph opened its bony jaws wide, and the last thing she saw was the secondary mouth, rushing toward her face.
After that, there was only darkness.
4
“Zula, wake up!”
Her eyes snapped open and she sat up in her bunk. The lights came on, and she squinted against the harsh illumination. Reaching around to feel her back, she was relieved to find her spine still where it was supposed to be. There was no pain, either, which surprised her until she remembered that Dr. Yang had finished the last of the operations to repair her injury, and she’d completed the physical therapy that had followed.
Technically speaking, her back wasn’t healed completely. For the rest of her life, she’d experience backaches more often than most people, and would need to take pain medicine and anti-inflammatories. So while her back wasn’t good as new, it was close enough for her to get on with her life.
Zula could deal with a little pain from time to time. After all, she was a Colonial Marine—in her heart if no longer officially.
Pushing aside the heavy blanket as she sat up, she swung her legs over the side of the bunk. She wore only a gray tank top and underwear, and the cool air in her small room raised goosebumps on her flesh. The surface temperature on Jericho 3 averaged around 32 degrees Fahrenheit, and the Lodge was always on the cold side. It took a significant amount of energy to heat a facility this large, and Venture—like all corporations—was all about maximizing profits and minimizing expenditures.
Zula had only been working here a couple weeks, and she hadn’t fully acclimated yet. She didn’t really mind the cold, though. It helped her wake up faster.
“I take it you had another nightmare.” The voice was male, the tone calm, almost dispassionate. Still, Zula had known Davis long enough that she thought she could detect a subtle hint of concern beneath his words.
A small side table sat next to the bed, and on it rested a white cylindrical device with a round camera lens and a similarly round speaker near the top. This Personal AI Assistant—or PAIA—currently served as Davis’s new home. It wasn’t much as bodies went, but it allowed them to communicate, and since it was linked to the facility’s main computer core Davis could travel anywhere in the Lodge. Existing as a disembodied intelligence wasn’t an ideal life for her friend, but it would have to do until she could find him a new synthetic body.
