Alien, page 1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Leave us a Review
Copyright
Dedication
Part I: Serpent Moon
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
Part II: Exit Plan
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
Part III: Into The Fire
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
THE COMPLETE ALIEN™ LIBRARY FROM TITAN BOOKS
The Official Movie Novelizations
by Alan Dean Foster
Alien, Aliens™, Alien 3, Alien: Covenant,
Alien: Covenant Origins
Alien: Resurrection by A.C. Crispin
Alien 3: The Unproduced Screenplay
by William Gibson & Pat Cadigan
Alien
Out of the Shadows by Tim Lebbon
Sea of Sorrows by James A. Moore
River of Pain by Christopher Golden
The Cold Forge by Alex White
Isolation by Keith R.A. DeCandido
Prototype by Tim Waggoner
Into Charybdis by Alex White
Colony War by David Barnett
Inferno’s Fall by Philippa Ballantine
Enemy of My Enemy by Mary SanGiovanni
The Rage War
by Tim Lebbon
Predator™: Incursion, Alien: Invasion
Alien vs. Predator™: Armageddon
Aliens
Bug Hunt edited by Jonathan Maberry
Phalanx by Scott Sigler
Infiltrator by Weston Ochse
Vasquez by V. Castro
The Complete Aliens Omnibus
Volumes 1–7
Aliens vs. Predators
Ultimate Prey edited by Jonathan Maberry & Bryan Thomas Schmidt
Rift War by Weston Ochse & Yvonne Navarro
The Complete Aliens vs. Predator Omnibus
by Steve Perry & S.D. Perry
Predator
If It Bleeds edited by Bryan Thomas Schmidt
The Predator by Christopher Golden & Mark Morris
The Predator: Hunters and Hunted by James A. Moore
Stalking Shadows by James A. Moore & Mark Morris
Eyes of the Demon edited by Bryan Thomas Schmidt
The Complete Predator Omnibus
by Nathan Archer & Sandy Scofield
Non-Fiction
AVP: Alien vs. Predator by Alec Gillis & Tom Woodruff, Jr.
Aliens vs. Predator Requiem: Inside The Monster Shop by Alec Gillis & Tom Woodruff, Jr.
Alien: The Illustrated Story by Archie Goodwin & Walter Simonson
The Art of Alien: Isolation by Andy McVittie
Alien: The Archive
Alien: The Weyland-Yutani Report by S.D. Perry
Aliens: The Set Photography by Simon Ward
Alien: The Coloring Book
The Art and Making of Alien: Covenant by Simon Ward
Alien Covenant: David’s Drawings by Dane Hallett & Matt Hatton
The Predator: The Art and Making of the Film by James Nolan
The Making of Alien by J.W. Rinzler
Alien: The Blueprints by Graham Langridge
Alien: 40 Years 40 Artists
Alien: The Official Cookbook by Chris-Rachael Oseland
Aliens: Artbook by Printed In Blood
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ALIEN™: ENEMY OF MY ENEMY
Print edition ISBN: 9781803360980
E-book edition ISBN: 9781803361123
Published by Titan Books
A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd
144 Southwark St, London SE1 0UP
First edition: February 2023
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.
© 2023 20th Century Studios.
Mary SanGiovanni asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
This book is dedicated to Mike Lombardo and Wes Southard
P A R T I
S E R P E N T M O O N
1
The man in the first of the medical pods began to convulse, his abdomen swelling and stretching from the thing inside it. This was not unexpected; like the other test subjects, his arms and legs had been restrained by silicon bands, and he had been sedated. The figure standing at the glass observation window didn’t show any alarm, even when the desperate struggling turned to violent bucking, and the moaning to shouts of pain.
“Mark down three weeks,” the older, dark-haired man behind the window said to his assistant. He touched his beard, his expression unreadable. Behind the narrow-rimmed glasses, his eyes focused on the savage reaction just a pane of glass away from them.
Sitting in a chair behind a computer terminal, the assistant felt a chill. Their surroundings did nothing to soothe the nerves. Most of the Menhit Biowarfare Science Facility on moon BG-791 was a soulless series of metallic pipes and beams, compartments and moldings of ashy and charcoal hues. Its external architecture had been designed to blend in with the tall geometric rocks that formed its mountainous backdrop.
The medlab was bathed in harsh, uneven light, with multiple recording devices capturing both video and audio from various points around the chamber. The important areas of the facility were like that—at once thoroughly modern and outfitted with the best equipment that Weyland-Yutani money could buy, but now just as harsh and uneven, failing more often than functioning. The deterioration of the moon on which the lab was located had wreaked havoc on the electrical and magnetic systems, making continued research difficult at best. Their personnel had been halved again and again until they were left with twenty or so scientists, researchers, and volunteers. The increasingly frequent storms outside the facility posed an ever-present threat to its structural integrity.
Nerves were on edge.
Tempers flared.
Still, the remaining men and women of the Menhit Lab continued with their experiments. There was important work to do, they had been told, and it had been hinted at more than once that an evacuation ship’s timely arrival—any arrival—would be largely dependent on providing the company with positive results.
The medlab itself featured four pods, three of which currently held bound test subjects. Semi-sterile metal countertops ringed the room beneath an abundance of cabinets lining the upper portions of the walls. Within those, tools and equipment of every kind were stored.
Against the back wall stood the cold storage case, where a select number of the Ovomorphs were kept. They had been chosen from the more extensive collection currently warehoused in the specimen storage area. Through the foggy glass doors of the storage case, large egg shapes were visible, haloed by a faint green glow. These were the most valuable—and expensive—items in the lab. Maybe even more valuable than—
The first of the test subjects began spitting up blood, and the dark-haired man glanced briefly at his assistant.
“It should be just minutes, now. Flip the switch on the laser.”
“Dr. Fowler…” The assistant’s eyes were fixed in horror as a second man began to struggle against his bonds, and then to shake so hard that the silicon fiber bands holding him seemed strained to the point of tearing.
The woman in the third pod began to moan, her distended chest rippling and clenching.
“Do it, Watkins,” Martin Fowler said, ignoring the sounds of pain coming through the speakers and audible through the glass. “Do it now.”
The assistant rose from his chair at the computer terminal, where he had been logging the information given to him by Dr. Fowler and coordinating the video and audio records of the medical bay’s events. Stepping across the room to the switch for the medical bay’s ceiling-mounted laser, he hesitated a moment, even knowing what was coming. Then he flipped the switch to ON.
Stan Watkins joined Fowler at the observation window just in time to see the first test subject gag and vomit. A second later, one of the newborn aliens burst from his chest in a spray of blood and shredded internal organs. It leaped to the f loor, screeching as it adjusted to the change in its environment. Then it, too, began to shudder, convulsing for several seconds before steadying itself.
“An effect of the serum,” Fowler muttered, more to himself than Watkins. “Likely a result of the increase in aggression, as we predicted.” He moved across the room to a voice-activated speaker mounted near the laser’s switch. Depressing a button next to the speaker, he leaned in and issued a voice command. “Fire.”
On the other side of the glass, the laser on the ceiling beeped, calibrating and calculating as it searched for motion. When it locked on the newborn Xenomorph, it fired focused blue laser bolts, cutting the little creature to pieces. The second male test subject, nicked by the laser, cried out, his torso stretching and receding as the creature inside it struggled to escape.
The dead alien, meanwhile, bled profusely on the floor. Its blood was a fluorescent yellow with hints of green, and it smoked and bubbled as it ate through the tile beneath, the wood of the subfloor, and the metal foundation beneath that.
Watkins was about to point out the structural hazard to the facility should the blood, with corrosive effects that seemed to be spreading outward as well as down, keep dissolving the floor. Fowler seemed to anticipate him.
“No need for concern,” he said. “The alloy used in the foundation is based on Xenomorph chitin.” He glanced at Watkins’s skeptical expression and added, “It’ll hold.” Then another motion drew his attention.
“You promised,” the woman said from her pod, her voice weak as it came through the speakers. Watkins turned to look at her through the glass but her eyes, bloodshot and glistening with tears, were already glazing over. She spoke, her voice rising high and to the point of breaking. “You said you’d get them out of us. You promised…”
As the implication of her words sank in, Watkins turned and gaped at his boss.
“Dr. Fowler…” he said slowly, becoming sick to his stomach, “you said they were volunteers, terminal patients who had agreed—”
“Not now, Watkins,” Fowler said sharply. His gaze was so intense that Watkins followed it back into the medical bay.
The second test subject, the man with the laser gash in his bound arm, bucked once, and then his insides blew outward. The creature leaped onto what remained of his chest, splattering fragments of the man’s insides as it shuddered. A moment after, the laser from the ceiling cut it down where it stood. When its blood oozed and bubbled, mingling with the devastated remains of the man’s torso, Watkins had to look away.
He’d agreed to a lot in his employment with the Weyland-Yutani biowarfare lab, yet agreeing verbally—or even on paper—couldn’t balance the things he’d been asked to do over the last month. Things he wasn’t proud of. But this was a new revelation. He hadn’t known, hadn’t understood the full implications of what they were doing.
Not really, not like this.
Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to know.
“Dr. Fowler, for God’s sake—”
“There’s no other way,” Fowler told Watkins. “I’ve been there before, believe me, but this work—the results of this experiment—might save the lives of hundreds, maybe thousands in the future.”
Watkins was silent for a moment as he considered his superior’s words.
“You’re an asshole,” he muttered.
Fowler didn’t respond.
The woman in the third medpod was crying, gagging, vomiting onto her chest…
When the third of the creatures burst out of her, it jumped onto her legs, shaking off the convulsions much more quickly. It seemed larger, and Fowler murmured something to Watkins about making note of it, though he didn’t seem to notice when Watkins remained fastened in place, mesmerized by the chestburster.
Watkins had read extensively about the Xenomorphs, yet never ceased to be amazed by the sight of them in the flesh. They were the perfect predators, stealthy killers, prolific procreators. Even at so early a stage, this new one was no different. The creature was sleek, a fully formed monster. Its every body movement was agile, almost fluid, its response to stimuli nearly as sensual as it was sensory. It was a thing adapting immediately to its environment and mastering it.
It’s almost a shame, Watkins thought, that it has to die.
Almost.
Another beep. The laser centered on it and fired.
The creature dodged out of the way, leaping toward the observation glass in front of Watkins. He screamed, flinching. Up close, the little Xenomorph was both terrifying and fascinating. Beneath the sheen of blood its elongated head—a shiny dark metallic gray—seemed to have no eyes or lips, but its mouth was full of tiny, needle-sharp teeth. The ridges against the sides of its head pulsed. This close, Watkins could see the delineation of each of the ribs against its chest, which moved rapidly with its steady breaths. Its unformed arms remained adhered to its sides by a viscous fluid which coated its body. The beginnings of claws scratched at the window. Its legs had yet to develop.
It was, to Watkins, the embodiment of a nightmare.
The laser rotated on the ceiling and geared up to fire at the window where the creature was perched. As if aware of the danger, it leaped out of the way and the blue light hit the glass, causing a fissure. The little creature streaked back into the chamber—Watkins was always startled by how fast they could move—and ducked under one of the medical pods.
“Do you see it? Where did it go?” Fowler shouted, hitting the alarm system button on the wall. Instantly, red lights began to strobe. A robotic voice, female, came across the overhead speaker and began to calmly talk through the lockdown procedures.
The two of them approached the glass, stepping to either side of the crack, peering into the medical bay. Watkins was afraid to lean in too closely, afraid that any attempt at assaulting the window would compromise the glass’s integrity. He sent his terrified gaze darting around the room as the robot voice droned on through emergency medical procedures.
Crimson lights blinked and blared, making the small, irregular shadows flicker and hide, jump and dash.
If the alien was still in there, Watkins couldn’t see it.
“Dr. Fowler, if the thing gets out—”
“It can’t,” Fowler replied, but he didn’t sound so sure.
“It’s a lot stronger—”
“It doesn’t matter! Don’t panic, for God’s sake. There’s no other way for it to get out of the medical bay. It’s in there somewhere.”
Watkins grabbed his sleeve. “Their maturation rate is accelerated with the serum!”
“All the better.” Fowler pulled himself loose and gestured up at the laser. “It’ll be a bigger target, then, and it’ll be cut to ribbons as soon as it comes out of hiding.”
There was a flash of movement, a gray blur, and then Watkins saw the thing, already larger, hanging from one of the laser turrets. With a yank of its tail, it pulled the contraption from the ceiling, sending down a display of blue sparks.
“Holy shit,” Watkins muttered. They were screwed, pure and simple. Several men would have had trouble pulling that laser free of the welding and bolts that held it there. The alien had done it with hardly any effort at all. It couldn’t have—shouldn’t have—been that strong, not yet. What, exactly, was in Dr. Fowler’s serum?
“That’s impossible,” Fowler said, diving for the computer terminal. He looked genuinely worried now, perhaps all out of empty reassurances. “It should never have been strong enough to…” He typed furiously, his own words forgotten. When Watkins got too close, Fowler waved and then shoved his assistant away.
“Let me finish this,” he said. “Get the guns out of the cabinet. We have to get out of here.”
He kept typing, offering the occasional voice command that enabled him to send files offworld to Weyland-Yutani. Watkins backed away, then moved out into the small alcove beyond the medical bay’s observation room. The area was lined with lockers and narrow black cabinets, each with a coded number pad on the door. He punched in the day’s code for the weapons cabinet on the back wall, and then took out two M4A3 pistols and two heavy white PMC armor jackets. He eyed the door that led out into the rest of the facility.
Beyond it was a hallway that ran away from the medical bay and its observation room. The main doors of the facility would go into lockdown shortly, and anyone still inside would be forced to proceed to the cavernous specimen storage room. That was where they kept the results of their research and, given the extensive mechanisms used to secure the space, it also could be used as a “safe room.”
