Alien, page 18
No colony was so far out as to be missed by whatever terrorists were dropping the bombs. There were many, however, who were forgotten by those who might protect them.
Back when BG-791 was still connected to the rest of the galaxy, reports had described in great detail what happened when the black goo came into contact with living creatures. Coming from sensationalist outlets and legitimate scientific groups, they revealed how the bodies would spasm and writhe and change from the inside out, how the people would become things almost impossible to categorize, let alone contain.
There had been rumors, of course, that the pathogen was engineered by a race of ancient beings that had created human life on Earth. That it was meant to produce an entirely new species using only the smallest source of genetic material. Siobhan thought, however, that the purpose behind the pathogen might be even more fundamental.
It was the stuff of creation and destruction, the very magic of the gods. Depending on what it touched, it simply granted life or death. That kind of power, contained in just a few tiny particles, was absolutely terrifying.
At the time, she had thought the pathogen attacks were the worst threat to her safety on that moon. She hadn’t known then—not really—about the destructive capability of the Xenomorphs. They had been purely theoretical, almost imaginary, a bad thing happening to someone she didn’t know, on a planet so distant that the threat never seemed real. Back then she hadn’t known Alec, at least not well, and she’d had no idea that he’d ever encountered such monsters.
They hadn’t been a looming threat, not like the pathogen.
Yet the monsters had been close, all that time. Frighteningly close. If the pathogen was the magic of nightmare gods, then the Xenomorphs were their terrifying dark angels.
Somewhere in the ship there was a thump, and she flinched. Every noise, no matter how small, made her jump now. Siobhan wondered how long it would take to stop feeling like the next world she went to, and the next, and the next, would never take her far enough away from the Xenomorphs.
As she stared out the window, a planet loomed into view. That was odd. She couldn’t say for sure, but she didn’t think their flight path took them this close through a star system. It couldn’t be LV-846, not this early.
Were they going in the right direction? While she had gotten lost in her thoughts, had the ship veered off course? She frowned. It seemed unlikely that Gavin or Sam would have gone back on their agreement to take her and the rest of the team to LV-846, unless… Had Weyland-Yutani threatened them? Offered them more money?
She rose from the bed and crossed the room. Something was wrong; she felt it in her gut. At the door, she put on a pair of comfortable shoes, then grabbed the light hooded jacket hanging from a nearby hook and slid that on, too. She tapped the button for the door, which opened onto a dark and quiet hallway. Siobhan moved down the hall to Alec’s door and knocked.
“Coming,” Alec called from the other side, and a few moments later, his door slid open. He stood there in just a pair of sweatpants, his hair, short as it was, standing in small, rumpled spikes, his eyelids heavy with sleep. His unshaven jaw, she noticed, also was starting to show the occasional gray whisker.
His eyes widened when he saw her. “Von,” he said, surprised. Then he frowned. “You okay? What’s wrong?”
“The ship,” she said, trying not to stare at his bare chest—at least, not in an obvious way. Any other time, she would have welcomed the distraction. Just then, though, she needed Alec to help her confirm they were still on track to LV-846. “I think something is wrong. It’s… I don’t think it’s going the right way.”
Alec cocked an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean?”
Siobhan shrugged, glancing around. “I can’t say for sure. I guess… well, I’ve spent some time the last couple of days looking over the holographic star map on the bridge. LV-846 is the middle planet of a three-planet system, but this far out, there shouldn’t be anything but empty space for at least another day and a half. There are no other star systems fifty-six hours out, and… well, look.” She took his arm gently and led him to the window in his bedroom. Since both their rooms were on the same side of the ship, their windows looked out on the same view. The planet she had seen, a dark maroon and blue orb, had grown larger with their increasing proximity.
“That,” she said, gesturing out the window, “shouldn’t be there.”
Alec frowned. He leaned over and grabbed a gray USCMC T-shirt that had been tossed on a nearby night table, and pulled it over his head.
“Am I crazy?” she asked. “Am I just overthinking this?” She touched the glass of the window gently. From the pictures she’d seen, LV-846 was a green planet, with wispy white clouds and the occasional blue smattering of small seas. This planet outside wasn’t anything like that, nor did she think it was the third and farthest planet of that star system. According to the bridge’s map, the ship wouldn’t make it to the outer edge until late afternoon the day after tomorrow.
“No,” Alec said, “you’re right. This is wrong. This is the wrong way.”
The two made their way to the bridge. It was quiet and darker than it should have been, with a signal light from the control dashboard flickering a pale whitish-blue. That pervasive feeling of wrongness coalesced into a knot in her stomach.
Siobhan half-expected to see Dr. Fowler behind the controls, piloting the ship off course. She was surprised, however, to find instead both Gavin and Sam passed out in their chairs, snoring heavily. That seemed worse. It didn’t make sense. A ship this big might well have had an autopilot, particularly if hypersleep was necessary, but in this case, it was too short a trip for either of those things. Each crewman would have taken a turn at the helm while the other slept. Finding the pilot and navigator both passed out at the controls seemed to her like a bad sign.
A coffee mug—Gavin’s, she assumed—sat on the dashboard near his sleeping form. Another looked to have dropped from Sam’s hand and rolled a bit away before its handle stopped it. A dark coffee stain had spread on the floor beneath it.
The blinking blue-white light was coming from the piloting dashboard. It formed a single word.
OVERRIDE
That knot of anxiety drew tighter.
“What’s that an override for?” Siobhan asked, pointing to it.
Alec strode over, examining the controls. He shook his head, flicked a switch next to the button, and when nothing happened, he looked back at her.
“I’m not an expert, but if I had to venture a guess, I’d say it’s an override for the course setting. The rest of the system seems to be online and keeping the ship moving, but the autopilot is off. Which means, I’m guessing, that some kind of a remote piloting system has been introduced.”
“Weyland-Yutani?” Siobhan asked, her heart sinking.
“Has to be. They probably did an end run around the pilot and navigator and took control.” Alec turned to Gavin and shook him. “Captain! Gavin—wake up!” Alec shook him harder, but the man’s head lolled on his neck. Alec checked the pulse at his neck, slapped his cheek lightly, and gave him another shake, but Gavin kept sleeping.
With an alarmed frown, Alec grabbed Sam’s shoulders and shook him, trying to rouse him, but Sam didn’t respond, either.
“Sam. Sam! Wake up, buddy,” Alec said. “Come on, wake up.”
Siobhan crossed the bridge and picked up the mug on the dashboard, peering into it. The sludge at the bottom of the cup had a familiar smell, a sharp bitterness just beneath the scent of the coffee into which it had been mixed.
“It’s a sedative,” Siobhan confirmed. “Plant-based. A strong one. Someone—Dr. Fowler, I’m guessing—drugged their coffee. That was probably how Weyland-Yutani could take control of the ship without interference.”
“That son of a bitch!” Alec pounded the dashboard. “Should have killed him back on the platform.” He thought a minute. “I need to get Elkins.”
“Can he disable the remote piloting? Maybe we can reclaim control.”
“That’s what I’m hoping. I’ll be right back. Stay here with them?”
Siobhan nodded.
He moved toward the door, then paused and turned back to her.
“Be careful. Don’t trust Fowler, from here on out. In fact, shout if you see him and I’ll come running.”
“I will,” Siobhan replied. “Please hurry, though.”
She understood exactly why he wanted her to be careful. Dr. Fowler had been an obstacle every step of the way since they’d met him, but this was deliberate—and dangerous—sabotage. For whatever reason, he was dead-set against going to LV-846.
Siobhan could only imagine what “accident” might cause her and the marines and little Kira to disappear, if the corporation reclaimed control of the ship long enough to get it where they had intended it to go.
Alec turned to leave, then stopped again as if considering something. He came back and kissed her softly on the mouth. The gesture was so simultaneously thrilling and sweet that Siobhan was stunned into silence. Before she could recover words, though, he had crossed the bridge again and slipped out the door to get his squad member.
* * *
While Siobhan waited, she brewed coffee in the little portable pot that Gavin kept on the bridge. The strong smell, she reasoned, might help wake the crew up, and if not, at least it would be there for them when they did.
That sedative was strong—a medical-grade extraction of a plant cultivated on a number of colonized worlds. In fact, Seegson had synthesized it at the lab on BG-791. It wouldn’t have surprised her to find out that Fowler had pocketed some of the Seegson samples at some point before they’d left, fully intending to use it to thwart her plan. He was proving himself daily to be a more and more dangerous individual. Hate wasn’t an emotion Siobhan felt easily, but she was starting to hate Martin Fowler.
Siobhan shook Gavin’s arm, half-heartedly trying to wake the man up. He mumbled something unintelligible—a name, she thought, possibly the name of his brother—and then started snoring again. That didn’t surprise her, either. She could only hope Fowler hadn’t given them too much, and done permanent damage.
The coffee percolating, she moved toward the controls. They were far too complicated for her to feel comfortable pushing random buttons and pulling levers, but she was curious as to how Weyland-Yutani was piloting the ship, and to where. Nothing she could see gave any indication of where they were or where they were going. The star map hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been on the bridge, which suggested to her that it had been paused somehow with the hope that, over the course of the night, with the passengers sleeping and the crew drugged, no one would notice that the course of the ship no longer matched it.
The override light flashed on and off, on and off into the gloom.
Several minutes later, Alec came back in with Elkins.
“I sent Roots to get Kira and keep an eye on her,” Alec said. “Elkins thinks he can cancel the override.”
Elkins made his way to where Gavin was sitting and slid him and his chair out of the way. He began typing in commands and flipping switches.
“Just give me a minute here to figure out the system…”
Alec joined Siobhan. “Any sign of Fowler?”
“None,” Siobhan said. She gestured toward Gavin. “These two are going to be out for a few hours. I hope Elkins can fly this thing.”
“I can fix it,” Elkins said. “Flying it will be someone else’s deal.”
“Is there anything you can give them to wake them up?” Alec asked.
Siobhan considered it for a minute. “It would be risky, a strain on their hearts, but… if we really need to, it could be done. This sedative is made from an extract that functions like a benzodiazepine, and if the ship has flumazenil-based synthetic substitute…” She saw the confusion on Alec’s face and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Yes, in other words, it could be done, if the ship’s medical supplies have what I need. I’d have to check their medbay. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Okay. I’ll go with you.”
* * *
Roots sat in a chair next to Kira’s bed and yawned, fighting the urge to fall asleep. He had been sleeping like the dead when Sarge came banging on the door to let him and Elkins know Fowler had drugged the crew and the corporation had rerouted the ship. Sarge had given Roots the order to watch over Kira and keep an eye out for Fowler—to detain him, by force, if necessary.
He liked the kid, so that was okay, but boy, did he want to take a crack at Fowler. Everything the man had done since they’d rescued his sorry ass from the W-Y lab had been aimed at screwing them over. Roots had assured Sarge that he’d have no problem detaining Fowler with force. In fact, he was looking forward to it.
“The girl, though—that’s your first priority,” Sarge had said. “Look out for her, okay?”
“Copy that,” Roots had replied, bending over to grab one of his boots. His foot still hurt from the Xenomorph blood that had spattered on it at the Menhit Lab, and running for the ship hadn’t helped it any. He pulled the boot on gingerly. “Will do.”
“She’s in the room next to mine, at the end of the hall. Let her sleep, if you can, huh? Poor kid’s been through hell these past few days. We all have.”
“Sure thing, Sarge,” Roots replied. He’d gone down to Kira’s room, let himself in with an extra key card, and saw her in the dim light from the window above the bed. She was asleep, breathing slowly and softly, hugging her stuffed dog. After he’d locked the door again, he’d set his gun aside on the floor, pulled a chair over from the small desk in the far corner, stretched out his legs, and folded his hands over his chest.
Once Elkins had tinkered with the ship controls and deactivated the remote system, they could get to finding Fowler and—if there was any God out there in the universe—flush the son of a bitch out of the airlock.
Roots yawned again and propped his head up with his hand. He nodded once, his eyes slipping closed, but caught himself and sat up in the chair. The girl murmured something and turned over in her sleep.
The dark around him, the soft breathing from the bed nearby, the warmth of the room, all seemed to seep inside him, making his limbs, head, and eyelids heavy. He shook his head, trying to clear the drowsiness from it. He wished Elkins would hurry up already.
A sudden loud bang made him jump, the fatigue dissipating instantly. The sound had been close—right outside the door. He bent and picked up his gun, then stood in the darkness. He looked at Kira but she was still asleep.
Was that Fowler? What was he up to now?
Roots crept around the foot of the bed to the door, unlocked it, and pushed the button to open it. It slid back with a soft whoosh. He glanced back at the bed, but Kira didn’t stir. Standing in the doorway, he looked out into the hall. It was dark, and so far as Roots could tell, it was empty.
A dervish of unease whirled up in his stomach. Men—men like Fowler, at least—weren’t that fast. If Fowler had made the noise in the hallway, Roots would have seen him. He would have caught at least a glimpse of the man running away, but there didn’t seem to be a sign of anyone.
Roots couldn’t help but look up toward the ceiling, tracing the lines of architecture to the nearest air vent. It was small… too small for anything bigger than a child to fit through. He thought of the new Xenomorph which had chewed and slashed its way out of Cora’s stomach. It had been small—small enough to fit into a vent that size.
Stop.
He was overthinking. Exhaustion, hunger, stress—they were all catching up to him and he was hearing things. He had to be. They were in space now, far away from BG-791 and its inevitable trajectory, far from the Weyland-Yutani lab and its genetically boosted monsters. There was no way one of those things had gotten aboard… right?
How many? Roots tried to recall the number of XX121s that had come spewing out of the tunnel. He’d been running, hyped up on adrenaline, worried about protecting the girl in his arms. He’d been exhausted even then, his nerves thin and tight. It was hard to remember the details. He thought all of them had been taken out, though, by the evacuation from that devolving moon.
Five… there were five.
Two, he recalled, had fallen into the cracks in the platform. Or had it been three? He seemed to remember one, at least, had been shot by the ship’s lasers… and one had to be shaken loose from the ship. Was that all of them? He couldn’t be sure. What if there had been other Xenomorphs they hadn’t seen in the tunnels, ones that had silently stalked past and stowed away on the ship?
Roots backed into the room, closed the door, and locked it. He had to tell Sarge and Elkins that Fowler might not be their only problem. He couldn’t leave the girl, though. He was dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, the same as Sarge and Elkins, and so none of them had their comms—those were with their uniforms. The only solution was to wake Kira and take her with him. He’d have to go out and find—
Another bang rocked the ship, followed by a long grinding sound of metal against metal. That definitely hadn’t been Fowler, and he didn’t think it could have been an XX121. It was a sound he’d heard before.
It was the sound of laser fire—from another ship.
P A R T I I I
I N T O T H E F I R E
20
On the bridge, Elkins fiddled with some wires behind the panel of the dashboard. Gavin and Sam slept on; Siobhan and Alec had wheeled them out of the way in their chairs so Elkins could work, and then Siobhan had checked on the men. Respiratory distress was a potential side-effect of the sedative, and given their labored breathing, she had seemed uneasy forcing them awake, especially without a medic or doctor, or even Camilla, present.
She and Alec decided instead to search the medbay for stabilizers. Elkins had been left behind with the crewmen, snoring where they slumped.
