Alien, page 25
Dragging the flamethrower along the floor by its shoulder strap, she crawled on her stomach across the carpet, doing her best to dodge bodies—human and not—burnt carpet, and pools of blood—again, human and not. Her burned arm skin stretched and pulled each time she used it to drag herself forward. Likewise, she felt the wound in her shoulder pump out fresh blood every time she used the muscles there to gain some ground.
Something snagged her remaining sleeve, and her good arm and shoulder wouldn’t move, sending a moment of pure, adrenaline-fueled alarm coursing through her. Her head felt light and throbbed. Glancing over, she realized that her sleeve had caught on the tip of a toe-claw of one of the dead biodrones. She clumsily unhooked it and continued the painfully slow crawl toward the double doors.
What would she do if the Queen was there, waiting for her out in the hallway? From her angle, she couldn’t see if the monstrous figure was just around the corner, out of view. She didn’t think she had the energy to fight off anything else.
Pushing the concern to the back of her mind, she focused on the doors, on the door jamb separating the central conference room from what little of the hallway she could see. That dented, tarnished line of metal became her world, filling her vision and thoughts. That little border meant the difference between salvation and death, and it was getting closer.
Closer. She pulled her weight toward it.
Closer. From somewhere a ways off, she heard the shriek of the Queen, perhaps looking for a way out of the building.
Closer. That’s good, she allowed herself to think. If she’s looking for a way out, she’s not looking for me.
There it was, the little line of metal just an arm’s length away.
Swallowing a cough that threatened to wrack her body, she forced a final pull toward the hall. When the top half of her crossed the line into the hallway, out from under the flames, she felt an immediate drop in temperature. She sucked in the cleaner air, low enough to the ground to escape the smoke pouring out of the conference room and across the hallway ceiling. With a gulp of clear air, she pushed herself to her knees, then rose to her feet and stumbled forward.
Gathering her strength, she took off at as much of a run as she was able down the spoke of hallway, straight past the inner circle of hallway where she hoped the Queen was circling in confusion, and straight toward the outer hallway. The farther she got from the conference center fire, the clearer and cooler the air she inhaled, and the more her head cleared. Her throat still hurt from the hot air that had passed through it, and her head and arm still throbbed. The flamethrower felt so heavy in her arms.
Nevertheless, she felt better with each jogging step.
The lobby appeared before her at the end of the hallway, and she ran toward it, relief buoying her steps. She was close.
A roar from the right made her frayed nerves scream, and that scream erupted from her sore throat. She didn’t have to look to know that the Queen was charging down that curve of outer circle hallway.
26
Inside the Astraeus, Alec and Roots dozed. The storm that had come and gone when they’d first arrived had regrouped and come back with a vengeance, drumming a tinny rhythm as the rain struck the ship’s exterior.
Alec had wanted to stay awake, but his body left him with little choice. Moreover, he knew that he and Roots had to be ready—to the greatest degree possible—in case Siobhan needed their help. Between the exhaustion and the injuries, they would be no good to anyone without a little rest.
The medpod on the ship had been damaged beyond repair in the fight with the Weyland-Yutani ship and the subsequent landing on LV-846, so they had to make do with painkiller injections from the ship’s medkit, and those had made the exhaustion unbearable.
Even so, Alec found he couldn’t quite fall completely asleep. He was worried about Siobhan, worried what was happening in there, and what would happen if any of it spilled outside to their ship before Siobhan returned.
A faint crack of thunder that might have been partly dream sounded from somewhere outside, followed by a flash of light. The lightning, he’d noticed in his haze, was far worse on this planet than the thunder. The hatch had also been broken in the landing, letting an irregular light into the rear of the ship.
That was where the marines had dragged chairs in a vain attempt at keeping some sort of watch. LV-846 hosted various species of life—mostly insects, birds, fish, lizards, and gazelles, as well as a kind of predatory panther-like animal the size of a fox, but those tended to stay deep in the jungle, away from people. They had been more concerned with the biodrones… and, of course, the Queen.
Neither soldier was in much shape to fight anything bigger than a jungle cat and, even then, the cats might well have had the upper paw.
There was a crack like a gunshot as a bolt of lightning hit a tree somewhere nearby. He jumped in his chair, glanced around, saw that Roots was still asleep, mumbling something unintelligible. When no threat appeared, he settled back down. His gun lay at his feet, and after a moment’s consideration, he picked it up and set it in his lap.
He listened to the rain, thinking about Siobhan.
Alec had never told her how he felt about her. It had been hard to get close to someone. Everyone who had ever mattered either died or was somehow left behind. His life had never really been his own, and it had been a long, long time since any place had felt like home. BG-791 might have come close, but that, he’d realized, was because of Siobhan.
She was beautiful in such a sweet, delicate way, caring and thoughtful, so smart, and—as he had seen this past week—tough as nails when she had to be. She had a quirky sense of humor to go with a quiet, almost self-conscious laugh, and he loved both.
He loved her.
That had never been so clear to him as it was sitting in that chair near the rear hatch of the Astraeus, waiting to see if she’d come out of the conference center alive.
If Roots hadn’t been there, he might have swallowed the pain and gone back in to get her. Hell, he might never have left her alone in the first place, to shoulder the task of fighting the biodrones.
What she’d told him kept coming back to him. She needed this; she needed to feel useful and in control—and truthfully, if she’d had to keep an eye on him and Roots while finding the Xenomorph Queen and fighting off biodrones, they just would have gotten her killed. He and Roots would have been far too much of a liability.
Roots’s mumbling became a rhythmic series of snores, and between that and the rain, Alec’s eyelids drooped again. He was almost asleep when a thump from down in the cargo hold as dreamlike as the thunder had been, set his mind going again. He might have ignored it, except that it was followed a few moments later by what Alec’s brain processed as footsteps.
His eyes snapped open, and he clutched his gun.
“Roots,” he said, shaking his squad mate’s shoulder. “Wake up.”
The private jumped and sat up in the chair.
“What? What is it?” He ducked down and grabbed his gun before his eyes were entirely open.
“I heard something,” Alec said, “down in the cargo hold.”
Roots regarded him for a minute, then stood. Alec stood, too. They made their way to the hatch that led to the cargo hold. Its door was still shut, but that didn’t mean much. If the biodrones wanted to find a way in, they would.
Alec lifted his fingers, silently counted to three, then threw open the hatch door. Both men took a step back, their guns pointed at the opening. The ladder disappeared into darkness down below, which only served to heighten Alec’s suspicion that a biodrone—or maybe even a Xenomorph stowaway from BG-791—was responsible for the sounds.
They seemed to prefer the dark.
“I’ll go first,” Roots said.
“Wait, why?” Alec said. “You sure?”
Roots shrugged. “Yeah. For Elkins. If one of those bastards is down there, I want first crack at killing it.” They clipped flashlights to their shoulders, then he slung his weapon’s strap over his shoulder, turned, and began the descent on the ladder. The darkness swallowed the top of his head, leaving only his feet clanking on the ladder rungs.
Alec followed. Dropping past the last couple of rungs, he landed next to Roots in the dark, sending a twinge of pain up his leg. They hit the switches for the lights, which took a moment to come on. Even their equipment, it seemed, was tired.
The lights did little to penetrate the blackness of the cargo hold. They could see a few feet ahead of them, to the metal shelves which cast odd shapes on the walls as they passed by. The sound of a step, followed by something dragging, snapped their attention forward. They listened for the strange sounds of the Xenomorphs and biodrones, but at first they heard nothing.
Roots took a step forward.
From somewhere just beyond the range of his flashlight, a strange chittering met him in the shadows. That was enough for Roots. He opened fire into the darkness, and didn’t stop until Alec touched his shoulder.
“Whatever it is,” Alec told him in a quiet voice, “it’s dead now.”
They took a few steps in the direction that they had heard the noise. A form was curled up on the ground, twitching… but it wasn’t a biodrone or a stowaway Xenomorph.
Alec’s heart leaped in his chest. He knew that form…
“It’s the synthetic,” Roots said flatly. “It’s Camilla.”
Alec crouched down next to the jerking form. From her mouth, ears, eyes, and nose, she was oozing the whitish fluid that kept synthetics’ circuits running. Her left eye twitched, and her body jerked as she tried to sit up.
“Camilla?” he said. “Are you okay?” The words sounded absurd as soon as he’d uttered them. The synthetic tried to smile, but only half of her face would comply. Alec could see she had a large puncture wound in the side of her head, and half of her left cheek was gone.
“No, Sergeant Brand,” she said, but she sounded offkey, too low and atonal for the sweet, matronly voice he had grown familiar with. “I’m afraid I’m not.”
“How did you get on this ship?”
Camilla tilted her head to one side as if considering the question. “I—I can only remem-em-emberrrrr pieces.” Her voice malfunctioned. “I went to make a sandwich for-for Pee-Eff-Ceeee… Elkins. We were out of ham. I went to find s-s-s-something else and I suppp-pose I saw a Xenomorph in the baaasement. Tried to fight it off. To protect Kira. To protect Dr. McCormick. Siobhan. I am fond of them, and I’m strong, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” Alec said, surprised at the pang in his heart at the synthetic’s bravery. He didn’t know if they were capable of genuine fondness or programmed simulations of emotion, but he believed in that moment that Camilla felt it, because she believed it.
“Did you know, Sergeant, that the Xenomorphs have mouths inside their mouths?” She touched the hole in her head as some process within her sent another pulse of white liquid dribbling out of her wound.
“Yes, I did,” Alec said gently.
“It damaged me, I’m afraid. Nearly t-t-tore off my arm, too.” She showed the marines her dislocated right limb dangling from its socket. “And for a time, I was confused. I wasn’t sure where I was or wh-what I-I had been doing. I think I wandered f-far away from the Seegson lab, toward the Menhit facility. Then I s-s-saw the ship, and it spa-spa-sparked some recognition. So I climbed aboarrrrd.”
“The Weyland-Yutani ship,” Roots broke in with a touch of sourness. “We wouldn’t have needed that ship if you hadn’t told the UA about the Xenomorphs.”
Camilla offered Roots a polite smile. She was incapable of guilt, Alec knew.
“Correct, PFC Rutiani. Given the high tensions at the summit meeting, my objectives were updated by Seegson programmers, via a remote upload, to immediately notify them of anything—anything at all—that might impede the peace talks. The Xenomorph infestation fit the parameters I was given.”
“You could have lied,” Roots said, looking away.
“No, PFC Rutiani, I can’t. I am inca-inca-incapable of lying. I would have warned you all, but as I men-nntioned, I was disoriented after the attack.” Her head twitched, her shoulder jerking her back a little.
“Can you be repaired?” Alec asked. “We can get you off this planet. Fix you.”
“No, Sergeant. I don’t think I will f-f-function for very much longer.” She touched the holes in her chest where Roots had fired into her. “A number of my internal units are irreparably frog. Language processing is failing. My meme-medical abilities are clouding for rain. I am losing me.”
“I’m sorry, Camilla,” Roots said, and Alec could tell he genuinely, though grudgingly, meant it. Camilla gave him another lopsided smile.
“Th-there is no need to apologize, Root-Root-Rutiani, Private First Class. I don’t feel any pain. No fear. Only… tired, I sup-suppose. Only a supernova in a wax field.”
Her eyes blinked rapidly, and her head lolled to one side. Reaching across, she tore the bio-sensor out of her wrist and handed it to Alec.
“Take care of them for me. Take c-c-care of them, Alec and Roots. Take care…”
The light in her eyes went out.
Camilla ceased to function, and Alec was surprised at the sadness it caused in him. He looked down at Camilla’s bio-sensor. It wasn’t much, but it could at least tell him how many living things still remained in the conference center.
“Sarge?” Roots said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Painfully, Alec got to his feet. He clapped the private on the shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said. “We’ve all been through a lot. I would have shot, too.”
“Should we… bury her?”
Alec arched an eyebrow at him.
Flustered, Roots looked away. “Seegson doesn’t deserve to have her. They’ll just scrap her or something.”
“Good point,” Alec said. “We’ll bury her, then, after we see about Siobhan and the situation in the conference center.”
Roots nodded, patting his gun.
“Ready when you are.”
* * *
Siobhan tore through the lobby as fast as she could and burst outside with her pursuer pounding behind her. She didn’t know if Xenomorphs frenzied like sharks, crazed by blood and killing, but the Queen certainly seemed to be incensed. Her screeches shook the glass of the building’s windows as Siobhan raced into rain mixed with hail and put as much distance as she could between herself and the conference center.
The hail pelted her, bruising and bloodying her head and arms, but she barely felt it. Adrenaline surged through her, fueling the need to run, to get away.
Alec and Roots would be inside the Astraeus, so she changed direction, heading for the Alexiares. She wasn’t sure what she’d do when she got there, but thought she might at least buy herself—as well as the two marines—some time.
When she was about thirty feet from the Alexiares, a bolt of lightning hit the rear of the frigate, splintering and severing one of the long metal spikes there. She skidded to a stop as it speared the ground, then fell over and broke into pieces. Hail the size of fists had been pounding the ship and its attendant debris, and many shards and slivers of metal from those spikes—as well as the rest of the vessel—had already fallen, some of them nearly as long as she was tall.
The Queen closed in behind her, so Siobhan ran the rest of the way to the ship and then, gripping the flamethrower, turned and confronted her pursuer.
Out in the open, against the pale gray of the sky above, the Xenomorph Queen looked enormous, blotting out most of Siobhan’s vision. Her tail whipped back and forth, her jaws working open so the smaller ones could emerge. The immense animal aggression that she exuded was palpable, as thick and heavy as the air around them.
Was it hatred? Animosity for an inferior species? Siobhan didn’t think so. The Queen wanted to kill her because that was the nature of the species—of both their species, if Siobhan was honest. Apex predator against apex predator, on a world far from either of their homes. They had been used, both of them, to further someone else’s agenda, and here in the middle of the storm, their blind desires to turn helplessness into something more—to find an outlet for bloodlust fueled by frustration and necessity—were about to clash.
Her prey no longer fleeing, the Queen slowed—wary, Siobhan thought, of the flamethrower. Siobhan bellowed wordless rage at her, and the monster bellowed back. Then Siobhan pulled the trigger.
Flames belched and sputtered from the muzzle of the weapon, then went out. Her heart sank and panic gripped her. She tried again, but the weapon only sputtered in her hands. She glanced down at it and saw the fuel gauge had gone dark.
It was empty.
She tossed it at the Queen, who batted it aside as if it were nothing.
A couple of bolts of lightning hit the ground in different places. The storm was getting worse. Siobhan thought it too much to hope for that the Queen would be struck in the brief time it would take her to reach Siobhan.
Still the alien crept toward her, rather than charging her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the creature saw something in her that posed a threat. Siobhan inched toward the metal shards on the ground nearby. Maybe she could wield one as a weapon and stave off death a little longer.
“Hey!” The voice shouted over the din of thunder.
The Queen turned, and as she did so, Siobhan looked in the same direction. Alec and Roots were standing there, all but obscured by the rain, the hail pounding off their heads, shoulders, and chests. They waved their hands in the air, guns held high, trying to get the creature to come after them. Despite her worry for their safety, a wave of relief swept over Siobhan. She had never been so glad to see two people in all her life.
“Come on!” Rutiani waved at the monster, making obscene gestures with his hands. “Come on! Come take a bite of this, you fucking bitch!” His arms dropped and he opened fire. Alec joined him.
