Alien vs. Predator: Armageddon, page 2
* * *
When the attack came, it was fast and furious.
General Alexander pulled his main ship out of warp just a million miles from Hell, powering in on sub-warp engines and unleashing a barrage of nukes at the ships circling the station. Seven craft had taken off to defend the large structure.
The nukes carved unseen lines through space and then exploded, glaring in bright, sparkling blooms before fading again. One of them took out a salvage ship too slow to pull away, but the other ships ducked and weaved through the fading glows of destruction.
“Where’re his attack ships?” Liliya asked.
“I’m guessing they’re the main surprise,” Ware said. Jiango had given her the access codes for Hell’s mainframe, providing them a complex, in-depth picture of the assault. She shifted the views visible on the bridge’s three main holo screens, and pointed one of them away into the void behind where the main attack had been centered.
Sure enough, within seconds several sparks of light pulsed, as a slew of small ships dropped out of warp.
“And there they are.”
“Now?” Robo asked.
“Just a few more seconds,” Ware said. “If what the old man said is true…”
“It’s our best bet,” Jiango said.
“He’s not that old!” Yvette said. If it was a brave attempt at humor it fell flat.
“Holy shit, what is that thing?” Millard asked. Alexander’s main attack ship filled one of the smaller holo screens, slowing as it approached Hell, sparkling as it spat countermeasures to lure away the missiles and laser cannon blasts being fired at it. Liliya tried to imagine what it was like, seeing a ship like this for the first time. Vast, glowing a soft pink like the insides of some huge creature, the ship rolled and spun as it came onward, deflecting laser blasts and firing off its own weapons like seeds flung to the night.
“The Faze made that,” Liliya said. She frowned, trying to think of a way to explain so much in so little time. But there was no way, so she left it.
Another defending ship was struck and pulverized to nothing, and then Ware spoke into her throat mike.
“Hell, this is Satan’s Savior, attack ships closing from sector six-six. We’re engaging.”
“What?” Yvette snapped.
Ware did not respond. Her crew didn’t question her statement, and in a matter of seconds they dropped from their docking arm and Hell fell away below and behind them. Ahead seemed to be empty space.
It quickly filled up.
“Hoot?” Ware said.
“Already on it.” The ship shuddered as an array of their weapons opened up. Laser blasts streamed into the night, three nukes burned through the darkness, and a pulsing purple light seemed to sparkle as it zigged and zagged ahead of the ship, like the probing fingers of a blind giant. A nuke exploded as it struck one opponent. Another ship caught fire and started spinning, rolling toward and then over them when Ware shifted their course slightly.
The other ordnance expended itself in empty space.
“Two down,” Hoot said. “The other three craft bypassed us and are closing on Hell.”
“Oh, no,” Jiango said. Liliya saw him and his wife holding hands, and she wished for someone who might give her comfort. She glanced sidelong at Hashori. The Yautja had placed her helmet on her head—it was scarred by ancient battles. She was inscrutable.
“Okay, one more swing around and then we’ll hit it,” Ware said. “Hoot, you ready?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll have maybe three seconds.”
“More than enough.”
“Liliya, you ready?”
“Of course.” She grasped the communicator that had been handed to her earlier. She had no idea what she was going to say. It didn’t really matter.
Ware swung the ship around in a tight arc until Hell became visible in the center of the main holo screen. Liliya was surprised at how far away they’d come. Her heart sank as she saw that the station was already taking hits.
Alexander’s flagship was close, and she could see countless specks flowing from the ship toward the station, like seed pods floating on an invisible wind. Explosions sparked all around as Hell’s defenders struggled to fight off the terrible assault, but they were ineffective. Once the surviving attack ships arrived, the increase in weapons fire was brief and terrible.
“What are they?” Yvette asked. No one responded. Liliya had told them what soldiers Alexander would be bringing with him.
“We should have stayed,” Jiango said. “We could fight them, all of us, every one of us would have made a difference.”
“Only she can make a difference,” Yvette said, but she didn’t look back at Liliya, as if she could hardly face seeing her. Instead she buried her face against her husband’s neck.
“Liliya,” Ware said.
Liliya activated the communicator.
“Alexander,” she said. “You call yourself a general? You’ve lost me again.”
“Okay,” Ware said. She stroked her control panel and Hell slipped down and to the left of the screen, quickly shrinking and then disappearing as their powerful engines pushed them away at a proportion of light speed. The warp drive cycled up but did not yet activate. They had all agreed that they would take any chance they could to halt Alexander’s pursuit, for good.
“We’ve left them to their fate,” Yvette said. “All of them, everyone on Hell.”
“They can fight,” Jiango said.
Liliya thought of saying something, but decided it was best to remain silent. She knew what the inhabitants of Hell would now be facing. She knew that they had no chance at all. Vocalizing that would help no one.
“They’re coming,” Millard said.
“How many?” Ware asked.
“All of them. The big ship and three remaining attack craft.”
“They’ve abandoned their assault,” Hoot said, glancing back at the Tanns as if offering some hope. Then he caught Liliya’s eye and his face fell.
“Hope your friend’s friends are still there,” Ware said.
“They are,” Liliya replied. “Alexander will see them before we do.”
“Good, because he’s closing fast. Millard, keep the warp engines cycling up, and get ready to jump to warp on my signal.”
“We can’t jump until—” Liliya began, but the captain cut in.
“If the Yautja don’t appear in the next six seconds, we’re jumping the fuck away from here.”
A cool silence descended over the bridge, interrupted only by soft warning chimes and buzzes from various instruments, and the distant, constant hum of the Satan’s Savior’s powerful engines.
If we jump, he’ll keep looking until he finds me again, Liliya thought. Hashori’s ship… Hell… how many more people will I doom? In her centuries of existence she had worked hard at being as human as possible, but right then she would have traded humanity for the cool, calm, guilt-free mind of a committed android.
“There!” Hoot said. “There, look, beautiful, beautiful!”
The view behind them was projected onto the main holo screen, and they all gasped at what came next.
Alexander’s pursuing flagship was suddenly set aflame by a dozen explosions, each one of them throwing out spears of light which seemed to curve around and punch into the ship again, and again. The explosions pulsed, flare after flare crawling across and around the vessel. The attack ships with it were destroyed, as well, and then flashing across the screen they saw the brief, wonderful trace of a Yautja ship.
Uncloaked, fully weaponized, it and its four companions swung around to unleash another volley against the Rage vessel.
“Direct hit!” Millard shouted.
“Don’t celebrate just yet,” Liliya said.
“The Yautja triumph,” Hashori said in her own tongue, and Liliya did not reply.
Perhaps, she thought. Maybe we really have beaten him at last.
Born from the conflagration that Alexander’s ship had become, a laser speared out and one of the Yautja craft disintegrated into nothing.
A gasp went around the bridge.
“Nothing could have survived that,” Hoot said.
The Yautja attacked again, nukes and eon pulses brighter than any sun pounding into the spinning ball of flame and destruction, explosions bursting out, glaring, blooming large on the screen.
No more responding fire blasted outward, and eventually the flames and glow began to recede. They left behind a shattered, floating remnant. The corpse of Alexander’s ship spun slowly, parts of it peeling off, some wreckage moving with it.
“Done,” Ware said. “Rather them than me.” She glanced over her shoulder at Hashori and nodded. The warrior did not acknowledge the gesture.
“Hell,” Jiango said.
“You know we can’t go back,” Yvette said. “Whatever’s happening on Hell, it’s their story now. We can’t risk Liliya, not after all this.”
Liliya heard the conversation but did not respond. She was concentrating on the wreckage of Alexander’s ship. The Yautja circled it, and two of their ships edged closer. Perhaps they sought a trophy of their kill. The huge ruined vessel still glowed from nuclear fires burning within, and she tried to grasp onto the knowledge that she was finally free.
Maloney, I have escaped you at last, she thought. She only wished she could have sent the idea as a transmission, directly into that madwoman’s head.
2
GENERAL MASHIMA
Various Dropholes—Gamma Quadrant,
November 2692 AD
Before the start of each day, General Mashima took time to kneel and worship his god.
In his cabin on board the Aaron-Percival, he first took a silent moment to prepare himself for the transmission. Never a vain android, still he always insisted on ensuring that he was presentable, before his messages were sent back to Mistress Maloney. He was alive because of her, after all. He existed because she had allowed that existence, and deemed it necessary. She was the nearest thing he had to a mother, and if a mother could not be thought of as a god, then what could?
His cabin was small and sparse. It contained a comfortable chair, a comms point, and a full-length mirror on one wall. Mashima never slept, but from time to time he spent periods in his chair, contemplating his mission and ensuring that everything was going according to plan.
Now he stood before the mirror and checked his appearance.
His uniform was smooth and sharp, perfectly fitted and immaculately cut. His face was unblemished and plain. Mashima recognized himself in the mirror, but he was also aware that the face could have belonged to anyone. It was a functional visage, with little character.
I provide the character, Mashima thought. He smiled. The creases across his cheeks looked like deep cuts in his skin.
He had been in existence for almost fifty years. His birthing was clouded in his memory banks, a period of time when his physical self was settling and being serviced, and his mind was uploaded and expanded by Maloney and her Rage scientists. There was no one time that he could recall as his first memory, but rather a growing awareness that had expanded into everything he was to become.
In those cloudy, then clearing visions, Beatrix Maloney was always there.
He and his android companions—some of them generals, others lesser creations that were used around Macbeth or in some of its escorting attack craft—were all given choice and the ability to grow, and all of them regarded Maloney as their one and true superior. Mashima didn’t know whether that was a programming function created by an insecure leader, or a natural conclusion of their free will.
If the former, then that same programming would never yield the truth. So he assumed the latter.
His greatest wish was to serve Maloney and the Rage to his best ability, or die in the attempt. Little else mattered. The Rage’s aims were his own, although they were of secondary importance to pleasing and obeying his mistress.
Mashima had been sent on a mission of great importance, and every moment of his existence was spent preparing for its success.
He signaled the bridge and spoke to their communications officer.
“Jacobs, I’m ready to compose.”
“Thank you, General. Systems online, ready now.”
Alone in his cabin, Mashima stood before the comms point and recorded a situation update.
“Mistress Maloney, I’m pleased to tell you that our progress is good,” he said. “Seven days after leaving you, we passed through drophole Gamma 123. It had already been taken by General Rommel, so our passage was unhindered. Sixteen days after that, we approached Gamma 114. This drophole was controlled from a nearby moon and guarded by a contingent of Colonial Marines. I sent three of my six attack ships to neutralize the marines guarding the hole, while I took the Aaron-Percival into orbit about the moon.
“Resistance was heavy, but no match for our soldiers. We lost more than a hundred Xenomorphs, but no ships and no Rage personnel. Success was complete. We dropped a day later, and currently we are approaching Gamma 98. Sensors indicate that it’s controlled from an orbiting station and also guarded by independent military contractors. With no Colonial Marines present, the engagement might take on a new, interesting perspective. I’m looking forward to another fight, and fully expect success within the next two hours.
“At current progress I anticipate two more drops and arrival at Weaver’s World within eighteen days. Then my true mission will begin. We are preparing for our arrival, and following our taking of Gamma 98 I’ll conduct a full inspection of troop preparation.
“For the glory of the Rage, I serve you, Mistress.” He paused, feeling the need to express some deeper form of love and devotion. But he knew that Mistress Maloney would not wish that. She’d see it as weakness in his android psyche. Duty and dedication to the mission were enough. Instead, he deactivated the recording device before saying, “My heart and soul to you, Mistress.”
Mashima’s room fell silent. A green glow from the comms point indicated that his message had been stored, and he knew that Jacobs would be preparing it for a sub-space transmission.
“Send it immediately,” he said.
“Yes, General.”
“And have Kilmister meet me on the bridge.”
“He’s already here.”
“Good. I’m on my way.”
Mashima disconnected the comms, checked himself one more time in the mirror, and then left his small, empty room.
It was time for another fight.
* * *
Kilmister was waiting for him on the large bridge. Several other shipborn Rage members were settled in front of the range of control points, although the Aaron-Percival essentially flew itself.
Jacobs kept track of comms between the ship and the six attack craft that accompanied it, and other persons assessed ship systems, navigation, and troop and weapons readiness. There really was little for them all to do. The Faze had taken this centuries-old human Fiennes ship and adjusted and adapted, reworked and rebuilt, forging it into an advanced weapon of war.
No one who had originally built or flown the craft would recognize it now. On the outside, functional sleekness had given way to strange shapes and protrusions that lent it the impression of being grown, rather than built. On the inside, most control systems had been removed or upgraded, and its warp drive and fuel systems were beyond Mashima’s understanding.
He didn’t need to understand. Self-maintaining, self-repairing, the ship was almost a living thing, and they were its passengers.
“General,” Kilmister said, nodding. He was another shipborn, but older than most, approaching a century and as eager for war as ever. Scarred and marked by various combats down through the decades, Kilmister was the Rage’s greatest human commander. Being human, he wasn’t graced with an android’s capability of controlling the Xenomorph army they carried in the Aaron-Percival’s vast holds. Instead he was a pilot, and commander of the six attack craft all flying within a thousand miles of Mashima’s flagship.
“Captain. Are all preparations in place?”
“Of course. I’m ready to give the order, on your command. Gamma 98 doesn’t appear to have noticed our approach. By the time they do the station’s defenses will be out of action, and you can land your troops.”
Mashima nodded and looked around the bridge.
“General…” Kilmister said, trailing off.
“Captain? If there’s something on your mind, you should speak it.”
“I’d like to lead the attack.”
Mashima raised an eyebrow. “Of course you would.” He smiled. “And of course, you should.”
Kilmister nodded once. “Thank you.”
“Make me proud, Captain.”
Kilmister hurried from the bridge, and Mashima took his place on the large circular platform at its center. From there he could see everything—the entire bridge, an array of viewing screens, and broadcast views from each of the six attack craft. A few minutes after Kilmister departed the bridge, three attack ships peeled off and accelerated away, skipping through skeins of hyperspace and disappearing from view.
* * *
Fifty minutes later the screens brightened again, and a magnified image brought drophole Gamma 98 in close. The familiar circle of the hole’s material construct caught starlight and set it aflame, and a hundred miles away the orbiting space station—its point of control, and their target for the day—came alive. Several small, sleek craft launched from its docking bays, and a larger battleship parted from the base and began deploying an array of advanced weaponry.
It must have been ready for an attack. A number of dropholes had already been taken by the Rage, and before that there had been sporadic attacks from Yautja elements fleeing the Rage’s approach to the Human Sphere. Kilmister and his pilots were prepared for some resistance, but there was no way of knowing just how fierce it would be.
Just for a moment, Mashima was worried.
The battle was brief, fierce, and confused. Views from each of the Rage attack ships danced and swung, stars smearing across the screens as explosions burst into brief, dazzling suns. Laser fire mirrored the star effect. Shuddering impacts blurred the images.
