Predator: Incursion

by Tim Lebbon

  The probe sent ahead of Alexander and his army had disabled her drive and dropped her back into real space. He’d likely sent hundreds, and this one had been lucky enough to detect her hyperspace trace. She was still traveling at point-three light speed, but had to assume that the device had sent back a signal before it had been destroyed.

  A sub-space contact would have reached Alexander, however many light years away he was, and he would be making his way toward her. Full speed, surfing the nebulous waves of various hyperspace planes, he and his army would bear down on her, and she would be no match.

  She still had time, but she needed to plan a course of action that meant she could rid herself of the assault ship and go into hiding. Lost in space, she could then make her way into the Human Sphere and surrender to someone in authority.

  Then it was simply a case of telling her story, and hoping that they would believe.

  Liliya knew that she was close to the Outer Rim, that uncertain area of space that marked the current extent of the Human Sphere. Not a true border, it was constantly expanding as human exploration drove outward. In the two centuries since she and the Founders had left, the Sphere had grown hugely. Over the years she had absorbed as much information as she could, about how everything they had left behind had progressed.

  At first she’d kept her research clandestine, but when Wordsworth had found out, he had approved, saying that just because they had left humanity behind, that didn’t mean they’d broken every tie. Though he’d never revealed even the smallest desire to return, he nevertheless agreed that it was wise to keep abreast of human progress.

  After all, if mankind ever created a space drive more advanced than that of the Founders, the Sphere’s expansion might swallow them up.

  That had never happened, but the expansion of the dropholes had been of significant interest. Capturing errant sub-space broadcasts, listening in on quantum folds, and collecting information in any way possible, Liliya had built a comprehensive picture of how the new series of dropholes worked.

  She had managed to procure activation codes, and it had become a personal project to assess the complex tech required to operate them.

  Shortly before Wordsworth’s death and the Founders’ transmutation into the Rage, she had gone to him with her results, proposing that such tech should be incorporated into their ships. He had agreed.

  Part of her was glad, because it meant that her journey into the Sphere would be quicker. It also meant that Alexander—and the Rage—could follow.

  “There is a ship nearby,” the computer said.

  “How close?”

  “Thirteen million miles. Speed and direction similar to ours.”

  “If we’ve seen it, then we’ve also been seen.”

  “That is likely,” the computer said. “Here you are.” It flashed the details on screen, including a whole slew of vectors and comparative speeds. It was too far away for a visual, but she scanned for its drive signature and anything else that might reveal its provenance.

  “Human?” she asked.

  “Uncertain. It’s not a ship with documented design and drive characteristics.”

  Liliya began thinking ahead. She could send the assault craft on a pre-programmed course across the edge of the Sphere, hopefully leading Alexander and his army on a lost cause. Then surrender herself to this ship. Impress upon them the importance of the information and nano-tech she carried.

  As a plan, it was thin.

  If she moved quickly, it might also work.

  “All weapons offline,” she said.

  “Really?”

  Liliya uttered a short laugh. “Yes. Really.” The weapon controls closed down, and the flight deck grew a few shades darker as various drifting holo displays folded and vanished. “Send an approach vector, and record a message along with it.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Recording.”

  “My name is Liliya. I’m approaching from far beyond the Human Sphere, where you may have already sustained some attacks from a force that threatens the whole of the Sphere. I come in peace to help you defend against this force. I have knowledge and samples of the tech they intend to use to wage war on humanity, and I offer it freely.

  “I say again… I come in peace.”

  She closed her eyes, replayed what she’d said in her mind, and then nodded. “Send.”

  “It’s gone.”

  “Take us in slowly.”

  Thirteen million miles closed to thirteen thousand in a hundred seconds, and then the other ship suddenly slowed, swung around, and targeted an array of weapons on the assault ship.

  “Countermeasures?” the computer suggested.

  “No,” Liliya said.

  “Really?”

  She laughed again, nervously. “Who programmed you?”

  “I’m a warship,” it said, as if that was an answer.

  “War is what I’m trying to prevent.”

  Liliya waited, the human side of her scared and expecting the brief, shocking flare that would signal her end. Instead, the other ship moved in close, like one curious animal investigating another.

  “No sign that they’ve received the message,” Liliya said.

  “They’re running silent,” the computer said.

  “Big ship,” Liliya said. “Life readings?”

  “Sparse.”

  “Dip our nose and drift us in,” Liliya said, frowning. If this were a warship, then she’d have expected more crew. Maybe humans had expanded their use of androids and other automatons. It might be that exploration had become the domain of artificial life. She found herself strangely disappointed at the idea. She had been hoping to meet someone…

  Like me? She smiled. She knew that her human sensations and thoughts were genuine, because they confused and troubled her so much. Most humans she knew were badly damaged individuals.

  As it turned out, there were no humans to meet.

  * * *

  In her many years of existence, Liliya had learned a lot. Some of it was programmed, combined with essential progressive learning, and much more had been picked up through desire or choice.

  Various dialects of Yautja was one of the latter. Stranger than any human language, its multifarious incarnations and accents had presented her with a huge challenge, and its very difficulty had intrigued her. Even after she’d mastered it, though, she’d had no way of knowing how complete her knowledge had become.

  When the tall, imposing figure met her as she exited the airlock onto the warship, Liliya’s shock was compounded when it spoke.

  “I am Hashori of the Widow Clan.” A pause, a heavy silence.

  “I am—” Liliya began, the words difficult in her mouth, but she got no further. The Yautja struck her across the face, snapping her head sideways and sending her smashing into the airlock door. She slid to the floor, assessing the damage the impact had caused. Some bruising, a small split in her skin.

  “No talking,” Hashori said.

  No fool, Liliya did as she was told, taking the opportunity to assess the creature who was towering over her. Perhaps nine feet tall, torso scarred with old battle wounds, it was also virtually naked apart from a crotch piece and two wide leather belts around its upper and lower chest. No armor, no weapons, each of its clawed hands was as big as Liliya’s head. Its feet were splayed and viciously tipped. It was unmasked, its wide, hinged jaws opening and closing slightly as it breathed.

  Small, glistening eyes focused on her.

  Liliya guessed that it was a female. There were no obvious differences that she could discern—breasts, sexual organs—and its build was muscular, broad, and as forbidding as any Yautja she had studied in holos or old books. However, there was something about its expression, its eyes.

  Hashori was shaking slightly, and bleeding from a wound to her left shoulder. The silence stretched out, and Liliya decided to try again.

  “I’ve come to—” she began.

  Hashori stepped forward and kicked her i
n the stomach. The impact folded her in two and sent her sliding across the floor, hands clutched in to her guts.

  “No talking!” the Yautja shouted, voice sharpened with anger—and something else, Liliya thought. Though she was not familiar with the Yautja tone and pronunciation, it was easy to hear the fury.

  “After everything you’ve done, you come to us,” Hashori said, spitting, her voice a guttural drawl.

  Liliya didn’t risk a reply.

  “Whatever the reason, I don’t care. It means revenge can begin sooner than I hoped.” She reached down, clasped Liliya’s hair, and dragged her along the dark, humid corridor.

  * * *

  From a wide viewing window beside the docking airlock, Liliya watched her assault ship blast away from the Yautja vessel. As the distance between them grew, it quickly shrank to a tiny spot. Just before she was hauled out of sight a brief, bright flash burst from the Yautja craft, destroying the ship in a distant glare of a billion expanding parts.

  20

  JOHNNY MAINS

  Yautja Habitat designated UMF 12, beyond Outer Rim

  August 2692 AD

  It was their four weeks of hell.

  For thirty days Lieutenant Johnny Mains and his four surviving VoidLarks fought, struggled, schemed, and hid to survive. They drew on everything they had ever learned, and learned plenty more. They relied on their wits and wisdom, their strength, fury, and fitness.

  Most of all, they relied on each other.

  At the end of that time, everything changed. The true indifference of the universe was impressed upon them, and the four weeks of hell they had just passed through felt like little more than a precursor of what was to come.

  Day Eleven

  Mains had expected that they would be hunted down and killed in the first few days.

  After their initial arrival and contact with the Yautja¸ they moved quickly away from the site of the Ochse’s detonation and tried to find somewhere to hide. The plan was to attempt to board one of the Yautja ships, and perhaps even fly it out of there, but Snowdon had urged caution. She knew more about the Yautja than any of them, and that knowledge had been growing with observations they’d made since their contact with enemy ships prior to the crash-landing.

  She believed that many of the ships inside the habitat weren’t yet ready for flight. That was why those docking arms were protruding from the habitat’s exterior. It also meant that to risk approaching and boarding a craft might be a folly.

  So they found safety, and prepared.

  “Really, boss, I’m ready to move.”

  “You look like shit, Corporal.”

  “Sweet-talker.” Cotronis smiled, but it was a weak action, a struggle. Mains was surprised she had even survived this long.

  “We’ll wait another day,” Mains said. “We’ve got a good place here, and—”

  “Johnny, I don’t want to die hiding.” She spoke quieter, hoping the others didn’t hear, but their suits would transmit her words to everyone. She seemed to have forgotten that.

  Mains sighed. “Snowdon?”

  “We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” she said. She was guarding one of the entrances to the small cave, with Faulkner at the other. Lieder was asleep. They slept one at a time, for two hours each. It was an exhausting rota, but Mains knew they couldn’t let down their guard even for a moment.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s get our stuff together. Then we’ll hustle.” Lieder stirred and stood. She hadn’t been asleep at all.

  Leaving the shelter of the small cave made him feel surprisingly exposed. Even though the habitat was more sparsely populated than they had first believed, the cave had become a safe haven. They were as convinced as they could be that no Yautja knew they were there. Their combat suits had kept them warm and fed with oxygen, their waste recycled, and concentrated food extracts from survival belts had provided sustenance. They all craved something solid to eat, but that was simply habit. Their bodies were as fueled and strong as ever, and Mains knew that Cotronis was right.

  The time had arrived.

  They worked their way outward from deep within the habitat, Faulkner, Snowdon, and Cotronis using infrared, Mains and Lieder relying on normal sighting. Lieder and Faulkner took point, and they moved slowly, cautiously, suit computers checking their surroundings for movement and life readings.

  Their progress was unhindered until they reached a network of rough tunnels and galleries that opened onto the habitat’s surface. Once through the atmos shield and outside again, the endless depths of space weighed heavily. With a docking arm less than three hundred yards away, Mains called a halt.

  “They’re letting us move,” he said. “They must be. They must know we’re here.”

  “I don’t think so,” Snowdon said. She clung to the idea that the Yautja were fiercely independent, habitual loners, sharks who only came together in small groups or clans to hunt or reproduce.

  “I don’t like this,” Mains said.

  “L-T, there’s a ship less than two hundred yards up that docking arm,” Lieder said. “Let me and Snowdon get to it, check it out. You, Faulkner, and Cotronis stay here, hunkered down. If I can fly the thing, we’ll let you know. You can be with us in minutes, then we’re fucking gone.” She paused and looked around. “If they’re watching us, it’s only the two of us they’ll have.”

  “We should stay together,” Faulkner said.

  “No, she’s right,” Cotronis said. “Johnny, we’ve got to take risks if we’re going to get off this chunk of rock.”

  Mains glanced around as well, considering. Half a mile in the other direction was where the Ochse had landed, whatever damage it had wrought hidden around the curve of the habitat. In the other direction, the far end of the vessel was out of sight behind the curve of its thicker central section.

  No movement.

  They’d seen few signs of life since day one.

  That troubled him. A lot.

  “Okay,” he said, “fast as you can. No hanging around, and stay sharp.”

  “You know it,” Lieder said, offering him a private smile.

  She and Snowdon went. By the time they had climbed the docking arm and approached the lowest ship up, Mains and the others were crouched in a wrinkle in the habitat’s skin. Cotronis was slipping in and out of consciousness, the effort of moving having drained whatever reserves of energy she still maintained. Her sickness was progressing slowly but surely, and none of them had voiced the inevitable outcome. Not even her.

  “Lieder?” Mains asked. He could hear her and Snowdon’s heavy breathing, but neither of them responded to his call. Maybe they hadn’t heard. Maybe—

  “Fucking hell,” Snowdon breathed. Her voice crackled through Mains’s earpiece.

  “What is it?” Cotronis asked, suddenly alert.

  “Faulkner, keep scanning our surroundings,” Mains said, then he crawled up and forward until he could see the nearby docking arm. “Lieder?”

  “We’re not getting away on this ship,” she said, voice calm and flat. “We’re not getting any closer to this dock.”

  “What have you found?”

  “Yautja,” she said. “Ten, maybe twelve of them.”

  “Get out of there!” Mains said. “Back here, quickly as you can, and if they spot you we’ll lay down a covering fire until—”

  “No need, L-T,” Snowdon said. “They’re all dead.”

  “What? Dead how?” Faulkner asked.

  “Badly,” Lieder said. “Really, really badly.”

  Day Thirteen

  Mains wanted to keep moving, not seek cover in the same place for too long. He thought that remaining still would bring on apathy and carelessness. It was his fault they had ventured into the Yautja home. He bore the responsibility, and took the blame.

  They scoped out the habitat for a day first, posting three of their shoulder drones in hidden locations around the place and then retreating to a safe distance. There was no sign that it was still being used
. No indication that anyone or anything had been inside for quite some time. It seemed safe, or as safe as anywhere could be in this place.

  Built into the inner surface of the habitat’s vast, tubular interior, it was sheltered from the massive open space by several folds of rock. The building itself was oddly regular in relation to its surroundings, though there appeared to be few aesthetic touches. A squarish block, several smaller domed structures connected around it, and a taller section atop where a ship might once have been docked. There was no ship now.

  Mains hoped the home belonged to one of the Yautja they’d seen flying from the habitat. Or better still, one of those they’d taken out before crash landing.

  A day after commencing reconnaissance, he declared it safe to enter.

  Lieder and Snowdon went first. Mains and Faulkner followed, Cotronis bringing up the rear. By the time Mains was inside the main space, Lieder and Snowdon were already standing with their weapons lowered, breaths held, staring aghast at the wide, tall wall that might have been transported directly from hell.

  “Do a sweep,” Mains whispered, unable to tear his gaze away.

  “Done,” Lieder said. “We’re alone. Except…”

  Except they weren’t alone at all. Mains was aware that Yautja often carried trophies of some of their kills, wearing them as medals or badges of honor, but he’d never expected this. Such pride, such care and creativity. Such horror.

  The entire wall was taken up with pieces of dead things. There were talons, hands and jaws, leathery wings and razor claws, skulls and spines. Teeth of many sizes and designs speckled the whole display, and here and there clawed sculptures protruded from the wall as if to reach out for the viewer.

  It was the human skulls that Mains found most horrifying. There were eight of them, perhaps ten, all thoroughly cleaned and scoured of flesh and hair, naked smashed bone paying testimony to their owners’ terrible last moments. Some were holed and almost recognizable, others burnt and scorched. A couple seemed virtually whole.