Predator: Incursion

by Tim Lebbon

  As far as she was concerned they had everything they needed to push back the Yautja, and track and kill those who didn’t run. It was a situation that she and her DevilDogs had trained for many times, and she resented the idea that Marshall didn’t feel comfortable under their protection. That he needed more.

  “So what is it you know?” she asked.

  “I’ve been studying the Yautja my whole life,” Palant said.

  “And now you can talk to them.”

  Palant glanced down at the device in her lap. “In a limited way, but I know something about why this incursion is taking place, and I really need to communicate that to the Thirteen.”

  “Let me get my communications guy here and we’ll do just that.” Halley turned away, troubled. The woman was strange, like only a part of her was here. She touched her comms bracelet and called Gove back to the ship, then turned back to Palant.

  “How many survivors?”

  “Fifteen,” she said. “A couple of indies, the rest of us from the base.”

  “Indies,” Halley scoffed.

  “They saved our lives!” Palant glared at her, going up in Halley’s estimation. Halley knew she was an intimidating personality, yet this woman was confidently standing up to her. She guessed the scientist had been through a lot.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sure it’s been tough.”

  “Tough,” Palant said, snorting. She wiped her eyes. “So this communication?”

  As Gove appeared in the rec room, a chiming sounded through the ship. Palant raised her eyebrows.

  “Guess he wants to talk to us more than we want to talk to him.”

  “That’s Marshall?” Palant asked.

  “Message incoming, so could be,” Halley said. “Gove, comms room ready?”

  “Good to go,” Gove said.

  Halley nodded toward the doorway leading onto the flight deck. “Come on. Let’s see what the Company has to say.”

  * * *

  As it turned out, the message wasn’t from Gerard Marshall, but General Paul Bassett himself. When his image flickered onto the holo screen he had Gerard Marshall sitting behind him, and Halley couldn’t shake the idea that Marshall could use even the General as a puppet. The Company man smiled softly as Bassett prepared himself.

  Halley wondered whether Weyland-Yutani had something on the General, too, and then she snorted a silent laugh. Of course they did. They had something on everyone. That was where they found their power. Through all their ups and downs, the Company had remained constant on that, at least.

  “Are we on?” Bassett asked, and someone out of the picture must have nodded. “Major Halley!” Basset said. “By our estimation you should have reached LV-1529 by now. I trust your mission has been successful, and Mr. Marshall and I are awaiting your report, I hope imminently. In the meantime, I felt the need to appraise you of how events have advanced since your departure.

  “Your DevilDog battalion has reached the Addison Prime system and rescued the survivors from the Spaceborne frigate. More survived the terrorist act than was first thought. The 39th are now en route to Addison Prime itself, where it’s rumored several Yautja have landed, and news across the north-east-alpha quadrant of the Sphere is much the same. The initial seventeen occasions of sabotage we talked about is now more like fifty, the worst of which was on Spaceborne 17th’s orbital in the Jackson system.” Bassett’s face dropped. “The saboteur got hold of an anti-matter loop and exposed it in the orbital’s drive hall.”

  “Oh my God,” Halley whispered. She was aware of Palant glancing at her, but her focus was on General Bassett. A man hardened to war, veteran of many conflicts large and small, and someone who had reputedly killed with his bare hands when he was a grunt during the Quailed Wars, he now seemed almost too shocked to go on. Halley wished these sub-space communications could be real time. She wanted to offer condolences, and share the grief.

  “Nineteen thousand men, women, and children,” Bassett said. “Almost the entire compliment of the 17th, along with their support crews and families. There’s nothing left of the orbital. At least they felt nothing.”

  Marshall leaned toward Bassett and said something unheard. Without looking back, Bassett snapped at him.

  “Major Halley has a right to be appraised of our situation, Marshall!”

  Halley smiled at the General’s outburst, but in it she also saw a shaky reserve.

  “That’s just the instances of sabotage,” Bassett said. “Many other saboteurs failed, but none have been captured alive. They either killed themselves, or entered into conflicts with Marines which ensured their deaths. It’s not yet known what organization initiated the attacks, but we have to believe it’s connected with the Yautja incursion, which has grown in seriousness. We have over a hundred reports of Yautja attacks, spread all across the quadrant. It appears as if they have no preference over where to land and attack. Research stations, mining bases on moons and asteroids, orbitals, military transports, scientific missions, independent stations, pirate ships—the Yautja are assaulting wherever and whenever they can. We’ve launched countermeasures, and combat is underway in scores of sites. We’re keeping track of everything we can, but with the sub-space lag and distances involved, we’re a little…”

  Lost, Halley thought. Everything for which the Colonial Marines had been established, centuries before, was happening now, and their commanding officer looked lost. Maybe it was a hidden weakness he had never displayed before, or perhaps it was because the Company had taken notional control of the Colonial Marines, turning them from a protective force into a police force.

  Bassett suddenly looked up, blinking, obviously aware of Gerard Marshall seated behind him. The Company man had said nothing. Perhaps his presence was enough.

  “The Colonial Marines are up to the task,” Bassett said. “While many contacts have been reported, and we suspect more are ongoing that are as yet unreported, our main concern remains the Yautja possession and use of a greater number of dropholes. Seven dropholes along the Outer Rim were assaulted and taken by aliens, and their ships have been dropping through ever since. Some of them were intercepted when they emerged further into the Sphere, most were destroyed, but some have disappeared. Once they’ve dropped a second time, the number of places they can emerge is increased tenfold.

  “They’re also suiciding whenever they are trapped or mortally wounded. News I have is… horrific. Massive death tolls among Marine units, as well as civilian populations. So few Yautja, but such massive damage.”

  “I know why they’re doing it!” Palant said, and Halley held up her hand. Didn’t the fool realize this was a one-way conversation?

  Gerard Marshall rose at last and stood beside the General. Palant hated him. Undoubtedly an important man, she also believed him to be a monster. Not a killer—at least not with his own hand. Not an animal, but a man who put personal gain, and the good of the Company, before anything else. Even now, with General Bassett relaying news of tens of thousands dead and violent contacts with the Yautja across this quadrant of the Human Sphere, Marshall would be assessing how Weyland-Yutani could benefit from the war.

  She was sure of it.

  “We need to know if you found Isa Palant and Milt McIlveen alive,” he said, “and if you did, we need you to transmit all of their research and knowledge of the Yautja, securely. A lot might depend on what they know.”

  “We’re considering offering a ceasefire,” Bassett continued, “but we have to do it from a position of strength. Otherwise they won’t even respond. We still don’t know the Yautja’s intent, and our analysts have found no discernible pattern in their attacks. They seem almost random, yet the more we know of them, the more we can threaten them with.

  “I look forward to your report, Major,” he concluded. “Be safe.”

  The picture shivered and clouded, and just before it faded to black Palant saw that unsettling smile back on Marshall’s face.

  “Major, I think I know what’s
happening here,” Palant said. “I don’t think they’re launching an invasion.”

  “It sure looks like that to me,” Halley said. “Did you hear what General Basset said? This is a war, and while you were talking to that bastard thing out there, Marines were dying.”

  A sound from behind made her turn around. Gove was still there, standing at the communications unit, eyes wide and Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to swallow away tears.

  “Private Gove?” Halley said.

  “The SpeedSharks,” he said.

  “Yes, the 17th. All of them, the General said. A saboteur working with the Yautja.”

  “That’s not true!” Palant said.

  “My brother is a Corporal in the 17th,” Gove said. He tried to say more but his voice failed.

  Halley took a step forward and grasped his upper arm. “My condolences.”

  “I haven’t seen him in seven years. You know, it’s so difficult, distances so… and I usually spend my leave on orbitals or…”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Palant said. “We’ve all lost. A good friend of mine died when our base was blown up, but the saboteur wasn’t a Yautja, and didn’t have anything to do with them. I don’t know why she did it, but I do know this—the Yautja are fleeing from something. McIlveen and I listened to the two Yautja who attacked us, talking about them, and when I spoke with Shamana—”

  “Who the fuck is Shamana?” Halley asked.

  “The Yautja you blew away out there.”

  “Before it blew us all away.”

  “He and his kind have been attacked by something he called the fire lizards. They’ve retreated to regroup, fight back. It’s not an invasion. They’re entering the Human Sphere because they’re running away.”

  “And attacking military and civilian outposts as they do so.”

  “I can’t pretend to understand their motivations,” Palant said.

  “I thought you were supposed to!” Gove said, anger in his voice. “We came all this way to rescue you because you do understand them!”

  “More than most, probably,” Palant said, “but that’s not saying much.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Halley asked. The woman’s circling talk was getting on her nerves. She had a report to prepare and send to General Bassett, and they had plans to make. The Pixie wasn’t a big ship, and to contain the fifteen survivors of LV-1529 they’d have to work some magic in the cryo-pod bay. She didn’t have time for this.

  “They might appear almost humanoid,” Palant said, “but they’re as similar to us as we are to a fish. Perhaps they’re unknowable, but we have to use what I do know to try to stop this situation getting any worse.”

  “How?”

  “Your general spoke of brokering a ceasefire.”

  “And?”

  “I think I can compose a message in the Yautja language that they’ll understand. McIlveen knows enough about their tech and communications systems to prepare a general sub-space message on one of their open frequencies.”

  “Saying what?”

  “Saying that we know why they’ve fled, and we don’t want to fight them anymore. We want to help.”

  Halley smiled, then frowned, realizing that Palant was serious. The silence hung heavy. The gravity of Gove’s loss was a weight inside her, and she knew that such grief would be falling all across the Sphere.

  Palant stood, and for the first time Halley saw past her frailty to the strength and determination underneath.

  “Major,” she said. “If there’s something bad enough out there that the Yautja fled from it, don’t you think we should be concerned?”

  * * *

  Akoko Halley had been out of her comfort zone the moment the Pixie had taken off from Charon Station. Leaving the bulk of her DevilDogs behind had been a wrench, and although she had a good crew with her—most importantly her right-hand man, Sergeant Major Huyck—their absence cut in the further she was from them.

  What Isa Palant was asking her to do made her even more uncomfortable—and yet, deep down, she knew that the scientist was right.

  “If we ask permission of your general to do this, he’ll waste time consulting his experts, his advisors. And if Gerard Marshall finds out, it will become politicized. His interest is in the Company and himself, and whatever our reasons for sending the signal, this will place both of those interests above our own.”

  Halley hadn’t been surprised that Palant knew Marshall, and the scientist’s dislike of the man made her like the tough little woman more.

  But it was a heavy decision to make, a bold step. Especially as Palant and Marshall’s man, McIlveen, had by their own admission only a very cursory knowledge of the Yautja language.

  “So how can you guarantee that this device will do what you say?” Halley touched the small datapad that rested on the table between them. It was dusty and scratched, as if it had been through as much as its owners. Palant and McIlveen sat across from her, Huyck to her left and Nassise to her right. Nassise was a good man, strong and quiet, and had been under her command since she was a corporal. He’d saved her life once, and once she had saved his. That had formed a strong bond between them. She trusted him, and though he’d refused any offers of promotion and remained a private, she valued his opinion above most anyone else.

  “We can’t,” Palant said, “but we think we can word the statement simply enough that no mistakes will be made. We’ll use words and phrases that are tried and tested. You’ve seen everything we’ve recorded since the two Yautja arrived here, and you were present when I was speaking with Shamana.”

  “Before he attempted to nuke us all,” Nassise said. His voice was always quiet, but always carried. Perhaps that was why his opinion bore weight.

  “Like I said, they’re unknowable,” Palant said. “But it’s worth a try. It could be that the Yautja incursion, as you call it, is just a prelude to something much, much worse.”

  Halley nodded slowly, never taking her gaze from the scientist. Palant stared back. At last Halley’s lips twitched into her version of a smile.

  “Put your message together. Tell me when it’s done. I’ll vet it, along with my crew, and then we make a decision.”

  “You’ll vet it?”

  “Unless you want to send it to General Bassett for approval?” Halley asked. And thereby to Marshall, she thought, though she didn’t need to say that. “It’s my own reputation I’m risking here.”

  “After what you just heard, you’re worried about reputation?”

  Halley did not reply. In truth she was not, and she was quite certain that Palant knew that. She was a perceptive woman. A good woman. It remained to be seen if she could achieve everything she hoped.

  “It’ll take us half an hour,” McIlveen said.

  “I’ll get you restricted access to Pixie’s computer,” Nassise said, but Palant shook her head and touched the datapad.

  “We’ve got everything we need right here,” she said. “And… thank you.”

  Halley nodded once, stood, and left the rec room, marching back down the ramp and back into the storm. Bestwick and Sprenkel were helping the survivors gather their meager belongings in the ruins of the hangar that had been their home for so long. Gove was heading back toward her from the direction of the devastated base, his suit shimmering where it had thickened against the heavier radiation readings coming from that direction.

  Halley wanted to be away from this shithole as quickly as possible.

  She spoke to her crew, organized a brief search for anyone left behind, then returned to the Pixie.

  She’d been gone less than twenty minutes.

  * * *

  Four hours after landing on LV-1529, Akoko Halley authorized a transmission that might change history.

  She should have felt scared giving the go-ahead, because it was probably the end of her career, but it was the support of her crew that carried her through. Every one of them—the taciturn Huyck, the quiet Nassise, loyal Gove, and Sprenkel and Bestwic
k—had agreed that this course of action was the correct one. They had quietly absorbed Palant’s and McIlveen’s thoughts and ideas, listened to the brief message they planned to send, and then given Halley their approval.

  She thought perhaps a lot of that was because of their respect for her, and their realization that she was behind the plan, and that was good enough.

  “You sure these sub-space plane levels are right?” Palant asked as she and McIlveen sat before the Pixie’s main communication board. Gove was with them, guiding them through the process.

  “Sure as I can be.” McIlveen was nervous, but excited. Halley knew that he was a Company man, sent here by Marshall to oversee Palant’s work. Yet he was ready to bypass one of Weyland-Yutani’s Thirteen in order to send this transmission. That fact solidified her opinion that this was the right course of action.

  “Okay, we’re good to go,” Gove said. “Message is uploaded. Just press ‘send’.”

  Halley expected some sort of pause from Palant, a loaded moment heavy with the potential for objection. Instead she stroked the SEND button and sat back, and on countless planes below and around that in which they existed, the sub-space message spread across the galaxy.

  We understand what has happened to you. We know why you are traveling into the Human Sphere. We know about the fire dragons. For our good, and for yours, we must call an honorable truce and confront the threat together.

  24

  JOHNNY MAINS

  Yautja Habitat designated UMF 12, beyond Outer Rim

  September 2692 AD

  “Cover!”

  “Eleven o’clock!”

  The rattle of nano-ordinance spitting from a com-rifle, the roar of a thousand sparkling explosions, the screech of a target being shredded and killed, the hiss of shrapnel blasted by superheated gas, the thuds of stones impacting combat suits.

  “L-T, drop!”