by Tim Lebbon
News of the attacks had continued to arrive, proving what Mains and Lieder had said, but he’d rather have been wrong. It was still unclear who was behind the attacks—human agencies, Yautja, or some other alien species—and the involvement of the Fiennes ships only confused the situation more.
If Mains and Lieder had hoped for a rest following their traumatic time on board UMF 12, they were destined to be disappointed.
“We’re still heading for Beta 37?” Mains asked.
“That’s our destination. We’re in constant contact with the control base there—it’s on a platform five million miles from the drophole. They’ve upped their defenses, got a squadron of indies under their employ with five ships and a battle station.”
“How many troops?” Mains asked.
“Two hundred. They’re led by an ex-Colonial Marine, a sergeant retired from the 3rd Terrestrials, so they should know what they’re doing.”
“But we’ll be the first Marines there.”
“Yeah,” Durante said. “Let’s see how that sits with the indies, eh?”
“They’ll have no choice.” Mains drifted across the flight deck to the nav computer, making himself busy checking their route, velocity, and other data. It was strange being on an Arrow’s flight deck and not in command. During the first few days on board he’d thought he would get used to it, but every time he stepped onto the deck he felt a pang of loss. His ship was gone, his crew was dead, and Lieder was all he had left. He couldn’t help feeling like a failure, no matter how much Lieder and Durante told him that wasn’t the case.
They’d fought long and hard on the Yautja habitat UMF 12, and Durante even suggested their story should make it into the Annals of the Colonial Marines. He was an authority on combat tales, always had been. Theirs was a hell of a story, he claimed.
But Mains wasn’t interested in telling their story, or becoming famous, or dwelling on how amazing and unlikely their survival really was. He thought of his crew and friends, and the grief their distant families would feel at their loss. An Excursionist often left family behind forever, but even across mind-boggling distances contact was made, messages sent. Three hundred light years of space didn’t mean that someone was lost to you. Death was the ultimate distance.
“Hey, Johnny,” Durante said. “Got something weird here. Moran, bring this up for me.”
A holo screen formed at the front of the flight deck, its frame soon enclosing a view of space. As Moran entered information into his control unit, several points of light appeared within the frame.
“That’s us, and that’s Beta 37,” Moran said, pointing with a laser pen.
“What’s that blue light?” Mains asked.
“That’s the something weird,” Moran said. “It’s a ship of some kind, although I can’t pick up any recognizable trace.”
“Heading for the drophole?” Durante asked.
“Looks like it, boss.” Moran swept the air in front of him, performing calculations. “Spike, can you confirm this?”
Spike was their ship’s computer. Durante had named it after his pet dog from when he was a kid in New Paris. It was fond of impersonating the crew’s voices, which often caused mirth, but in serious moments it reverted to its programmed voice.
“Confirmed, Moran. I agree with your assessment. At current speeds, mystery ship will reach the drophole approximately three days after us.”
“Fiennes ship?” Mains asked.
“Not one that is recognized in any of my records,” Spike said.
“Lieder had access to Company quantum folds she shouldn’t have,” Mains said. “That’s how she recognized some of the signs as Fiennes ships when we first saw them.”
“I know,” Moran said. “She and I have spent some time downloading information from the fold, Spike has it all now. Whatever this is, it’s not showing any of those old ship’s traces.”
“But it can’t be a coincidence,” Mains said.
“Damn right,” Durante said. “Don’t believe in ’em. Moran, prep a message to the control base at Beta 37. Tell them what we see, give them an ETA. We might have a fight on our hands as soon as we get there.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Mains said.
Durante raised an eyebrow, perhaps resenting someone questioning one of his orders on his ship.
“Why not take the fight to them?” Mains asked.
The big man smiled.
* * *
Two days later, they were closing on the mystery ship. Spike still had found no identifying trace from the ship’s drive or warp wave, but it had managed to gather some other, shocking information about the mystery vessel.
The ship was more than three miles long, and powered by a drive that Spike could not identify. If it was human, it was like nothing any of them had ever seen before.
The Navarro was on full combat footing. It had been gently suggested that Mains and Lieder remain in their cabin, but one look at Mains’s expression had convinced Durante to find room for them on the flight deck. Two seats from the rec room had been welded in place against the rear bulkhead, and now Lieder and Mains sat together just behind Durante’s command chair. They had a decent view of the Navarro’s crew, and they were dressed in spare combat suits, bearing standard Excursionist weapons.
It felt good to be weaponed up again, although Mains still missed his shotgun.
“One thousand miles,” Spike said. “There’s some debris around the ship’s stern. It looks like the remains of several ships.”
“Maybe it’s been attacked,” Moran said.
“Or escorted,” Durante said.
“Any sign of course deviation?” Mains asked.
“No,” Spike said. Mains frowned. Had the computer really sounded brusque with him? Maybe it didn’t like talking to someone who wasn’t crew.
“We’re going in assuming it’s not friendly,” Durante said. “All weapons hot. Spike, take whatever readings you can, scan that bitch so it’s cooked from the inside out, but at the first sign of aggression we’re blasting it to hell.”
A few moments later the ship appeared on their screen. Matching warp speeds meant that background starlight was visible as smears across space—an echo of time—creating a disconcerting effect that Mains had never really got used to. Even at these speeds, movement was all relative, and the Navarro’s pilot guided them in toward the vast vessel with consummate skill.
“Moran?” Durante asked.
“No sign we’ve been noticed,” Moran said. “No weapons arrays coming online, no change in attitude or velocity.”
“Anyone seen anything like that before?”
“It’s weird,” Lieder said. “Some of it looks almost human, I’d say centuries old.”
“Fiennes ship?” Mains asked.
“No, not that old, but a lot looks like it’s been… changed.”
“Like someone flew it through a sun,” Durante said. “Weird and melted.”
“It’s a hugely efficient ship,” Spike said. “There’s barely any trace at all, even this close. No radiation leakage, no warp drive echoes. I’ve never heard of a ship so clean.”
“And it’s fucking huge,” Hari said. An Indian woman, she was the only crew member who’d not made Mains and Lieder feel particularly welcome.
“Life readings?” Durante asked.
“Yeah, and that’s another weird thing,” Hari said. “Gimme a minute.”
They circled the ship. Spike took control of the Navarro, dodging some of the debris still moving along with the vessel.
“I can identify some of the wreckage now,” Spike said. “It’s not from the main ship, but is of a similar construction. And I’m able to get a look at the inner structures. Very peculiar. Mostly metallic, but there is some biological material, as well. Almost like they were grown instead of built.”
“It gets better and better,” Lieder muttered.
“Somewhere we can dock?” Durante asked.
“I’ve already identified six differ
ent docking ports,” Spike said. “Five are closed, but one has open doors, and the hangar is large enough for the Navarro. It also appears empty.”
“Convenient,” Durante observed.
“We’re docking on that thing?” Moran asked. “Seriously?”
“No other way to get on board,” Durante said, “and I do want to get on board. If this has something to do with the attacks on the Gamma sector dropholes, there’s plenty we could learn.”
“Yeah, like, oh fuck I’m being chased by Xenomorphs.”
“Don’t think so,” Hari said quietly.
“Hari, got those life readings for me?”
“I’ve got some sort of reading. It’s huge. Massive. Odd. I can’t find anything moving, but it’s like the whole ship’s filled with some sort of low-level plant life. It’s hazy, like the hull is confusing the signal.”
“Maybe,” Durante said. Mains saw him biting his lip, contemplating what to do. It would be easy enough to blow the ship apart, but as yet they had no reason to. It had made no threatening moves. They weren’t about to declare war on someone, or something, without good cause.
Durante glanced at Mains, eyebrow raised. Mains felt a rush of gratitude to the man for acknowledging that he had another experienced lieutenant on board.
“Could be stuff on there we need to know,” Mains said. “Go in fast, have Spike keep the Navarro’s weapons hot.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Durante agreed. “Moran, take us into that open hangar. Fly aggressive.”
“Got it,” Moran said.
“Okay, gang,” Durante said. “Start your motors. Let’s party.”
* * *
With all external viewing sources open, the Navarro fell into shadow as it entered the belly of the beast. It was taken in and smothered with darkness, like a reverse birth, and Mains felt a sinking in his stomach.
I’m never getting out of here alive, he thought. It was a strange idea, and he wasn’t used to such irrational fears. Perhaps his time on UMF 12 had affected him more than he believed.
“We survived that,” Lieder said, almost as if she could read his mind. “We can survive this.”
Spike kept the ship afloat in the huge hangar for a time, pivoting slightly left and right like a dog sniffing at something new. The crew’s eyes were fixed to their viewing screens, while Hari watched for any changes in life readings.
“Looks weird,” Moran said.
“Yeah, like it’s grown,” Mains said, echoing what had been said earlier. Weird was the right word. The hangar’s walls and ceiling were bulbous, smooth in places and rough in others, twisted and curled like a confused intestine. The Navarro’s lights shone around the large space, glinting off pinks and reds and only increasing the impression of being inside something once alive.
Or perhaps still alive.
“Remember that old flat-movie?” Durante asked. “Can’t remember the name. They landed in an asteroid, but flew into the mouth of some giant worm-thing.”
“Thanks for that,” Mains said.
“It’s all structure,” Hari said. “Not living material. Not quite sure what some of it is, but it’s not living.”
“Let’s put a shot in it, just to make sure,” Moran suggested.
“We only shoot if we have to,” Durante said. “We’re going off-ship. Me, Moran, Lieder, Hari, Mains. The rest of you stay here, keep watch, keep channels open at all times. Any changes in velocity, life readings… any changes at all, and you scream. Got it?”
“Yes, boss,” came the chorus.
“And at my order you get the fuck out of here, and blow the ship to hell.”
No response.
“Got it?” Durante demanded. He stood, magnetic boots holding him to the floor, head almost brushing the ceiling. The alien ship seemed to have no artificial gravity. They were all used to working in zero-G, but it sometimes made sudden movements and reaction times more difficult.
“Got it, boss,” someone said, and the reply was echoed by the others.
“I don’t plan on losing it here,” he said, “but these are interesting times, and it might be that no one gives a damn what my plans are.”
* * *
The five of them congregated at the doors leading from the flight deck, checking each other’s suits and weaponry, and Lieder and Mains stood close. They were the last of the VoidLarks, potentially going into battle one more time. Perhaps one last time.
“It can’t be worse than the habitat,” Lieder said.
“Can’t be,” Mains agreed.
* * *
They held their com-rifles in one hand, using the other to guide themselves, push, hold, and steer. Moving in zero gravity was a true talent, and these marines had been in space for long enough to make it second nature.
The hangar was also open to space, placing them in a vacuum, so their suits fed them a suitable breathing atmosphere. Ventings froze into drifting clouds of ice shards. They shoved off from the Navarro’s ramp and drifted across the hangar, aiming for where sensors indicated a doorway led into the ship’s interior.
Mains was pleased to discover that their magnetic boots found purchase, even though much of the material used in the construction didn’t seem metallic. It was gray and smooth, slick in appearance, looking as if it had been poured rather than molded. He almost expected it to flex underfoot, but the floor was solid.
They moved across the vast hangar, and he wondered what ships it might once have held. It could be that the wreckage drifting along with this huge ship was the remnants of what had docked in this and other hangars.
They reached the end wall and an entry portal. A simple swipe on a control and it spiraled open, and all five marines aimed their com-rifles, ready to unleash hell on anything that came at them.
But the hallway beyond the portal was cold, dark, and silent.
Their visors switched to infrared, giving them a hazily tinged view of their surroundings. As the doors closed behind them Mains heard a hissing sound. It grew in volume until his suit indicated that there was an atmosphere. After a quick analysis, the sensor confirmed that it was perfectly breathable.
Designed for humans, or something similar.
“Why the hell wasn’t there decompression?” Moran asked. No one had an answer.
The hallway was straight, wide and low with several corridors leading off to the sides. The walls and ceilings were smooth and even, more what they were used to, and here and there were what might have been control points for doorways, or communication points. Hari examined one, then shrugged.
They moved off to the left, heading for the front of the ship. Drifting quietly, trying to avoid contact with surfaces, they went uninterrupted. No signs of movement anywhere, no indication that their intrusion had been noticed by ship or occupants, and Mains found that disconcerting. He felt observed, as if a silent, mysterious presence followed them like a shadow, not breathing, not even alive. Several times he glanced over his shoulder at Lieder, and he knew she was thinking the same thing. She carried her com-rifle tight across her chest, ready to bring it to bear at a moment’s notice.
It was Hari who stopped them. She was being fed constant sensor information from the Navarro, and she shoved past Mains and Lieder to converse with her lieutenant.
“Hold up,” Durante said. He and Hari whispered, then she touched his chest and pushed to turn herself around, then shoved off to the corridor wall.
“Through there?” he asked.
“Yes,” Hari said. She seemed haunted.
“Keeping us in the dark?” Lieder asked.
“Weird life readings,” Hari said. “Through this wall, not far away.”
“So we take a look,” Mains said.
They searched until they found a door. Its controls looked similar to those leading from the hangar, and it was Durante who reached for them.
“Ready?” he asked, hand paused.
“No,” Mains said.
Durante stroked the control, and the doo
r whispered open.
The hold beyond was vast. Mains wasn’t sure he’d ever seen such a huge enclosed space, not even inside UMF 12. It was so wide that the far side was out of sight, even using infrared. Mist seemed to drift across, sparkling clouds that shimmered in their enhanced vision. The hold stretched left and right, end walls also beyond their view.
Huge—mind-blowingly so—but far from empty.
At first Mains thought they were trees, massive growths bearing a rich, strange fruit. Then he realized that trees wouldn’t be rooted at both ends. These structures rose from floor to high ceiling, stretched horizontally between thick trunks were branches, and the fruit on their long, twisting limbs was like nothing he had ever seen before—nor ever hoped to see.
Each seed-shaped pod contained a human being. Those close by were in plain view, naked bodies suspended in a thick, clear fluid. There seemed to be no skin to the pods, simply a globe of gel held together by its own surface tension. They were connected to the solid branches by sturdy red stems, and some of these stems seemed to pulse. Sending nutrients to the bodies, perhaps, or maybe drawing something from them.
“Holy fuck,” Lieder said. “It is a Fiennes ship.”
“No,” Moran said. “These aren’t traditional suspension pods. I’ve never seen anything like them. Nothing human made this.”
“But where did all these people come from?” Mains asked.
“Taken from Fiennes ships and brought here, maybe,” Durante said. He was the first to push through the doorway and into the hold, drifting close to a branch thick with pods. Mains went with him.
Leaning in close to one grotesque fruit, he could clearly make out the naked man within. Long hair, thin limbs, a strong body, his eyes closed and a serene expression on his face. If he dreamed, he dreamed happy thoughts. Mains had spent years of his life in suspension, but it was weird to think how old this man might be.
If he truly was from one of the Fiennes ships, he would have been born long before Mains’s great-great-great-grandparents. He’d know nothing of the Human Sphere, their intrepid expansion out into the galaxy, the discoveries that had been made. He might never have heard of the dreaded Xenomorphs, or the brutal Yautja, Arcturians, or any other alien species encountered or discovered. The burgeoning drophole technologies would be a mystery to him, as would the planets and moons colonized, and new worlds terraformed and inhabited by brave explorers.