by Tim Lebbon
Still she felt as if she had taken a huge step. Leaving the Rage in the first place had been easy, especially after Beatrix Maloney’s admission that their return would be a horrifically violent one. Submitting herself to the Yautja had been a mistake, but one which might yet prove to be a blessing. And now landing on Hell might be the first large step toward making contact with the people who mattered.
Liliya only had to persuade the station’s controllers that she was here for benevolent reasons.
* * *
They escorted them to a cell. It was to be expected, but it still took Liliya some time to persuade Hashori that it was for the best. Hell’s defenders were simply being cautious.
The cell was more of a contained room, well appointed and larger than the interior of Hashori’s ship. Liliya paced back and forth from wall to wall, enjoying the sense of space. Hashori stood in one corner, staring at her without any apparent expression. They’d let the Yautja retain her weapons. Liliya liked the implied trust in this, but she also knew that they could probably both be killed in an instant. The room was comfortable, but she suspected it had systems and defenses necessary to preserve the station’s integrity and safety.
A man brought them some food and drink, wide-eyed and staring only at Hashori. He seemed more excited than scared. Hashori glared at him until he looked away.
Liliya did not require sustenance, but she ate for the sake of appearances. She had yet to reveal that she was an android.
As she was picking at the food, the door slid open again, and an older man walked in. He assessed them both briefly before signaling that the door should be closed behind him. Then he sat opposite Liliya, took out a datapad, and leaned back in his chair.
“They’ve asked me to come and talk to you,” he said.
“You’re the leader here?”
“Hell has no leader. We’ve got a ruling council, which has a chairperson, but all decisions are democratic, voted on by that council. Business takings are split, but our internal monetary system is very simple. We’re self-sustaining, and only take payments from visitors. We don’t trust anyone.” He looked her up and down, eyes narrowing slightly. He seemed wise. “So, no, I’m not the leader. My name’s Jiango Tann, and they’ve asked me to speak to you because I’ve had dealings with the Company.”
“My name is Liliya,” she said, extending her hand. He took it, shook, then tilted his head.
“You’re an artificial.”
“Yes.” She was surprised that he’d picked up on that. “But I’ve chosen as many human aspects as I can, and I do consider myself… a person.”
“Then so will I.” He smiled for the first time and Liliya relaxed, feeling the same sense of peace that she’d once enjoyed with Wordsworth. With him it had been wisdom and benevolence. She hoped the feeling this man inspired in her was the same.
“So they’ve told you why I’m here?” she asked.
“Yes, although I’ll admit, we don’t know an awful lot about what’s been going on at the Outer Rim. I’ve picked up some transmissions myself. Broken messages. They seem to involve Xenomorphs.”
Liliya saw a shadow cross his face and thought to herself, He has some history with them. But now was not the time for sensitivity.
So she told him the basics of her story. She began with the awful truth about her time aboard the Evelyn-Tew almost three centuries before, and ended with her arrival at Hell with Hashori.
Tann sat back and listened, not once interceding with a question, though she knew he had many. When she’d finished he regarded her for a while, tapping the datapad he had not once used and seemingly staring through her to something far away.
“You were on the Evelyn-Tew?”
Liliya nodded. “I’m surprised you’ve heard of the ship.”
“Lots about me might surprise you,” Tann said. “But really? Weaponized Xenomorphs?”
Liliya nodded. She spoke to Hashori, who also nodded at Tann. It was a peculiarly human gesture from the Yautja.
“I hoped the day would never come.” Tann sounded sad, and scared. “The Company will do anything it can, and everything possible, to get its hands on them. It’s spent centuries trying to do so, and many people have died in its quest. They have advanced nukes, particle modulators, and certainly other weapons we know nothing about, but the Xenomorph is the ultimate—a soldier crossed with a biological weapon. And you have in your blood the means to give them that?”
Liliya nodded.
“Exactly what is it that you carry?”
“A combination of advanced human science and alien technology that’s almost mystical. The human science is something… I stole. On board the Evelyn-Tew, they had Xenomorph samples, including a queen, and they were experimenting with control mechanisms using nanotechnology. It was rudimentary, but they were encountering some decent results. I caused a catastrophe. Stole the research. Fled.”
Tann was now using his datapad furiously. He would be checking on her story, she knew. She felt shame, but this was beyond personal feelings. Complete honesty was the only way to gain this man’s trust, and she sensed that he was someone who could help her, if he chose to do so.
She only hoped her instincts were sound.
“I was adrift for decades until the Founders picked me up. The research I carried was intended as insurance. Wordsworth knew that there were great dangers out beyond the Human Sphere, the Xenomorph perhaps the least of them. But an ability to control that beast—perhaps to control any alien species we might come across—might protect the Founders from devastation. Wordsworth didn’t just want to survive, he wanted to thrive.
“What I carried was cutting edge research, but when we landed on Midsummer, and it was combined with the ancient technology we discovered there, it became remarkable. We found traces of a dog-like species, long dead, but with incredible science, way beyond what we had ever seen before, or even imagined. Among other things, there was the Faze. A being—creature, creation, or perhaps something indefinable—that literally rebuilt our ships from the inside out. It grew mechanical parts, extruded materials, and bettered everything it touched. No one ever truly understood it, and no communication or contact was ever achieved. Nevertheless, we gave the two Faze we found free rein on our ships, Macbeth and Othello. It was as if they advanced our science a hundred times faster than was destined, and we were happy to let them.”
“So what did combining the stolen Company tech and alien technology produce?”
“I’m sure you know plenty about nanotechnology.”
Tann nodded without looking up from the datapad.
“Not like this,” she continued. “Combining the alien tech with the stolen research, the technology the Founders developed was far beyond the mere physical. Controlling the Xenomorphs, psychically attuning them to one particular general, that’s only part of it. They can be programmed. They’re set to destruct if they’re fatally wounded or killed, destroying any trace of the artificial elements in their blood. We can also promote the construction of controlling elements in a biological being from light years away.”
Tann looked up at this.
“Nanotech built from a body’s own elements, prompted by sub-space transmissions at a certain wavelength,” Liliya said. “It’s… a word you might use is arcane. It’s almost beyond science, and I’m not sure anyone really understands it.”
“You’re playing God,” Tann said.
“God?” Liliya was surprised this man would even mention such an ephemeral deity.
“A manner of speaking,” Tann said, but she wasn’t sure. He had a scientist’s mind, but she knew that some scientists could retain a spiritual side. Wordsworth had been proof of that.
“I’m filled with regrets,” Liliya whispered.
Tann seemed not to hear.
“You carry this incredible technology in your blood. Something that has become so destructive, in the wrong hands, and you want us to help you get that to the Company?”
“Understand
ing it might be the Human Sphere’s only chance,” Liliya said. “You heard what I told you about Beatrix Maloney. Her hatred. Her determination. Even I don’t know her ultimate plan for the Sphere, but trust me when I tell you that it’s nothing good.”
“My own son died working for the Company, trying to get them Xenomorphs.”
“I’m sorry,” Liliya said, “but it’s not only what’s in my blood that might help. I know Maloney, and the Rage. I’ve been with them from the beginning. I understand some of her thinking, and the strategies she might employ. I know some of her plans.”
“That’s why she wants you dead.”
“Of course.”
Tann stood and walked to the door. Then he glanced back at Hashori and Liliya.
“I never thought I’d see the day when Yautja and human stand together.”
Liliya smiled at his reference to her as human. He was a learned man, a wise man, but troubled, and probably correct in his fears. He’d confirmed to her that Weyland-Yutani controlled the Colonial Marines, so now they were faced with a heavy dilemma.
Give the Company the power it had sought for generations to truly control the dreaded Xenomorph?
Or withhold what she carried, and take the risk?
“I need to talk with the Council,” Tann said.
“Of course,” she said. “But Jiango… we may not have much time.”
“You said you’d shaken Alexander and his army sent to find you.”
“We did,” she said, “but they have ways and means, and he’s tracked me down once before.”
12
BEATRIX MALONEY
Outer Rim
November 2692 AD
She was almost home. The end of the beginning of her grand plan was close at hand—but still her greatest threat, Liliya, was at large. Beatrix’s greatest general had yet to capture her.
“…and we should be able to drop through before long,” Alexander said. “However she managed to close the drophole behind her, we’ll find the solution at the control base. But General Parks made a mess of the place when he attacked eleven days ago, and we’re forced to sift through the wreckage. Trust me, mistress, that Liliya will be in my hands very soon. You have my word.”
Maloney wished she could shout and rage at Alexander now, face to face, instead of listening to his message with fury simmering within her, and nowhere to vent it. Dana and Kareth stood at the room’s extremes, uncomfortable but knowing that she would never take out her frustration on them. Never.
In her mind, Maloney saw blood flowing across the floor, and she did not care where it came from.
Eyes closed, breathing hard, feeling her gel massaging and renewing her muscles and limbs and skin, she resisted the temptation to record an instant response. She should not doubt him. He was the best of her generals—that was why she sent him and his army after the deserter, the traitor—and he was aware that he was on the most important of missions.
He would succeed, given time, but at almost three centuries old, time was something Maloney did not have.
“Mistress, your bio levels are raised,” Dana said.
“Of course they’re raised!” Maloney shouted. When she did so, pain thrummed through her head, her hover platform dipped and moved to the left, and then Kareth was there, holding her steady as she struggled to maintain balance. Kareth was always there. Shipborn, he was as dedicated to her as anyone had ever been. Her rock. He and Dana deserved only the best, and losing her temper with them was unforgivable.
“I apologize,” she said, voice harsh nevertheless.
“There’s no need,” Kareth said. “It’s what we’re here for.”
“No!” Maloney said, but this time she reined in any loss of temper. “No, you and Dana are here for my well-being, not to be the target of my anger. Anger is weakness. I should have learned that long ago. I am sorry.”
“It’s frustration,” Kareth said. “Everything is going so well, but Liliya…” He trailed off.
“Liliya could ruin everything,” Maloney said. The words hung heavy, their import a weight on the air. “Take me to it.”
Kareth and Dana guided her through into the next room. The Watcher was here. Maloney could think of no better name for it. Extruded from the Faze that now spent most of its time huddled against the Macbeth’s core drive, the Watcher was still a part of that being in some way, though its purpose was not in creating and rebuilding. Upon Liliya’s violent departure from the Macbeth, the Faze had produced the Watcher, unprompted and unasked, and this new being had mysteriously begun tracking her.
It had an identical sibling aboard Alexander’s ship, both creatures somehow following Liliya’s journey toward and into the Human Sphere.
The alien they had brought up from the dark depths of Midsummer was one of the few things that still frightened Beatrix Maloney. The Faze moved and worked independently, most of the time appearing as unaware of the humans around it as the sea is of life within. Its actions and creations were slow, yet everything it touched, extruded, formed, or remade was an improvement on the original. Its decades-long work on the Macbeth—and its cousin’s efforts on the Othello, before contact was lost with that ship—had made the vessel significantly stronger and much, much faster than ever before.
Its origins were lost in the faded history of the dog-like aliens, now long gone, who had once called Midsummer home. Some shipborn even regarded the Faze as some kind of god. But to Maloney it was a tool, and so long as it served her purpose, she was happy to leave it alone to continue its work.
Its strange, unknowable sentience, and its apparent knowledge of the Rage’s intentions, was shown in many ways. One of the most startling had been its ability to track Liliya. Maloney suspected it had to do with the amazing nanotech the android had stolen from the Rage, and injected into herself to take to the Human Sphere. Part of that tech had been developed by Weyland-Yutani, the results of in-depth studies of Xenomorph samples and captives.
Liliya herself had stolen that for the original Founders. Weyland-Yutani hadn’t yet succeeded, but their research had been given a new, remarkable edge on Midsummer. Now, this incredible creature could somehow sense its own bio-tech, and track it over many light years.
Maloney no longer questioned the how and why. There had still been no successful communication with the Faze. She simply accepted what it did, and how it benefited the Rage.
Kareth and Dana backed away and left her alone in the room. The Watcher was small—no larger than a human head—but even being in its presence made Maloney’s mind thrum with energy. As usual, it seemed instinctively to know what she desired. A star image was projected onto the room’s far wall, and a small blue blur indicated Liliya’s presence in the vastness of space.
She was now within the Human Sphere. Alexander was light years away, but then the creature folded the image to show how close he and his army could jump once they established control of the drophole.
Maloney frowned and tried to look closer, and the creature enlarged the image.
It appeared as if Liliya was no longer moving.
“If you don’t catch her this time…” she whispered, but she decided that such pleas, or threats, should not carry across space.
General Alexander had already made his promise.
13
GERARD MARSHALL
Charon Station, Sol System
November 2692 AD
The dream of real-time communication across trillions of miles of empty space had only been realized very recently. It took mind-bogglingly huge energy expenditures, involved equipment that had cost billions of credits, and used ultra-rare resources, which was why Weyland-Yutani—and specifically, the Thirteen—still held the technology close to its chest.
The time would come when they would benefit from releasing it to the wider Sphere, but for the moment, such groundbreaking tech gave them an advantage, and the Company always sought an edge.
Gerard Marshall had always believed that real-time communicat
ions would make space feel smaller, but he’d found the opposite to be true. Sitting in this holo suite with General Bassett, talking with projections of James Barclay and the rest of the Thirteen, it only made him contemplate the staggering, belittling scope of the universe.
I’m seeing them as they are at this exact moment, he thought, yet concepts such as “moment” fell apart over such distances. If he could truly look across space and time, and see one of the Thirteen, he would be viewing her as she’d been seventeen years ago. Not as she appeared to be now, berating General Bassett, flickering slightly as unknown sub-space quirks skewed her image, making her appear thirty years old and then sixty again in the blink of an eye.
No one knew why this odd flickering occurred. This was a new technology, and though disturbing, Marshall liked the idea that there were still more things to discover.
Some of those things had teeth.
“I don’t want to hear the word ‘sketchy’ again!” the woman said. “General Bassett, we are the Thirteen, and we deal in facts. The fact is—”
“The fact is, I know more about what’s happening than all of you put together,” General Bassett replied. Marshall could almost feel the heat of his anger, and he couldn’t help respecting the General’s attitude. It wasn’t every day that someone—even the commander of the Colonial Marines—sat facing every member of the Thirteen, let alone interrupting one.
Most people would be scared silent, but Bassett was an old soldier through and through. Anyone non-military had to work very, very hard to gain his respect, and complete trust was always reserved for fellow soldiers. Nothing scared him.
Marshall was glad to have him on their side.
“Please, if I may,” Marshall said, holding up his hand.
James Barclay, the Thirteen’s notional leader, nodded at Marshall, a signal for him to proceed.
“Thank you,” Marshall continued. “Perhaps General Bassett’s use of the word ‘sketchy’ was inappropriate, but the fact remains that contact with Colonial Marine contingents in the Outer Rim’s Gamma quadrant has been intermittent and troublesome at best. What contact we have received only goes to confirm what we’ve known for some time—that we are under a sustained and concerted attack. You’ve all read the report, I know, but I think it’s important that the General outlines the most essential facts himself.”