by Tim Lebbon
“I know the implications,” Marshall said.
“What would it take?” Bassett asked. He wasn’t requesting it happen—he was terrified at the prospect, and Marshall guessed the General wanted to know how likely the horrific action might be.
“It would take the agreement of every one of the Thirteen,” Marshall said. “It’s a doomsday scenario, Paul. We’re not stupid.”
“I know,” Bassett said. He shook his head, waved his hand, and brought up the big screen again. Data flickered across it, fading in and out.
“Can you get this under control?”
“Yes,” he said.
“You sound certain.”
“I have to be.” Bassett scanned the screen, taking in data and details that Marshall couldn’t even begin to understand. The General drained his glass.
“I have to be.”
23
BEATRIX MALONEY
Outer Rim
November 2692 AD
They had taken the drophole three days ago. Rage attack ships performed the action, killing many, but capturing almost a thousand of the moon’s population and shipping them back to the Macbeth. They would provide food for the Xenomorph queen, and fresh hosts for her countless eggs.
And so the Rage continued to grow.
Beatrix Maloney floated her hover platform closer to the center of the room. She drifted into and through the floating image of the Othello, that old companion ship to the Macbeth which had been sent its own way many years before.
“And you’re sure?” she asked again.
“Yes, Mistress. It’s the first confirmed transmission we’ve received from Othello in seven years. It was an automated signal, programmed to be sent under certain severe circumstances, and we can confirm that it was at the moment of Othello’s destruction.” Kareth seemed nervous.
Maloney wasn’t surprised. He had brought her the worst news, yet he knew she would not shoot the messenger. She wasn’t like that. She was a good leader. Not kind, perhaps, but fair and forgiving. Kareth and Dana would not have remained her dedicated caregivers for so long, if that were not the case.
Maloney closed her eyes and willed herself to relax. Her bio levels were raised again, and her suit was busy dealing with those symptoms. The life-supporting gel bled into and through her—she could feel it, she could sense that mysterious alien compound fixing her from the inside out. She was always being fixed. Hers was a constant battle against death, which stalked any normal human from the moment they stopped growing.
Death was so unfair.
Wordsworth had told her that, one day early in their journey out among the stars. He’d gestured all around them, at the infinity of wonders they had yet to touch, and his frustration and sadness had been palpable. “So much still to know,” he’d said sadly, “and I’ve touched hardly anything.” It was ironic that he had died by her own hand. Unfair, perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, but his vision had been limited.
Her own vision was still wide open, and each day brought her closer to succeeding in her ambitions.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said.
“Mistress?” Kareth sounded shocked. He’d been young when the Othello left them, and that sister ship had taken on an almost mythical status among the shipborn. They would meet again, Maloney had always promised. Their battle would be fought, and at the same time the Othello would penetrate the Human Sphere and fight its own battle. Deeper inside, more secretive. While Maloney and her ships made plenty of noise, the Othello would strike at the heart of human society, and when victory was theirs, the two ships would meet again, their crews mingling like old friends, celebrating their triumph and planning for the future.
A future with the Rage in control of everyone, and everything.
“I said it doesn’t matter,” Maloney said again. “Plans can change. Leave me. Let me think.”
Her helpers left her in the room, the door whispering shut behind them, and Maloney drifted across to the window. It cleared at her touch and offered a view out into infinity. She never tired of looking.
She had instructed the Macbeth to orbit the drophole, angled so that her viewing window always stared out into the Human Sphere.
“Somewhere out there I’ll meet my triumph,” she said. Then she closed her eyes to plan.
* * *
“It’s only a pause,” Maloney said. “Just as long as it takes us to transport the Faze down to the drophole and set it to work. It will do its thing—rebuilding, improving, refining. Perhaps thirty days, perhaps sixty, and then the drophole will be countless times better than it was before.”
“To what end?” Challar asked.
“I’ll get to that,” she said. “In the meantime, while Macbeth is paused here, we push our attacks to a new level, expand the front. Until now we’ve targeted dropholes and Colonial Marine installations. Strategic military targets across Gamma quadrant. It’s time to reveal what our armies can truly achieve.
“I’ve chosen Weaver’s World in Beta quadrant as the scene of this demonstration. General Mashima can drop his force there within the next twenty-eight days, transported on board his Fiennes ship Aaron-Percival. He’ll be accompanied by six attack ships and a storage vessel carrying our entire store of Xenomorph eggs. I’ve ordered him to launch a full assault on the planet and its defenses.”
“To what aim?” Challar persisted.
“You sound shocked,” Maloney said.
“Surprised.”
“There are more than seven million settlers on Weaver’s World,” Maloney said. “Mashima will give his Xenomorph army free rein on that planet. The slaughter will make it the center of the Sphere, and our enemies will draw attention, divert forces, and give us the time to wait here while the Faze does its work.”
“And when the Faze’s work is finished?”
“Then Macbeth will make the deepest jump ever attempted.”
“Dropholes have only ever been capable of jumping ships ten light years, perhaps twelve,” Challar said.
“I know that!” Maloney snapped. She was excited rather than angry, filled with the buzzing certainty that the Othello’s loss would not be the disaster she had feared. Indeed, it had prompted her to make some radical decisions.
Perhaps in a way, it would make everything better.
“This deep jump, Mistress,” Dana asked. “To where?”
“To their center,” Maloney said. “While battles are fought across the Outer Rim, and Weaver’s World dies, we’ll take our invasion directly to the Sol System. The Macbeth will drop in and split into a dozen attack craft, pierce their heart, cut off their head. That’s how you win a war.”
There was a flurry of comments, but Maloney ignored them and drifted across to her viewing window once again. Out there, too far away to see, lay Sol, and Earth.
Home.
Soon, she would be ready to drown it in blood.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TIM LEBBON is a New York Times-bestselling writer from South Wales. He’s had more than thirty novels published to date, as well as hundreds of novellas and short stories. His latest novel is the thriller The Hunt, and other recent releases include Coldbrook, The Silence, Alien: Out of the Shadows, and Predator: Incursion.
He has won four British Fantasy Awards, a Bram Stoker Award, and a Scribe Award, and has been a finalist for World Fantasy, International Horror Guild, and Shirley Jackson awards. Future novels include The Family Man, a new thriller from Avon, the conclusion of the Rage War, and the Relics trilogy from Titan Books.
A movie of his story Pay the Ghost, starring Nicolas Cage, was released in 2015, and several other projects are in development for television and the big screen.
Find out more about Tim at his website
www.timlebbon.net
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