by Greig Beck
“Three, maybe four,” the young HAWC said, looking from his monitor to the mist.
Sam stood alongside Alex. “We’re too exposed here – we need cover.” He pointed. “I can hear them now.” He pointed with the muzzle of his gun this time. “Concentrating over there.”
“They’re trying to herd us away from the Orlando,” Alex said. “Morag said they disarmed Erikson before taking her.”
“She dead?” Casey turned.
Alex nodded. “These things don’t take prisoners.”
Casey bristled. “Neither do I, you fucking sons of bitches.”
Sam grunted. “I don’t like it. Out here, they have the advantage. We need time to plan our next move.”
Alex knew he was right. “HAWCs, we are leaving. Cover to the Orlando.”
The HAWCs formed up in two lines, weapons pointed outwards, and the civilians on the inside.
“What about the Russians?” Casey frowned.
“We got bigger problems.” Alex gripped his RG3. “Dial it up, let’s make some space, people – setting three.” Alex and his HAWCs moved the size of their projectile darts up to a dime-sized plug.
“On my order,” Alex yelled.
“HUA!”
“Fire!” Alex roared the word, and the HAWCs responded.
The surrounding brume billowed and whirled as the darts blasted outwards at a rate of hundreds per second. There was the sound of strikes out in the gloom, but no one was sure whether any of it was hitting the Morg, or one of the numerous tree-like blobs that seemed to be springing up everywhere.
“Move it.” Alex led them on, and the HAWCs crab-walked toward the downed shuttle.
Together they moved like a single creature shepherding the remaining civilians toward the open cockpit door of the Orlando. One after the other, Alex and Sam pushed them inside, and the HAWCs followed until just Alex remained. He took a last look around and then folded himself inside.
“Seal that door.” Alex pointed. Monroe pushed the door shut, and immediately darkness descended on them. There were still a few lights on the cockpit console, meaning some battery life remained, and perhaps something they could use.
Anne Peterson rushed to the one of the consoles. “Russ, there’s still some power.” She started to flick switches.
Russell Burrows edged in next to her. “Ripley might still be conscious.”
“Who?” Casey Franks asked.
“Uh, the Orlando’s … main computer. It’s called Ripley.” Burrows looked up. “If she’s still working, then we can run some diagnostics. Maybe even find out what happened up there.”
“Ripley, cool,” Casey snorted.
“Fingers crossed,” Anne said, rapidly flicking switches and calibrating dials. “I’m going to try to bring her back online.”
“Excellent.” Alex turned to his remaining HAWCs. “Dunsen, keep a lookout. Sam, do a quick search and see if there’s anything else we can use. Everyone else, just stay the hell out of the way.”
Alex saw Morag staring wide-eyed out into the darkness. She turned to smile weakly at him. Behind her visor her face was streaked with perspiration, making her red hair sit like a cap over her forehead.
He nodded to her. “Don’t worry, we’ll get out of here.”
“I know we will,” she said and then looked away, and he could tell she didn’t believe a word of it.
CHAPTER 28
A sound from the shuttle’s bay area made everyone freeze. Alex placed a hand on the thick door, staring at the partition and pushing out with his senses. After a moment, he grunted.
“Our Russian friends.”
Casey bristled. “Good. Payback time.”
“Not in here,” Sam said. “This is home until we can work out an escape plan. We engage now, we’ll obliterate the only barrier we have between us and whatever the hell those things are outside.”
“Don’t think we’ll have a choice,” Alex added.
“Can they get in?” Morag asked.
Russell Burrows lunged at the door and pressed a small locking switch. “Not now. The command cabin has override.”
“Why are they in here?” Monroe asked. “Did they follow us?”
“Maybe they’re hiding out as well. Those monstrosities might find them just as tasty,” Casey spat.
“Fear, good, maybe we can use that,” Alex said. “They’ve got the chip. I want it.” But he knew that he wasn’t going to get it without a fight. Time, and their oxygen, was running out, and one way or another the HAWCs were going home with that satellite data. With your shield or upon it, Hammerson would say, referring to the ancient Spartan dictum that meant to come home wrapped in glory, or die fighting for it.
Alex leaned his head forward, listening at the solid door.
“What are they doing?” Sam asked.
Alex concentrated, but heard nothing. “I don’t know; all quiet.”
“Yes!” Russell Burrows voice turned their heads.
“What’ve you got?” Alex asked.
“She’s done it. Ripley’s coming online now.” He rubbed his hands together as Anne Peterson’s fingers flew over the touchpads.
Anne half turned. “Orlando’s link to us on Earth went down, but I’m sure the ship’s AI would have continued to watch. Maybe we can see what happened to Mitch, er, the crew.”
“Well done, you.” Russell patted her shoulder while he began to toggle switches and dials.
“Bringing her up … now.” The panel lit up before Anne. “Ripley, are you functional?” Anne craned forward, waiting.
A calm feminine voice began to list Orlando’s points of failure, multiple hull breaches, electrical damage, fuel reserves, and even ground proximity warnings.
“Better late than never, I guess,” Monroe said softly.
Anne interrupted the AI. “Ripley, belay technical analysis. Acknowledge.”
“Acknowledged, Doctor Anne Peterson.”
Anne keyed into her screen, and flicked more switches. “Ripley, replay technical record prior to reentry. Put it on screen.”
“Record is fragmented. But complying, Doctor Peterson.”
The image started with Commander Mitch Granger in the cockpit, leaning forward, his body language displaying agitation. There was no sound. The astronaut then hurriedly unstrapped himself and used the seatbacks to propel himself to the hatch door separating the cockpit from the rear bay area.
Granger shot back down the craft and punched the button to open the inner door. The camera was on his face. Light from the bay area illuminated his features inside his space helmet; the man’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.
Anne whimpered. “Mitch. Oh, Mitch.”
“Vocalize, Ripley. What the hell’s happening?” Russell’s voice was urgent.
Ripley replied emotionlessly: “Multiple suit breaches, life-sign interruption, additional lifeform detected – warning Commander Granger – warning – warning.”
The camera closed in on Granger’s face that suddenly looked like he had received an electric shock of fear, and then, the film ended.
“Recording interrupted,” Ripley intoned with finality.
“Huh?” said Russell. “By who?”
“Unknown. No further recording data available. Manual override of controls initiated. Reentry plotted. End of data.” Ripley went silent.
The group sat for several seconds and just stared at the now blank screen.
“Well, fuck me,” Casey said softly. “Why do I feel one hundred percent less enlightened after listening to that?”
“Additional lifeform detected,” Sam said. “What the hell does that mean?”
Alex turned to the door, and remembered the sensation he had when they’d first approached the Orlando – that something was in there, something other than the Russians.
Sam followed his eyes. “Ah, shit.”
Alex nodded.
“What’s back there?” Morag asked, her brows drawn hard together.
Quietly Anne
plugged her camera into a slot in the console. She worked for a few seconds uploading data, and then gasped. “What?” Her hands slowly rose from the console. “No, no, oh god, no.” Her hands went to each side of her head.
“What’s up with her?” Casey frowned.
“Anne?” Morag immediately went and threw an arm around her shoulders. The NASA woman rocked back and forward.
“No, no, no.”
Russell Burrows left his chair to crouch beside the pair of women. “Anne, what is it?”
Anne shook her head. “It can’t be. It must be wrong.” She lifted a finger to point.
“You’re getting Ripley to analyze the prints you recovered from that … hand thing.” Russell squinted at the results. “Oh shit.” His eyes went wide.
Anne sobbed and rocked back and forth. Alex looked over their shoulders toward the lit console.
“The prints … they belong to one of the astronauts.” He suddenly understood her horror. “Commander Mitch Granger.”
“No, there must be an error in the system.” Russell lunged past Anne and began to scroll through the data.
Anne looked up then, her face streaked wet behind her mask. “I suspected, no, I knew all along. Out in that horrible mist jungle, when we were attacked and that thing grabbed me, I recognized something about its eyes; it seemed to do the same to me. Someone was still in there.” Her chin quivered and she grabbed Russell’s arm. “It was Mitch, I knew it, I just knew it.”
“This is a fucking horror story.” Casey Franks’ teeth were grit.
Sam turned to Alex, his jaw jutted. “Like you said, whatever the hell is in this atmosphere, it’s changing everything.”
“It’s changing everything,” Russell repeated. His hands shook as he read more data. “The Orlando had a range of specimens for biological testing – cockroaches, ants, worms – Jesus, even slime molds. They were testing the effects of solar radiation on them.”
“So what? They’ve done those tests before,” Sam said.
“They all mutated,” Morag said.
“It wasn’t the solar radiation,” Alex said. “It was something far more pervasive. These creatures have evolved to better survive in this environment.” Alex turned to look out the front window. “Those things out in the mist; they used to be human.”
Russell turned away and threw up, but all he managed to do was streak the bottom of his face mask in bile.
“Jesus.” Alex tilted his head back. “Whatever was in that damned asteroid fragment they found in space is either some sort of mutagen or a contagion. They brought it all the way down here, and it’s still active.”
Alex exhaled long and slow. “Doctor Peterson.” He looked down at the blubbering woman. “Anne!”
“Wha …?” Her head came up.
“Do you think those creatures, ah, your astronauts, can be cured?” Alex waited.
She stared off into the distance for another few moments before her head began to shake. “How? How would we even start? You tell me; how do you cure evolution? Can you devolve mankind back into some sort of early hominid? Or perhaps turn a mammal back into an amphibian?” she sniggered. “Why stop there, why not devolve us all back into bony plated fishes?” She giggled.
“Well, she’s going to be a lot of help.” Casey’s lip curled.
“Hey, lighten up, she just lost her fiancé,” Russell said.
“She lost him the moment they chose to take that thing into the body of the Orlando,” Sam said. “So we’re back to square one.”
“We’re gonna have to kill ’em all,” Casey snarled.
“But it’s still Mitch, he knows me,” Anne wailed.
“Too late.” Alex brow’s creased. “You said yourself, there’s no bringing him back.”
“Out in the mist, when we were attacked. He was going to take me, but he looked at me, I mean, really looked at me.” Anne’s eyes were streaming again behind her visor. “He knew me. It’s still him in there. I can talk to him.”
“So they took our buddy instead – and fucking ate him alive.” Casey lunged, but Alex threw out an arm, stopping her.
Anne slumped. “We can’t kill them. We should try to communicate.”
“Yeah, and maybe we should all sit down and sing kumbaya with them,” Casey said, stabbing a finger at her.
Morag got to her feet, and rung her hands. “This stuff is not just in the atmosphere,” she said. “Scott McIntyre was infected. He ran off into the mist. But before he did, he looked … different.” She audibly gulped. “Plus, we think we saw some of those cockroaches – big as a pool table.” She made fists. “What’ll it do to us?”
“Yeah, she’s right; McIntyre didn’t breathe the shit in, he was spiked,” Casey said.
“So was …” Morag turned to Dunsen who was still staring out through the cockpit’s front window.
* * *
All eyes turned to the big Australian HAWC. In the confined space, people backed away.
“Lieutenant Max Dunsen …” Alex turned square-on to the man. “… what is your operational status?”
The silence stretched. Dunsen finally turned, but the visor masked his face.
“Soldier, how do you feel?” Alex asked.
Dunsen just stood there, his head beginning to nod. After a moment, he grunted and then the words seemed to come thick and painfully.
“Headache worse than bloody sunstroke. I can’t …”
“It’s okay.” Alex motioned to Anne, Russell and Morag who were closest, to get behind him. “Just take it easy there, big guy.”
“I can’t …” He reached up to his helmet. “So tight – can’t breathe.”
“Leave that on, mister.” Alex crossed to him, with Sam right behind.
Dunsen started to vibrate, and then shudder as if he was having a fit. Alex could see that the armored suit he wore was now impossibly tight across his chest, back, and even bulged at his neck.
In one step, Alex closed in on his HAWC and grabbed his left upper arm, turning him around to face him. He then grabbed the other arm and held Dunsen in front of himself. But Dunsen kept his head down.
“Dunsen.” Alex held him tight and shook him. “Soldier, what is your status?”
The man began shake, and his movements became more erratic and violent.
“Soldier!” Alex struggled to hold him.
Dunsen grabbed the sides of his helmet. “That, damned sound – can’t get it – outta my head.” Finally, he threw his head back and roared.
Anne put her hands over her ears and screamed, and Russell shrank away from the inhuman sound. Sam lunged in to help Alex hold on to Dunsen.
Franks and Monroe also pushed forward in the cockpit cabin, making it feel crowded and now crackling with tension.
“Jesus Christ.” Casey’s teeth were bared as she watched. “Please, Dundee, no.” She balled her fists.
Dunsen’s suit then burst open, showing mottled skin that was all lumps of strange muscle and covered in thick bristles more like that on an insect. He threw his arms back and both Sam and Alex were shaken off like flies.
Sam hit the wall of the cabin, and Alex went down on one knee. Then the stricken HAWC started to swing his arms like clubs, destroying equipment and denting walls, as the cabin was filled with scattering people and screams.
He roared again and Monroe and Casey raised their guns. Casey yelled over the chaos: “Dundee, please don’t make me do this.”
“Not in here,” Alex shouted as he got to his feet. The last thing he wanted in an encased, overcrowded room was for a shooting match to start.
“Open the goddamn door,” Alex yelled and dove back at his violently shaking HAWC. Dunsen swung a club-like arm and thumped down on Alex’s back.
Sam threw himself over Russell and Anne, shielding them with his body, and Morag, who was closest, spun the airlock wheel of the external door to the outside. She shoved at it, and the door, with only little power remaining, opened with grinding slowness. The heavy air immediate
ly began to billow inside with them.
“Go!” Morag edged out of the way.
Alex then charged at Dunsen, taking him in a tackle around the waist, and bullocking him toward the door. Dunsen threw out both arms, grabbing the frame on either side, roaring and shaking his head.
Alex felt the sinew, muscle, and bone in his grip shifting and sliding, and looked up just as the tormented HAWC’s armored helmet split open, revealing the face below.
Alex felt the chill of horror at seeing the once scarred but youthful face of his soldier, now twisted like that of some sort of gargoyle. Alex leaped up to grab the frame over his head and used his body and legs to pummel the man in the chest and kick him backwards.
Dunsen flew out and into the mist.
“Shut it.” Alex stood in the doorway, fists bunched, but feeling agonized over throwing his man outside. He never wanted to have to kill a HAWC and had to keep telling himself it wasn’t Dunsen anymore.
“Move.” Morag leaped to grab the thick door and tugged futilely, until Alex reached over her to help slam the thick outer door shut.
Alex rolled away, and Morag put a hand on the locking wheel, about to spin it, when it was jerked from her hands and began to lever open. Huge stubby fingers came in around its edges.
Casey Franks barged forward, climbing over the backs of the cowering NASA techs and Sam, and lifted her weapon. She stuck the barrel through the door.
“Sorry, Dundee, mate.”
“No.” Alex held up a hand. “Don’t fir …”
She pulled the trigger, letting loose hundreds of rounds in a few seconds. There was an inhuman roar, and the hands vanished. The door finally closed and was locked.
Alex got to his feet and spoke through gritted teeth. “I gave you an order, soldier.”
Casey dropped her weapon. “That wasn’t Dundee anymore, boss. He wouldn’t have wanted to go on … like that.”
Alex pointed at her face. “It was my call. I had it under control.” He felt his anger beginning to rise.
Sam dropped a huge hand on his shoulder. “She’s right. Had he got back in here, he would have torn us up.”
Alex felt his head begin to throb as he stared at Casey. Insubordination in the field is treason, a tiny voice whispered with a sneer in every word. Throw her outside, before they all challenge you.