by Steve Perry
“Well. We’ll see what we can do.”
Billie walked ahead of her, head still down. Ripley felt sorry for her, but they all had their own shit to work through. The important thing, the only thing, was their mission.
* * *
Billie stood with her arms crossed and watched Earth tell her story. The Kurtz flew high over the eastern states, too high to see unaided most of the destruction that the cameras fed to the ship’s magnification screen. The men and women around her stood silently, their faces expressionless as they took in the ruins of the mother planet.
The midday sun spared nothing. The screen showed an overview of a dead city. Here, several blocks of burnt and crumbled buildings that had once towered. Filth littered the streets, parts of cars, vague splotches of blackness and greasy shadow that united the wreckage into a grim tapestry. Everywhere were exploded bits of plastecrete and wood, random pieces of melted metal and brick and bone.
The screen switched, cut to another shot. It was like the picture before, and the picture before that—ravaged and lifeless. This was an industrial area, a series of long, low buildings ripped apart. Billie could see where someone had tried to barricade one—huge crosses of some material covered one wall, right next to a giant hole through the building. An explosion, perhaps…
Cut to a row of identical houses, windows smashed and doors open or gone. There was life here; Billie realized with disgust that the slight movement around the houses could only be an army of vermin.
The Kurtz grabbed random pictures of towns and cities and parks that were lost to humanity. The crew seemed stunned; there were no wisecracks, none of the usual banter that Billie had come to expect from the soldiers. She had grown up in hospitals, hadn’t been a part of this world—but the thought that it had simply ceased to exist…
Billie widened her eyes at the next shot.
“Hey,” said Brewster excitedly. “Is that—” He shut up abruptly. There was a small group of people moving down a road. At first glance Billie had felt great hope—until she realized that the four or five figures were dragging another one in lengths of chains. The group stumbled along, tattered, holding weapons—they seemed to look up at the sky, at the ship. Billie remembered the vid she had seen back at the station, the human sacrifice—here were the fanatics, hunting for people to act as incubators. The last insane remnants of humanity.
She thought of what Ripley had said—not enough time to see about Amy—and felt her resolve strengthen. She would help Amy and her family or die trying, time or not. Fuck it.
Billie broke away from the screen and looked around. Hie others all seemed lost in worlds of their own. She noticed that Moto and Falk had linked hands. Billie almost smiled at the small reminder that there were still good things. Not many, but some.
She noticed that Wilks’s gaze also rested on Falk’s and Moto’s interlaced fingers. He looked up at her and smiled briefly, sadness heavy on his scarred face. She was surprised that he had let an emotion slip past his normally unshakable facade. As he looked away, she felt a strong urge to comfort him; Billie had never really thought about it before, but it occurred to her now that Wilks was very important to her.
David, she thought. The name sounded strange in her head, but then he was a strange man; so strong, yet so emotionally uncertain—
Billie turned back to the monitor. What was important was that they were here; one way or another, everything was building, coming to a head…
From the hold, the unmistakable cries of the captive queen filtered out. She screamed and pounded in her chamber high over the silent Earth as they headed toward whatever fate held, almost as if she knew what her own end was to be.
If she did, she was ahead of them.
25
As if on cue, the on-screen pictures came to life. The queen howled uselessly and down on Earth, dark, loping figures began to appear. Only a few at first, but the numbers quickly increased. Each shot showed dozens of the creatures as they ran in one direction after the path of the Kurtz.
Ripley felt a rush of cold triumph edged with worry. This was what she had expected, the beginning of the end, but if they fucked up now—
“Holy shit,” said McQuade. “Looks like we got a riot coming up.”
The monitor showed hundreds of the aliens as they raced through the blackened remains of some large city. Even as they watched, handfuls of the shiny insectile shapes erupted from the wreckage to join the advancing group.
“We’ll never make it,” Tully said. “There’s too many.”
Ripley glanced at the woman sharply. Tully didn’t look so good—eyes wide, taking short breaths.
“Tully. We’re headed toward a very isolated area, surrounded by mountains and water. It’s going to take them longer than us to get there by land.”
The hacker took a deep breath and then nodded at Ripley. “I—yeah, I hear you.”
“Good. Start digging for topography maps, anything useful on Northern California and Oregon. Look at adjacent land as well. Go use medlab, okay?”
Tully nodded again and then stood. Having a job to do helped, Ripley knew. The woman looked more collected as she walked past the others.
Dr. Jones smiled at Ripley and then followed Tully.
“Brewster, how long we got?”
“Thirty minutes, give or take.”
“Fine. Moto, why don’t you and I go see what we can scrounge in the way of tools.”
Moto let go of Falk’s hand and went to the stairwell.
Captain McQuade sat down in the copilot’s chair. “Guess I’ll make sure Brewster doesn’t crash us,” he said.
“That leaves weapons detail to us,” said Wilks. “Billie? Falk?”
Ripley nodded. Good. Seeing the planet’s condition had been bad, but they all had something to do to keep the images of death at bay for a while. It would all be over before long.
‘Tell Tully to call me as soon as she gets a fix on geography,” she said. She directed this at Brewster as she followed Moto down the ladder.
The queen screamed in the hold below, sent her message to the Earth’s breed.
Ripley grinned tightly as she took the steps. The bitch would have plenty to scream about soon enough.
* * *
Wilks watched the mountains grow as the Kurtz got closer to its destination. They had all regrouped around the control area and waited now while Brewster efficiently maneuvered the ship through the forested landscape. Thankfully, the monitor revealed less destruction out here.
The mother alien still beat at the walls downstairs, but there was no sign of her children through the blanket of trees. Yet.
There were several small peaks, all part of a range that ran through the Northwest. According to Tully’s read, a few of them were volcanic, although none were currently active.
That’d be a kick, he thought, we land and get buried in lava.
They would drop the queen in a small, enclosed valley near the base of Orona’s mountain and then fly to the arsenal a few minutes farther west. Since most of the creatures would come from inland, this would save the Kurtz from being trampled by them on their way to the queen; or so Wilks hoped.
The ship moved slowly over the treetops toward a towering mountain.
“We got a hole,” said Tully quickly. “A big one.” She listed the coordinates to Brewster.
Wilks grinned at Ripley. The queen might not take off running if they could find a cave to dump her into. There was no way to be sure, but Wilks had never seen one of the creatures traipse around in the open if there was somewhere dark to hide. They could only hope that the mother was similar to the other queens in that regard. When Ripley had mentioned the idea, he had once again been very glad that she was back in charge.
“Great,” said McQuade. “That thing is starting to get on my nerves.”
“Amen,” said Falk.
The ship moved at a crawl. Wilks spotted the cavern, a dark opening in the rocks at ground level.
Perf
ect. He was ready. As soon as they dumped the alien, they would hurry to the bunker and get to work. Unless the setup was completely destroyed, they could fix it fast and get the fuck off the planet. It was probably just a rewire job
“Ready, kids?” said Brewster. The Kurtz was in place.
“Do it,” said Ripley.
They all watched Brewster push the button to open the outer hatch. A faint hum from the console, and a small red light flashed.
“Shit,” said Ripley.
The hatch hadn’t opened. The queen continued to scream.
“What the fuck is wrong?” said Wilks.
“I don’t—mechanical failure somewhere,” said Brewster. He touched the button again. The light blinked.
“EMP?” said Billie.
“No, we got off-line in time, I’m sure of it,” said Moto.
Wilks looked over at Ripley. She chewed at her lip for a second and then slapped her hand against the console.
“She’s pressing on the goddamn door!” said Ripley. “Stupid bitch is probably punching the pretty button, blocking her own goddamn exit.”
She turned to the stairwell. “Open shipwide ’com and try it again when I say so, Brewster. Wilks, come with me.”
He followed Ripley down the stairs. The roar of the engines was incredibly loud as they hurried through the APC bay together.
“The door from here is sealed!” he shouted to her. Ripley ignored him and jogged over to a tool cabinet set into the wall. She tossed a spanner to him and grabbed a second wrench, stepped to the wall and hit it. Wilks joined her, began to beat at the alloy with the spanner.
“Hey, asshole, over here!” Ripley shouted. “Come on, come on!”
Wilks hit the wall high, again and again. Between the engines, the queen, and the echoing crash of metal on metal, he was surprised that he heard the new sounds. Through the wall came an awful scraping noise, nails on kleersteel. Or rather, talons on alloy.
Ripley hit the door once more and then shouted to the ’com behind her. “Go!”
A few seconds passed, and the ship suddenly lifted slightly as the queen’s cries faded to nothing. Wilks turned to face Ripley. She was still looking at the containment chamber.
“Not that smart, is she?” she said. She spoke loudly to be heard over the engines.
As they headed back upstairs, Wilks rephrased to himself an earlier thought; he was fucking thrilled that Ripley was back in charge.
* * *
The ship sped to the far side of the mountain in the early afternoon. Even as tense as she was, Billie felt some pleasure as she looked at the environment. It occurred to her that she had seen very little natural beauty in her life. She had grown up in cold, desolate places, had only seen green trees on holovids or in biolabs. Here were thousands, they covered the mountainous area in shades of emerald. All of it a waste…
They skimmed another small peak and Billie saw the bunkers. The land was flat, wide enough to land two ships the size of the Kurtz, the trees cleared away. Directly ahead of them was a low hill, perhaps a tenth the height of the ice-capped mountain where they had left the queen. There were several buildings grouped around it, short and ugly blocks of plastecrete arranged in a semicircle. A huge metal gate was set into the hill with yellow lines painted across it; the middle of the door had been blown apart.
Billie felt her breath catch in her throat when she spotted them, half hidden—two small fliers and an APC sat in between two of the buildings.
“It’s dead,” said Tully. “No activity on the sensors.”
“Let’s bring her in,” said Ripley. “Keep an eye on the readings—it may not be as easy as it looks.”
Dust swirled up around the ship as it settled to the ground with a rumble. After a moment, the air cleared. Billie had grown so accustomed to the drone of the engines that the silence seemed strange and empty.
‘Tully?” said Ripley.
“Nada. If anyone’s here, they’re not moving.”
“That door didn’t explode by itself,” said Brewster. “We should secure the area—”
“Me, take chances?” said Ripley. “Come on, folks, let’s get armed.”
Billie followed the others to the supply hold at the end of the corridor, heart pounding. One of those fliers was going to work. She was no pilot, but she had learned a lot watching Wilks; standard military fliers were designed to be operated by mainline field soldiers, not a particularly bright bunch on the average. They would be strictly automatic, coordinates and go. Billie had already borrowed the access code from the Kurtz’s computer and figured it should work; she would see what kind of timeline they had and take her chances.
Wilks passed out weapons to the crew while Ripley handed out extra clips and comsets.
“We start at the first building and work around,” said Wilks, “marines up front—Moto, you’re on point.”
“Tully, I want you to stay onboard to monitor,” said Ripley. “Jones, you watch the hatch. We’re not going to be out of sight completely at any time, so just yell if you see anything Tully misses.”
The doctor accepted his carbine tentatively.
“You know how to use it?” said Wilks.
“Yeah. Well, pretty much. I’ve never actually fired one, but we had a safety course in med school.”
“Good enough,” said Wilks.
“McQuade, Billie, you’re covering our asses,” said Ripley.
Billie and the captain nodded and slung their rifles.
“Once the area is secured, well come back for tools and then get to work on the detonator problem.”
Tully walked back to control as the crew filed down to the APC dock. They stood at the hatch, Moto, Wilks, and Brewster in front with their weapons ready.
Ripley put her hand on the door controls and looked at them. “Any questions?”
No one spoke. Billie took a deep breath as the deck fanned open.
26
Wilks stepped into the bright sunlight, crouched, his carbine pointed to one side of the ship.
Nothing. Moto would be trained on the structure in front of them, Brewster to the other side.
“How’s it look?” he said into the ’com. He scanned the area for movement.
“Clear,” said Tully.
“Go,” said Wilks.
Moto jogged forward, weapon up, as Wilks and Brewster covered her. They were close enough to the dingy gray building that it only took half a minute. Moto leaned against the corner of the unit and crouched there.
“Go,” said Wilks again. He and Brewster jogged across the dusty landing pad. Adrenaline sparked his senses; his heart thumped. He knew that Ripley and Falk had them covered, but that didn’t make a run through open space in unswept territory any more comfortable. Then again, this was what he knew how to do best. It almost felt good.
They reached Moto and edged to the door of the building. Wilks held up his hand for the others to stay put behind them.
“I’ll kick,” he said. “Moto, you’re high, Brewster low—on my mark.”
The three of them stepped to the entry.
“Now!”
Wilks kicked. The door crashed inward. Brewster sidled into the entry in a crouch, Moto standing. They swept the room left to right and Wilks took in some air. It was a barracks and it looked deserted. A row of cots lined the far wall, interspaced with a series of tall cabinets that all stood open and empty. There were no other exits.
The room was in disarray, with blankets and articles of clothing scattered about, and the air smelled stale and musty. Dust motes swam in the beams of sunlight and resettled. Whatever had happened, they had missed it by weeks. Maybe months.
“Looks clean,” said Wilks. Better, it felt clean.
Brewster straightened up and motioned toward the floor with his rifle. A series of bullet holes and chipped plastecrete ran in a line up the wall behind them. A smashed cot lay nearby. It looked like someone had tried unsuccessfully to barricade the door.
“Something we
nt down, but it’s old news,” said Brewster quietly.
“Secured?” said Ripley through the ’com.
“Yeah.” Wilks signed. “Only four more to go. And we should check the fliers and APC.”
They backed out of the room.
Twenty minutes later, they were finished. There was a substantial amount of dried blood splashed in the mess hall, evidence of struggle in most of the structures, acid damage here and there, but no bodies and no apparent threat. Wilks felt the adrenaline seep from his system little by little, but he remained alert. Getting sloppy could cost.
As Ripley stood outside the ship and delegated responsibilities to the others, Wilks continued to scan the area. Not having a portable sensor was a bitch, although he found that as he got older, he didn’t like to depend on mechanical augmentation as much. Earth had fallen to shit from too much greed and not enough humanity; the machines had just been fuel for the fire. As a young hotshot marine he had felt differently about things, but experience had taught him that nothing was infallible…
Fucking middle age, he thought. Maybe I should take up philosophy when this is over.
If it was ever over. If they made it. The planet had become a dead end for billions of people; not so long ago, he had been a dead man walking on stolen time himself, but somewhere along the way that had changed. He was ready to play his part in the end, to finish it…
“Ready,” said Ripley. She started toward the hill.
“Ready,” he replied, but not to anyone in particular. He started after her.
* * *
They stood at the base of the hill in front of the gate. The metal door looked as if it had been melted open with a welding device; it sported a huge gaping hole in the middle. Ripley had thought weapons fire when she had seen it from the Kurtz, but the edges of the hole were smooth. She wondered what exactly had gone on in the last hours here, before the scientists had been taken…
Wilks stepped into the darkness first.
Ripley waited a few beats and then followed, pulled herself through the hole and took a breath. The air was thick with moisture and the smell of mold. Grayish-green moss and lichens had developed in scraggly patches along the inside of the gate. Nice place.