A pair of repair robots rushed in, dousing the small fires that had erupted with flame-retardants. A huge shape darted from the shattered airlock, knocking one of the robots backward in an end-over-end tumble. The shape sped from left to right across the display and out of view.
Markovsky froze a video-feed and slowly reversed it, trying to get a better look. But the creature moved so quickly it was just a blur.
As they watched another huge alien darted from the airlock, following the first. Then came a third and a fourth.
By now the fires had been extinguished, and Sorenson instructed the platform AI to deactivate the automated damage-control systems in that area, afraid robots rushing in to make repairs might be perceived as hostile by the aliens. A dock tube’s outer door automatically closed after a vessel entered, so explosive air loss into space was not a concern.
Another alien emerged, a dark blur that raced across the Tube One lounge. Big Mar was ready for it this time with a cam zoomed in at high res with a fast shutter speed. He caught a good, clear image and expanded it to full screen.
Sorenson gasped when he saw the alien. He heard the others do the same. With mouths open and eyes bulging they stared at a monster from every child’s worst nightmare. The creature was massive―five, perhaps six meters long, with an insectal body that might best be described as antlike with hints of a praying mantis thrown in, but far, far larger than the familiar species on Earth. Its exoskeleton was mixed shades of brown with black stripes running horizontally in seemingly random patterns, reminding Sorenson of tree bark. Two long, mantis-type forelegs were lined with serrated edges, ending in large, thick hands tipped with dagger-sized claws. The head was large, triangular, with two antennae and enormous jaw pincers that looked capable of slicing plasteel bars. To complete the nightmare visage, the creature had three eerie, deep-red eyes like those of a demon spawned in hell. Eyes glowing from within, causing Sorenson to shudder when he saw them.
“Damn scary,” Markovsky said. “You realize we’re the first people to lay eyes on these things.”
“And we’ll be among the first to be killed by ’em, too,” Hebgard moaned. “We’re stupid for staying here. We need to hide.”
Sorenson scowled at Hebgard for his fatalistic remark and fought back the urge to lash out at him for it, realizing he was just afraid. They all were.
“If you want to hide, Mister Hebgard, then go do so,” Sorenson said in a calm tone. “My place is here and this is where I must stay. You’d better hurry, though, because they move fast. Look.”
Sorenson pointed at the wall monitor, where large blurs of motion streaked across the video feeds. Markovsky kept switching camera inputs, trying to track the aliens as they spread through the mining platform.
Hebgard didn’t leave, Sorenson noticed, probably more frightened of being alone right now than he was of alien monsters. That would change real quick if one of those things got into the control room.
“Cam 32,” Sato shrieked, pointing. “Expand it to full screen. Something’s happening there.”
Markovsky did so, and a confrontation brewed in front of them.
Three men and a woman stood shoulder to shoulder in a corridor, blocking the path of an alien. Sorenson saw four weapons: a laser pistol, a fléchette rifle, and two needlers. Clearly they’d raided the armory.
The massive insectal creature slowed but didn’t stop, and the gang of four fired together. The ice slivers streaking out from the needlers simply ricocheted off the alien like rubber bullets against armor, and the rapid-fire, high-velocity fléchettes didn’t penetrate either. From the pistol a brilliant-red beam shot out, hitting the alien on the forehead between its antennae. Sorenson knew the beam was a combination X-ray/ruby-red laser, the red added since the far more lethal X-rays were invisible, allowing the pistol wielder to aim the gun. Despite beam energies of fifteen terajoules, the alien’s exoskeleton appeared impervious to it. Sorenson’s eyes bulged. No known biological life form could withstand that!
The creature charged forward with terrifying speed. Both forelegs slashed out, claws tipped with poison slicing down diagonally across the chests of two men. They screamed, dropping to their knees while clutching and scratching at deep gashes that burned like acid. Meanwhile the meter-long, wickedly curved pincers snapped around the woman’s waist, cutting straight through and slicing her in two. The woman’s bottom half collapsed to the floor while her torso slid off the pincers, landing shoulder first and rolling slowly onto its back. Vacant eyes stared at the video cam as if pleading for help.
The alien shook bloody entrails from its pincers while watching the third man, who turned and ran screaming down the corridor. The alien didn’t pursue, Sorenson noticed, but turned down a side corridor, disappearing from view. The two men clawed by the creature had curled into fetal balls, and given how still they’d become he assumed they were dead.
Markovsky configured the wall monitor to a 24-cam display in a 6x4 grid that should, hopefully, allow them to monitor the alien creatures as they spread throughout the platform.
Sorenson had a better idea. He went to the operations console, took a seat, and switched on the control room’s holoschematic. Behind him, in the center of the room, a large, three-dimensional map of Zeres Able materialized. Following emergency protocols, the platform AI had shut down all mining operations when the alien ships arrived, and the schematic was switched off with them.
He made an adjustment to the schematic, causing luminous red dots to appear, each one representing an alien creature. Tiny green dots that identified the crew appeared next. The biosigns were tracked by internal platform sensors, with counters at the bottom of the schematic indicating 171 crew, twenty-four aliens. Four green dots were clustered together on the platform’s top deck, one for each of them here in the control room.
The aliens moved down corridors and through compartments with amazing rapidity. Armed groups of men and women prowled the platform, hunting them. When green dots met red, a brief fight ensued, after which the green dots faded away while the alien continued on.
Other groups created defensive barricades behind heavy mining machinery in makeshift strongpoints, hunkering down. Sorenson noticed a dozen or so dots in remote or isolated places, crewmembers who’d decided hiding was their best option. The largest group was clumped in the corporate-approved Zodiac Bar & Grill, no doubt drinking heavily and inhaling whatever rec drug was currently in vogue. Whatever came for them, they’d meet it in an inebriated fog.
“Frack!” Markovsky used his baseball bat as a pointer, gesturing toward a red dot moving along the top deck. “One of them is headed our way.”
Sorenson instructed the platform AI to cease all further activities and go quiescent if the control room was breached. The aliens might not detect it, and even if they did, they might not recognize the crystalline entity as a life form, thereby ignoring it. The AI could hold out indefinitely until a rescue came, assuming the aliens didn’t destroy the platform first.
Markovsky brought up a full-screen view from the security camera outside the control room, and the long corridor leading toward them appeared, empty at the moment. The 30mm fusion cannon guarding that approach had been knocked out by the thieves during their takeover of the platform, but Sorenson didn’t expect it would have had much success anyway against creatures able to withstand an X-ray laser.
The alien came into view, moving toward them with swift strides.
Sorenson crouched behind a chair, aiming his pistol at the door. He heard Sato recite an incantation. Hebgard crawled under a console, pulling a chair in front of him as he sought to hide. Big Mar stood with a determined look on his face, Glock in one hand and baseball bat in the other.
They were all staring wide-eyed at the door as something heavy slammed against it. The door was solid plasteel, but Sorenson didn’t expect that to deter the alien creature for long. There was another furious bang, and a dent appeared. The third impact crumpled the door into the control room wi
th a screech of torn metal and sent it crashing to the floor.
The alien strode in, its forelegs raised high ready to strike, the jaw pincers wide apart. Markovsky and Sorenson fired together, causing two ruby-red beams to lance into its face. Neither had any noticeable effect. The creature reached Markovsky in two strides, and a foreleg slashed down across his chest. Big Mar grimaced from the poisonous acid burn, but with mad determination dropped his Glock and swung the baseball bat in a mighty double-handed homerun swing. It smacked hard against the alien’s head, causing dark ooze to seep out.
Big Mar reared back for another smack, but the alien was too quick, backhanding him across his temple with the bat not even halfway through its swing. The creature’s armorshell fist knocked Big Mar to the ground.
The impact must have killed him instantly, Sorenson realized, as his head was twisted backward at a grotesquely impossible angle. Dead, unblinking eyes stared up at the ceiling.
Sorenson had ceased fire for fear of hitting Markovsky. As the huge alien turned toward him, he slowly lowered his useless pistol and set it gently on the floor. He didn’t want to die. Not here, not now . . . not like this.
He’d seen them ignore anyone who didn’t attack, so maybe, just maybe . . .
Sorenson slowly, very slowly, raised his hands, hoping the creature understood the concept of surrender.
Scaveer
“The enemy base is secure,” reported a secondary Seer. “The battleForms have swept through all decks. There is no further resistance.”
“Causalities?” Jokin`Dor expected losses among the battleForms. A three-octet force had been sent to the enemy base, and if the battleForms encountered the same tenacious resistance there that the legion had faced from the spheroids guarding it, those casualties could be considerable.
The secondary queried an influx globe for the requested data. “No fatalities. Minor wounds only.”
Jokin`Dor’s antennae twitched, displaying his surprise. Early reports from the battleForms had cited attacks from spindly, bipedal creatures. While the bipeds were slow and weak, they were well-armed with weapons ranging from advanced to primitive, the latter including wood and metal rods. Perhaps those in the enemy base were worker forms? Perhaps their warriors had died in the spheroids from which they fought, destroying eight legion ships and damaging three others with deadly zeal? Given the disparity in losses between ships and battleForms, such an assumption could easily be made.
Regardless, the enemy base could now be searched for the missing Scouts. They―the bipeds―became the enemy the instant they lashed out at Xangth with envelopment beams. Priority must now be given to a full exploration and examination of their base, not only to find the missing Scouts, but also to learn more about these spindly, two-legged creatures. Jokin`Dor gave the task to a Key-Beta Organizer along with oversight control over six Scout octets, plus as many Engrams, battleForms, and any other subForms the Key-Beta might need.
Forty minutes later, two transport pods laden with exploration teams were on their way to the immense orbital structure. Dock tubules had been identified along an external wall of the structure that were sufficient to accommodate the pods, and they decelerated into them with minimal difficulty. Forty-eight Scouts scurried forth, spreading out in multiple directions as they explored down long, brightly lit corridors and into compartments filled with strange, bizarre devices. Organizers defined search grids to maximize their efficiency. Engrams followed, plodding after the swifter subForms with cautious gaits, memorizing everything they saw, heard, and scented. Sentinel battleForms stood ready to eliminate any dangers that arose.
Jokin`Dor sifted through the discovery reports as they streamed in. It was quickly revealed that the bipeds oxygenated, requiring air to live. That in itself was not remarkable, but the fact his Form could breathe the same air was truly amazing. Rare indeed were life forms spawned on two different birthworlds that could breathe the same atmosphere. There were minor differences in trace elements, but the air in the structure had the same basic nitrogen-oxygen composition as that in his own nest!
Jokin`Dor decided he must see these bipeds in person, scent them with his own antennae instead of merely accepting sensory input from an Engram. In less than fifty minutes he was strapping himself into a transport pod. He was, as always, escorted by his First Claw, a Sentinel from the elite Red Horn that served as a Dominant’s protector.
A small number of bipeds had not attacked the battleForms as they swept through the structure, and so―fortunately―were still alive. These were brought to a communal chamber which, apparently, was used to consume nutrients. This chamber, then, was Jokin`Dor’s destination once the transport pod docked.
As he breathed in the alien air, the intake spiracles across his exoskeleton inhaling deep, he immediately noticed a metallic taint, somewhat unpleasant but not unduly so. A gentle breeze blew down from slotted-grills in the ceiling, part of a circulation system that refreshed the structure’s atmosphere. It was a little chilly for his liking, but easily tolerable. The gravity here was also the same as that in his nest. Yet another amazing similarity!
With Seer following Sentinel, they wound their way through the enormous structure down long, stark corridors of white-and-pale-blue hues with their feet striding over soft, spongy material that was spread across the floor. At last they came to their destination, marked as such by lettering on a wall that read cafeteria.
Jokin`Dor nodded to his Fist Claw, and the two of them strode inside.
Sorenson counted twenty-seven people in the cafeteria with him. It was a good place for a makeshift prison, he reflected, big enough for everyone, plenty of food and drink, plus only the main entrance and a rear emergency exit for the aliens to guard. The cafeteria had bathrooms, too.
After Sorenson surrendered, the alien that had smashed into the control room herded him, Sato, and Hebgard into the corridor. Nudges from its pincers had prodded them forward. Along the way to the cafeteria they met other aliens herding other prisoners, the little groups merged together like an old-Earth cattle drive. If someone stopped, an alien gave him or her a nudge with those deadly pincers. If that did not motivate the laggard, a second, more forceful nudge was given. Sorenson had not seen anyone resist long enough for a third “encouragement.”
Escalating persuasion, he thought. The aliens didn’t seem bloodthirsty or interested in harming anyone except when defending themselves, at which time the creatures turned into unstoppable killing machines. If he wasn’t aggressive, neither were they.
One of the insectal monsters stood motionless at the front of the cafeteria. As long as the prisoners it guarded didn’t stray within three or so meters of the main entrance, it ignored them. If someone came closer, the creature’s forelegs reared up and its pincers swung wide, a clear warning to venture no farther. No one had done so, beating a hasty retreat instead. The emergency exit back in the kitchen was similarly guarded.
The decorative double doors at the main entrance slid apart. Sorenson saw two aliens stride in one after the other from the corridor outside. The first was similar to those that had overrun the platform, but larger―six, maybe seven meters long. Its pincers looked capable of slicing half a dozen men in two all at once. A bodyguard, he assumed, for the second alien, who looked far different. This creature had the same antlike body, but was only half as long, shorter, and not nearly as massive. Its pincers and forelegs were also smaller in scale, still deadly in appearance, but not the formidable lethality of the bioweaponry possessed by its larger companion. Even their body coloration was much different: instead of a tree-bark pattern, this alien’s exoskeleton had a lustrous, deep-blue sheen.
But there was something about the creature’s manner, a confidence in its stride, possibly, that grabbed Sorenson’s attention. It looked the prisoners over one by one with a cold, calculating stare that bespoke a keen intelligence in the mind behind those multifaceted eyes.
Is this a brain bug? Sorenson recalled that terrestrial ants had sp
ecialized types for specific duties―workers, scouts, warriors, foragers or farmers depending on what they ate, and brood queens of course. These aliens might also have evolved with specialized physiologies within the original base genus, which, if true, meant there were other types he hadn’t seen yet. They were obviously technologically advanced, and the huge, silent warriors did not seem capable of developing sophisticated spaceships capable of interstellar travel.
This new arrival did.
Sorenson stood up as the alien strode toward them. As people often do in times of stress, the prisoners had gathered for support, sitting together at three long communal tables near the kitchen. Several of them started to stand as well, but Sorenson motioned for them to stay seated. As rig manager, he felt obligated to be the one to greet this “intelligent” alien. Despite repeated efforts, the huge aliens had not appeared the least bit interested in trying to communicate. Maybe this one would.
Sorenson swallowed hard, fighting back the shakes as the newcomer came right up to him, stopping less than a meter away. The way it looked at him sent chills down his spine.
He was taller than the alien, with the top of its head almost at chin level, but he felt helpless as he stood there in front of it. He had little doubt it could slice him to shreds with those serrated pincers and curved claws. Not much he could do to slow it down, either. Any punches he threw would likely result in a broken hand against an exoskeleton that looked as tough as armor.
“Greetings, I am the leader of this platform,” Sorenson blurted nervously. He extended his right arm and offered to shake hands. “I offer you my hand in friendship.”
His introduction had sounded smooth and eloquent in his head, but as the words came out of his mouth they seemed juvenile, like something from a cheap entertainment vid.
The Sphere Imperium: Book Two of the Intentional Contact Trilogy Page 15