by JE Gurley
Her barb stung. To retaliate, he steeled his voice and said, “We can talk about hardness after we gather up the pieces of bodies down there and stow them in cold storage. In the meantime, do your job and help Plia get the transport ready for Ivers.”
He turned away from her and studied the controls. She hesitated before leaving the bridge. He hated putting her in her place, but he didn’t have time for arguments. He glanced at Andy. “What?” Andy shook his head and glanced away. Great! I’ve alienated my entire crew. What more can go wrong?
“I got a brief contact on a shortwave band,” Romeo announced. “I think it’s a hand-held radio set on an emergency frequency. That takes less power than a voice transmission.”
Was he wrong about survivors? “Where did it originate? Please tell me the station.”
Romeo quickly checked coordinates against a satellite image map of the base. “From inside one of the ventilator shafts, maybe three levels down in the lava tube network.”
Give me a frigging break! “You’re sure?”
“Yes. It’s too weak to be a surface signal.”
Dax slapped the control stick. The ship shuddered as the gyros struggled to keep her level. He had no choice now. Someone was alive, or had been recently enough that the radio’s batteries weren’t dead. They would have to go in and see. “Can we reach them through the ventilator shaft?”
“Too narrow. It’s barely over a meter wide with 90-degree turns. It’s a miracle the signal made it out at all.”
“Yeah, a real miracle,” Dax replied. One that’s going to kill us all.
7
Station K124 was a collection of three formerly white but now faded, wind-scoured, prefabricated domes and several outbuildings set among the weathered ruins of an ancient Huresh city, possibly the last inhabited city before the population moved underground. The three outbuildings were in a neat row, as were two of the domes. The third dome sat askew because of a crumbling wall. Every time Dax saw it, he wanted to bulldoze the wall and align the dome with the others. He didn’t think the archaeologists would go along with that.
The city sat at the convergence of what had once been two mighty continent-spanning rivers, but were now wide dry canyons. The ruins extended for kilometers into the desert before the encroaching sand swallowed them. Estimates had placed the city’s population at 200,000, while the estimated population for the underground dwellings was less than 25,000. What had happened to them in the meantime? Considering what he had learned over the last few days, Dax preferred not to think about it.
The first thing he noticed was the small shuttle on the concrete landing pad adjacent to the building that served as a motor pool. The station’s personnel had not left that way. Though it was night, he saw no lights, no signs of life. The station looked as deserted as the city they had come to study. The landing pad for supply ships and larger shuttles was a cleared area two kilometers from the buildings. A square of blinking landing lights usually outlined the pad. It was as dark as the surrounding countryside. Dax ignored the larger landing pad and positioned the ship over the smaller landing pad adjacent to the motor pool. Walking two kilometers in the dark with the possibility of the xenomorphs lurking about seemed too risky.
Avoiding the station’s com antenna, assortment of weather instrument masts, and two flagpoles bearing the weathered, sandblasted U.N. flag and the faded National Geographical Society standard, he eased the ship as close to the shuttle as he dared. The engines kicked up a cloud of dust that obscured everything around them. Cutting the engines, he waited for the dust to settle. He hoped to see someone exit one of the buildings, attracted by the noise, some sign that survivors were present, but no one came to greet them.
At his request, the crew and passengers gathered in the wardroom. Cici and Myles were eager to check on their friends, but Dax insisted they wait before he unsealed the hatch. He didn’t want anyone running around conducting a haphazard search or getting lost. He had developed a plan of action and intended to see that they followed it.
“We’ll inspect each building. In and out fast.” He slapped the back of one hand into the palm of his other hand to emphasize his words. “Search for survivors. If you find any, bring them back here. No side trips, no souvenirs, no boxes of notes. Don’t worry about bodies. We don’t have time for burials.” He let that last sink in before continuing.
“It looks as if someone might be alive on Level 3.” Before anyone could speak, he said, “We go there after we search the buildings. We go in through the old entrance using the ATVs for mobility.”
“The elevator is faster than the ATVs,” Cici suggested.
“It also holds only four people. We don’t split up underground. We all go armed and we stay together.”
Cici was indignant at his directive. “I refuse to carry a weapon,” she said. “It’s against my –”
Dax didn’t allow her to finish. “I don’t care. No weapon, no need for you to go with us. You can wait on the ship.” He glared at her until she sat back in silence.
“I’ll remain with you until you effect a successful rescue,” Ivers said. “Then, I’m going hunting.”
“With my missiles,” Dax reminded him. “I’ll send the Navy a bill later. Ivers, you and I will check that the shuttle is operational. When we complete our part of this mission, I’m heading for orbit. If you make it out alive, you can use the shuttle. Give me a signal, and I’ll pick you up. Otherwise, in twelve hours, I’m breaking orbit and Skipping to Kinta Station.”
“Fair enough.” Ivers’ tone said just the opposite.
“Yeah, I think so.”
Dax was glad the hard look Ivers shot at him wasn’t bullets. He was surprised Ivers didn’t take a swing at him. He couldn’t blame him if he did. Dax rode the Marine sergeant because he was mad, and Ivers was a handy target on which he could vent his frustration. Ivers understood the situation, grasped that he stood little chance of success alone. Ivers needed help, but Dax didn’t like the dismal odds. If Cici or Myles wanted to hang around, that was their privilege, though he doubted either would be of much use to Ivers. He wouldn’t risk any more of his crew’s lives. Killing a couple of xenomorph monsters wasn’t high on his to-do list.
He handed out weapons in the cargo bay. Most were high-velocity .338 caliber rifles pilfered from a shipment bound for a hunting reserve world. Three were laser rifles, including the one he had taken from the Abraxas, illegal in civilian hands, but Dax didn’t think anyone would object. Ivers had his ion disruptor, a high-energy pulse laser. Dax did not forget his .40 caliber pistol. After double-checking to see that everyone was properly armed, he opened the outer hatch. Hot, dusty air billowed in carrying with it a bitter, coppery taste that reminded him of rust. Or blood.
Except for the low moan of the wind, the night was eerily silent. Beyond the range of the ship’s exterior floodlights, the buildings stood in shadows. The spaces between buildings were darker pools of night hiding anything he could imagine. He paused at the open door, licking his suddenly dry lips, wondering if it was too late to back out. He resisted the urge to scratch his head in front of his crew so as not to betray his trepidation.
“Okay. Andy, Tish, and Romeo – you take the main building. Stay together. Each team has a walkie-talkie. Use it if you find anyone or anything. Plia, you take Myles and Cici and check out the two other domes. The sergeant and I will check the outbuildings, the ATVs, and the shuttle. We all meet in front of the main building in twenty minutes. Fire three shots if you run into serious trouble.” He looked at Tish and smiled. “Try not to shoot anyone.” She flashed a quick grin that could not disguise her unease.
If he were a praying man, he would have said a quick prayer for them. They were walking into possible danger, and he had placed them there. The team at K124 meant nothing to him personally, but they were clients, and he owed them the same degree of loyalty he extended to other clients. The extent of that loyalty was yet to be determined. He had found two survivors already. Tha
t was more than he expected. There existed the probability of at least one more. He had to attempt to rescue them.
He set his walkie-talkie set to the station’s frequency but heard only static. Okay, the hard way it is then. He felt as if he were walking into a lion’s den smelling like blood-rare roast beef. He watched the other teams walk across the landing pad to their respective buildings before joining Ivers. The first building they came to was a small supply shed. Dax almost shot a shovel that fell across his foot as he opened the door. He glared at Ivers’ grin.
“Don’t you say a word,” he warned.
The next building contained crates of artifacts labeled for destinations on Earth, his return trip freight. He would not be taking it. The motor pool’s double sliding doors were open and rattled in the gusts of wind. Ivers stood in the open doorway shining his light inside.
“Clear,” he said after a few moments and continued deeper into the building. Dax followed him. The last time he had been inside, the motor pool was a refuge from the inescapable heat. All the buildings were air-conditioned. Without power, the building had reverted to outside nighttime ambient temperature, which was only slightly less oppressive the heat of the day. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
The air smelled of dust, battery acid, and sawdust, the latter from a desk someone was constructing from used wooden pallets. Dax admired the workmanship. The builder cut and joined short pieces of wood for a blend of wood grains and textures that gave the desk a professional look. For a scientist, the builder had an artist’s heart.
The space contained a long workbench along one wall, drums of fuel and oil in a barrel rack, and a hoist for maintenance. Two solar-powered, tracked vans sat at a charging station on one side of the building, and four ATVs aligned in a neat row covered the opposite wall. He checked the ATVs, and found three of them powered up and ready to go.
“I’ll check the shuttle,” he said to Ivers, as Ivers continued to prowl around the rear of the motor pool. Finally, satisfied, Ivers followed him to the shuttle and stood guard where he could watch Dax as he ran a pre-fight check. A few minutes later, Dax stepped out of the shuttle grinning. “Someone knows their stuff. The shuttle is in excellent shape.” He looked at Ivers. “I set the com to Fortune’s Luck’s frequency.”
Ivers nodded.
Dax’s walkie-talkie crackled. “Dax, this is Andy.”
“Come in, Andy.”
“It looks as if one of the creatures reached the surface. The main building’s rear door and half the wall are missing. The interior is a shambles. The com room looks as if a tornado hit it. Now we know why they couldn’t respond to our message. We found splotches of blood but no bodies.”
He expected as much. They would find no one alive on the surface. The xenomorphs had revived. That put a new, deadlier spin on things. “Okay, everyone to the rendezvous. Now!”
By the time they reached the main building, both of the other teams had already gathered out front. Andy’s face was grim. “Whatever happened here happened fast.”
“Same in the living quarters and the labs,” Plia added. “No packing. A couple of the computers were powered up, but the batteries had died.”
“They could have left a message,” Cici said. “We should search the buildings again.”
“No time,” Dax reminded her. “They didn’t have time for notes. If it wasn’t for the signal we picked up, I’d pull out of here now.” Cici scowled at him. Even Tish looked disappointed. “As it is, I think it’s a fool’s errand, but we’ll go down there anyway to check out the signal.” He directed his next comment to Cici. “We’re not going exploring. We’re not going to stand around yelling out people’s names. In and out. Simple, clean, and fast. Andy drives one ATV, Plia and I will take the other two. Ivers will control the tracked sledge with his surprise package. We go in together with the spotlights covering as much of the perimeter as they can. Barring no unwelcomed company, we go straight to Level Three, make our rescue, and leave. Am I clear?”
He watched their faces. A few heads nodded but others looked reluctant to agree. He decided to lay the cards on the table so there would be no doubt.
“I saw what these things can do. Ivers fought and killed one, but he was damn lucky. Thirty-four sailors and Marines died, ripped to pieces. Nate, too. Alone, you will not survive. Even as a group, I don’t like the odds, but we’re committed. Don’t be a hero and don’t be a damned fool.” He looked at Cici. “They call these caverns the Catacombs, don’t they?” She nodded. “Nice. Let’s hope it doesn’t become a grave for us. Okay, let’s move out. Ivers, you go first. Once inside, you’re in charge until we separate.” He enjoyed the look of surprise on Ivers’ face. As much as he disliked and distrusted the military, Ivers was a pro. He was used to situations such as they were about to face. It would have been petty to allow his feelings to misuse their best asset.
The opening to the network of underground buildings was through an eons-old collapsed ceiling of one of the lava tubes. The Huresh had leveled and compacted the rubble to create a ramp, but centuries of weather had reduced it to its original form of loose rock, easily dislodged and prone to slides. The ramp was the reason the station had built the elevator. The dangerous slope required them to proceed cautiously. At times, negotiating the shifting loose rock was like surfing. The vehicles slewed dangerously sideways or bulldozed piles of rock before them, creating mini avalanches. The slope ended at the first defensive barricade, a concrete wall with a steel door set in the middle. This was Dax’s first venture into the lava tubes. What he saw dismayed him. The door in the wall was missing, had been missing when the first team had arrived. The second barrier just beyond it was stronger, a solid steel wall with a thick gate, but it, too, had not stood up to the forces spent against it. Dax wondered how the archaeology team could have summarily dismissed the destruction to natural causes.
The third wall, five meters thick and constructed of heavy stones, remained uncompleted. Equipment used in its construction lay scattered about the site, long since rusted away to piles of scrap metal. It looked as if something had interrupted the Huresh construction workers mid-shift. Dax thought he knew what. Beyond, lay the grand cavern, dubbed the Atrium by the personnel of K124, containing the out-of-place modern elevator.
“That doesn’t look good,” Andy said.
Dax looked up where he pointed. About thirty meters above the ground, the elevator cage leaned at an odd angle, with parts of the surrounding steel structure twisted and mangled. The elevator door was open. He heard Cici’s gasp from the ATV next to him.
“I don’t think the last person out made it,” he commented to Myles, who rode beside him. If he had harbored any doubts as to the fate of the station crew, the mangled elevator dispelled them. Hydraulic flood still dripped from a broken hose. “This happened recently.”
“It doesn’t mean they’re all dead,” Myles said, “though I have to wonder which of my friends was in the elevator at the time.”
His voice was subdued, but Dax detected the underlying tension in it. The climatologist’s trigger finger repeatedly rubbed the trigger guard of his rifle. His British resolve was nearing its breaking point. Dax wondered what he would do when it snapped. He glanced over at Cici. Her face was drawn and pale, visibly upset by the fact that someone had died at the elevator, someone she knew, but she did not fall apart. She looked determined, as though she had steeled herself for battle. She was as stubborn as he was. His respect for her went up a notch.
Few of the ancient buildings survived intact. Age, wind erosion, and earth tremors had reduced most to piles of rubble. Dax wondered how many of them had fallen to the xenomorphs. Narrow paths slicing through the debris indicated where archaeological digs had taken place. The Atrium was a city of multiple streets and blocks of buildings in a haphazard maze-like configuration, but they did not need a map. The tracks of the Abraxas’ transport vehicle were highly visible in the dirt and easy to follow.
Whe
n the ATV caravan entered the first of the lava tubes, the still air held the heat and pressed it against their bodies like a barber’s hot towel. The hot, dry air immediately dried out his nasal passages and sucked the moisture from his eyeballs. Breathing became a challenge. He wished he had thought to bring along a canteen or even a thermos of Romeo’s coffee. The air was musty with a subtle undercurrent of human occupancy – colognes, shampoos, and perspiration. The predominant odor was less subtle, the stench of decaying flesh, and the musky reek of animals, in this case, the creatures.
In the tunnels, the sprawled city became a long row of buildings lining each side of a single street. Many had collapsed. Most bore some signs of damage, more than could be attributed to the passage of time. A collapse in the lava tube wall drew Dax’s attention.
“The Huresh did that,” Cici explained. “We’ve opened several such cave-ins and found machine-carved adits with additional abandoned buildings.” Her voice broke. “We had wondered why they later collapsed the walls.”
“It was either an attempt to protect themselves …”
“Or to bury the dead,” she finished for him. “We found no preserved bodies, just a few bones from which we could derive DNA samples. The Huresh were remarkably humanoid. We could have been cousins. Of course, two thousand years is a long time for a body to survive exposure to the elements.”
He did not suggest to her that the lack of bodies was due to the xenomorphs’ appetites. Her grief was profound enough. He was certain that, given time, the creatures on the Abraxas would have devoured the dismembered corpses of the crew. A perfect killing machine fed on the corpses of its victims. Loki looked more and more like a world under siege by an unknown enemy that had resorted to the ultimate weapon, a deadly creature deriving its sustenance from the bodies of its enemy.
Using the readings from the GPS satellite in geo-stationary orbit above the station, they followed the winding lava tubes to Level 3. The route was not direct, requiring kilometers of travel for every hundred meters of depth. Because of the uneven ground and mounds of debris, the ATVs averaged less than thirty kilometers per hour, half their top speed. Dax’s hopes for a quick search and rescue faded with every turn of the tunnels. His GPS reader indicated the ventilator shaft was still half a kilometer ahead.