“Go ahead, Samuels,” she replied. “You got the radio working.”
“Only within a limited range. I can’t raise the Torrens, but at least we can speak.”
“Good,” Amanda said. “I’m in Doctor Lingard’s office—she’s the senior med officer. I’ve got some stuff, and I’m looking up where to find more.”
“Good luck, Ripley.” Concern was clear in Samuels’s voice. “Try to hurry. I’ve been able to keep Taylor conscious. If I don’t, she’ll lapse into a coma, and… that would be extremely bad.”
“I know.” As she spoke her fingers flew across the keyboard, and she discovered two files worth opening. One was an inventory, which told her that most of what she needed was in the surgery.
The other was a file labelled AUTOPSY. She hoped they might keep supplies down there, and clicked to open it. Inside, she found two sub-files.
Anesidora
Foster, C.
That piqued her interest. The Anesidora was the ship that found the flight recorder, and one of their crew was apparently dead. Inside the Foster file, she found another.
Patient Zero
That was too much to resist. She opened the file, skipped the images, and went straight for the vid. Dr. Tirsyris Lingard was an older woman, dark-skinned, with flecks of gray in her close-cropped dark hair.
“This is Lingard, senior medical officer, Sevastopol Station. I want to—” She faltered, then composed herself. “I want to state for the record that I have been placed under duress in regards to the compromised Patient Zero. I also want to state for the record that Ransome made certain—well, threats toward my career and certification. But I don’t care.
“That woman, Catherine Foster, needed help. Urgently. I didn’t know what type of parasite she had encountered, but it had planted something inside her.” Her voice broke. “I am so sorry. I had no way of knowing what would happen. I just—” She took a breath. “Report appended.”
The vid ended.
That told Amanda even less than she already knew, though the mention of parasites didn’t exactly fill her with happy thoughts. The creature she’d encountered was too big to be a parasite.
Fuck, is there something else on board?
However, she didn’t have time to investigate further. The surgery was located further down the hall, and she could avoid the creature to get there. Even better, once she had what was needed, the map showed her a shortcut through the medical reception lobby that would take her right to where Taylor and Samuels were.
As expected, the surgery was locked and she had to use the Halfin to open it. The device worked, and she found herself in a much colder room than the others. As a result, she wasn’t assaulted by the foul smells she’d run into earlier.
In the center of the room lay a body—a woman with dead eyes staring at the ceiling, and a massive hole in her chest cavity. That had to be Foster. The skin on her chest was splayed outward in a ragged pattern—that wasn’t from the autopsy, that was from something exploding from inside her. The entire thoracic area was hollowed out, though she couldn’t tell whether those organs had been removed by Lingard or taken by whatever burst out of her chest.
A trail of blood led from the woman’s chest to the floor and all the way to the door. Also on the floor was a set of coveralls with an Anesidora patch on the arm. That was probably the woman’s uniform.
Catherine, the file said, she recalled. Rest in peace, Catherine.
Moving closer, she noticed tiny scars all around the periphery of Foster’s face.
What the hell happened to you, Foster? The Anesidora must have brought back a lot more than a blank flight recorder…
Shaking her head, Amanda put that out of her mind. She’d already taken too long, and Taylor needed help. A quick search revealed a several first aid kits that had already been rifled, and one that was fully stocked. She cannibalized the opened ones to supplement the stocked one, and located some additional pain meds, anti-infection meds, and a few empty syringes that the scavengers had missed. Tossing them all in the backpack, she activated the radio in her headset.
“Samuels, it’s Ripley,” she said. “I’ve got the meds. Heading back to you.”
“Excellent.”
Returning the pack to her back, she jogged out the other door, which led to the lobby. From there, she went down a twisting corridor that was covered in graffiti. Her favorite covered the wall in bright red letters.
fuck the marshals
The entryway to the lobby didn’t have a door, thankfully, so she was able to walk right through—only to find herself looking at a room filled with yellow barrels.
What the fuck?
A circular reception desk in the center of the room was piled high and deep with the containers, all linked by yellow cabling. There was also something around the periphery, but it was too dark for her to make out what it was. Deciding not to take the time, she turned toward the other doorway that would lead her to Samuels and Taylor.
Her motion detector beeped.
She pulled it from her pocket.
Oh, shit.
Another vent crashed to the deck. Then the alien monster fell through the opening, to land with a resounding thud on the metal flooring. Its long legs braced easily, and the creature seemed completely unaffected by the long fall.
This was the closest Amanda had been to the thing, face-to-face, and she got a much better feel for how huge the monster was. It was twice as large as Amanda, at least, and it loomed over her.
Before it could move, however, floodlights came on all around the room, blinding her temporarily. Holding up a hand to shield her eyes, she started to move slowly backward, away from the predator. Gunk oozing from between its chitinous plates dripped onto the floor, and the creature’s tooth-filled mouth opened wide to reveal another mouth where the tongue should have been. It, too, was filled with sharp teeth.
So this is it. I’m going to die.
Amanda wanted to be upset or scared or angry, but mostly she was just exhausted. This was just one final indignity on a day—in a life—that had been filled with them. She was going to die alone on this stupid station, killed by a creature nobody had ever seen or heard of.
And she’d never find out what happened to Mom.
The creature advanced toward her, its feet clacking on the deck, when without warning the yellow barrels lit up, this time with red lights. They began making beeping noises, and at that instant Amanda realized that the cables were primer cord.
Encrypted Transmission
From: Kenry Ransome, Chief Executive Officer, Seegson To: Dr. Tirsyris Lingard, Senior Medical Executive, San Cristobal Medical Facility
Date: November 12, 2137
Doctor Lingard, this is Ken Ransome. Remember me? Your friendly Seegson CEO?
Lingard, you don’t drop by, you don’t call. Aren’t we pals anymore? Oh well, we’re both busy people—and after all, I have lots of other friends. Some of them have badges. One of them told me you called Marshal Waits about a, shall we say, interesting find?
I want in. No arguments. After all, how much does Waits really know about you? Not as much as your old friend here. And I bet he wouldn’t be as understanding about black-market med supplies. I look forward to your call, Doctor.
This message and any attachments are confidential, privileged and protected. If you are not the intended recipient, dissemination or copying of this message is prohibited. If you have received this in error, please notify the sender by replying and then delete the message completely from your system.
18
LORENZ SYSTECH SPIRE, SEVASTOPOL STATION
DECEMBER 2137
Amanda woke up lying on the deck, surrounded by flames, convinced that Tranquility Base was on fire again.
Her first week on the moon, there had been an explosion out at Armstrong Dock. Amanda had been nearby and tried to help before Emergency Services showed up, but she wasn’t careful about her breathing and wound up collapsing. If it hadn’t be
en for one of those ES medics getting her to safety, she might have died from smoke inhalation, or at least done significant damage to her lungs.
The memory blurred and she remembered that she wasn’t on Luna anymore. She was on Sevastopol, in the middle of a nightmare that made the Armstrong explosion look like a fireworks show.
Drenched with sweat, the smell of burning plastic filling her nostrils, she clambered to her feet and tried to take stock of the situation. Everything was on fire, blocking both the exits. There was no sign of the creature, which she took as a blessing. Maybe it didn’t like fire.
That could explain why she was still alive.
Checking the display on the Halfin, she saw that she’d been stunned for about ten seconds—an eternity during which the monster could have done whatever the fuck it wanted to her. It hadn’t hesitated with Axel, Kuhlman, or its other prey, so the only reason it would have avoided her was because it didn’t want to stick around.
Now I just have to find some flamethrowers.
After I get the fuck out of here.
That was the greater problem. The two exits were walls of flame, and whatever fire suppression there might once have been on Sevastopol, it was obviously malfunctioning. She scanned the entire area, but saw nothing useful. Looking up, she spotted the vent through which the creature had come, but she had no way to get up there.
Lungs burning, she started coughing.
Got to get out of here, now. Never mind Taylor, I’m gonna get roasted if I stick around.
A wall exploded on the other side of the lobby, causing Amanda to lose her footing. It also loosened a maintenance hatch in the ceiling, which lowered about three feet. The ladder attached to the door slid down partway.
Why should anything be easy?
Jumping up, she could just touch the bottom rung with the tips of her fingers, but that was it. Blowing out a breath and trying not to inhale too sharply—a lesson learned from the Armstrong fire—she jumped again. This time, she managed to wrap her fingers around the rung, but her sweat-covered right hand couldn’t gain purchase, and she fell back to the deck again.
“Dammit!”
Wiping her hands on her jumpsuit, the fumes threatening to become overwhelming, she jumped one more time. This time she managed to both achieve and keep her grip. Taking another very slow breath, she threw her left arm up to the next rung as hard as she could. Her fingers clutched that second rung in a loose grip, but she managed to pull herself up further, getting a better hold.
Slowly but steadily she repeated that sequence, throwing each arm upward to the next rung, ignoring the flames, ignoring the smoke, ignoring how hot the metal rungs on the ladder were starting to get. Ignoring the spots in front of her eyes and the sting in her throat.
After reaching the fourth rung she was able to use her feet, sliding them onto the bottom one. She moved faster, hands and feet operating in harmony as she climbed as far from the inferno as she could. Finally, she made it into the air vent, and she collapsed. There was less smoke, and she took the opportunity to gulp in some cleaner air.
She was exhausted.
Her eyelids grew heavy, and she thought that maybe she could just go to sleep for a little bit. Just a few minutes. Just catch her breath.
“I’ve been able to keep Taylor conscious,” Samuels had said. “If I don’t, she’ll lapse into a coma, and that would be extremely bad.”
Shaking her head, she forced herself up onto her hands and knees. If she fell asleep now, there was a good chance she’d never wake. She’d be burnt to a crisp as the fire made its way up here while she napped.
Amanda had no idea which was the right way to go, but any direction that took her away from the inferno seemed a good bet. As she crawled, the air cleared even more, and she tapped her headset.
“Samuels, this is Ripley, do you read? Samuels?”
Her only reply was static.
“Fuck.”
After another ten minutes of crawling she realized she could hear voices. Hoping at first that it was Samuels and Taylor, she was disappointed to realize that it sounded like neither of them.
“There could be more of them,” a man said. “Just shoot anything that moves!”
“This is so fucked up,” another said.
“Keep it together, Fred.” That was a woman’s voice, but apparently Fred was having none of it.
“They just—they just killed him.”
“And now they’re dead, too. So just calm down.”
Amanda maneuvered herself right over a hatch, and the voices were clearer.
Do I go down and join them, or what?
A voice sounded over a radio. “Francis? Are you guys okay?”
“Mahoney. Thank God.” The first speaker let out a sigh of relief. “We got jumped. Looters.”
“Yeah, we saw it all on the security feed,” Mahoney said. “Can you get up here?”
“We’re trapped,” the woman said. “Elevator’s out.”
“You’re right by Systems and Synthetics Storage,” Mahoney responded. “There’s all kinds of stuff to fix it.”
“We don’t know where to look,” the woman said.
“Boot up a requisitions android,” Mahoney said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, making Amanda wonder if this Mahoney guy had seen what had happened to the Working Joes.
Apparently, Francis agreed with her.
“Is he insane?”
“Those things have started attacking people!” the woman said.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Petersen, they’re friendly as long as you don’t do anything unauthorized,” Mahoney said. “Just talking to a warehouse android should be fine. It’ll know how to fix the elevator.”
“Okay, fine. Petersen out.” After a beat, she added, “Asshole.”
Francis made a sputtering noise. “‘Should be fine.’ Well, I’m sure as hell not making new best friends with one of those things.”
“So, what do we do now?” Fred asked plaintively. Amanda seriously considered jumping down just to help these imbeciles out.
“Hold on, let me think,” Petersen said.
“What did you think that noise was?” Francis asked.
“Sounded like an explosion,” Fred replied.
Francis snapped. “I figured that out, genius. I mean what caused it?”
Then again, maybe Amanda was better off on her own.
“It had to have been Waits,” Petersen said. “I heard he’s trying to kill that creature by setting traps. Remote charges. Can you believe that? He’s gotta be crazy.”
Oh, fuck.
Waits was, if she remembered correctly, Samuels’s contact on the station—and it was also the name of the person who contacted them on the Torrens when they were on approach. If he was the one responsible for the explosion that nearly killed her, she wanted words with him. Right after whichever asshole from the Anesidora fucked up the flight recorder.
Belatedly, she realized that Foster—the dead body she’d found in the surgery—might have been the one who brought the flight recorder back.
Damn.
“Look,” Fred said, “I heard that Waits has some kind of safe haven up near the Galleria. We could go there.”
“Did you miss the part about how the crazy fucker is blowing stuff up?” Petersen asked. “No thank you.”
“Yeah, well, we’re running out of options,” Francis said.
“Then shut up and let me think.”
Listening to them talk, Amanda decided that adding herself to that gaggle would drive the average IQ up fifty points. While having her there might make them smarter, it was more likely to make her stupider—or get her killed. Besides, trusting people like Axel and Kuhlman hadn’t exactly worked out well.
No, she was better off moving on and staying away from people. Given the number of corpses she’d found, it was likely they’d die anyhow. So taking greater care not to make a sound, she continued on her way until their voices were just a distant murmur, then go
ne.
Further along she found another access hatch, and as far as she could tell there weren’t any people beneath it. Kicking it open, she watched it crash to the deck, and froze instinctively.
Every other time she’d heard that sound, it had heralded the arrival of the creature.
Focus, Ripley.
Jumping down to the deck, she found herself in a room filled with large objects that were all covered in dusty cloths. Most likely this room wasn’t used even when the station was active. The motion detector verified that nobody was around, so she looked for a terminal she could operate.
Amanda pulled several cloths onto the floor to reveal furniture and gutted machinery. After four or five tries, she found a terminal that was intact. To her surprise, it lit up, and gave her a map of the area. Even better, she was only about fifty yards from where she’d left Taylor and Samuels.
Listening carefully at the door, she slipped out into the corridor and worked her way toward where the map had indicated. As she jogged closer, the motion detector picked up movement—and she heard more voices, both familiar and not.
The unfamiliar voice was shouting.
“I had the goddamn thing trapped,” he bellowed. “It was your shipmate who screwed up the kill! Fucking thing got away.”
“Blowing up a hospital is a rather extreme solution, Marshal Waits.” It was Samuels who replied in his usual tart manner.
“It’s a rather extreme situation,” Waits replied, doing a mean impersonation of Samuels’s tone.
Amanda shook her head. The doofus crew was right, it was Waits who rigged the lobby to blow. And he was a marshal, which meant he was in charge of security for the station. Amanda’s instinct was to consider him terrible at his job, but given the combination of a lethal creature and Working Joes that wanted to kill all the people the monster didn’t, she couldn’t really fault Waits’s competence.
His common sense was another matter.
“I just hope Ripley survived,” Samuels said. “If she—”
“I made it out fine,” Amanda said, panting as she rounded the corner. “No thanks to you, Marshal.”
Waits, a white-haired man wearing a ballcap and blue jacket that marked him as security, quickly raised his weapon, a Jacobs 990 pistol. There was another person there, also in blue, who did likewise.
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