by Weston Ochse
“What do you think is going to happen?” McGann asked.
“Murphy,” Rawlings said flatly. “Murphy’s Law is going to happen. We’re going to have all the protocols in place, we’re going to have plans for how to mitigate problems, and still bad shit will ensue, and we won’t have any control over it whatsoever.”
“Murphy,” mumbled Cruz.
The rest did the same.
“So, what is it we can do?” Flores asked.
“Be aware of what’s going on. Constantly check your six,” Cruz said. He glanced at Rawlings, then at the others. “I’ve had the same flutters in my stomach, as well. We need to be careful. Who here has personal weapons?”
No one raised their hands.
“Come on. No bullshit,” Cruz said. “I have body armor, a pulse rifle, and a flamethrower—don’t ask. What about the rest of you? No Colonial Marine, current or former, would let themselves be caught dead without a weapon. So, give.”
“Dudt and I each have a full complement of weapons we were issued, that we store in our hooches,” Flores said.
“Can you get more if necessary?” Rawlings asked.
She glanced at Dudt, who nodded, then nodded to the group.
“I have two pistols,” McGann said.
“I have a pulse rifle, but hardly any ammo,” Chase said.
“What about you, Rawlings?” Cruz asked.
Rawlings sipped from his cup of coffee.
“I have three pulse rifles and five thousand rounds of ammo.”
“HFS,” Chase said.
“How’d you get so much?” Flores asked, suspiciously.
Rawlings grinned and shrugged. “I just asked for things. People gave them, and sometimes when people leave, they leave stuff that hasn’t been inventoried. No big deal. I’m not looking to overthrow anything.
“I’m just looking to survive.”
20
All the essential staff were packed into the mess hall. The tables and chairs had been removed so everyone was standing shoulder-to-shoulder, butt-to-butt, uncomfortable in the indescribable way that can only be understood by being in that situation.
Security personnel lined the walls. Although they didn’t carry weapons, their demeanor was deadly serious. The scientists—or what was left of them, at least—had been placed in the front row. Étienne, Kash, Hoenikker, and Cruz, whose suspension had been negated by the death of Mansfield. Ironically, because of his seniority, he’d been put in charge.
Hoenikker didn’t care who was in charge, but it seemed to him a little like the fox guarding the henhouse.
The section chiefs were lined up at the head of the room, silently facing out over the crowd, and they didn’t look happy. Several heads were down. Conspicuous by their absences were Station Chief Crowther and Deputy Station Chief Thompson.
Finally, a newcomer—a man—entered wearing a white uniform. He stopped in front of each chief, shook hands, and said a few words the rest couldn’t hear.
“Let the ass reaming begin,” Cruz said under his breath.
“Anyone know about this guy?” Étienne asked.
“Not a word.” Kash shook her head.
The man turned and centered himself in front of the section chiefs. He had piercing blue eyes and the chiseled face of someone who spent a lot of time at the gym. His figure beneath the uniform seemed to tell the same story.
“Men and women of Pala Station, I am your new station commander,” he said so all could hear. “My name is Vincent Bellows. Station Chief Crowther has been relieved for cause, and will be taking a long voyage back to headquarters.” His words were neither angry nor endearing. They were delivered in a flat, businesslike manner to be expected of a senior Weyland-Yutani executive.
“Deputy Station Chief Thompson has also been relieved,” he continued. “He will be joining Crowther on his journey. But that’s irrelevant, as far as you’re concerned. I’m here to point out to all of you that the mission of Pala Station is research. Everything we do here, everything you do here, is to advance Weyland-Yutani capabilities, and to increase corporate profits.
“Every time someone dies, we have to pay out death benefits. Every time something breaks, it needs to be replaced. Our job is not one of dying and breaking, it is one of discovery.
“To date, we have managed to develop acid-resistant armor technology which we can sell the Colonial Marines,” Bellows said. “As briefed by Dr. Cruz, we also have another opportunity to improve armor through the creation of biological stealth technology, although that specimen seems to have disappeared. I have been informed by Security Chief Rodriguez that motion sensors are being positioned in order to try and track the creature. If you see it, do not engage. Note the location, get to safety, and inform Security.”
He paused, likely for effect, Hoenikker guessed.
“Up to now, it seems as if your greatest single shared asset has been incompetence. Let me assure you that this will cease. If I relieve you from duty, I will ensure that you are on the slowest ship back to corporate, and that any bonuses you’ve earned during your time here will not be paid. Pala Station needs to produce. To do that, I need everyone’s very best. From Logistics to Personnel. From Fabrications to Engineering. From Security to Medical. I need everyone to know their job, and perform it perfectly.
“As for the scientists, I need you to follow scientific safety protocols. If any more specimens escape, I will hold you personally responsible. I will shut down research until I can get more qualified scientists. Certainly, corporate will be mad at me, but I’m used to people being mad at me. If there’s one thing I know it’s Weyland-Yutani policies, and trust me when I say that I have enough policies in my back pocket to ensure my own continued survival. So, do not—I repeat, do not—tempt me to shut something down, or kick someone off the station.
“I’ll do it in a corporate minute.
“Finally, there will be no more hunting trips outside of the station, and no need to maintain an external facility. We have enough work to do without leaving to find something else.” He placed his hands behind his back as he leaned forward. “Now, are there any questions?”
Silence.
“Any questions? Come on. Now is your chance.”
No one responded.
“Alright, I can see that the lot of you are nervous,” he said. “So, I will answer the most obvious concern. What is happening next. The San Lorenzo arrived in orbit two days ago. That’s how I got here. Right now, synths are acquiring specimens from Katanga. They’ll be shuttling them down later this afternoon.
“As you know, these specimens are some of the most dangerous creatures we’ve ever encountered, which is why Pala Station is in the middle of nowhere. We don’t want any of the specimens getting into population centers. What does that mean? It means they are dangerous. They are beyond dangerous. To that end, I will be posting extra security in the lab, in order to protect station personnel.”
He stared at the assembled mass, nodded once, then turned on his heel and left. The moment he was out the door, the room let out a collective sigh. Everyone began to move toward the exit.
The section chiefs left first, single file out the door, heads still down. Hoenikker wondered if they didn’t have another, more private meeting where they would each be told in explicit terms what was expected of them.
Cruz and Kash headed out the door, and Hoenikker would have followed, but Rawlings stopped him.
“A moment,” Rawlings said.
Hoenikker stared into the scarred black face of the reception tech. The man’s smile always seemed to be in place. Perhaps the way he went through life. Certainly better than frowning, he supposed.
“Sure,” Hoenikker said. “How can I help you?”
“I just wanted to let you know that things are going to get a little bit jumpier around here.”
“Jumpier?” Hoenikker said. “Than what?”
The smile faded a bit. “Folks are going to be quicker to get angry, and quicker to rea
ct. What with our new station chief and a new group of specimens, the staff are going to be worried. They know what these things can do if they get out, and what they don’t know, they make up.”
“I’m not sure why you’re talking to me about this,” Hoenikker said, glancing back to the doorway and freedom.
“It’s just that you will be closest to the action. Closer to the danger. You’re going to be one of the first ones to know if something isn’t right.”
Hoenikker nodded.
“So, if you find yourself needing a place to run, or needing to tell others it’s time to run, I’m that person. I can keep you safe in the event…” He didn’t finish.
Hoenikker frowned. “In the event of what, exactly?”
Rawlings’ smiled widened again. “I don’t rightly know, but my guess is that when it happens, you’ll know.”
Then he left, leaving Hoenikker standing in a room that had quickly emptied.
Two times specimens had gotten free, just since he had arrived. Would the same happen with the Xenomorphs? Could the same happen with Xenomorphs? He was so lost in the possibilities of it, he didn’t notice the mess hall staff trying to put the room back together and prepare for dinner, until one of them came up to him and politely asked him to leave.
21
Cruz was in charge, and he wanted everyone to know it, making Hoenikker feel vaguely like a Colonial Marine instead of a scientist. They’d been waiting for him, and he felt this heat from Cruz’s gaze as he entered the lab, the last scientist to do so.
While Hoenikker hadn’t exactly liked Mansfield, at least the Weyland-Yutani bureaucrat knew how to keep things organized. Now Cruz was the boss. Cruz—the same person who enjoyed frosting and roasting specimens. Hoenikker glanced at the others as he took his seat.
No one was looking at Cruz. They’d all found their own horizons at which to stare.
“Now that we’re all present,” Cruz began, clearing his voice, “here’s how things are going to be. Prior and Matthews are gone. It sucks, but that’s the way it is. Their… departure makes it harder on us.”
Hoenikker watched Étienne mouth the word departure.
“Now we have to perform the functions of six scientists with only four. While it’s easier to replace Prior, because I’m a xenobiologist, replacing Matthews—no matter his individual eccentricities—will be much more difficult. His chemical engineering skills will be missed. So, we’re all going to have to buck up and take on more responsibility. Frankly, if the rest of the station was run the way we’re going to be running the lab, starting immediately, we’d all be in much better shape.”
Étienne formed the words better shape. This time, Cruz saw him.
“Is there something you want to share with the group, Étienne?”
“No.” Étienne shook his head, and stared at the floor. “I’m fine.”
Cruz sneered. “You don’t look fine. It looks like you have something you want to say.”
Étienne sighed, then glanced up. “Don’t you think you’re taking this ‘being in charge’ bit a little too seriously?”
Cruz’s face hardened. “Too seriously? People have died, Étienne. This is very serious.”
“You might have died, had you not been sent to your room for malfeasance,” Étienne replied. “You were just lucky enough to have been kicked out of the lab.”
“Malfeasance?” Cruz quickly rose to his feet. “Who the hell do you think you are, you little French cocksucker?” He moved toward where Étienne sat, but Kash stood and placed a palm on his chest.
“Dr. Cruz? Is this really the way you wanted the meeting to go?” she asked, her voice low and level. He tried to push past her, but she kept in his way, gently but firmly pressing her hand into his chest, trying to lock eyes with him. Finally, he looked at her. “Let’s all sit down and apologize, okay? After all, we’re scientists, not brawlers.”
Cruz glanced from her to Étienne, then seemed to sag.
“You’re right of course.” He returned to his seat, smoothed down the front of his lab coat, and smiled the sort of smile someone might wear if he or she were disemboweling a cat and enjoying it immensely. “I’m sorry that I called you a French cocksucker.”
Étienne smiled as well, his the sort Hoenikker would expect an enemy to provide at the funeral of their rival.
“I accept your apology.” He paused a moment, then said, “And I’m sorry I’ve been thinking you’re an overbearing psychotic windbag who shouldn’t be in charge of yourself, much less a team of scientists. I’m sorry that I know we’re pretty much all going to die because of your need to self-medicate your PTSD by killing specimens. And finally, I’m sorry you weren’t in here when Leon-895 escaped, because I’m sure either Matthews or Prior would still be alive.”
His eyes going wide, Hoenikker turned to watch Cruz as Étienne spoke, waiting for the bigger man to launch himself across the table. But the reaction was anything but what he expected. Instead of getting angry, Cruz began to laugh. Full-out guffaws that made Kash look at Hoenikker with eyes that asked, Is he crazy?
“That’s good, Étienne,” Cruz said. “That’s rich. You reminded me what it was like back in the barracks when we used to exchange your mama jokes. You’ve got to learn to get as good as you give.” Cruz glanced around the table. “And you’re right about Leon-895. It probably would have come for me, so in a strange way, I owe Mansfield my life. That said, I’m still in charge, and we need to pull together.
“Speaking of Leon-895,” he added, “has there been any news?”
“Security is doing a search, and placing the motion sensors,” Kash said, “but their number one priority is to make certain the specimens from Katanga arrive safely.” She glanced at Hoenikker. “Wait until you see them. Going to make you wished you’d stayed in your office.”
Hoenikker swallowed hard. He really just wanted his alien artifacts. After all, they couldn’t bite back.
“I’m putting Kash in charge of the Xenomorph experimentation,” Cruz said. “We’re already aware of their morphology, so we need to make certain we experiment during all phases. Hoenikker, this is all new to you, so keep your eyes open and your hands in your pockets. Don’t do anything unless Kash gives you the go-ahead.”
Hoenikker nodded, feeling a bit like he’d shown up three weeks late for kindergarten.
Cruz had a few more words, then directed Étienne to supervise the insertion of the new glass fronts for the specimen containment areas. As it turned out, Engineering and Fabrications had put their heads together and determined that they did, indeed, have enough tungsten, as long as they spread the mixture more thinly than before. They assured Cruz, however, that the barriers would still be within safety protocols.
Cruz left to meet with Security about the specimen transfer.
Which left Hoenikker and Kash alone.
Then the engineering staff arrived, accompanied by a pair of synths. The two scientists watched as the fronts to the empty containment rooms were removed, one by one, and replaced with new ones. The process was laborious, made even more so by Étienne’s insistence that everything be just right. Hoenikker didn’t mind it at all, though. The safer they were, the better he felt. After they’d watched the removal and installation of two fronts, Hoenikker turned to Kash.
“What’s the story about Katanga, anyway?” Hoenikker asked.
“It’s been hanging over our heads like the Sword of Damocles for more than twenty years,” Kash said. “It was originally created as a facility for a terraforming planet. The problem was that the colonists encountered Xenomorphs on the planet, and were forced to flee to the mine. Then, of course, the mine became infested, and all was lost.”
“By the same creatures that were on the planet?” he asked.
She nodded. “Appears so. These particular Xenomorphs like to use human bodies to gestate. When it’s time to give birth, they just about ruin everything on their way out.”
Hoenikker shuddered, trying not to picture
what he’d just been told.
“So, then they built Pala Station.”
“No. Evidently,” Kash said, “Pala Station was already here. They transported the mine from another solar system to this one.”
“I thought it was purpose built for the Xenomorphs?”
“Nope,” she said.
“Then why put Pala Station here? What makes this planet so important? I thought Pala was built to support research into the Xenomorphs on Katanga? But if Pala was already here, then it had to have been built for a different reason.”
Kash shook her head. “I can’t tell you for sure. But every now and then Mansfield would bring in an artifact covered in strange glyphs.” His pulse quickened at her words. “There are also areas of the station that are off limits to everyone but Security. I mean, if the station was built for a purely scientific reason, then why wouldn’t they allow us full access? Cruz believes there’s an entire other crew doing side-by-side experimentation in the part of the station we aren’t allowed to enter.”
“That seems a little far-fetched,” he said. “But he seems the sort who would buy into conspiracy theories.”
“I agree, on both counts, but there’s something they aren’t telling us,” Kash said.
Hoenikker scratched his head. “So, for the past twenty-plus years the San Lorenzo or some other ship supplies us with specimens?”
She nodded. “I heard that they originally sent scientific teams to try and collect specimens, but that didn’t end well. Since then, they’ve had military research teams that collect Xeno specimens in their egg form, and cryochamber them to us at regular intervals. My predecessor said that they only had one delivery during his tenure at Pala Station. So far, this would be my third.”
“I thought there had been only one other,” he said.
She made a sour face. “Security protocols forced us to kill them all before we could really begin testing.”