by Weston Ochse
Then he became aware of a new sound.
Crying.
It was Bellows behind him, blubbering. He was like a child, all tears and snot and not wanting to be here. Hoenikker glanced at Étienne, who was all business. The look on his face was one that Charlemagne probably wore when he faced the Byzantine Empire.
“Fuck me to tears,” Cruz said from behind.
“What?” Kash asked. “What’s going on?”
“I’m going to have to charge,” Cruz said. “You all stay where you are.”
“What exactly do you mean ‘charge,’ mon frere?”
“Exactly what I said. Listen, when I get close, fire at the reservoir on my back. Trust me. It’s our only hope. I can take them all out without issue.”
“But that’s suicide,” Hoenikker said. He didn’t like this at all. He’d rather continue the firefight, and let the chips fall where they may.
“I was never meant to make it off this rock. My entire job was to lead you scientists. I know, I know, I’m a scientist too—but at heart, I am a Colonial Marine. I want to go down fighting. Sometimes to survive isn’t enough. If you’re the sole survivor, it means that everyone you’ve loved has died. They’re in a place together, and you’re alone. Every day I wish I’d died with my friends. Every day I hate myself for surviving. Every—single—day. I don’t want to outlive you all.
“In fact, I refuse. So, this is my choice.”
“But you can’t,” Kash said.
“You can’t stop me.”
Kash growled. “I wouldn’t even try.”
“Thank you, Erin.”
Cruz pushed Bellows aside and edged between Kash and Hoenikker. He glanced down at Rawlings and Buggy, and shook his head. Then he toggled off the igniter and prepared to run.
“Ready or not, here I come,” he said, just loud enough for them to hear. Then he sprinted, spraying wet napthal out the end of his hose, shouting, “This is for you, Snyder, Bedejo, and Schnexnader. This is for you, Correia and Cartwright. I’m coming home.
“Flame on!” At the last, he flicked the ignitor and all the fuel he’d been spraying suddenly exploded into flame. He stood in the middle of it, in front of Seven and his children, who were burning. They screeched, but could do nothing.
“Shoot now,” Cruz cried.
Seven reached out for him, grabbed him, and pulled him in.
Cruz let go of the nozzle and fought the creature, but even from where he stood, Hoenikker could see that the big man was overmatched. He glanced at Kash, who was locked in a trance, and grabbed the pulse rifle from her. She let it go without a struggle. Hoenikker planted the butt in his shoulder and stared down the sights, just as Cruz had shown him. Then he took a breath.
Cruz began to scream.
Hoenikker fired at the reservoir of fuel. When it exploded, they were knocked off their feet.
53
He climbed to his feet, using the rifle as a crutch. The explosion had left him fuzzy. Hoenikker flashed back to his arrival at the station, then to the Rat-X going free, then to the Leon-895 chasing him, then to the memory of the girlfriend he’d once had.
To Cruz sacrificing himself. It was funny how the man he’d once thought of as a sadist had shown the most humanity of them all.
He coughed, the air thick with smoke.
The corridor ahead of them was completely in flames. There was no evidence of Cruz, or Seven, or the juveniles. Just a flaming pyre of death that the air scrubbers couldn’t diminish. He was forced to kneel and get down low so he could breathe.
Hoenikker glanced around.
Étienne and Kash were rising slowly, rubbing their heads where they’d hit the ground. He helped them and pointed to the dark haze of smoke near the ceiling. They nodded, understanding that they shouldn’t stand.
Bellows was already up. He gave Hoenikker a hate-filled grin, then pushed him aside as he raced toward the blaze. To the left side there was a section free of fire, and this was what he was aiming for.
“Stop him,” Hoenikker cried.
Kash unholstered a pistol and aimed at the fleeing man.
But she didn’t have to.
A burning arm came out of the fire—a Xenomorph arm— and it pulled him in. His screams came fast and repetitive, until they stopped completely.
No one would mourn the man.
“What now?” Étienne asked.
“We escape to the San Lorenzo,” Hoenikker said.
He felt weird. He felt like the de facto leader. Up until now, he’d looked to others to make decisions, but now—now he couldn’t help but notice the way that Kash and Étienne looked at him. They wanted his guidance. They wanted his approval. How the hell did he earn such a position? Was it merely survival?
“Follow me.” He crouched and held the pulse rifle like he’d seen Rawlings do it.
Moving quickly but carefully, he went toward the left side of the blaze. When he was near enough, he opened fire and sprayed the flames with twenty rounds, just in case another hand was waiting to grab them. When he made it around the pyre, he waited for Kash and Étienne, who followed without a problem. Then the three of them approached the shuttle bay.
On the other side of the door was an abattoir. Blood and acid mingled in smoking pools. The bay floor was carpeted in bodies. Hoenikker could almost relive the battle by the size of the clumps of humans and Xenos.
“Be careful. Be ready,” he said. There could be survivors.
They turned a corner, and there, like a religious icon, sat the stubby frame of the shuttle. All their hopes and dreams had rested on it, and now they were here.
Hoenikker turned to Kash.
“What about the lodge?” he asked.
“We don’t even know if it really exists,” she said. “We have this in front of us. I say the shuttle.”
“Oui. Oui,” Étienne said.
Then it was settled.
Hoenikker checked the outside of the craft, underneath it as well as on top. All seemed clear. He entered and found it empty, except for the single dead body of a woman in the hold. They pulled her free and left her on the bay floor. Once the three of them were inside, he figured out the toggles and closed the door.
He asked Kash to punch in the command code.
One-nine-seven-five-three.
She did and the engines responded. Before long they were ascending. He felt like cheering, his grin from ear to ear. They’d made it. Thrilled to be alive, they held hands.
“I can’t believe I made it,” Étienne said.
“Drunks and fools and Frenchmen,” Hoenikker said, mimicking what Cruz had said earlier.
“Thank you,” Kash said.
Hoenikker shook his head. “I didn’t do anything but what I was told.”
“I thought about running so many times,” Kash said.
“I did as well,” Hoenikker admitted.
“If it wasn’t for Cruz, we’d all be dead,” she said.
“I will buy everyone a drink, once we return to civilized space,” Étienne said. “We will raise a glass to him.” Abruptly the shuttle lurched, and they all froze for a moment, then broke into laughter.
“Probably leaving the ionosphere,” Kash said.
Hoenikker was laughing when he saw death appear. More precisely, he saw the Leon-895 change its camouflage appearance so it could be seen. He was about to cry out when it snatched Étienne and hauled him backward. Before Hoenikker could even scream, the creature bit down upon the Frenchman’s head, ripping free the skull plate with a sickening crunch. Then it dipped its face into the skull and began to chew.
“No!” Hoenikker screamed, finally able to move. He raised his rifle and fired until there was nothing left to fire, the pulse rifle clicking over and over and over as the battery tried to find a round to fire.
Both the Leon and Étienne were riddled with bullet holes. Neither had a chance at living.
“What have I done?” Hoenikker asked, falling to a knee. “I killed him.”
&nbs
p; “No, you saved him,” Kash said.
Hoenikker folded in upon himself until he was sitting on the deck, the empty rifle beside him. Étienne had come so close to freedom. It wasn’t fair. It could never be fair. He sat that way for a long time, staring at his friend, the look of utter surprise on the Frenchman’s face that had appeared as his brain was being eaten by a creature they’d created from the fauna on the planet’s surface.
“Why did you say what you said?” Kash asked eventually.
Hoenikker looked at her, feeling drained.
“That I was the best person and scientist you’ve ever known,” she added.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. The words rang true.”
“But you don’t even really know me.”
“I know you well enough.”
“You never asked why I was called the Angel of Death.”
“I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would have.”
“This wasn’t the first time I was involved in human experimentation,” she said, looking away.
He shrugged. “We all have things in our past.”
“Oh, yeah? What was yours?” she asked. “You’re about as clean and pure as the best of us. Hell, you might be the best of us.”
“Don’t count on it,” he said.
“Prepare to dock with the San Lorenzo.” They jumped at the computerized voice, then both took their seats. Just as the docking sequence commenced, the shuttle rocked as if with a blow.
Hoenikker looked toward the place where they’d been hit and saw that it was the broad front window. Instead of space—which is what he expected to see—he saw a fully adult Xenomorph with light stripes along its arms and torso.
Monica. How had she—
Even as he watched, she brought her clawed hands up and pounded a windshield already weakened by her acid. She chewed at the glass, and drooled on even more of it as she pounded.
“Will it never end!” Kash screamed.
Hoenikker glanced behind him at the body of the Frenchman and noted that it was completely alone. The Leon was nowhere to be seen. Either it had camouflaged itself in death, or it wasn’t as dead as he’d thought it was.
There was a thump as the docking sequence concluded, and the rear door opened. They raced inside. Hoenikker headed left and Kash followed. He bypassed several doors and found the bridge. There the door responded to his palm, so the place wasn’t on lockdown.
Still, it was deserted.
“Watch my back,” he said. “I’m going to send a distress signal.” He found the communications array and looked for a way to send a signal. It took a few moments, then he found it. A switch underneath a red protective cover that said EMERGENCY. He lifted the cover and pressed the switch. The screen in front of him came to life with several choices.
1 – Evacuate Ship
2 – Vacuum Ship
3 – Send Emergency Message
4 – Destruction Sequence
He selected number three. Waited. When he saw what looked like a microphone flashing green, he spoke.
“Anybody out there. Anybody. This is Dr. Timothy Hoenikker from Pala Station. Everyone is dead. Please come. I am on San Lorenzo. We have an infiltration of—” He noted that the microphone was no longer flashing, and had switched to red. The message would have to be enough.
He turned and said, “Okay, let’s find us a place to—”
Monica had Kash, a claw over her mouth.
The Xenomorph had made it on board.
He reached down and discovered that he was weaponless. He’d left the pulse rifle in the shuttle—but that had been emptied.
Kash squirmed free, fired several times at her captor, then screamed as the acid washed against her, cascading her chest.
“Run, Tim!” she gurgle-screamed. “Save yourself.”
The Monica Xeno hissed as it twitched toward him. Acid-laced saliva slapped Kash’s face, and she screamed. Then it cocked its head, just as Monica had done what seemed like eons ago.
Hoenikker didn’t know what to do.
Kash managed to fire again, and the shot was a wake-up call.
Hoenikker stepped backward, then found a way around the struggling pair, and bolted through the hatchway. He watched the walls for guidance and was soon aft. His only hope was to find a place to hole up until help arrived. He noted a pedestrian tunnel that said TO KATANGA. The place where they harvested the Xenomorphs. Oh, hell. He hesitated, but then heard another of Kash’s screams.
Katanga might be dangerous, but the thing that had been Monica was right behind him.
Racing down the tunnel, he reached the door and palmed it open. Behind him there were more shots, and more screams. He considered going back, but what if Monica was still alive? He gave an insane little laugh at the idea that an old girlfriend had turned murder machine, and wanted to kill him.
He ran down one corridor, and then another, not paying attention to where he went. Eventually he was out of breath and the screams came closer. They clearly weren’t human. He stopped at a random door, palmed it open, then closed it and threw himself into a corner. He was almost to the point of hyperventilating, and forced himself to slow his breathing. Concentrated on the act until it was back to normal, his mind still racing at how he was going to survive.
He thought of Kash, and wondered if she’d been killed. But then, when he remembered the acid that had bathed her bosom, he knew better.
A claw scraped the outside of his door.
Was it Monica?
Was it something else?
He waited for it to repeat, but it didn’t.
As quiet panic set in, he reminded himself that he’d made it. He’d survived. Against all odds, he’d somehow been the one to live at the end. But that thought was squashed by Cruz’s words right before he’d made his mad dash to suicide to save them.
“If you’re the sole survivor, it means that everyone you’ve loved has died. They are in a place together, and you’re alone. Every day I wish I’d died with my friends. Every day I hate myself for surviving. Every single day.”
And then he’d called out the names of his comrades.
Was that what Hoenikker was destined to do? Was he going to go out like Cruz, calling the names of his own dead?
Prior.
Matthews.
Lacroix.
Cruz.
Kash.
Monica.
A claw scraped across the door again, making him jump.
Sometimes to survive wasn’t enough.
He’d never wanted to die more than the moment he thought he was going to live.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Being part of the Aliens universe had always been a dream of mine. My dream was first realized when I was invited by Jonathan Maberry to write a story in Aliens: Bug Hunt, an anthology of Colonial Marine stories. The dream was fully realized when Titan editor Steve Saffel contacted my agent, Cherry Weiner, and asked if I had time in my schedule to write an original Aliens novel that was not only to be canon in the universe, but also to be a prequel to a new video game. What a dream. What an honor.
As most of you know, I am best known as a horror author. Even when I write science fiction, it’s dark-as-hell science fiction. But that’s okay, because Aliens has never really been science fiction. It’s always been horror. The terror of losing control of one’s own body. The fear of becoming something impossible. Ridley Scott said it best in the tagline of his 1979 groundbreaking movie, Alien. “In space, no one can hear you scream.” So, thank you to Jon, Cherry, and Steve.
Thanks also to the Titan crew, Nick Landau, Vivian Cheung, George Sandison, Davi Lancett, and Dan Coxon. I’d also like to give a shout out to Carol Roeder and Nicole Spiegel at Fox, and the hardworking gamers over at Cold Iron Studios, including Craig Zinkievich, Jared Yeager, Chris L’Etoile, and Sylvia Son. Finally, I’d like to thank the fourteen-year-old version of myself, my date, and her brother, for braving possibly the scariest movie of the 1970s and creating the embryo of a
young man who would later xenomorph into a horror author.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The American Library Association calls Weston Ochse, “one of the major horror authors of the 21st Century.” His work has won the Bram Stoker Award, been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, and won four New Mexico-Arizona Book Awards. A writer of more than thirty books in multiple genres, his Burning Sky duology has been hailed as the best military horror of the generation.
His military supernatural series SEAL Team 666 has been optioned to be a movie starring Dwayne Johnson, and his military sci-fi trilogy which starts with Grunt Life has been praised for its PTSD-positive depiction of soldiers at peace and at war.
Weston has also published literary fiction, poetry, comics, and non-fiction articles. His shorter work has appeared in DC Comics, IDW Comics, Soldier of Fortune magazine, Weird Tales, Cemetery Dance, and peered literary journals. His franchise work includes the X-Files, Predator, Aliens, Hellboy, Clive Barker’s Midian, Joe Ledger, and V-Wars. Weston holds a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing and teaches at Southern New Hampshire University. He lives in Arizona with his wife and fellow author, Yvonne Navarro, and their Great Danes.
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS
ALIEN™
ISOLATION
KEITH R. A. DECANDIDO
The official video game adaptation—and much more!
The product of a troubled and violent youth, Amanda Ripley is hellbent to discover what happened to her missing mother, Ellen Ripley. She joins a Weyland-Yutani team sent to retrieve the Nostromo flight recorder, only to find space station Sevastopol in chaos with a Xenomorph aboard. Flashbacks reveal Amanda’s history and events that forced her mother to take the assignment aboard the Nostromo.
TITANBOOKS.COM
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS
ALIENS™
PHALANX
SCOTT SIGLER
Ataegina was an isolated world of medieval castles and rich cultures—vibrant until the demons rose and slaughtered ninety percent of the planet’s population. Swarms of lethal creatures with black husks, murderous claws, barbed tails and dreaded “tooth-tongues” rage across the land. Terrified survivors hide in ruined mountain keeps, where they eke out a meager existence. Skilled runners travel the treacherous paths between keeps, maintaining trade and sharing information. If caught, they die screaming.