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Chapter Text

  “Acknowledged,” Sanchez spoke into the comm. “Contact Second Lieutenant Gutierrez. Tell him his orders are to set up a cordon, but the protocol stands. No weapons of any kind. If it tries to leave, their orders are to let it pass.” He hung up without waiting for confirmation. They knew the drill.

  “Looks like you got its attention. That makes it our problem now,” he said, turning to face Sloan. “What’s in Delta?”

  Sloan blew a long stream of cigarette smoke. “Colonel, you know I’m not at liberty to disclose-”

  “I don’t give a damn,” he snapped, slamming a clenched fist down on the desk. “I’ve got eight dead men cut to pieces in Medical, a mystery woman under protective detail, and now the highest security building on base has a hole in it big enough to drive an APC through it. Now just what the hell is in there?”

  Sloan sighed. “Nothing.”

  “I mean it...” Sanchez growled menacingly.

  “I’m serious. There’s nothing in there. It’s empty. The whole building is a decoy. It’s plain steel and plastcrete. The door outside my office is just for show. The real Delta is underground. The access door is in the basement and that leads down to the lower levels, but your yautja is gonna need a hell of a lot more firepower to get through that,” said Sloan, taking another drag on his cigarette.

  “Keep going,” said Sanchez quietly. He had another thing coming if he thought that would be sufficient. “I need details.”

  Sloan gave him a long, hard look. There would be consequences for this conversation, for both of them, but Sanchez was not about to back down. “It goes down five levels. Keycard, palm print and retina scans at every checkpoint and between floors, and the security doors are five centimetres of tri-coated durasteel alloy. Like I said, it’s not blasting through those. First floor is mostly staff offices and briefing rooms. Second floor is some light labs, and equipment and armoury for my guys. Three is mainly medical, and that’s where we have the holding cells,” he said with a note of hesitation.

  “Holding cells for what?” pressed Sanchez.

  “People. That woman you picked up? She’s one of Yau’s lab rats.”

  “Jesus Christ…” Sanchez swore in disgust. “I knew it, goddammit I knew it. I knew this was not on the level. How many?”

  “Currently? Ten, maybe. Ask Yau if you want an exact count,” said Sloan matter-of-factly.

  “My God.” He had known from day one the whole outfit was sketchy. It always was when Weyland-Yutani got involved, but kidnap, involuntary medical experiment and possibly even murder? Even he never thought they would have gone that far. “You still haven’t answered my question. What the hell are you up to in there?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sloan.

  “I swear by the Virgin herself if you don’t tell me just what the hell is going on…” He found his voice had an edge he did not know he possessed. He had been a USCM Corps officer for twenty years, and in two decades of chewing out junior enlisted, his voice had never sounded as it did now.

  “Colonel, I don’t know.” Sloan held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Even my clearance only goes to Level 3. I’ve heard them talk about something called “Implantation” on Level 4. Level 5? I have no idea. Only Yau and his senior staff have Level 5 access.”

  “You expect me to believe you don’t even know what it is you’re guarding?” Sanchez snorted.

  “I never asked,” retorted Sloan, “and if you saw that they offered me for this contract, you wouldn’t have asked either.”

  Sanchez almost hoped he was lying. It would give him an excuse to beat it out of him, or order Heller to do it, but something told him he was telling the truth. Sloan didn’t even know why they were here; it was just an easy pay day. But then why would Wey-Yu pay for all that security to guard a handful of prisoners? A cold chill crept up his spine as he had the most terrible thought, and he grabbed the phone receiver on Sloan’s desk.

  “Do not even think about leaving,” he said as he jammed a finger at the man, before dialling for Medical.

  “Cotillard,” answered the voice at the other end of the line.

  “Doc, I need some details on the casualties from Hangar 7,” he spoke in a quiet, urgent tone, although it was not as if Sloan could not overhear.

  “Of course, Colonel. You’ll have a full report soon we’re just-”

  “Never mind that,” Sanchez cut him off. “Where any of the bodies missing heads or limbs?”

  “Yes, Colonel,” said the doctor, sounding somewhat puzzled by the morbid question. “Several of them sustained such injuries.”

  “But were the parts retrieved?”

  “Mostly, yes,” the doctor hesitated. “Although one is missing the head and both hands, and we have not been able to recover those. It was different in other ways too. The severing of the hands looks to be post-mortem. In the others, the injuries contributed to cause of death.”

  “What about ID cards?”

  “Seven out of eight were recovered, along with clothes and other affects. They will be returned to Security Director Sloan shortly. The missing one was for a “J. Carter”. We’re unable to determine at this time if the headless corpse here is this “J. Carter”, we’re still waiting on personnel files from Delta Security so we can match bodies to names via DNA typing.”

  “Something tells me it’s him. Thanks doc,” he said as a ball of ice formed in his stomach, and he hung up.

  “How do I dial through to Delta from here?” he demanded.

  “I’ll do it,” said Sloan, taking a step forward.

  “No, I’ll do it. Just tell me how,” insisted Sanchez.

  “Press “star” then “nine”, you should get Palmer,” said Sloan.

  He dialled, and a voice answered on the fifth ring. “Palmer.”

  “This is Colonel Sanchez,” he spoke with all the authority he could muster. “We believe the yautja has the means to access Delta Wing. I’m ordering all Delta personnel evacuated, official or otherwise.”

  “Colonel, this is highly irregular. I’d need authorisation from Director Sloan,” Palmer protested, as if he had not just heard what Sanchez had told him.

  He did not have time to argue. “Just do it,” he barked, and slammed down the receiver. He turned to Sloan, his cigarette now down to a stub, and not looking at all like his usual confident, smarmy self.

  “You’re coming with me,” said Sanchez sternly.

  “Where are we going, pray tell?”

  “Delta. He’s got himself a key, and you are mine. This might be our best chance. If he’s heading into Delta using stolen credentials, and we can get access to the security system, we can revoke them. Maybe we can start locking some doors behind him. We can trap him down there.”

  A cold, dry smile formed on Sloan’s thin lips. “Sounds like you need my help, Colonel.”

  “This isn’t over. Not by a long shot,” growled Sanchez. “But yes, right now, I need your help.”

  “Then lead the way,” he said, finally snuffing out the stub of a cigarette.

*

  Van der Beek leaned against the wall of the security office while Parker, Weaver and Morse amused themselves with some card game. He resisted the urge to pace. He did not want to look anxious in front of the rest, but it took considerable effort, and settled for a subtle glance at his watch. There was no real reason for them to be hanging around the security office. At this hour, Delta was running on a skeleton staff, but they could still be doing the usual rounds. Instead, they were eager for news regarding the yautja. Probably waiting to hear how big their cut was going to be, but he already beginning to suspect the worst.

  “What was that about?” he asked, as he watched Palmer replace the receiver on what had been a brief but apparently unusual phone call.

  “That was the colonel. He wants Delta evacuated. He says the yautja is heading this way,” said Palmer, and his expression gave Van Der Beek the impression of a dog trying to figure out how a magic trick was done. It was all the confirmation Van Der Beek needed. Carter and the team were dead. Calmly, he withdrew his sidearm and placed it on the table.

  “What are you doing?” asked Palmer.

  Van der Beek had to hide his incredulity. “The hell does it look like I’m doing? You heard the same brief that I did; no weapons. I don’t want to be that thing’s next target. If the old man says to evacuate, he’s not doing it to yank your chain.”

  “We evacuate when and if Security Director Sloan orders us to evacuate. Not before,” said Palmer coldly.

  He could not believe what he was hearing. “Sloan’s probably busy picking up the pieces of the capture team. You know it as well as I do, Palmer. They’re dead.”

  “That’s “Deputy Security Director Palmer”, soldier, and we don’t know that,” said Palmer.

  “You want to pull rank, sir?” asked Van Der Beek, allowing the contempt to hang in the air as he straightened to his full height.

  “I dunno, sir. Maybe we should just do as he says? I mean, Sloan’s been gone a long time,” said Weaver.

  “We don’t take orders from the Marines,” insisted Palmer.

  Apparently, we don’t use common sense either, Van der Beek thought to himself, and decided he had heard enough. “You okes can do what you want. I’m leaving.”

  “Stay where you are, soldier,” ordered Palmer angrily, but Van der Beek ignored him and continued to head for the door. He heard Palmer bark the order to stop him, but before he could react, he felt something hard hit the back of his neck, and he fell to his knees as his vision went blurry. He looked up to see Parker holding his own sidearm.

  “Jesus, Parker. Don’t kill him,” protested Weaver.

  Parker shrugged. “What should we do with him, boss?”

  “Cuff him,” ordered Palmer. “Take him downstairs, throw him in one of the cells. We’ll see what Director Sloan has to say about “desertion” when he gets back with the capture team.”

  Van der Beek spat as his vision returned to normal, and he felt his cold steel cut into his wrists as his arms were yanked behind him. “Take your hands off me you fokken bilksems,” he swore as he roughly hauled to his feet. He brought a big knee up and caught Weaver in the gut, winding him. He felt bad about hurting the younger man, but he wasn’t about to let himself be taken prisoner without a fight, until the feel of barrel pressed into his back made him freeze.

  “Go on, gimme an excuse,” said Parker. Van der Beek couldn’t see him, but he could have sworn that son of a bitch was smiling. Weaver gave him a hurt look as he straightened. The kid had always looked up to him.

  “Let’s go,” said Weaver, and this time all friendliness was gone. He allowed himself to be led as he silently cursed them every step of the way.

*

  Sanchez had always envisioned the inner workings of Delta Wing as hallways of gleaming, pristine white, illuminated by brilliant bright lights. In reality, he had the feeling of crawling through the bowels of some massive ship or submarine. The red-orange walls were barely lit by the sparse overhead strip lighting, and the air had a sterile, recycled taste to it that was only reinforced by the slightly too-warm temperature. The corridors themselves were a labyrinth, and did not follow any discernible layout that he could make sense of. Not so much as an “Exit” sign. Sloan had not been lying about the security. The doors had looked indestructible, but once inside it was a different story. There were no security cameras, no guards posted, and the internal doors were only the standard office kind. Nothing that would stop even a normal man, much less a yautja.

  The yautja. It was here. It was a chilling thought. He was unarmed, and so was Sloan. Logically, he knew he should be safe. But that was cold comfort. He knew what it was capable of, and after so many decades, the idea of running into one again had him more than a little on edge. His heart was racing, and his palms felt cold, despite being wet with sweat. A flicker caught his attention, and he held his breath, the moment stretching to agonising length, but it was nothing. Just a trick of light and shadow, playing tricks on his eyes, and he slowly exhaled.

  “This is taking too long. We need to get everyone out of here, now,” he whispered.

  “Colonel, Delta doesn’t have an evac procedure,” explained Sloan. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place is set up to keep people in.”

  “So, anything goes wrong, I take it everyone is an “expendable asset”? Typical Wey-Yu.”

  “The security office is just up ahead. Palmer should already have gotten the ball rolling,” said Sloan, ignoring the gibe.

  “Then why haven’t we seen anyone yet?”

  Sloan paused, and a faint glimmer of genuine concern flickered across his face. “Let’s just get to the security office.”

  They reached the office less than a minute later. Aside from the fact that the corridors were deserted, nothing struck him as out of place or unusual. Sloan opened the door without checking, and he followed him inside. It was mostly empty, and mostly unremarkable. It looked like a combination of a control room and a break room, with nothing that stood out as particularly nefarious. Palmer was sat tucked behind a desk in the corner.

  “Sir,” he stood as he greeted Sloan, and gave Sanchez a confused look.

  “Where’s the rest of them?” asked Sloan.

  “There was…an incident,” said Palmer, already sounding unsure.

   Sloan sighed. “We don’t have time for that. What about the evacuation?”

  “We haven’t ordered one, sir. The order came from Colonel Sanchez, not you, and as per Weyland-Yutani’s agreement with the Colonial Marines we-”

  “Enough,” snapped Sloan. “Do you need me to wipe your damn nose, too?” At least he had enough sense not to answer that, Sanchez thought to himself. Sloan shook his head. “Get Yau on the line tell him the order is coming straight from me. Everyone out, now. I don’t care what they’re in the middle of. Get Van Der Beek, Parker, Weaver and have them go room by room, floor by floor. Make sure we get everyone. Morse, you go too. Yau will have to authorise access to the lower levels himself. Once everyone is out, we’re gonna seal this bastard inside.”

  “Sir, Parker and Weaver are currently taking Mister Van Der Beek down to the holding cells,” said Palmer weakly.

  Sloan made no attempt to hide his incredulity. “Well, go and get them then. I need everyone, and when we’re done, you and I are going to have a chat.”

  “Surely you have some way of making public announcements? A fire alarm? Dammit, anything?”

  “You said it yourself, Colonel, we’re expendable,” he said sardonically as he picked up the phone, and Sanchez watched silently as Palmer slinked off. “Doctor, it’s Sloan. We have a problem. I need you to get your people out. Yes, all of them. I said “all of them”. The cat’s out of the bag. We’re on our way,” he said as he slammed down the receiver.

  “We need to hurry,” said Sanchez. Before Sloan could answer there was crash that sounded like the ceiling was coming down on them, even though it did not sound particularly close.

  “What the hell was that?” Sloan exclaimed as both men ran towards the noise. Half a minute later he rounded the corner to see an office door torn from its hinges and outwardly shattered to splinters, a dripping trail of blood leading away and deeper into Delta. Sloan pressed forward and charged through the open door. The man was no coward; he would give him that at least. Sanchez followed, careful not to step in the blood.

  The room was bigger than he expected, and he surmised it must be one of the light labs. A couple of banks of tables covered in machines whose purpose he could not begin to guess at. A dark-haired woman in a white lab coat knelt crying in the corner, murmuring to herself, and lying on the floor, the headless, handless corpse of a man, wearing the same kind of white lab coat. A giant dirty footprint easily visible on his back as the blood still poured from the raggedy stump of his neck.

  “It’s alright, ma’am,” said Sanchez as he knelt next to the woman. “Ma’am, I need you to look at me,” Sanchez reassured her. “You need to head to Director Sloan’s office, the one just outside the main door to Delta. There will be a detachment of Marines there. They’ll look after you.” The woman nodded and allowed herself to be led by the arm as she kept her eyes closed, and Sanchez escorted her to the door. She continued to mutter what he could now make out to be “oh god” over and over. He knew exactly how she felt. Once he had her over the threshold, he let her go, and watched as she unsteadily made her way back the way they had come, before turning his attention back to the body.

  “What a mess,” said Sloan.

  That was an understatement, but there was something about this that wasn’t right. “His hand was cut off. But look at the neck wound, see how rough it is? I think the head was torn off.”

  “Bare hands? Jesus, Colonel, how fucking strong is this thing?”

“Strong. But this is wrong. I knew they were brutal, but this? Something about this just doesn’t add up. This…this is sadistic.”

  “He’s a scientist. I thought you said they only hunt soldiers?” ventured Sloan.

  “I said they only hunt armed targets. I don’t know, there’s scalpels and the like on the table. Maybe he tried to attack it,” but even as he said it, he did not quite believe it.

  “I’m afraid we’ve got another problem,” said Sloan. “The name tag on the coat says “Dr A. Mercer”. I know him. He’s one of the senior researchers. It looks like your yautja has upgraded its access. It also means I don’t have the authority to revoke the credentials. Only Yau can do that now.”

  “Then we need to find him, fast.”

*

  He chaffed against his cuffs as they marched him towards the Level 3 holding cells. The whole thing was ridiculous. He would be out as soon as Sloan got back, and then he and Parker would settle up. But until then, he resolved to stay quiet. A young man in a lab coat hurried past them with a worried expression, but if the other two men noticed it, they did not comment. A few seconds later, a second, older man half-jogged past them with the same worried look. They rounded the corner and he instantly recognised Doctor Challis coming the other way, accompanied by a not-bad-looking young female doctor whose name he didn’t know.

  “Excuse me, doc,” he said as they met in the corridor, and the older man stopped while the young woman hurried ahead. Parker gave him a hard shove in the back, but due to his size he barely moved. “What’s going on?”

  “Everyone is being evacuated. The yautja is heading this way. Doctor Yau ordered everyone out,” explained the doctor as he tried to catch his breath. That meant Sloan was back. The sooner he was out of these cuffs, the better.

  A chilling high-pitched scream reverberated down the hallway and all four men turned to see the young woman running full pelt back towards them and behind her, towering in the doorway, stood a shimmer in the shape of a man, barely visible in the dim light. The doctor took a step back and tripped, falling to the floor. Parker grabbed the running woman and pulled her in front of him, using her as a shield while he aimed his sidearm over her shoulder. The woman screamed, struggling desperately as he closed one arm around her neck. In a movement almost imperceptibly fast, a metallic, disc-shaped object sliced through the air, splitting both Parker and his hostage in half at the midsection before embedding itself in the wall behind them. Parker had just enough time to look surprised as Van Der Beek could only watch as the two halves of both of them collapsed to the floor in a shower of gore. Weaver began shooting wildly, the deafening shots reverberating in the tight confines of the corridor. In the blink of an eye, it closed the distance between them, and grabbing Weaver by the throat, snapped his neck with a seemingly effortless flick of the wrist. Dropping his lifeless body to the floor.

  Van Der Beek stood motionless, arms still cuffed behind his back, and held his gaze at the floor. The briefing repeated in his mind like a mantra. No aggression, no defiance. He could feel more than see the yautja standing only a few feet in front of him. A moment passed, then two. He chanced an upward glance to see it standing right there, looking directly into where he estimated its eyes would be. Bad move. An arm shot out, lightning quick, and grabbed him by the throat, pulling him closer. A grip so strong he thought his neck would snap, just like Weaver’s, and he could feel his feet scraping the floor, despite his two-hundred-and-thirty-pound frame. His heart thumped in his ears and his vision began to darken as he struggled uselessly against his cuffs. It seemed to inspect him, producing a curious clicking purr sound while tilting his head one way, and then the other, its own head a full foot above his, even though he stood a solid six-foot-three. Satisfied, the shimmer shoved him stumbling back five steps, releasing its crushing grip as he coughed and gasped.

  He watched as the shape strode past him towards Challis, still sitting propped up on the floor staring in horror and disbelief, and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. The doctor cried in protest as he was half carried and half dragged down the dark corridor. The creature used its free hand to puncture and then tear open a sliding door at the end of the hallway, and disappeared out of sight, dragging the flailing doctor like a fish on a hook.

*

  Sanchez pushed past another scientist who was hurriedly making for the main exit. Level 2 seemed larger than 1, although he could not be sure. It was hard to get a sense of scale down here, he thought to himself. Warmer, too. Although, the yautja almost certainly had to have come this way. He chose to take the fact that they had not come across any more mangled corpses as a good sign. Sloan had broken into a something of a jog, and although he did not let on, he was feeling every one of his sixty-four years as he kept pace.

  “This is it,” said Sloan, and he had just enough time to read the plaque on the door, “Dr H. Yau”, before Sloan burst through without knocking. Sanchez came in just in time to see him put the phone down. The office was rather spartan. He didn’t know why, but he had always pictured something more “old fashioned”, or ostentatious. Not the cold, bare clinical space that this was.

  “Mr Sloan,” he said without a hint of surprise, although he immediately straightened when he saw Sanchez follow in behind him.

  “How many are still left in the lower levels?” asked Sanchez.

  “Colonel,” he acknowledged with a professional nod. “I’ve been able to contact all of my on-duty staff except for one, Dr Mercer, you haven’t seen him perchance?” asked the doctor. Sloan turned his back, rubbing his jaw, and gave Sanchez a knowing glance as he casually leaned against the wall. Clearly, he was going to let him take this one.

  “He’s dead.” said Sanchez matter-of-factly. “Which means the yautja now has Level 5 access, and we need to shut it down. Now.”

  “I’m sorry, Colonel, come again? How could it possibly know how to access our systems?” asked Yau incredulously.

  “It came here on a spaceship, doc,” quipped Sloan sardonically.

  Yau turned back to him, his face expectant. “This thing is damn smart. We have to assume it knows what it is doing,” confirmed Sanchez.

  He watched closely as the doctor turned pale, the blood draining from his face as realisation dawned. He opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. Covering his mouth with his hand, he slumped into his chair. “Oh my god, no…”

  Sanchez pressed forward, leaning both hands on the desk, and spoke quietly. “Doctor, Sloan tells me you can use your clearance to revoke the credentials. We can trap it on Level 5.”

  “No, we can’t,” said Yau. “We need to get out of here right now, the yautja, if it’s heading for Asset Containment. If it releases the specimens…”

  “Specimens of what?” he asked, losing patience.

  “I can’t revoke the credentials from here. The security systems are partitioned, I can only do that from Level 5,” Yau protested, his usually ice-cold demeanour evaporating. “We don’t have time, we have to leave, right now.”

  “We’re not going anywhere, doctor, until we get everyone out and you answer my question. Specimens of what?” he growled.

  “You don’t understand. We have to abandon the outpost. Nowhere will be safe from them.” Yau was close to outright panicking at this point.

  Sanchez grabbed him by the collar and almost yanked him clear over the desk, his face mere inches from the doctor’s. “Doctor, I’ve had just about enough of Weyland-Yutani’s bullshit to last a lifetime, and I don’t give a damn about “proprietary research”. If the Corps wants my pension after this, they can have it. But if you don’t tell me what I want to know right the hell now, I might get mad.” He gripped the doctor’s collar, squeezing tightly as let his voice drop to a menacing whisper. “Last chance, I won’t ask again. Specimens of what?”

*

  Doctor Challis kicked helplessly as he was dragged along by his collar. He was going to die. He knew it. The yautja had not killed him yet because it was taking him to some secluded spot, where it could dine at its leisure. Like a leopard storing its kill in a tree. He had seen the colonel’s file. Seen the reports. The images of flayed bodies. The severed limbs, the decapitations, the spinal columns torn out, bodies turned into butchered meat. His stomach turned at the thought that it would soon be him. Although terrified, he was not lost, and recognised exactly where he was. The yautja was taking him down to the main Asset Containment loading access corridor, which would dead-end up ahead in a massive, acid-resistant alloy hatch some twenty centimetres thick. It didn’t make sense that it would take him there just to kill him. A glimmer of hope flickered in his mind. He was not armed. He was not a threat. It wouldn’t kill him It needed him for some other purpose, and then it would let him go. Its code of honour would demand it.

  The yautja stopped, and pulled him to his feet before shoving him into the wall so hard he almost lost consciousness as he fought to catch his breath. He stood and stared, squinting in the darkness. There were almost no lights in this area, no one ever came down here, and the hatch itself had been sealed on day one and never opened since. But even still, he could just about make out the shape of the creature. Its cloak was as good as any military stealth tech he had ever heard of, but it was not quite perfect, and he could discern the shape of a man, except it was too tall.

  The shimmer seemed to dial some command on its left arm, followed by an audible beep and the outline materialised into a solid, terrifying figure. He stared in amazement, his scientific curiosity overcoming any fear he had had up until now, at the monster that stood just a few metres away. He had been right about the humanoid part, but the head was too big, and the shape was all wrong. An angular metal mask covered a face that was framed by thick, fleshy appendages that looked reminiscent of dreadlocks. It was even taller than he first thought, and must have been almost seven and a half feet. Its body was athletic but powerful, rippling muscle visible underneath a netting material that covered most of its otherwise exposed sickly pale, mottled greenish coloured skin. Skin that was rough, twisted, tight, until he realised that was only its left side. Extensive burn scars, perhaps. No human could have survived such injuries. Shoulder guards, gauntlets, loincloth and shin guards gave it a vaguely samurai-esque appearance, but the angles and sharp edges made it look far more effective. Far more vicious. There was no mistaking it for anything else. This was a warrior. A predator.

  With clawed fingers, it pulled something from a pouch on its belt, and it struck him as strange that it should be wearing a belt, but then he recognised the small, orange object it was holding. It was an ID card, and the creature pressed it down on the console closest to it.

  “Welcome, Doctor Mercer. Awaiting second authorisation to confirm release of locks,” said an automated female voice. Challis felt his scientific curiosity flee as the creature turned to look at him, almost expectantly.

  “No,” he said, surprising himself with this sudden bout of courage. “No, you have no idea what’s in there. If we open that door…” The creature merely stared at him, its expressionless mask giving nothing away, but a series of quick guttural clicks gave him the impression it was losing patience. “Please, don’t do this,” he pleaded as he took one small step back. Instantly, the creature took one quick, purposeful step towards him, closing the distance between them, and he felt his resolve evaporate. He quickly fished his own ID from his pocket, hands shaking as he pressed his card against the scanner.

  “God forgive me,” he whispered to himself.

  “Welcome, Doctor Challis. Please submit simultaneous palm print and retina scan for verification,” said the automated voice. He could only watch in horror as the creature produced first a human hand, and then the lifeless, severed head of his colleague. The lidless eyes and open mouth frozen in a silent scream, and he felt the warmth running down his leg as he lost control of his bladder. More clicking, and the creature slammed the hand down on the scanner as it held the head up to human eye level. Challis did the same, trying not to blink as the tiny laser read his eye like a barcode.

  “Thank you, Doctor Challis and Doctor Mercer. Automated security locks will be released in sixty seconds. Warning, specimens are classed as “extremely hostile”. All personnel please vacate the area,” said the automated tone. Challis took a step back, and turned to the yautja as it casually dropped the head on the ground and looked at him. But it made no move towards him.

  “Are you letting me go?” he asked sheepishly. The question sounded ridiculous, but if it understood it gave no indication. It just continued to stare at him, still as a statue. He decided that was a “yes”. He bowed, which struck him as equally ridiculous yet oddly appropriate, and began to walk away. After a few steps, he broke into a run. It was letting him go. It only needed him for his access, and now that he had served his purpose, he would be allowed to live. He still had a few seconds to get out, he had time. If he could reach the surface, maybe he could be evacuated.

  A sudden, searing pain cut through his side, and he looked down to see bloody parallel twin blades protruding from his abdomen. The blades withdrew, and he staggered a few more steps before he fell to the floor, clutching at the wound. As a surgeon, he knew the damage was not fatal. The blades were so sharp, the wound so clean. Whether by chance or skill, it had missed his vital organs, and the blood loss was modest. But he would not be able to walk with such an injury. He watched as the yautja backed up and, with a few presses of a dial on its wrist gauntlet, it once again vanished into a barely visible shimmer.

  “You son of a bitch,” he spat defiantly, tasting the blood in his mouth. The creature took a few more steps back, and in the low light he could no longer follow its movements. The purring clicks fading into silence. It was gone. He rolled over to helplessly look back towards the hatch, the yellow klaxons flashing and alarm sounding. A loud hiss pierced the cacophony as the seal was broken, and a warm, damp, sickly-sweet stench wafted over him. The heavy door rumbled as it slowly lifted, the reinforced durasteel groaning under its own massive weight, and in the darkness, he could see them moving. Dozens of them. The yellow light reflecting off carapaces of chitinous chitin.