UNTESTED (2025*)
In a back corner of the murky gloom inside, a not-raptor silhouette stood up and looked around. Its large chrome eyes shimmered in the dark. Moss saw the movement, but the glare on his face shield obscured whatever was in there. He stepped back. The creature stepped into the center of the bullet riddled compartment. A hundred laser beams striking its sleek black hide. It paused, disinterested by the searing UV rays or the armored figure standing just outside the gaping hole. It was unimpressed by the uncertain hero, having reasons for being there of its own. And he was not one of them.
Anything born of M6-117 would have realized the creature did not belong there any more than the creature outside did. Two outsiders had come to skower the wreckage for survivors. But for very different reasons.
The beast surveyed the compartment, sniffed the dry air as if catching the hint of a scent, and darted away with its thick, scaly tail trailing behind it. It made no noise as it sped through the jagged interior with the efficiency of a cheetah racing across an open savanna.
It was obvious, whatever this unusual creature was, it was no ordinary bio-raptor. Unlike the slimy, grey-skinned quadrupeds of M6-117, this creature was a lean, jet black biped, both sinewy and powerful. It had not evolved here and did not belong here.
The newcomer stood upright on tall muscular legs with thick bony horns protruding from its meaty black calves. Its three-toed feet ended in long curved talons that clicked the ground. Thick fibrous heels jutted downward beneath its powerful ankles, appearing as though it wore oversized stilettos. Its long, slender upper body curved sensually upward, exposing its smooth feminine contours. In the subdued light, it could have passed for a human from the waist up. But it was not human. It stood well over 7 feet tall. Its willowy arms were long, too long, and they ended in massive six fingered hands better suited for life on a giant king crab. Two articulating blades protruded from just above its spiky elbows like retracting short swords concealed in deep grooves running along the backs of its upper arms. A powerful gator-like tail wrapped around a slender waist looking like a razor, macabre chainsaw belt. The jagged weapon ended with a barbed gaff hook. Every part of the creature's body screamed man-made bio-weapon. This creature was no product of evolution. It was a well crafted killing machine incorporating some of the galaxy's most savage beasts.
As the creature made its way through the chaotic debris, it kept to the edges of the pitch black rooms. It took great care to conceal its presence as it searched the massive ship with the grace and poise of a prima ballerina who had practiced each step to absolute perfection. Only when it was certain nothing sensed its presence did it continue its relentless search. The brute feared nothing in its path. It sniffed the dank air with utter contempt, catching the scent it came for and, in an instant, vanished without a trace, the target located. It was on the hunt.
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Dahl crouched in absolute darkness, peeking out from behind a collapsed mound of broken furniture and overturned filing cabinets. The compartment must have housed an office of some kind. But now, it was an eerie tangle of twisted steel.
Earlier, Dahl had crept through a handful of compartments like a mouse evading an alley cat. But that had all ended when a wounded raptor blocked her path. Journey done, almost before it had begun.
The injured raptor had cried out in pain before she stumbled over it, giving it the opportunity to take a chunk out, or worse.
Dahl held Lockspur's combat knife at the ready, the way he had taught her. Ready to lunge, ready to parry. She looked at and stifled a hopeless laugh. The idea of hand to hand combat with a raptor was beyond ridiculous. It was sheer lunacy. Even more absurd was the idea of hiding in the dark from sightless creatures that could see her better than she could see them in broad daylight. Christ, this is never gonna work, she thought, wanting to turn back. But knowing if she did, Lockspur would succumb to his injuries. If he hadn't already. Stop thinking that way, she told herself. Or he will die.
The creature screamed in agony and flailed its massive limbs. And a teetering desk at the top of the heap almost toppled over on top of Dahl. She jumped back, terrified the noise the creature was making would draw more raptors. She needed to move forward or fall back. Staying in one place could get her killed.
Dahl moved to the edge of the pile again, squatted low, and listened for the telltale sounds of approaching raptors. No sounds came to her ears. She drew in closer to the pile. She could not use the darkness for cover, but she could gather herself into the smallest target possible and use the clogged terrain to cloak her presence. Maybe the raptors wouldn't notice me hunkered down amid the rubble? She laughed. Right, she thought. And maybe they won't smell the sweat pouring off me, either.
She stared back in the direction she had just come, reminding herself there must be an exit up ahead like the one she used to enter this section. She needed to gain her bearings. But in this living nightmare, up was down and right was left and the ceiling was on the floor. And worst of all, nothing further than 20 feet was visible. A raptor could stand on one side of a compartment and her on the other and she wouldn't see it.
Looking around in a dizzying swirl of repeating circles, she forced her eyelids open as far as possible. No good, dammit. The added light from the grainy green screens an inch in front of her eyes refused to reveal their secrets. Lockspur was right. Our equipment is cheap shit.
The vessel's structure lay upside down. Its dark, cramped passages played tricks on her faltering sense of direction. In a near fit of panic, Dahl almost ran back to Lockspur and told him there was no way out. But if she did that, she knew neither of them would get out. She sat with her back to the pile of rubble for what seemed like hours, staring back in Lockspur's direction. It was a few minutes. Unsteady, rasping breaths came from the other side of the pile and the coppery stench if death filled the air. Die already, she thought.
The idea of which way to go or how Dahl could get Lockspur out, even if she could find her way out, eluded her. And worsening her growing sense of disorientation was the groans of the settling ship as it sank. In the fear laden darkness, it sounded as if phantom creaks and groans were circling her like a flock of sightless vultures, waiting for the chance to feast. And the oppressive murk gripping her was maddening. It drew clean tracks down her dirty face. God, she hated crying. Get up, dammit. Do something. You can't just sit here. Carlos needs you.
The demoralizing darkness beyond the limits of Dahl's less than exemplary eyewear made the compartment compress in and coil around her like a giant snake. The endless twisting corridors and confined rooms, some open, some closed, all dangerous, fueled her sense of being watched by something hurt and hungry. And here she was, a few short feet away from this unknown breathing in the dark, and she froze. Was it actually hurt or was it just playing with its food? She was too afraid to go forward and too afraid to go back. Darkness and uncertainty trapped her. And all the while, a friend lay dying in the dark.
Tinny, echoing voices murmured around Dahl. Someone's out there. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Dahl's clammy hands, wet with uncertainty, fumbled with the knife. The idea of dropping it and listening to its revealing echoes as it slid across the floor made her pale face flush with nervous energy. "Get your shit together," the voice in her mind said in an audible whisper. She forced herself up onto her knees.
Dahl's shallow breathing came fast. Too fast. She was hyperventilating. Wiping the precious moisture off her face with a trembling hand, she smelled herself and grimaced. "Great," she whispered. "I'm going to die because I didn't put on enough deodorant," she said, giving no thought to the idea that a strange fresh scent wouldn't be an equal attractor.
The raptor thrashed in the darkness, and Dahl jumped back, falling on her ass. It heard her gasping for air. She considered retreating, but knew the added noise could draw other raptors to her. If she was vulnerable, so was Lockspur. If the creature was laying in wait, would it find Carlos after it finishes with Dahl?
Dahl took a restorative breath and calmed her mind. Almost immediately, her staccato heartbeat slowed. Blood returned to her tingling fingertips, and the dizziness circling her head ebbed away. Evasion, she reasoned, my only hope is evasion. She had to get around the creature at any cost. But how can I get Lockspur past these creatures? They're everywhere.
Dahl might as well be dragging a dump truck through the ship. Every creature would hear them and all they had to defend themselves would be a combat knife and a half-empty box of matches. She gripped the knife, realizing Lockspur had given her his only means of defense. She looked at the combat knife and admonished herself for feeling weak. "Stupid bitch. Everyone's going to die because you're a scared little girl. Now, get your ass up and do something."
Dahl searched the high pile of rubble, located an overturned metal table with its twisted legs jutting upward like a dead cockroach laying on its back. She gripped the only straight leg left and tried spinning it free without making a sound. She gripped it with all her might, blood rushing out of her slender fingers as she fought to spin the stubborn leg free of the tabletop. Nothing happened. She released, shook blood into her hands and tried again. It would not come free. Dahl adjusted her stance. Squatting lower and twisted with every bit of her might. The leg rotated a quarter turn with a shrill squeak that echoed around the room. She twisted again. The bolt sheered off, and she watched the long metal table slide off the pile, eyes growing wider as it picked up speed. Crash! It struck the floor, dragging a cascade of falling debris along with it in a cascade of clanging metal that reminded her of someone ringing a dinner bell. The high pile fell away and the creature on the other side turned to her and screamed. There would be no hiding now. It knew right where she was.
She squatted low, holding the leg out like an insane batter waiting for a fastball. But the raptor did not attack. It flopped back on its side, too weak to move. Another salty tear trickled down her dirty red cheek. She took a slow, deep, calming breath, and thought, at least now I have a club. It's not much, but it's better than a short knife.
Dahl squatted in the dark, leaning against an overturned filing cabinet. At least, nothing can come up behind me, she thought, and laughed. She clutched the metal leg to her chest and waited for the creature to make the next move. It had to know she was there. It saw her. After a century of blaring seconds passed, another deep rasping cry tore through the eerie silence echoing throughout the fallen wreckage. Other raptors screamed back in response this time. Dahl had to move. They were coming.
A few moments passed, and the agonized roar came again. Only this time, the breathing sounded like gurgling blood. The animal was bleeding out. Choking to death in its own juices. She remembered something Johns had told her about wounded animals and knew; it was more dangerous now. She had to wait or get around it without letting it reach her. But this time, luck was not on her side. The exit hatch was right above the creature. Now that the pile had fallen, she could see the hatch. Gotta go, she thought. She could hear something drawing closer. But beca6 of the echoes, she couldn't tell which way the sound was coming from. Now that the alarm had sounded, it was only a matter of time before something big and hungry came to investigate. I have to get Carlos out before that happens.
To Dahl's great relief, after 10 minutes, nothing investigated the bawling animal's final death screams. The other raptors in earshot were busy feeding on the dead or had already fed to their bellies' content. Either way, the animal hadn't made a sound in a while. Maybe it died, or maybe it's waiting for me to come out. Either way, it's time to go.
Dahl had made her way out of the first few rooms before realizing the creatures were everywhere. Shit luck right from the start, she thought. She picked up a chunk of debris and threw it at the raptor. Ot bounced away. The creature did not cry out; it did not move.
During the fall, the enormous aft section corkscrewed sideways, landing on its roof. And what had once been the ceiling had become the floor. If that were not bad enough, everything not bolted down had flown everywhere. Many of the remaining staircases were running upside-down from ceiling to floor, looking like a play yard jungle gym. Those that were not upside down lay flat on the floor. Either way, they were useless. Floor to ceiling, the upside down lights, snaking pipes and fragile drop ceiling panels- none of which were made to walk on. In the oppressive darkness, Dahl could tell up from down, let alone forward from the back. Dahl fumbled through a city sized ship with no idea where she was or where she was going.
Dahl leaned out, peered around the tiny cabinet and saw the creature laying directly beneath the upside down stairwell. She was sure it was dead, but that elation faded, over-shadowed by the thought of what lay in wait in the next compartments. Just great, she thought. That stairwell leads down into the lower decks… she oriented herself the best she could and thought, no. that hatch leads up into the lower decks. That's the way out.
Dahl didn't know which section she was in or even how many sections there were. She would have to crawl up to the hatch using the hanging handrails like monkey bars and swing into the next level through the hatch high above, and do so without making no noise. Sure, she thought, like that's gonna happen. The idea of how Dahl could get Lockspur up there struck her hard, but that was a problem for later. For now, she needed to make sure she knew the way out before she went back for Lockspur. If she could find him again. A thought crossed her mind, sitting there in the dark, knowing his fate rested in her hands. Maybe being a mission commander isn't all it's cracked up to be?
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Moss crept inside the giant hole in the aft section, booted up the subsystems in his stealth suit and watched the pop-up screens fire up one by one. He wasn't sure the suit would boot up, let alone survive the next few minutes. So, when the main screen filled his heads up display, and the suit disappeared in the darkness, he smiled. The vivid display in his helmet reconstructed the toppled contents of the compartment with an eerie, unsettling greenish detail. Unlike Dahl, Moss could see well in the dark. But even though his vision was far better than his comrades, it was still experimental and, therefore, subject to Murphy's law. The suit's internal components and the entire electrical system were untested. He wouldn't give it more than a 50/50 chance of surviving a complete systems failure. That would suck, he thought, wishing he had been more diligent about testing the suit's sustainability.
The ebony energy absorbent material coating his armor cloaked Moss from most forms of detection. Echolocation being one of them. But even though the raptors couldn't see him in the armor. They could still hear his foot falls bumping around and dragging himself through the overhead hatches. The untested suit was cumbersome in ways Moss hadn't expected. He was going to going haul an 80 pound suit through countless overhead hatches. It was going to take far more effort to move around than he expected. After a few minutes, he was already feeling the cramping strain on his weary back and trembling limbs. Over packed, he thought. To make the dire situation worse, the helmet restricted his field of vision to 35 yards. Peripheral vision was non-existent. Anything coming up on his flanks would be on him before he knew it was there. Need to make a mental note of that. Add right/left pop-up screens into the HUD display.
Moss heaved the suit through the congested compartment slower than he'd like. He wanted to reach his comrades before anything else did, but racing through the darkness meant creating a lot of unwanted noise. A mistake that he was certain could get him killed.
In here, he thought, I'm the hunted.
Moss circumnavigated the room in a non-linear dance, evading tight spots where large pieces of equipment had landed side-by-side and tiptoed through areas where loose debris spread across the floor like a minefield. His speed was frustratingly slow at best. He stopped frequently to examine each room before entering to make sure it was empty.
Heading towards an upside down hatch in the far corner, Moss found it hanging open. He stopped, starred for a long moment and thought, could be good,; could be bad. At least I don't have to spin the hatch lever and make more noise. Everytime Moss did. The sound of the clanking, grinding tumblers echoed throughout the silent tomb, calling to anything in earshot.
Something roared on the other side of the hatch and Moss heard his good fortune fade to black. A 600 pound raptor crammed its meaty head through the crack in the hatch and fell out in his path. He was helpless to go forward and retreating in a suit with low to no visibility could, and most likely would, attract unwanted attention. So Moss did the only thing he could. He froze, listening to the sounds of his own breathing and waiting for the creature's next move. Time to test the suit, he thought, praying it wouldn't see him.
The massive raptor stood in front of the open hatch, 20 feet away, surveying the empty compartment as wave after wave of echolocation pulses mapped the room. It saw everything. The raptor sensed trouble.
Moss did, too.
As the raptor scanned the compartment swaying side to side, it kept pausing on the unusual void in the center of the room. An area of absolute nothingness. It teetered from side to side, sending out crashing waves, trying to focus on the void. But nothing came back. It took a half step back, snorted the air for a foreign scent and waited.
Mexican stand off, Moss thought.
It dropped its muzzle low, sniffed the stall air and caught the scent of shin-high raptor guts on Moss' boots. Enticed by the potential of an easy meal, it stepped further into the crowded room.
Moss stood his ground, praying it couldn't see him, but sure it had seen something. The suit doesn't work. It sees me. But he couldn't take the chance. Turning away was a death sentence. The suit was too heavy for a quick retreat. He would have to stand and fight.
The creature stepped forward. He was in its path, and it soon became obvious. It sensed something in front of it. If the raptor advanced any further, Moss would open fire. He saw the remaining few moments of his life flash before his eyes. The creature was enormous. Maybe he could kill it, maybe he couldn't. He didn't know. And even if he got lucky enough to kill it, how long would it take before others heard the gunfire and come running? Reloading, he thought. Shit. I never considered reloading.
The creature took three quick steps forward, stopping in front of the void. It sniffed the air. Drool dripped from its gaping mouth. Moss almost fell over backwards, but kept himself both quiet and upright. The potent stench of warm urine filled his suit. He stifled his gasping breath. Terror gripped his cramping guts. Moss believed the creature could hear him shaking in his suit. Its slimy nose and dripping fangs were less than 2 feet from the end of his shortened barrel. His gloved finger tickled the trigger. He was ready to fire. He hoped a single slug at this range could blow its brains out, but if it didn't, he had another 30 rounds to get its attention. Dammit, I should carry the shotgun.
A trickle of salty sweat ran down Moss' forehead, rolled onto the bridge of his nose and then rolled down towards the tip. It stopped, hanging on the end, tickling his nose, and filling with an overwhelming urge to sneeze. He fought off the urge to wipe his nose. The bead swayed and sagged as another bead began the same journey. His eyes widened. He believed the creature was close enough to hear the tiny drip fall. Adrenaline and terror washed his common sense away. His fingertip tightened on the trigger. Then, a monstrous scream came from behind the hatch again..
The creature turned its head back and roared.
His hand convulsed, but the weapon did not fire. Luckily, in the heat of the moment, he had left the safety on. The creature glared over its shoulder; and in that glorious moment of opportunity, Moss backed away 3 steps, one slow step at a time. Silence fell again, and the raptor turned back to the void. But the void had moved. The creature growled deep in its throat, dropped its head low, scratched at the ground and prepared to charge. Moss clicked off the safety.
A second shrill and high-pitched scream emanated from the adjacent compartment. It sounded almost human. Dahl, he thought, wanting to surge forward. But even in the protective suit, the scream had made Moss's eardrums vibrate. The sound bore through his skull, right into the depths of his brain. The large raptor reared up on its hind legs, kicking its feet and lunged forward. Moss fell back, narrowly avoiding its giant claws. The beast spun its massive torso around, landed on all four, taking off at full gallop and the ground quaked beneath its bounding weight. The mammoth lunged straight at the open hatch, jammed itself through the opening, and disappeared into the darkness beyond.
Moss drew in a ragged gasp of relief. He tried to move. Now was his chance. But fear and fatigue had rooted his feet to the floor. His strength failed him. Fear filled him. He could not move, no matter how much he tried. He stood there wild-eyed, clinging to his rifle with a death grip.
Sounds of a vicious fight burst through the open hatch. Crashing blows and tearing flesh filled the hot air and then, seconds later, an eerie silence filled the darkness. Whatever great battle had happened in the next compartment, it ended quickly. Blood spilled. The victor crowned. A champion fed. "What could be worse than a 600 pound raptor?" Moss asked himself, breath coming in short gulping gasps. He'd been holding his breath and now the lack of oxygen played with his mind. His hands shook. He clumsily increased his O2 percentage. His ragged breathing calmed slightly. He thought, this can't get any worse.
He was wrong.
Something blacker than the surrounding darkness slid in through the open hatch. It dragged the raptor's carcass in its coiled tail. It stood up just inside the doorway and a single, horrifying thought filled Moss' mind.
Xenomorph.
The creature held its ground, staring directly at him and Moss knew, even in the stealth armor, whatever this thing was, it could see him as clearly as if he were under a noon-day sun. There would be no chance of hiding from this titan.
Unbeknownst to Moss, the barrel of his trembling rifle had risen to meet the dark threat. The creature looked at it, and for a quick moment, Moss thought it smiled, unimpressed by his paltry show of power. He lifted the weapon to his shoulder, and the creature hurled the lifeless carcass into the air, using nothing but the power of its tail. The dead raptor cartwheeled like a rag doll in a stiff breeze. It crashed down with an enormous splattering thud and flopped to a slimy stop at Moss' feet. He leapt out of the way, ending up on his hands and knees with his face shield inches away from the dead raptor's caved in skull. Its lolling tongue hung from the corner of its massive mouth as a syrupy black goo pooled on the floor. The creature had killed it with a single, vicious blow to the forehead.
Moss struggled to his feet, backing away, desperately trying to draw down on his target. But it was not good. The creature had already reeled around, torn a 4 foot long steel brace off the wall and hurled the jagged hunk of steel like a knife spinning end-over-end. He jumped out of the way, crashing down onto his side, knocking the wind out of himself. He lay there disoriented, out of breath as his rifle hit the floor hard and clattered away beneath a piece of equipment, never to be seen again. Unarmed and out of breath, he was at the mercy of the creature.
A split second later, a ton of dead weight crashed down on top of Moss, pinning him to the floor. He fought his way out from beneath the slimy convulsing creature, crab walking backwards until he ended up in a sitting position 10 feet away. A second larger raptor lay on the ground, twitching like a headless chicken. It spewed blood from a gushing chest wound, where the steel brace punched straight through its body.
Moss turned to the open hatch, gasping for air, sweat pouring down his face, expecting the worst. But his would-be savior had already fled the area; gone as quickly as it arrived.
"Shit," he blurted, with an open-mouthed expression of shock. "Did it just save me?"
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The scream from the next compartment roused Lockspur from his slumber. He was suffering the ill-effects of many fatal injuries. He knew he was dying. And he was pretty sure so did Dahl. Shock had dulled his sharp whits. But the much needed sleep had improved his pain level. He wouldn't let himself die in agony. He grabbed at his equipment harness, searching for the combat knife he always carried. Wrapped in the confusion of darkness and shock, he forgot he gave it away. Something not raptor was out there in the darkness, and he needed to free himself before it found Dahl. I need to get to her. I need to warn her. Even in near death, his first thought was for another.
Lockspur jammed the tip of free fingers into the compacted dirt just beneath his pinned arm, and something whipped across his face. It was the lanyard strap attached to his harness. He pulled it off, wrapped it around his arm, and wove it into a clumsy knot. Taking a deep breath, he used his teeth and free hand to cinch it. He cried out in pain and dug at the soil, peeling off two fingernails. The pain was hot and bright and brought tears to his eyes. But he did not relent. The soil beneath his throbbing forearm loosened, filling him with a searing pain that drew out another stifled scream. Blood flow returned to the crushed limb and with it came the protests of an angry, reawakening nervous system. He knew there was no saving the dead limb. It had gone too long without oxygen. But it could still hemorrhage blood. And he'd already lost a lot of blood. Too much blood. He tightened the strap more, crying out again, and redoubled his efforts to free himself. The crippling pain filled him with electrified pins and needles. If by some miracle he survived this lunacy, he could get a cybernetic implant when he got home. He heaved with all his might, tearing the useless appendage free. It hung limp in the stomach. Pain fueled adrenaline flooded his body, giving him the much needed clarity to go on.
Lockspur forced himself into a seated position. He was exhausted and spent. The black void threatened to take him down again. But something familiar jabbed him in the thigh. Dahl's glasses, he thought, fumbling to pull the corkscrewed frames from beneath him. The frames were bent and one lense tipped sideways. The collapse hadn't destroyed the glasses. He straightened the frame, taking great care not to break them, and then slid them onto his face. The degraded images they provided were grainy and cut in and out, but the green, murky images gave him a chance he hadn't had minutes earlier. He could make out his surroundings. Anything further than 10 feet ahead became nothing more than a hodge-podge of firefly static. And the images rotated tilted 45° to the right every few minutes. But they worked well enough to allow him to stagger through the compartments, and for that much, he was grateful.
Lockspur hugged his misfiring appendage to his chest and furious fire ripped through his guts when his mindless arm struck the shrapnel in his stomach. He dragged himself along, oblivious to the noise filling the compartment. Delirium filled his addled mind with a steady stream of familiar voices and faces. None of whom were there.. Every movement brought about an aching, crippling pain that screamed for him to stop, to give up. To let go. He was off balance and the strange green terrain skewed away before him. Can't stand, he thought. But at least I'm still alive. Still up; still moving. "Got to keep moving," He said, dragging himself in the direction Dahl had gone. Towards the area where he was certain, he heard a woman's scream.