Alien: Lineage

With burning muscles that hadn't been exercised in over a decade, Jones finally reached the corporate headquarters of the colony - a large, two-story structure with a jutting control tower that overlooked a landing pad. When he approached the door, he found that it was torn from its frame, so he proceeded more warily.

The lobby of the building was a graveyard. There must have been a dozen Marines and Wey-Yu security personnel lying all over the room - slumped against the front desk and piled on the floor. The bodies were in an advanced state of decay, but it was plain to see that some of them had been dismembered, with severed limbs and the dark remnants of long-dried blood splatter visible in places. There were bullet holes everywhere, as though a frenzied firefight had taken place here, and there was even a pair of automated sentry guns sitting atop the front desk. They were aimed at the door, as though the defenders had been trying to hold off an attack.

As he made his way deeper into the dark, dusty room, his flashlight beam reflected off something else. He recoiled, bumping into Horatio, his eyes scanning the bizarre sight as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

Lying slumped on the floor was a creature, maybe seven feet tall, its body coated in a glistening carapace that more resembled hard plastic than anything living. It was humanoid, with arms and legs where they should have been, but that was about where the similarities ended. That tough, black carapace enclosed it like the shell of an insect, but it had a skeletal appearance, with visible ribs enclosing the torso. Between the bony structures were cable-like veins and wiry sinew, its inky flesh indistinguishable from its armor in color. From its back jutted large prongs that almost resembled exhausts, and from the base of its spine emerged a long, segmented tail with a point like the tip of a spear. Worst of all was its head - a grotesquely elongated, eyeless structure, carnivore teeth that gleamed like polished metal shining between its jaws.

Its body was pocked with bullet holes, the acidic blood that had spilled from them eating into the deck while leaving its carapace undamaged. It wasn't the only one - there must have been just as many dead xenomorphs as people, their dark coloration making them much harder to spot in the gloom.

Xenomorph - species XX-121. Seeing one of the damned creatures had sparked a memory. These were the drones that had created the hive and had brought those poor colonists to serve as living incubators for their offspring. This was what had attacked the colony, not pirates or a rival corp. Images flashed in his mind of the tall aliens floating in specimen tanks, cut open on a dissection table, acid-proof tools slicing into their still-warm innards.

"It appears that the infestation is worse than I assumed," Horatio said, casually stepping over a Marine who had been run through with a tail spike. "The communications equipment is on the top level."

Jones followed behind the android, his head swimming with newly recovered memories. It was all coming back to him now. Wey-Yu had found these things on some far-off planet where they had wiped out an entire colony. The corp had recovered intact specimens, and they had set up shop on this backwater to avoid prying eyes, studying the things for both military and industrial applications. Jones had studied them. What hubris could have overcome him to make him think that something like this could be controlled and contained? It seemed insane to him now, but had he ever protested or voiced his concerns? He couldn't remember...

They navigated around more bodies on the stairs. This must have been where the last survivors had staged their final stand. Who knew how long they had held out before finally being overrun by the swarm. If what he remembered about the species' life cycle was accurate, each dead drone represented one colonist used as a host. The gestation period was only six to twelve hours, but with at least a couple of hundred colonists on site, they could have been reproducing for a while.

He remembered the figure that he had seen on top of the prefab. Drones could enter a state of hibernation for prolonged periods of time, so they might not be gone. At least one of them was awake and running around, potentially acting as a scout for the rest.

"We need to do this quickly and then hunker down," Jones began, entering the control tower behind Horatio. "I believe I saw a drone on a roof while we were on our way here. It could take weeks or even months for rescue to arrive, and we need to avoid alerting the hive to our presence for as long as possible."

"I am glad that your prognosis is improving, Doctor," Horatio replied. "You are beginning to remember."

The android approached a bank of consoles situated beneath a large, slanting window that looked out over the landing pad, Jones moving over to take a look outside. Sheets of rain lashed against the glass, and below, he could see the round pad surrounded by cargo equipment and refueling vehicles. To his dismay, there was no idle ship waiting there for him, but he hadn't been all that hopeful.

Horatio began to type at a keyboard with his intact hand, a bank of flickering monitors flaring to life one by one, the whir of electronics filling the room as his fingers danced with inhuman speed. It seemed that everything was still receiving power from the plant, or perhaps their backups had not yet been wholly drained. Lines of bright green text began to scroll faster than Jones could follow, the glow reflecting off his visor.

"It appears that the colony's power delivery system has been heavily corroded by the planet's harsh conditions," the synth began. "Without regular maintenance, many sectors have been severed from the grid."

"Can you gain access to the comms?" Jones pressed, glancing around warily. Every second they stayed here was another second a drone might find them.

"Attempting now," Horatio replied, his unblinking eyes fixed on the monitors. "The wireless transmitters were damaged by the frequent storms. I am downloading the latest Weyland-Yutani directives and access codes. Diagnostic readouts for the main satellite dish seem favorable."

"Good, maybe we can use that to send a distress call," Jones added. "It was probably too damned big to be very susceptible to the elements."

Horatio stopped suddenly, standing up straight. The android turned to face Jones, framed by the green glow of the console, his expressionless face still coated in streaks of grime.

"What's wrong?" Jones asked, his brow furrowing.

"My sincerest apologies, Doctor, but the most recent communique from Weyland-Yutani corporate headquarters was quite specific. The situation in the colony is to be contained by any means necessary, and anyone possessing knowledge of the company's operations here is to be terminated."

"Terminated like...fired?" Jones asked, feeling a pit form in his stomach as he took a couple of steps back.

"I'm afraid n-n-n-not," Horatio explained with an erratic twitch of his head. "If you will allow me to carry out my directives unimpeded, I assure you that your termination will be quite painless."

Jones bolted, adrenaline driving him onward as he made for the stairs, leaping down the steps two or three at a time. He could hear the android's heavy footfalls behind him, but while Jones wasn't in peak physical condition, time had been even less kind to the synth. All he could do was try to outrun him.

Jones' boot caught on a corpse that was lying halfway down the stairs, sending him careening down the last couple of feet. He hit the deck hard, the impact knocking the air out of his lungs, his weakened body reeling from the blow. Struggling to his feet, he turned his head to see Horatio approaching, the android lurching down the steps like some kind of zombie. The tattered state of his clothes and the streaks of wet dirt that covered his ghostly face only furthered that comparison.

"Doctor Jones, I really must i-i-i-i-insist that you follow corporate d-d-directives," the synth stuttered as he sent the dead body rolling down the steps. There was a puff of unspeakable dust and debris as the desiccated husk hit the floor not far from Jones, its skull breaking away to roll over to his side, the terrified scientist following it with wide eyes.

He was running again by the time Horatio reached the bottom, gasping for air as he raced for the lobby. Dodging around the bodies of Marines and xenomorphs, he made it to the door, the cold wind and pouring rain greeting him. The mud slowed him, making him slip and stumble, but he made it to the cover of the derelict truck. Jones could feel the frigid metal through his suit as he put his back to it, taking a moment to catch his breath, his legs aching with the effort of running. With the rain, he couldn't hear Horatio anymore, so he dared to peek out around the dirt-streaked cab.

The synth had stopped at the metal steps that led to the door, turning his head with a jerky, unnatural motion as he scanned the area. His glowing eyes flicked downward, finding Jones' footprints in the mud, the android lurching into motion again.

"Fuck, fuck!" Jones hissed into his helmet. He might be faster than the damaged synth, but he was already out of stamina, his freezer-burned body failing him. That thing would run him down relentlessly like a wolf following an injured deer until it collapsed. The android couldn't get tired, and he couldn't be reasoned with. Jones certainly had no way of destroying him. Maybe he should have tried to pick up one of the pulse rifles in the lobby, but there was no guarantee they would work after twelve years of neglect - and that was if he even knew how to use one.

He had to keep moving.

Jones spied the glow of another prefab that had power, figuring that it was as good a direction to move in as any. He began to wade through the mud, following the golden light that spilled out through its windows like a ship at sea guided by the beam of a lighthouse. Somehow, to his frantic mind, it promised warmth and safety.

Horatio wasn't far behind, Jones turning to see the synth round the cab of the truck, those eerie eyes fixed on him. The wet ground was slowing the heavy android, his shoes sinking up to the shin, forcing him to lift them higher with each step. It was enough to give Jones a head start, and he pushed his failing body further, surging adrenaline keeping him upright.

He made it to the building, his muddy boots slipping on the metal steps, his gloves gripping a wet railing for purchase. The door was already cracked ajar, light spilling through the gap, Jones faltering in his panic as he reached it. Collecting himself, he jammed his fingers between the door and the frame, pulling it wider. Every second wasted was one that brought Horatio closer, and he turned his head again to see the android stalking towards him, already halfway between the truck and the prefab.

With a bellow of desperation, Jones managed to widen the gap, turning sideways to slide through. He almost fell as he emerged into a room that was still illuminated by a few dusty halogen strips, finding himself in what must have once been a restaurant - he could see a few tables and chairs scattered around. It had succumbed to water damage, and it was in a similar state of decay as the rest of the colony. There were two sets of swinging doors at the back of the room, potentially leading to kitchens or storerooms.

He picked himself up and made for the nearest one, pushing through into a smaller space lined with shelves that were filled with old produce. Taking a moment to turn off his flashlight, he took cover behind a large freezer, silently wishing that the doors would stop their swinging.

"Doctor Jones?"

Horatio was inside, the synth's absurdly calm voice echoing over to Jones' hiding place.

"Really, Doctor, I would have expected someone with your exemplary evaluation record to be more c-c-cooperative. Our directives were quite clear."

Jones could hear the android's heavy footfalls over the sound of the rain, a chair leg screeching across the floor as Horatio pushed it aside, beginning his meticulous search. Would he spot Jones' muddy footprints? He tried to hold his breath, the sound of his own panting filling his helmet, but he was as exhausted as he was terrified.

"I really must insist that you reveal yourself, Doctor."

The footsteps grew closer, then the swinging doors were pushed aside, Jones dropping into cover behind his freezer as the android appeared in the doorway. Through the shelves, he could just about see the synth looking around the dingy room, scanning for his quarry with a very deliberate motion that resembled that of a security camera. He was holding the doors open with his arms as he stood between them, blocking the only exit.

"I'm afraid that I must report your lack of adherence to company policy, and I regret to inform you that it will tarnish your otherwise e-e-e-exemplary record."

Jones could do nothing but cower and wait to be discovered. There was nothing that he could use to defend himself, and there was no other way out of the room. His goose was cooked. The memory of Horatio crushing that parasite with such ease flashed through Jones' mind, and he wondered whether that would be his fate, too. Would the synth crush his windpipe like someone crumpling a discarded soda can?

With a sickening, wet crunch, something bulged from the android's chest. White, milky fluid splattered the nearby shelves, more of it seeping from Horatio's mouth as he glanced down to see a long blade protruding from his torso. Something had run him through with the force of a medieval jouster, inches of the pointed implement jutting from his tattered uniform, its coating of synthetic fluids making it glisten in the dim light.

The android was ripped off his feet, pulled back through the opening like a fish yanked from a pond on a line, leaving the doors swinging. Jones listened, his breath catching in his throat as he heard the sound of a scuffle, heavy footfalls and the clashing of chairs being tossed around painting a mental image of what might be happening beyond his view. There was a sound of squealing servos and tearing fabric, then an ominous gurgling, followed by a feral hiss that sent a chill down Jones' spine. He knew that sound - he had heard it before. It was the furious snarl of a drone.

Jones sank back behind the freezer, covering his helmet with his hands and closing his eyes, praying that he wouldn't be found. He was out of the frying pan and squarely into the fire.

After a minute more, the sound abated, as though whatever bout the two monsters had been having had concluded. Still, Jones didn't dare move for what must have been half an hour, eventually building enough courage to slink out from his hiding place. He crept through the storeroom, painfully aware of how his suit rustled and his rubber boots squeaked, trying to make as little noise as possible.

There was a trail of white fluid leading through the doors, and he pushed one of them open just enough to get a peek through to the other side. The restaurant was even more of a wreck, most of the chairs pushed to the walls during the scuffle, several of the tables upturned. Horatio had been practically disassembled. Pieces of the android were scattered around the restaurant, an arm here and a leg there, his bodily fluids coating the room like splatters of white paint. It was on the furniture, the walls, even the ceiling. The xenomorph had torn him apart like he had been made of tissue paper.

As Jones crept out of the storeroom, wary of any sign of the creature, he spotted what remained of Horatio's head and torso lying on the floor in a pool of milky fluid. To his horror, the android's eyes were still open and tracking him. Horatio opened his mouth and tried to speak, but the slash that had very nearly severed his head must have destroyed whatever he used for vocal cords, and all that came out was a gush of liquid.

Jones hurried past him, pausing by the exit to check that there was nothing waiting in ambush. He couldn't even feel relieved that Horatio had been incapacitated - not with something arguably worse now on the hunt. Perhaps the drone didn't even know that he was there, drawn instead by the android's loud and clumsy pursuit.

Leaving the grisly scene behind, he slipped out of the restaurant, heading back in the direction of the company store that he had passed earlier. After a few minutes of wading through mud and frantically checking the rooftops for signs of the drone, he made it inside, collapsing beside a shelf stocked with prepackaged food.

Jones took a while to relax and catch his breath, going over what he had just been witness to. The bastards at Wey-Yu had written off the colony, along with everyone in it, and they didn't want news of what had happened getting off-world. Even if he managed to send a distress signal from the control tower, there was no guarantee that anyone would come to help him. They might just ignore him and leave him for the bugs, or worse, they might send in another security team to make sure that he couldn't air any of the corp's dirty laundry.

So, what were his options? His immediate needs of power and food were met, but he couldn't call for help, and he couldn't stay in the colony with xenomorphs on the loose. Could this be why he had entered stasis in the first place? Had he seen this inevitable outcome looming on the horizon and taken steps to preserve his own life? It had worked - he was the longest surviving colonist - but to what end? All he had done was delay that inevitability.

He reached for a food packet from the nearest shelf, peeling open a protein bar and opening his visor to take a bite. The chase and exertion had left him famished, and he was about ready to keel over. He needed sleep - real sleep, not the kind induced by a pod. Once he had eaten enough assorted snack items to settle his growling stomach, he headed deeper into the building, finding a moldy couch in a back room that would serve as a bed.

CHAPTER 3: CHIMERA

Jones awoke feeling no better than when he had fallen asleep. He struggled out of the uncomfortable, decaying couch, stretching his stiff limbs. After rummaging around for a while, he found a shopping bag with a strap that he could sling over his shoulder, and he spent a little time filling it with supplies from the store shelves. Wherever he decided to go next, he would need food, and the less time he spent outside, the better.

He had gone over his options, and he figured the only place he could really head next was the reactor building. If he was going to be stuck in the colony for an extended period of time, then he needed to make sure that he wasn't sitting on top of a potential meltdown. Horatio had reactivated the computers in the control tower before going rogue, and that was still Jones' only route off-world. It would take some careful planning, but he might be able to engineer a scenario where he could observe a landing ship and stay hidden if its crew were suspicious, assuming that anyone even responded...

One problem at a time.

He set off into the muddy street, heading in the direction of the monolithic cooling tower, guided by its flashing warning lights. It was still raining - it never seemed to stop - and the sky was still choked with dark clouds. Jones kept one eye on the rooftops at all times, knowing that if the xenomorph caught him out in the open, he would stand no chance of escape. They were as fast as cheetahs and far more vicious - he remembered that much.

On his way past the headquarters building, he dipped inside to see if he could find any working pulse rifles. The readouts on their little ammo counters were all dark, even when he discovered the power switch, which meant that their batteries were drained. Few of them had any ammunition left - it had seemingly all been expended during the firefight. Jones didn't know enough about the firearms to clean or maintain them anyway.