Alien vs. Predator: Armageddon E-Book

Tim Lebbon

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Rage War
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 408

Beschreibung

Book three in the Rage War trilogy. Having fled centuries before, the Rage return to take revenge and claim the planet for their own. Now through a deal struck with the unlikeliest of allies, the human race may rely on the Predators to ensure mankind's ultimate freedom. Yet even the combined might of the two races may not be enough. The fate of the Earth may rest with a single android—Liliya of the Rage.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

What has Gone Before…

1. Liliya

2. General Mashima

3. Isa Palant

4. General Alexander

5. Gerard Marshall

6. Beatrix Maloney

7. Victims

8. Akoko Halley

9. Beatrix Maloney

10. Major Sergei Budanov

11. Isa Palant

12. Liliya

13. Beatrix Maloney

14. Gerard Marshall

15. Liliya

16. Akoko Halley

17. Gerard Marshall

18. General Paul Bassett

19. Liliya

20. Isa Palant

21. Major Sergei Budanov

22. Beatrix Maloney

23. Akoko Halley

24. Gerard Marshall

25. Beatrix Maloney

26. Isa Palant

27. Liliya

28. Jiango Tann

29. Akoko Halley

30. Liliya

31. Gerard Marshall

32. Survivors

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also Available from Titan Books

DON’T MISS A SINGLE INSTALLMENT OF THE RAGE WAR BY TIM LEBBON:PREDATOR: INCURSIONALIEN: INVASION

READ ALL OF THE EXCITING ALIEN™ NOVELS FROM TITAN BOOKSALIEN™: OUT OF THE SHADOWSALIEN: SEA OF SORROWSALIEN: RIVER OF PAIN

THE OFFICIAL MOVIE NOVELIZATIONS by Alan Dean Foster:ALIENALIENS™ALIEN3

ALIEN: RESURRECTION BY A.C. CRISPIN

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 1BY STEVE AND STEPHANI PERRY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 2BY DAVID BISCHOFF AND ROBERT SHECKLEY

THE COMPLETE ALIENS OMNIBUS, VOLUME 3BY SANDY SCHOFIELD AND S.D. PERRY (DECEMBER 2016)

ALIEN: THE ILLUSTRATED STORYBY ARCHIE GOODWIN AND WALTER SIMONSON

ALSO BY TIM LEBBONCOLDBROOKTHE SILENCE

ALIEN VS. PREDATOR™:ARMAGEDDON

Print edition ISBN: 9781783296194E-book edition ISBN: 9781783296200

Published by Titan BooksA division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

First edition: September 201610 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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This one’s for the NEWTs

WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE…

PREDATOR: INCURSION

When Yautja attacks across the Human Sphere of space grow in frequency, Colonial Marine units are put on high alert. Soon, an invasion is feared.

Meanwhile Liliya—an android—escapes from the Rage. Originally known as the Founders, the Rage are humans who have fled beyond the Human Sphere over the course of centuries. Now led by Beatrix Maloney, they are on their way back, bearing alien-inspired technology and weapons far exceeding in their power those possessed by the Colonial Marines or Weyland-Yutani. Maloney’s aim is the subjugation and control of the Human Sphere.

When Liliya flees, she carries with her a sample of their technology that might help humanity fight back. Maloney sends Alexander, one of her best generals, in pursuit.

Isa Palant is a research scientist fascinated with the Yautja. Slowly learning their language, she is almost killed in a terrorist attack on the base where she is stationed. It’s one of many such attacks instigated by the Rage across the Human Sphere in preparation for their return.

Johnny Mains is leader of an Excursionist unit, a Colonial Marine outfit created to keep watch on a Yautja habitat beyond the Sphere. When someone—or something—attacks the habitat, Mains and his crew crash-land there. What they discover is beyond belief.

The Yautja aren’t invading the Human Sphere. They are fleeing an assault by weaponized Xenomorphs.

This is the army of the Rage.

At the end of Book One:

Isa Palant and Major Akoko Halley, the Colonial Marine sent to rescue her, confront the Yautja elder Kalakta and broker an unsteady peace between humans and Yautja.

Liliya, taken into custody on a Yautja ship and tortured at the hands of the warrior called Hashori, escapes with her captor when the Rage general Alexander closes in and attacks.

Lieutenant Johnny Mains and the surviving member of his crew, Lieder, are trapped on the Yautja habitat UMF 12. They have witnessed and fought the weaponized Xenomorphs, and a Rage general, Patton, is also aboard, seriously injured. Mains and Lieder have uncovered evidence of ancient human colony ships, returning from the dark depths of unexplored space. They theorize that these could be used as birthing grounds for tens of thousands more Xenomorph soldiers.

The Rage are coming…

ALIEN: INVASION

Johnny Mains and Lieder are rescued by another Excursionist unit, and they send a warning into the Human Sphere—someone or something is launching an attack with weaponized Xenomorphs, using ancient Fiennes ships as nurseries. The Rage invasion has begun.

As their forces start taking control of dropholes, their ships penetrate further and further into human space. The attacks are brutal, the Colonial Marine defenders stunned by a series of terrible defeats.

After forging an uneasy alliance with the Yautja, scientist Isa Palant is convalescing… but quickly finds herself drawn into the heart of the conflict.

Jiango and Yvette Tann, seasoned scientists with a grudge against Weyland-Yutani, find themselves hunted by indies—mercenaries hired by the Company. But the Rage War is bigger than all of them, and when Liliya lands on their space station chased by Rage general Alexander, enemies must join forces to protect her.

The Rage are sweeping through the Human Sphere, destroying all forces allied against them. Gerard Marshall, a W-Y Company man, proposes an unthinkable option—shut down all dropholes to avoid the Rage penetrating deeper into the Sphere. This will also isolate billions of humans across the frozen void of space.

It’s a doomsday scenario, but as more time passes, the closer doomsday appears to be.

At the end of Book Two…

Isa Palant and the indies are taken on board a Yautja asteroid habitat, where they can study the captured Rage general together.

Mains and Lieder sacrifice themselves to destroy the Othello, a major blow to Beatrix Maloney and the Rage. But even this might not be enough…

Because Beatrix Maloney now plans to drop directly into Sol System and take the war to humanity’s home.

1

LILIYA

Space Station HellNovember 2692 AD

I can’t run forever.

Liliya sat on the bridge of the Satan’s Savior, the large Yautja known as Hashori standing beside her, while on a holo screen in front of the viewing window she witnessed a space battle. It took place ten billion miles away, but was all because of her.

Alexander is coming for me. He follows, and follows, and always finds me again.

She had fled the Rage ship Macbeth on her own, leaving behind Beatrix Maloney and all her twisted, corrupted aims. Alexander had been sent in pursuit. He and his army had followed her to the edge of the Human Sphere, managing to find her small ship in the infinity of space. After she had submitted herself to the mercy of the Yautja, he had come again.

Being taken by Hashori, travelling through a drophole, even putting light years between them had not shaken him off.

Perhaps now really is the time to stand and fight.

“I need to speak with the Council,” Jiango Tann said. Although not a member of Hell’s governing council, he still had a responsibility to report what he knew.

“But we’ll be ready to leave within the hour!” Captain Ware said. She was the leader of the small indie unit the Tanns had hired to transport Liliya to the nearest Weyland-Yutani representatives. While they were hard and brash, Liliya also sensed that the indies were very professional and good at their chosen careers.

They still did not make her feel safe.

“We can’t leave now,” Liliya said. “If we do, Alexander and his army will simply put a trace on us, and follow. They’re too close for us to outrun them, and even if we could…” She trailed off.

“Even if we could?” Yvette Tann asked.

“I’ve outrun him before,” Liliya said. “He always finds me again.”

Jiango looked her up and down, as if searching for whatever the Rage general might be using to track her through trillions of miles of cold, empty space. But it was nothing visible. She suspected it had something to do with what she had stolen—injecting it into her veins had been the best way to carry the alien-inspired technology away from the Rage. In doing so, perhaps she had doomed herself.

She saw the Tanns’ shoulders drooping as realization hit home.

“Here, then,” Jiango said. “This is the best place to stand and fight.”

“Yes,” Liliya said. “Especially now that the Yautja have arrived.”

“And who’s to say those fuckers are here to help?” one of the crew said. It was Robo, the woman with the mechanical arm.

“Hashori does,” Liliya said.

Robo looked back at the Yautja, dwarfing them all on the ship’s bridge. The mistrust in her eyes was obvious.

“And how do any of us know what that thing really wants?” Robo asked.

The indie was right. The Yautja was unreadable. Liliya had suffered terribly beneath Hashori’s hands, and her android skin still bore scars and wounds from that period of sustained, vicious torture.

Yet Hashori had also saved her, accompanying her to this space station when she knew very well what the reception would be like.

The Yautja watched Robo, eyes narrowed, tusks flexing slightly as she perceived what might be an enemy. She tightened the grip on her battle spear.

“We have to trust it,” Jiango said. “You’ve allowed it onto your ship. Do you really want to pick a fight now?”

“The true fight’s out there,” Liliya said. Her voice was low, but it caught their attention. “The Rage are coming. They’ll be unrelenting, unstoppable, and they perceive me as a threat. Otherwise they’d have never sent Alexander and his army to bring me back. That wasn’t just wounded pride on Maloney’s part. As for the Yautja, they’re here to help. We have to trust that. It won’t be long until Alexander is close enough to launch an attack.”

“So those are your friend’s companions out there, the Yautja, engaging the enemy in battle ten billion miles away?” Ware asked.

Liliya asked Hashori, speaking in her native tongue. They all looked at the Yautja warrior, and she nodded. It seemed like an unfamiliar gesture, her effort to use the most basic form of human communication.

“You’ll be safer on the station,” Jiango said.

“She’s safer on the Satan’s Savior!” Ware said. “Who knows what this Alexander character is going to open up with? One direct hit from a big nuke or particle modulator, and the station’s toast. At least on board with us, you’ll stand a chance of getting away.”

“I need to meet with the Council,” Jiango said again. “Warn them.”

“Then warn them,” Ware said. She nodded toward Liliya. “You told us how precious she is. Seems to me she’s the priority in all of this.”

The priority, Liliya thought. She looked at the Tanns, man and wife, and their pain was obvious—because they knew it was true.

The space station Hell, the place they had called home for so long, might well be doomed, yet it was absolutely essential that Liliya avoid capture.

“Be back before they arrive,” Ware said to Jiango. “Seriously. I won’t wait for you.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Jiango said. He stood, still clasping his wife’s hand.

“Once they attack, there’ll be chaos,” Ware said. She was still watching the battle on the holo screen. Even from this vast distance, their sensors picked up nuclear blooms and dazzling arcs of laser fire. It was difficult to tell who was who—Rage, Yautja, or whoever else might have joined the fight—and impossible to make out any victors. The losers were obvious, however, flowering into brief, dazzling plumes of radioactive gas before fading into the darkness of space. “Confusion. The smoke of battle. That’s when we’ll get away.”

“Running from a fight, boss?” another of the indies asked.

Ware glared at him, then smiled. “Probably toward a bigger one, Millard.”

Probably, Liliya thought. There’s no probably about it.

“I reckon you’ve got an hour,” Yvette Tann said to her husband. “Make it count.”

He kissed her cheek, then looked across the bridge at Liliya. His smile was supposed to convey hope, but she saw only pain. That was her fault. She’d come here and caused all of this.

The true pain hadn’t even begun.

* * *

While Jiango was gone, Liliya watched the battle playing out on the holo screen. Hashori remained standing beside her, and Yvette Tann sat on her other side. The indie crew busied themselves preparing for flight and running diagnostics on their weapon systems.

There was a terrible inevitability to events. While each new explosion or slice of laser fire brought a gasp or comment from one of the crew, Liliya knew what it meant—Alexander was getting closer. Whatever force he had come up against along the way, it would be brushed aside, destroyed, blown to atoms, and then he would storm in closer and bring violence to Hell.

From the bridge’s port window she could see part of the graceful superstructure of Hell and one of its long docking arms, several ships hanging there like seed pods on a giant stalk. There were so many people here, and all of them were in danger because of her.

Despite that, she was firm in the belief that she was doing this to save people. She carried knowledge that might combat the Rage. She already knew from Hashori that the Yautja had suffered great losses, and she and Hashori had witnessed first-hand what had become of one drophole and its attendant control station. Its fate must have been echoed across the Sphere, and perhaps even now she was too late.

In truth, she was not the priority. What she carried was the priority. That was all that mattered.

The traces of distant battle began to fade from the screen, and Ware and her crew seemed suddenly more anxious than ever.

Hashori shifted by her side. “I should be out there in my ship,” she said. Five of her Yautja companions were circling Hell several hundred miles out. Their arrival had probably caused the space station to move to combat status, but their attention was aimed outward, not inward. They were readying themselves for the enemy’s arrival. Fresh from battle, the general and his army would be ready for a fight.

“Thank you for staying with me,” Liliya said.

“What’s happening?” Yvette asked.

“Looks like your husband’s got influence,” Ware said. “Hell’s defenses have all gone hot. Nuke drones have launched, several combat craft are firing up. Couple of ships have done a runner, but the bulk of the station is preparing for an attack.”

“How close are they?” Yvette asked.

“They might be here within an hour,” Ware said. “Computer’s crunching data, should give us some indication of strength.”

“One big ship, with associated attack craft,” Liliya said. “Alexander’s flagship is a construct of the Faze, powerful and fast, built for war. His attack ships will be sleeker than the Yautja craft, and more heavily armed.”

“What’s a Faze?” Yvette asked.

“It’s…” Liliya trailed off. She had no idea how to explain the things they had found on that faraway alien habitat.

“Hubby’s back,” Hoot said. Another of the indie crew, he was a short, solid man oozing danger.

The bridge door whispered open and Jiango entered. Yvette stood, and for a few seconds silence hung heavy as the couple hugged each other. Maybe a part of them had believed they’d never see each other again.

“So?” Ware asked.

“They’ve been watching,” Jiango said. “They’re ready to fight.”

“For me,” Liliya said.

“No,” Jiango said. “For themselves! They’re defending Hell, and I’ve told them we’ll do everything we can to help.”

Ware sighed heavily. “Make up your fucking mind, Pops. You want us to run and save her? Stay behind and fight?”

“I’ve thought of a way we can do both,” Jiango said. He glanced at the holo screen, dark and filled with infinity now that the distant battle was over. Then he looked directly at Hashori, and asked Liliya to translate. “Listen. We don’t have long.”

* * *

When the attack came, it was fast and furious.

General Alexander pulled his main ship out of warp just a million miles from Hell, powering in on sub-warp engines and unleashing a barrage of nukes at the ships circling the station. Seven craft had taken off to defend the large structure.

The nukes carved unseen lines through space and then exploded, glaring in bright, sparkling blooms before fading again. One of them took out a salvage ship too slow to pull away, but the other ships ducked and weaved through the fading glows of destruction.

“Where’re his attack ships?” Liliya asked.

“I’m guessing they’re the main surprise,” Ware said. Jiango had given her the access codes for Hell’s mainframe, providing them a complex, in-depth picture of the assault. She shifted the views visible on the bridge’s three main holo screens, and pointed one of them away into the void behind where the main attack had been centered.

Sure enough, within seconds several sparks of light pulsed, as a slew of small ships dropped out of warp.

“And there they are.”

“Now?” Robo asked.

“Just a few more seconds,” Ware said. “If what the old man said is true…”

“It’s our best bet,” Jiango said.

“He’s not that old!” Yvette said. If it was a brave attempt at humor it fell flat.

“Holy shit, what is that thing?” Millard asked. Alexander’s main attack ship filled one of the smaller holo screens, slowing as it approached Hell, sparkling as it spat countermeasures to lure away the missiles and laser cannon blasts being fired at it. Liliya tried to imagine what it was like, seeing a ship like this for the first time. Vast, glowing a soft pink like the insides of some huge creature, the ship rolled and spun as it came onward, deflecting laser blasts and firing off its own weapons like seeds flung to the night.

“The Faze made that,” Liliya said. She frowned, trying to think of a way to explain so much in so little time. But there was no way, so she left it.

Another defending ship was struck and pulverized to nothing, and then Ware spoke into her throat mike.

“Hell, this is Satan’s Savior, attack ships closing from sector six-six. We’re engaging.”

“What?” Yvette snapped.

Ware did not respond. Her crew didn’t question her statement, and in a matter of seconds they dropped from their docking arm and Hell fell away below and behind them. Ahead seemed to be empty space.

It quickly filled up.

“Hoot?” Ware said.

“Already on it.” The ship shuddered as an array of their weapons opened up. Laser blasts streamed into the night, three nukes burned through the darkness, and a pulsing purple light seemed to sparkle as it zigged and zagged ahead of the ship, like the probing fingers of a blind giant. A nuke exploded as it struck one opponent. Another ship caught fire and started spinning, rolling toward and then over them when Ware shifted their course slightly.

The other ordnance expended itself in empty space.

“Two down,” Hoot said. “The other three craft bypassed us and are closing on Hell.”

“Oh, no,” Jiango said. Liliya saw him and his wife holding hands, and she wished for someone who might give her comfort. She glanced sidelong at Hashori. The Yautja had placed her helmet on her head—it was scarred by ancient battles. She was inscrutable.

“Okay, one more swing around and then we’ll hit it,” Ware said. “Hoot, you ready?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll have maybe three seconds.”

“More than enough.”

“Liliya, you ready?”

“Of course.” She grasped the communicator that had been handed to her earlier. She had no idea what she was going to say. It didn’t really matter.

Ware swung the ship around in a tight arc until Hell became visible in the center of the main holo screen. Liliya was surprised at how far away they’d come. Her heart sank as she saw that the station was already taking hits.

Alexander’s flagship was close, and she could see countless specks flowing from the ship toward the station, like seed pods floating on an invisible wind. Explosions sparked all around as Hell’s defenders struggled to fight off the terrible assault, but they were ineffective. Once the surviving attack ships arrived, the increase in weapons fire was brief and terrible.

“What are they?” Yvette asked. No one responded. Liliya had told them what soldiers Alexander would be bringing with him.

“We should have stayed,” Jiango said. “We could fight them, all of us, every one of us would have made a difference.”

“Only she can make a difference,” Yvette said, but she didn’t look back at Liliya, as if she could hardly face seeing her. Instead she buried her face against her husband’s neck.

“Liliya,” Ware said.

Liliya activated the communicator.

“Alexander,” she said. “You call yourself a general? You’ve lost me again.”

“Okay,” Ware said. She stroked her control panel and Hell slipped down and to the left of the screen, quickly shrinking and then disappearing as their powerful engines pushed them away at a proportion of light speed. The warp drive cycled up but did not yet activate. They had all agreed that they would take any chance they could to halt Alexander’s pursuit, for good.

“We’ve left them to their fate,” Yvette said. “All of them, everyone on Hell.”

“They can fight,” Jiango said.

Liliya thought of saying something, but decided it was best to remain silent. She knew what the inhabitants of Hell would now be facing. She knew that they had no chance at all. Vocalizing that would help no one.

“They’re coming,” Millard said.

“How many?” Ware asked.

“All of them. The big ship and three remaining attack craft.”

“They’ve abandoned their assault,” Hoot said, glancing back at the Tanns as if offering some hope. Then he caught Liliya’s eye and his face fell.

“Hope your friend’s friends are still there,” Ware said.

“They are,” Liliya replied. “Alexander will see them before we do.”

“Good, because he’s closing fast. Millard, keep the warp engines cycling up, and get ready to jump to warp on my signal.”

“We can’t jump until—” Liliya began, but the captain cut in.

“If the Yautja don’t appear in the next six seconds, we’re jumping the fuck away from here.”

A cool silence descended over the bridge, interrupted only by soft warning chimes and buzzes from various instruments, and the distant, constant hum of the Satan’s Savior’s powerful engines.

If we jump, he’ll keep looking until he finds me again, Liliya thought. Hashori’s ship… Hell… how many more people will I doom? In her centuries of existence she had worked hard at being as human as possible, but right then she would have traded humanity for the cool, calm, guilt-free mind of a committed android.

“There!” Hoot said. “There, look, beautiful, beautiful!”

The view behind them was projected onto the main holo screen, and they all gasped at what came next.

Alexander’s pursuing flagship was suddenly set aflame by a dozen explosions, each one of them throwing out spears of light which seemed to curve around and punch into the ship again, and again. The explosions pulsed, flare after flare crawling across and around the vessel. The attack ships with it were destroyed, as well, and then flashing across the screen they saw the brief, wonderful trace of a Yautja ship.

Uncloaked, fully weaponized, it and its four companions swung around to unleash another volley against the Rage vessel.

“Direct hit!” Millard shouted.

“Don’t celebrate just yet,” Liliya said.

“The Yautja triumph,” Hashori said in her own tongue, and Liliya did not reply.

Perhaps, she thought. Maybe we really have beaten him at last.

Born from the conflagration that Alexander’s ship had become, a laser speared out and one of the Yautja craft disintegrated into nothing.

A gasp went around the bridge.

“Nothing could have survived that,” Hoot said.

The Yautja attacked again, nukes and eon pulses brighter than any sun pounding into the spinning ball of flame and destruction, explosions bursting out, glaring, blooming large on the screen.

No more responding fire blasted outward, and eventually the flames and glow began to recede. They left behind a shattered, floating remnant. The corpse of Alexander’s ship spun slowly, parts of it peeling off, some wreckage moving with it.

“Done,” Ware said. “Rather them than me.” She glanced over her shoulder at Hashori and nodded. The warrior did not acknowledge the gesture.

“Hell,” Jiango said.

“You know we can’t go back,” Yvette said. “Whatever’s happening on Hell, it’s their story now. We can’t risk Liliya, not after all this.”

Liliya heard the conversation but did not respond. She was concentrating on the wreckage of Alexander’s ship. The Yautja circled it, and two of their ships edged closer. Perhaps they sought a trophy of their kill. The huge ruined vessel still glowed from nuclear fires burning within, and she tried to grasp onto the knowledge that she was finally free.

Maloney, I have escaped you at last, she thought. She only wished she could have sent the idea as a transmission, directly into that madwoman’s head.

2

GENERAL MASHIMA

Various Dropholes—Gamma Quadrant,November 2692 AD

Before the start of each day, General Mashima took time to kneel and worship his god.

In his cabin on board the Aaron-Percival, he first took a silent moment to prepare himself for the transmission. Never a vain android, still he always insisted on ensuring that he was presentable, before his messages were sent back to Mistress Maloney. He was alive because of her, after all. He existed because she had allowed that existence, and deemed it necessary. She was the nearest thing he had to a mother, and if a mother could not be thought of as a god, then what could?

His cabin was small and sparse. It contained a comfortable chair, a comms point, and a full-length mirror on one wall. Mashima never slept, but from time to time he spent periods in his chair, contemplating his mission and ensuring that everything was going according to plan.

Now he stood before the mirror and checked his appearance.

His uniform was smooth and sharp, perfectly fitted and immaculately cut. His face was unblemished and plain. Mashima recognized himself in the mirror, but he was also aware that the face could have belonged to anyone. It was a functional visage, with little character.

I provide the character, Mashima thought. He smiled. The creases across his cheeks looked like deep cuts in his skin.

He had been in existence for almost fifty years. His birthing was clouded in his memory banks, a period of time when his physical self was settling and being serviced, and his mind was uploaded and expanded by Maloney and her Rage scientists. There was no one time that he could recall as his first memory, but rather a growing awareness that had expanded into everything he was to become.

In those cloudy, then clearing visions, Beatrix Maloney was always there.

He and his android companions—some of them generals, others lesser creations that were used around Macbeth or in some of its escorting attack craft—were all given choice and the ability to grow, and all of them regarded Maloney as their one and true superior. Mashima didn’t know whether that was a programming function created by an insecure leader, or a natural conclusion of their free will.

If the former, then that same programming would never yield the truth. So he assumed the latter.

His greatest wish was to serve Maloney and the Rage to his best ability, or die in the attempt. Little else mattered. The Rage’s aims were his own, although they were of secondary importance to pleasing and obeying his mistress.

Mashima had been sent on a mission of great importance, and every moment of his existence was spent preparing for its success.

He signaled the bridge and spoke to their communications officer.

“Jacobs, I’m ready to compose.”

“Thank you, General. Systems online, ready now.”

Alone in his cabin, Mashima stood before the comms point and recorded a situation update.

“Mistress Maloney, I’m pleased to tell you that our progress is good,” he said. “Seven days after leaving you, we passed through drophole Gamma 123. It had already been taken by General Rommel, so our passage was unhindered. Sixteen days after that, we approached Gamma 114. This drophole was controlled from a nearby moon and guarded by a contingent of Colonial Marines. I sent three of my six attack ships to neutralize the marines guarding the hole, while I took the Aaron-Percival into orbit about the moon.

“Resistance was heavy, but no match for our soldiers. We lost more than a hundred Xenomorphs, but no ships and no Rage personnel. Success was complete. We dropped a day later, and currently we are approaching Gamma 98. Sensors indicate that it’s controlled from an orbiting station and also guarded by independent military contractors. With no Colonial Marines present, the engagement might take on a new, interesting perspective. I’m looking forward to another fight, and fully expect success within the next two hours.

“At current progress I anticipate two more drops and arrival at Weaver’s World within eighteen days. Then my true mission will begin. We are preparing for our arrival, and following our taking of Gamma 98 I’ll conduct a full inspection of troop preparation.

“For the glory of the Rage, I serve you, Mistress.” He paused, feeling the need to express some deeper form of love and devotion. But he knew that Mistress Maloney would not wish that. She’d see it as weakness in his android psyche. Duty and dedication to the mission were enough. Instead, he deactivated the recording device before saying, “My heart and soul to you, Mistress.”

Mashima’s room fell silent. A green glow from the comms point indicated that his message had been stored, and he knew that Jacobs would be preparing it for a sub-space transmission.

“Send it immediately,” he said.

“Yes, General.”

“And have Kilmister meet me on the bridge.”

“He’s already here.”

“Good. I’m on my way.”

Mashima disconnected the comms, checked himself one more time in the mirror, and then left his small, empty room.

It was time for another fight.

* * *

Kilmister was waiting for him on the large bridge. Several other shipborn Rage members were settled in front of the range of control points, although the Aaron-Percival essentially flew itself.

Jacobs kept track of comms between the ship and the six attack craft that accompanied it, and other persons assessed ship systems, navigation, and troop and weapons readiness. There really was little for them all to do. The Faze had taken this centuries-old human Fiennes ship and adjusted and adapted, reworked and rebuilt, forging it into an advanced weapon of war.

No one who had originally built or flown the craft would recognize it now. On the outside, functional sleekness had given way to strange shapes and protrusions that lent it the impression of being grown, rather than built. On the inside, most control systems had been removed or upgraded, and its warp drive and fuel systems were beyond Mashima’s understanding.

He didn’t need to understand. Self-maintaining, self-repairing, the ship was almost a living thing, and they were its passengers.

“General,” Kilmister said, nodding. He was another shipborn, but older than most, approaching a century and as eager for war as ever. Scarred and marked by various combats down through the decades, Kilmister was the Rage’s greatest human commander. Being human, he wasn’t graced with an android’s capability of controlling the Xenomorph army they carried in the Aaron-Percival’s vast holds. Instead he was a pilot, and commander of the six attack craft all flying within a thousand miles of Mashima’s flagship.

“Captain. Are all preparations in place?”

“Of course. I’m ready to give the order, on your command. Gamma 98 doesn’t appear to have noticed our approach. By the time they do the station’s defenses will be out of action, and you can land your troops.”

Mashima nodded and looked around the bridge.

“General…” Kilmister said, trailing off.

“Captain? If there’s something on your mind, you should speak it.”

“I’d like to lead the attack.”

Mashima raised an eyebrow. “Of course you would.” He smiled. “And of course, you should.”

Kilmister nodded once. “Thank you.”

“Make me proud, Captain.”

Kilmister hurried from the bridge, and Mashima took his place on the large circular platform at its center. From there he could see everything—the entire bridge, an array of viewing screens, and broadcast views from each of the six attack craft. A few minutes after Kilmister departed the bridge, three attack ships peeled off and accelerated away, skipping through skeins of hyperspace and disappearing from view.

* * *

Fifty minutes later the screens brightened again, and a magnified image brought drophole Gamma 98 in close. The familiar circle of the hole’s material construct caught starlight and set it aflame, and a hundred miles away the orbiting space station—its point of control, and their target for the day—came alive. Several small, sleek craft launched from its docking bays, and a larger battleship parted from the base and began deploying an array of advanced weaponry.

It must have been ready for an attack. A number of dropholes had already been taken by the Rage, and before that there had been sporadic attacks from Yautja elements fleeing the Rage’s approach to the Human Sphere. Kilmister and his pilots were prepared for some resistance, but there was no way of knowing just how fierce it would be.

Just for a moment, Mashima was worried.

The battle was brief, fierce, and confused. Views from each of the Rage attack ships danced and swung, stars smearing across the screens as explosions burst into brief, dazzling suns. Laser fire mirrored the star effect. Shuddering impacts blurred the images.

Mashima stood and squeezed the handrail that circled his observation platform. The threat of failure—the mere idea of it—rarely touched his mind, and perhaps blind confidence was one of his faults. But in his years serving the Rage, failure had never been considered a possibility. He believed that made him strong. Perhaps in truth it made him naive.

The view from one of the Rage attack ships brightened momentarily, holo screen crackling with the power of its illumination. Then it went blank, and the screen folded away.

“Is that a ship lost?” Mashima asked. No one on the bridge responded. They were checking, and it took a few moments for Jacobs to confirm ship-to-ship communications.

“One ship down,” he confirmed. “General, there are Yautja ships defending that space station, as well as mercenaries.”

“Yautja?” That didn’t worry him, because they’d confronted and defeated Yautja elements several times over the past few decades. But it did surprise him.

The space station suddenly grew huge on one of the screens as Kilmister took his ship in close. A barrage of laser fire took out a docking arm, the sudden explosion and decompression setting the station into a complex spin.

The battle continued. Data streams ran above Jacobs’ control point, but Mashima kept his eyes on the displays, frank and honest representations of the confusion and chaos of battle.

The large enemy battleship took a direct hit from a Rage eon blast, its superstructure immediately beginning to melt and flow as its subatomic structure was disrupted. The effect’s spread was immediate and unstoppable. Some of its ordnance must have been detonated as a last-ditch attempt to take out more enemies, but it only resulted in a spectacular, almost beautiful blast that expanded over a dozen miles, bright yellow and white at its center, red and purple further out, like a rapidly developing bruise on the canvas of infinity.

Mashima’s concern bled away after that, and for the rest of the battle he enjoyed watching the consummate skill and effectiveness of the Rage pilots, ships, and advanced weaponry.

It took fifteen minutes.

“Station is secure,” Kilmister said from his remote position. “All mobile defenses destroyed, station’s weapon arrays out of action. Sensors indicate over a hundred survivors on board. I’m about to match the station’s spin, and then land troops.”

“Good work, Captain,” Mashima said. “Send those troops immediately. We don’t want the drophole damaged in any way, or deactivated.”

This was the moment Mashima had been waiting for. The moment when he watched his children work.

They floated through space. Fired by brief pulses of air that pushed them from the attack craft, more than a hundred Xenomorphs drifted quickly between the ships and the space station, unfurling themselves as soon as they landed, skittering across the surface, seeking entry. Some of them crept in through the destroyed portions of the docking arm and various blasted weapons arrays, while others sought hatches and windows and forced entry that way.

In several places trapped bubbles of atmosphere burst outward as seals were broken, and here and there struggling humans were visible as they were pushed away from the structure.

Even with the thousands of miles between them, Mashima could feel each and every Xenomorph linked to him, sense their fury and excitement, and he channeled his feelings to instruct and encourage them all. They knew their mission—to board the vessel, hunt, and kill. As he closed his eyes and allowed his senses to join more fully with their own, the scope of his surroundings began to fade, and his awareness opened up. Hot and cold no longer registered, movement and stillness became facets of the same state of being. He was no longer simply a faux human.

He was Xenomorph.

The slaughter ended quickly. Once they penetrated the station, there was little resistance. Most people on board had already died due to explosive decompression, and those who had managed to slip on suits were quickly overcome by the Xenomorph hordes. Suits were torn and tattered, oxygen escaping in clouds of diamond-ice. Blood sprayed, freezing into dark globes in the airless confines. Soon, the only living things left on the station were those deadly Rage soldiers.

“The station is secure,” Kilmister said.

“Yes,” Mashima said. “I know. We’ll be there imminently. Withdraw the troops, take a defensive orbit.” He drew back into himself and initiated an open channel. “All crews, prepare for a drop within the next fifteen hours.”

Mashima looked around the bridge, pleased at another successful engagement. The loss of an attack ship was troubling, especially as they still had another drop to make after this one, and then the approach to Weaver’s World might be heavily defended.

“General Mashima to Berlioz,” he said. “I’m coming down to the birthing hold.”

“Of course, General,” the woman responded. Behind her soft voice he heard the sounds of soldiers being born.

Screams. Cracking, tearing. A cry.

Sometimes, Mashima needed nothing more than to welcome a new group of offspring into existence.

* * *

Berlioz met him in the entrance area leading to the birthing hold. This was one of three massive holds on board the Aaron-Percival, each of them filled with thousands of humans who had been kept in cryo-sleep for centuries. Their story was an incredible one and, if Mashima had been prone to periods of introspection, probably a sad one, too. However, although he could understand the tragedy in their fate, any sense of sadness was smothered beneath the glory of what they were enabling, what their sleeping bodies were hosting, and what they birthed.

These bodies had been sealed within cryo-pods many centuries before anyone now alive was born—even Mistress Maloney, ancient though she was in human terms. Without them, the Rage could not fulfil their destiny.

Sent out from home to inhabit the stars, these explorers were returning to Earth with death nestled beneath their ribs, among their organs. Glorious, wondrous death.

“General, I hear we’re another step closer,” Berlioz said. A strange woman, more comfortable alone with her sleeping charges than with anyone else. Mashima found communicating with her awkward. He’d once asked Jacobs whether it was because he was an android, and the response had surprised him—a laugh, and then an admission that she was like this with everyone.

“She’s less human than you, General.”

“We’re dropping soon,” Mashima said. “I just came to look.”

“To look,” Berlioz said. Her constant, cool smile twitched just a little.

“Things are going well?” he asked.

“Very well,” she said. “Better than… ever.”

An awkward silence. Then Mashima said, “I’d like to see.”

“Of course!” Berlioz stood aside from the doorway and gestured for him to enter, glancing away as her smile dropped. Mashima understood. It was obvious. These holds were Berlioz’s domain, and anyone else paying a visit was an intruder. Even him.

“I never dreamed it could be so wonderful,” she said. “I never expected to be birthing so many at once and… it’s glorious. I haven’t slept for three days. There’s so much to do!”

Mashima stepped onto a floating platform that stood beside the door and urged it aloft. Berlioz stepped on with him, and when they were drifting closer to the ceiling than the floor, he looked out on her work. She was right. There was so much being done.

Their impending assault on Weaver’s World would require every Xenomorph they could birth, and Berlioz was taking her task seriously. The hold had become a production line of birth and death, and until the start of this mission Mashima had never before witnessed it happening on such a scale.

To his left were the hosts, row upon row of pale, slick humans, naked and still gleaming with cryo-gel. Their pods were kept in one of the adjacent holds. When the occupants were removed, they were sent through on a suspension field, bobbing softly as they nudged against the pile of sleepers that lay ahead of them. All were still in cryo-sleep, though some were shifting slowly, limbs flexing, stomachs sucked in as their organs regained function and their brains slowly, slowly began to rise from the deepest, longest slumber any of them had ever experienced.

Few of them were given the chance to wake fully.

While in their pods, they had each been impregnated with a Xenomorph embryo. Now those were waking, too.

Below and in front of where Mashima and Berlioz hovered lay the birthing zone. It was a wide area cleared long ago when the ship first was captured and its sleeping denizens harvested, its basement structures readjusted and molded by the Faze. As the pre-programmed suspension field drew individual sleepers into the space, hovering robot drones directed subtle charges down into their chest cavities. Each gentle hiss galvanized the sleepers closer to full wakefulness and, more importantly, urged the creatures they carried out toward the air, and the light.

Nine times out of ten, the birthing happened before the host was truly awake.

Just occasionally, some of them opened their eyes.

Mashima watched as several Xenomorphs were born each minute. The withered human bodies shook and shivered as ribs were smashed from the inside, chests stretching and then ripping open, bloody flowers splattering across the red-soaked floor. Some of them groaned, and one or two of them screamed before dying. The sound was a constant background symphony to the wonderful moment of birth.

Sighing, groaning, cracking, ripping, screaming, gasping, dying… and then the gentle squeals of the newborn, given to the world at last.

Mashima felt their arrival. Already impregnated with the controlling nanotechnology that linked every one of these Xenomorphs to him, they came into the world his servants, his soldiers. Some of them even seemed to turn his way as if sensing him, and perhaps that was the case.

“My children,” he whispered, and he was not shocked when Berlioz echoed that sentiment.

The Xenomorph young were gathered by a larger floating drone and transported across the hold to the raising pens that lay beyond, hidden away in those dark, damp places where the beasts would rapidly grow to their full forms. These individual, bubble-shaped spaces were designed to grow with their occupants, constantly providing nutrients. Once they reached their full size, the Xenomorphs would receive the branding on their exoskeleton that marked them as belonging to him.

“How many so far?” he asked.

“Since leaving the Macbeth, I have birthed almost seven thousand,” Berlioz said.

“Yes,” Mashima said. “I feel the power of them. Strong. Healthy.”

“Of course they are,” she said. “I look after them, and feed them well.”

Mashima could hear the food being made. After birthing, the dead humans were flushed down through vents in the floor and into great mixing vats below. There, grinders and then blenders did their work, crushing and mixing the remains into a stew that was supplemented with vitamins and then pumped through to the raising pens. Nothing was wasted.

“I want four thousand more by the time we arrive,” Mashima said.

“General, I intend to complete all birthing within the next fifteen days.”

Mashima raised an eyebrow.

“Another twelve thousand,” she added. “An army sixteen thousand strong.”

“All under my command,” Mashima said. He closed his eyes and briefly considered the future, waves of Xenomorphs flowing across the surface of Weaver’s World and killing anything, everything in their path.

It was glorious.

It was red.

3

ISA PALANT

Gamma QuadrantDecember 2692 AD

The most surprising thing about the Yautja asteroid base was that so much of it was familiar.

We always believed they used other alien tech to create and expand their own, Isa Palant thought. This pretty much proves us right. Within the asteroid, with the massive landing bay doors closed, they could have been inside any large Colonial Marine base. Carved out of the body of the asteroid, the cavern was huge. Lighting systems hung from ceilings and walls, as well as monitoring equipment and grappling arms, and several ships were moored at various points around the large space.

This was where the similarity to a Marine base ended, because these were so obviously Yautja ships. While no two were exactly alike, there were common features and designs with which Isa had become more au fait over the years—the deep gray coloring, sleek, fish-like designs to aid cloaking, weapon blisters on the ships’ hull instead of inside, always ready to be deployed.

There were databases in Weyland-Yutani quantum folds where any known examples of Yautja vessels were recorded and stored, from the basic appearance of those imaged from afar, to composite makeup and the macro and micro features of those few that had been captured or partly destroyed. Isa had never trusted the Company record to be complete, or fully open to outside inquiry, so years ago she had started her own fold.

Her fascination lay with their biology, society, and language, but these were inextricably bound to their technical and martial aspects. She suspected that she carried more Yautja information in her private quantum fold than anyone else in the Human Sphere.

If she so wished, she knew that fold could be expanded hugely in the coming days.

“Fuck me,” Bestwick said.

“All things considered, I’d really rather not,” Sprenkel responded.

“Yeah. I’m out of your league.”

“Look over there,” Huyck said. He was still in the Pixie’s pilot’s seat, but their ship had been surrounded by a suspension field, and they were slowly being drawn toward one edge of the large cavern.

“Welcoming committee,” Huyck said. “Don’t like that, boss. Not one bit.”

“I think it’s too late to think about what we like,” Major Akoko Halley said.

Palant’s stomach performed somersaults while the gravity fluctuated. The Pixie’s artificial gravity had been slowly reduced on their approach to the asteroid, on the assumption that a body so large—forty miles across at its widest point—would maintain some degree of pull.