Alien Page 8

  Which were all back on the Torrens.

  Turning a corner, she found herself at some kind of lockup—a cage door protecting a room full of shelves.

  And a dead body on the floor.

  At the sight of the human form, lying in a substantial pool of blood, the meager contents of her stomach threatened to move up into her throat. She swallowed them back down, leaving a burning sensation around her vocal cords.

  “What the fuck happened here?”

  She wished then that they had armed themselves before leaving the Torrens. They had assumed that whatever had happened to the station, it had been a natural disaster of some sort. Amanda had been so focused on her personal mission that she hadn’t thought to question it. She no longer had any faith in that assessment.

  Then she caught sight of what the dead body was gripping in his right hand: a Weinshelbaum K92 maintenance jack. One of the finest multitools on the market, that would be incredibly useful. Certainly more so than anything else she had on her, which was nothing.

  While the cage was locked, she saw a maintenance hatch to the left and, if she remembered correctly, she could get into the lockup from there. She located the button that would release the hatch, and miraculously it slid open. Dropping down onto all fours, she crawled into the maintenance tunnel, turned left, and found another hatch that led right into the cage.

  Clambering to her feet, she checked the boxes on the shelves, discovering that they all were code locked. Looking down, she saw a flashlight on the deck. Picking it up, she tested the switch only to find that it—surprise!—wasn’t working. She tried smacking it on the side—having learned early in her nascent career that percussive maintenance could be very effective—but the flashlight refused to cooperate.

  Dropping it, she looked down at the body, peering closely to see any details in the gloom. It was a man, wearing a blue jumpsuit which had been torn at the stomach. That appeared to be where all the blood had come from. Holding her breath and trying not to be ill, she pulled the Weinshelbaum from the corpse’s grip.

  “Sorry,” she said as she wiped the blood off the tool and onto the leg of her jumpsuit, “but I need this more than you right now.” Rising, glad to be away from the body, she moved to the door and found that it could be opened from the inside, so she went back out into the corridor.

  Working her way through the corridor, past several signs advertising Seegson products and Seegson properties, she came to a giant set of double doors that had been sealed shut with a red brace. She recognized it at a glance—it was an old Bludeau X13. Nobody used the X13s anymore because they were too easy to bypass.

  In fact, Amanda thought, with the first smile she’d been able to muster since waking up on the Torrens, the best way to do it is with a Weinshelbaum. The K99 would be best, but I think I can jimmy it with this K92.

  Before she could wield the tool, however, she felt the slight pressure of a cool metal cylinder on the back of her skull. Her heart beat faster in her chest as she heard the distinctive click of the safety being released on a pistol. A whispery voice came from behind her.

  “Stay still.”

  9

  SOLOMONS HABITATION SPIRE, SEVASTOPOL STATION

  DECEMBER 2137

  “Okay!” Amanda swallowed and tried to keep her breathing under control as she felt the cold metal against her head. “No problem. I’m not moving.”

  Her assailant yanked the K92 out of her hand.

  “Turn around.”

  Make up your mind, asshole, Amanda thought, but she refrained from saying it out loud. One of the first lessons life with her stepfather had taught her was not to antagonize people who wanted to hurt you, especially when they had the means to do so.

  She turned and saw a bald man in an orange jacket with a stylized “W” over the heart. Under it, he wore a green undershirt, and there were dog tags around his neck. Was he military? A contractor? The weapon he was holding was a Jacobs 1070 revolver. It was a retro design that was very popular, looking very much like an old-fashioned “Saturday Night Special.” Zula had mentioned that it was popular as a backup weapon among some of her fellow Marines.

  “I’m Ripley,” she said, hoping it would lead to him being forthcoming.

  “Where’d you come from, Ripley?”

  Or not. “Off-station. A ship.”

  “There’s no ships here,” the man said, his voice rising. “You’re lying!”

  “There is now—we just arrived.”

  The bald man then laughed in a manner that reminded Amanda far too much of Dad when he was seriously drunk. As he spoke, he kept moving back and forth, glancing furtively around the corridor, but never taking his eye—or the revolver—off Amanda for very long.

  “Well, that’s good news,” he said, “’cause things are not so good here.”

  “I saw the explosion,” Amanda said neutrally.

  “Oh, trust me, Ripley, that’s the least of the problems here.” He stopped and stared. “There’s something on this station, something you won’t fucking believe.”

  Mostly, Amanda couldn’t believe that the station was such an unholy mess, but if there was something responsible, she wanted to know what it was. When the man refused to speak further, she prompted him.

  “Like what?”

  “A killer!” He leaned in toward her, and she could smell his rancid breath.

  “Okay.” That didn’t really tell her much that was useful, and the dead guy from whom she took the K92 kind of indicated a killer anyhow. She decided to try a different tack. “What’s your name?”

  The man blinked, seeming surprised at the question. “Axel,” he said.

  She rewarded this gesture of trust with one of her own, hoping it would get him to lower the pistol. “I was boarding with two—two colleagues EVA. We got separated by that blast. Can you help me find them?”

  “Why?”

  Amanda shrugged. “’Cause you know your way around—”

  Axel waved the K92 back and forth. “No, no, I mean why? What’s in it for me?”

  “A place on the ship—our ship.” She had absolutely no authority to make this offer, but Axel didn’t need to know that. “It’s a transport, the Torrens, M-class, in good shape. Can take you wherever you want to go.”

  Frowning, Axel asked, “How do I know I can trust you?”

  Again Amanda shrugged. “You’ve got the gun. I need to find comms and contact the ship, see what happened to my comrades.” She stopped, waiting to see where he’d take it from there.

  For several seconds Axel stared at her, unblinking. Amanda wondered if he’d pull the trigger—no matter where he stood or how he moved, the muzzle of the weapon was always pointing somewhere on Amanda’s person. Then, at last, he lowered the revolver, and held out the K92.

  “This is your lucky day.”

  She took hold of the tool, but at first he didn’t let go of it. She just stared at him, and he smiled—but it was a predator’s smile. Amanda yanked the tool from him, and he let go. Then he put the safety back on the Jacobs, placing it in the pocket of his orange jacket.

  “Let’s go, sweetheart,” he said. She bristled as he moved down the opposite corridor, back the way Amanda had come. “Seegson comms is in the SysTech spire. It’s quite a distance, but we can get a transit through the freight area.”

  Not having read the briefing material—and having left it behind on the Torrens—Amanda had no idea which of the three spires he was talking about, though based on the way Axel was speaking, it wasn’t the one they were in. She followed until he stopped abruptly, turned, and pointed a finger at her.

  “But watch yourself! We can get into all sorts of trouble there, okay?”

  She nodded, and that seemed to satisfy him. They took off again at a forced walk, then arrived at another door that was sealed with an X13.

  “You know how to use that thing?” Axel asked, nodding toward the Weinshelbaum.

  Amanda just rolled her eyes and flipped open the tiny hatc
h. She used one end of the K92 to undo the seal, and within seconds the X13 was off and the hatch opened. They stepped through, Axel in the lead, and it looked as if they were in some kind of elevator hub. The corridor was even darker than the previous one, but she could see one elevator that was open but pitch-dark, and another that was lit up inside.

  Great, she thought. Now we—

  There in the darkness they froze. There were two people inside the lit compartment, a man kneeling in front of an open maintenance panel and a woman beside him. She seemed to be standing watch, but badly. Before Amanda could do anything, Axel whispered to her.

  “Stick close to me,” he said, then he pulled his revolver out and pointed it at the woman. “Hey! Don’t move!”

  His loud bark was startling in the relative silence of the corridor, and both of the people jumped noticeably. The woman threw her hands into the air. Regaining his composure, the man just ignored them, returning to his work—which Amanda couldn’t help but admire. If the guy was technically inclined, she suspected he’d be more helpful than the trigger-happy goon she was stuck with.

  “O-okay!” The woman shouted back nervously. “We—we’re not l-looking f-for trouble!” She peered around in the darkness. “Who are you?”

  Amanda started to identify herself when her companion snarled, “I’m John, this is Ringo.”

  Without even looking up from the panel, the crouching man responded. “They’re just some assholes,” he said, loudly enough that they could hear him. “We haven’t got time for this. Come on, Jana.” He stood up and turned, at which point he finally noticed Axel’s weapon. “Jesus. Look, you got your problems, we got ours, okay?”

  Amanda tried to bring some sanity to the conversation. “We’re trying to get to comms—can you help us?”

  The woman, Jana, looked as if she was about to reply, but the man cut her off.

  “Don’t tell them anything!”

  At the same time, Axel glanced back at her. “We don’t need their help!”

  “Look,” the other man said, “I’ve got the elevator working, Jana, let’s go.” He hit a switch.

  Jana looked at her companion, then gazed at them apologetically. “I—I’m sorry. Good—good luck!”

  The elevator doors closed on them.

  Shit—no! Amanda whirled on Axel, who was lowering his weapon, at least. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “Everyone’s running scared, keeping to their own,” he replied. “Safer that way.”

  “Safer from what?”

  “Hold up.” Axel ignored the question and ran ahead to the other open elevator. “Let me get this.” He entered it and stared at the buttons, none of which were lit. Then he slammed a fist into the wall, and they all lit up.

  Percussive maintenance. This time it didn’t fail.

  A voice sounded over the speaker as Amanda joined Axel in the elevator. “Spaceflight Terminal to Freight Shipping.” Then the doors closed, the elevator jerked, and it started to move downward. Since they had a moment, Amanda turned and looked up at Axel.

  “Look, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me—”

  “Keep the noise down,” he whispered. “There might be people around.”

  Taking a breath, Amanda spoke again, more softly. “I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Waving her off, Axel said, “Listen, darlin’, when we get to the ship, we can kick back, braid each other’s hair, and chat all you want.” Given his bald pate, Amanda wasn’t sure how that would work.

  “When we get to my ship?” she said. “If you want to even see my ship, I suggest you start telling me what’s going on, and right fucking now.”

  “Look at you, Little Miss Demanding.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine, like I said, there’s… a… killer.” He said the words slowly, as if doing so would cause them to make more sense. But they didn’t. And she was tired of his bullshit.

  “What does that even mean?”

  “I ain’t seen it, but it’s here.” Axel shuddered. “Pickin’ us off, all of us, one by one.”

  “What are you saying? A psycho? What?”

  “Nah, something else. A monster.”

  Amanda blew out a breath through her teeth. This was getting her nowhere: not near finding out what was happening, not near contacting the Torrens, and not near the Nostromo’s flight recorder, which was somewhere on this ghost town of a station.

  “What about the authorities?” she asked, recalling Verlaine trying to contact a marshal.

  “Ha!” Axel made an obscene gesture. “I haven’t seen a badge since they locked down the terminal. Wouldn’t want to, either—can’t trust ’em. Or anybody else.”

  The elevator jerked to a halt, and while the elevator doors opened Amanda tried to retain her footing. Axel didn’t have any difficulty, and he made an exaggerated flourish.

  “Ladies first.”

  She shot him a disgusted look and then stepped through the doorway, which led into yet another darkened corridor, though this one was filled with shipping containers. Axel led the way and they both moved more slowly, since some of the containers were dark blue or black and damned near impossible to see. They hadn’t gotten more than a few yards when Axel grabbed her arm.

  “Get down!”

  Amanda started to object when he yanked her toward the deck into a crouching position behind a container. Again she found her footing, and opened her mouth to speak. She stopped herself, though, when she heard a voice from down the corridor.

  “This is bullshit, man.” It was a man’s voice. “We should be looking for a way off!”

  “Are you crazy? There is no way off!”

  Peering over the top of the container, Amanda saw two figures backlit by the emergency lighting. They were both carrying items that in silhouette sure looked like rifles. Given that she and Axel were armed with one pistol and one K92, she reluctantly admitted to herself that hiding was probably the right move. Especially given how hostile that guy in the elevator had been—and he hadn’t been armed.

  She wasn’t sure she believed Axel’s bullshit about monsters, but obviously something really bad had happened here. So there was no telling how anyone would act, especially when faced with the possibility of a ship.

  The two rifle-wielders continued, their footsteps echoing.

  “At least we’re safe down here.”

  “For how long? What if it comes for us?”

  “Then we shoot the crap out of it. Now shut up, you’re making me nervous.”

  They moved away, and the voices faded. Axel gestured toward another maintenance hatch.

  “We’ll have to go around them. Follow me.”

  “Friends of yours?”

  Stooping to open the hatch, Axel didn’t answer as he started to crawl into the ductwork. He moved annoyingly slowly—Amanda longed to crawl faster—but he seemed to know where he was going, at least roughly.

  He didn’t seem bothered by the close quarters, either. Amanda had spent all her adult life in such places. They were usually comforting and quiet, refuges where she could work in peace. Yet the more she thought about it—about the circumstances in which she’d been dropped—the more any sense of reassurance faded away. The two men had said something about an “it,” and that lent credence to Axel’s monster.

  She couldn’t quite buy it, though. What most people called monsters were usually figments of their imagination. Worse, the actual monsters Amanda had known were all human.

  “I’ve had run-ins with those guys before,” Axel said, his voice low. “They don’t like strangers—not even nice guys like me.”

  “I’m shocked,” Amanda deadpanned.

  “I ain’t pullin’ your chain, darlin’. You want to go and say hello, it’s your funeral. Those rifles ain’t for show.”

  They continued to crawl, taking this turn and that until she had no idea where they had gone. Amanda thought back to a time when there was an intruder alert on Tranquility. It had turned out t
o be a false alarm, but there were procedures that had to be followed. Non-essential personnel were told to report to their quarters and the Marines had done a room-by-room search.

  By comparison, this was chaos.

  “Somebody should be doing something.”

  “They are,” Axel said, and Amanda realized she had said that last part out loud. “It’s called surviving. Everyone’s turnin’ on each other. The fear’s makin’ people crazy.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” As she said it, Amanda realized how unlikely it was that anyone was going to turn the flight recorder over to her, or even tell her where it was. If they even knew. Her hopes were crumbling, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  One thing at a time, she told herself. I need to get back to Verlaine.

  Axel turned a corner and opened another hatch. This opened out into what looked like it had been a storage area, but with stuff scattered about, including a bedroll and stockpiles of food.

  “You live here?” Bad as it was, Amanda had seen—and lived in—worse.

  “What can I say, my butler’s on holiday.” Axel moved to the other side of the room and grabbed an ammunition box, even though he hadn’t actually fired his weapon. “Grab what you need—don’t know when you’ll get another chance.”

  The first thing she went for was a bottle of water, from one of several cases he had stacked in a corner. She gulped down about a quarter of it, then put it in one of the zippered pockets of her jumpsuit.

  Axel flipped open the chamber to his Jacobs, revealing only one bullet. “Been hunkered down here for a week now, waiting for a ship.” He snorted. “Waiting for you, I guess.”

  “Lucky me,” Amanda muttered. She spied a headset that had a lamp attachment, which struck her as an incredibly valuable tool, given how little of Sevastopol seemed to still be illuminated. Picking it up, she put it on and hit the switch. The light shone brightly.