1
:: Beacon ::
The engines hummed in quiet monotone. The ship was sunk into deliberate darkness save for the indicator lights on the control panel in the cockpit, and even those had been dimmed. The cold hibernation of cryosleep was economical in everything that involved energy, and once the craft had been propelled to proper speed, it was left to its endless drift until the original impulse would fade to a complete stasis.
But 'endless' was the word from the human vocabulary, limited by the human capacities. The destination, albeit out of the time/space boundaries of the man's perception, was already near. In the depths of space where seconds didn't exist, indicators kept blinking until, with a soft click, the timing was right.
The craft was shaken into wakefulness by a single impulse wave. The clicking of locks and the hissing of pumps being activated signaled the journey was over. The craft's crew woke up from their cryo-encapsulated sleep near gamma Cephei, commonly known as Errai, and by the time the craft entered Planetary Nebula 6 everybody were already on their feet.
"Behold," said the Captain, "the Garnet Star."
And they did. Its bright red orb shone vivaciously - a ball-shaped wound on the sky's velvet.
"A pretty sight, but we must be out of here by the time Delta blinks again." The Navigator sifted through various marks and indices on the panel, pragmatics of his trade overriding any poetic metaphors the magnificence of Cepheus could inspire. "We've got five days all in all. Five days and nine hours, by the craft's clock, before this giant swells again."
The Captain nodded. He often wondered if there was anything behind those professional titles, but as a senior officer he knew better than ask for names. Not on a mission like theirs. Not in a place like Planetary Nebula 6, a small cluster of irregular stones that fried in seething heat and froze in deep winter according to the cruel variability of the huge double star. He hoped Errai and its red dwarf companion would be more placid, if not hospitable.
"Follow the beacon."
Programmed to search, the craft spiraled towards the center of the nebula, each loop of its route grew tighter around one particular formation that had been locked as a target by the coordinate grid. The globe was a rough ellipsoid, environmentally poor and overall unfriendly. The fact that its mass entitled it to a label 'planet' could hardly be a redeeming factor.
"This baby's got a long way to grow," remarked the Navigator as he laid the course for the landing. Then, with a skeptical look at the smudge on the screen that was the planet's surface, he added: "Get ready. The touch-down will be rough."
That didn't come as a surprise for the seven members of the research spacecraft's crew. Looking at the five people, belted to the seats with hands clasping armrests till the knuckles turned white, the Captain wondered once more if they were clones. Named Engineer One to Five, they looked perfectly alike in their faceless, unified equipment. Chances were high all of them had indeed been cloned off some smart-arse scientist back on Earth after he - or she? - hit on some witty formula regarding ageing, or fat reduction, or whatever those geneticists made their money on.
"We're entering on the nightside. By Jove, it's a real frontier."
Two men and three women didn't show their emotions, if there were any, by even a flinch. The wrinkled, viscous surface of the massing clouds rushed past the descending craft as it slowed down and finally settled into a hovering mode. Reliable equipment and even all prospects of big money aside, the Captain wasn't going to dive into the new world unprepared.
"Where exactly was the signal last located?"
"25 degrees to the north," one of the clones replied. Engineer 3, the Captain marked to himself. The lucky terrestrial jackass Number Three.
"How many should we pick up?"
"One. Just one." The Engineer's reply was curt, as if he had read the Captain's thoughts. "All others should be eliminated."
"Wouldn't it be more rational to launch the project right here? The transportation of such...objects," the Captain made a sour grimace at the word, "is a risk that is hardly justifiable."
"Maintaining control over a colony this far from the base is still more risky. And they aren't just 'objects' - they are xenomorphs." The Engineer leaned forth towards the Captain. "Mind that, Sir."
The craft touched the surface in a series of severe bumps and finally came to a standstill. Moving as if they were one body, all five Engineers set the timing on their watches.
"You've got nothing to worry about, Captain. They will be in embryo form while it's cold. We have five days and nine hours to find their ship, get one of them, transport it to our craft, and leave. Pretty much enough time for everything."
"So it should be," muttered the Captain with more of politeness than certainty. Experience had taught him that in space the Subjunctive never really worked.
"It was a good planet. In a way, it had potential."
The Navigator observed the white halo of the explosion with vague sadness.
"Whatever potential it had, it is now on our ship." One of the clones entered the cockpit - the first appearance of somebody from the research crew after several hours spent in total seclusion in their lab. "I am to report that the embryo is secure. For the safety of the ship and its crew, it will remain sealed till we reach the base."
What a relief, the Captain smirked mentally. Especially if the 'seal' was made of something like molten lead.
"Whatever your measures, I'm still deeply worried by its presence onboard," he noticed coldly, and the clone's brows rose in surprise. Number Four, a female variant of the prototype, was always perhaps the most expressive of them all. "We've heard enough of stories about the attempts to get a sample of this species. All of those were unsuccessful attempts."
"True," the clone nodded with endless patience on her genetically constructed face. "All those times the failure was in the belief that this species can be controlled and studied. This belief is, of course, false."
"I can't say how happy I am to know that you realize that." The skepticism in the Navigator's voice couldn't have been more poorly masked.
"Meanwhile," the clone continued with the same serenity as if no words had interrupted her, "our intention is exactly the opposite." She made a pause that almost seemed dramatic. "We will just let it develop on its own. Minimal interference. Minimal human contact."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but won't a human be required to..." the Navigator searched for the right word to describe the repulsive process. "To hatch the egg?"
"Not any more. The embryo will be placed into one of the clones." Finally her patience cracked and she looked at the two officers as if they were schoolboys who hadn't learnt their lesson. "Clones aren't considered human by the terrestrial laws."
They were just numbered bodies, the Captain reminded himself. The wrinkles could be multiplied, and the freckles, and the hair colour - but the original personality was always above serial numbers.
"Would you like to see how we cater for our project?"
Both officers followed the clone's inviting gesture. The lab occupied the best part of the craft's space, and now, thanks to the clones' activities, it had been transformed into a high-tech prison cell. The centre of the lab was a huge transparent cube, inside which the egg-shaped object resided.
"We maintain near-vacuum conditions inside. Lowest temperatures, no air, no chemical catalysts, no sound. Total isolation." Number One looked up from the control panel to furnish explanations. The Captain admitted that this research crew followed a policy indeed radically different from all previous attempts: a most democratic frankness in all details. "And thus, there is virtually no stimulus to wake it from its sleep."
The officers took a tentative step forwards, and the Navigator, the one with a weaker stomach, immediately drew back. The Captain watched on, mesmerized by the sight.
The 'egg', or whatever it was called by the xenobiologists, sat freely upon a platform. It took the Captain a moment of closer observation to see that its freedom was only illusion. The transparent cube was filled with an interweaving lace of thin metal threads that stretched from its walls towards the xenomorph embryo. The petals of its mouth had indeed been sealed - stitched together by the threads that would only hold tighter, should the alien inside try to steer.
The Captain stepped back. Maybe the clones had hoped this view would calm him down, but right now he was more appalled and anything but calm.
Number Four looked at him with a smile.
"See? We're not going to cut it open or disturb in any other way until we arrive to the base."
"I'll hope that you'll resist the temptation," the Captain shrugged doubtfully.
"Oh yes, we will. As I have said, our expedition is different from the others - because the xenomorph isn't really our aim. In our scenario, it is no more than a bait."
The clones were politely expecting further questions, but the Captain thought that he'd be damned if he asked what kind of fish they planned to catch with a bait like this.