Author's note: It's been a long time (2 years I think), but I've re-caught the writing bug and am keen to see this one move along again.
Chapter 10
Ferro guided the drop ship towards the facility following a pre-set path logged in by Spunkmeyer sitting behind her. LV-426 was a desolate place, but beautiful in a very depressing way. There was no vegetation, only rocky desolation in all directions cut into all sorts of shapes, sizes and formations by the wind and rain. Grey mountains stabbed up into the black sky like giant stalactites, hiding amongst interspersed patches of fog and low cloud. Ferro maintained the dropship high enough so that she didn't need to worry about weaving between mountains and valleys, but low enough so that there was a view to see.
The way to the facility was shown in front of her on a heads up display. The facility's location had been marked in orbit and it was simply a matter of following a yellow line to it. In a potential battle scenario, Ferro would have hugged the contours of the landscape, but it was as yet unnecessary. A long wide valley cut off to the right and Ferro briefly entertained the idea of sweeping in and flying through it like a kid skateboarding through a spillway, but dismissed it as a moment's daydream.
Quickly enough the yellow line flashed indicating the facility was about to come into view and Ferro slowed her flying beast, preparing to circle for an initial inspection. The line flashed brighter, but a cluster of fog obscured the view.
"Where's the damn beacon?" she said, impatiently.
A large mountainous formation gradually materialised as the fog thinned and then cleared. It would not have looked out of place amongst the natural landscape except for its sheer size and the presence of various spotlights interspersed amongst the exterior. Hundreds of pipes weaved their way in, out and around the structure like a web of veins. Ferro was gliding roughly 150 metres up and she estimated the structure reached another 100 metres further up into the sky. She noted how the structure was surrounded by low lying cloud, but the sky was clear immediately above it, affording a clear view all the way up to the stars.
Gorman, Burke, Ripley and Bishop scanned the scene intently from the APC inside the dropship's hold. A myriad of view screens had lit up showing the clouded picture as best they could from a multitude of tiny cameras mounted on the dropship's side. The APC's cabin was a dark and claustrophic place, having grown more so as the smell of sweat and anticipation started to creep in. Ripley's was absently thankful the bank of screens before them was so bright.
Gorman sat in his chair in front of the bank of screens, Bishop standing on his right and Ripley and Burke on his left looking over his shoulders. Various screens adjusted, showing filtered views, progressively eliminating cloud, artificially brightening the dull scene and another scanning through the conical mound to show a tangled schematic within.
"That's the atmosphere processor?" Ripley asked.
"Yep, that's it." Burke chimed in.
"Remarkable piece of machinery. Almost completely automated." Bishop offered.
"Yes, you mentioned in your testimony that-" Burke caught himself and could feel Ripley burrowing her eyes into the back of his head as he maintained his eyes on the screen. "-your story that the atmosphere wasn't breathable. Nitrogen heavy. It's safer to build one of these processors and terraform the atmosphere so that prospectors can venture out freely. Freeman's case in the 20's made sure of that."
"Freeman's case?" Gorman enquired.
"Freeman worked on a planetoid as a geologist. Unprocessed atmosphere so he was in a suit. Suit malfunctioned and he died. His family sued and legal requirements were put in from then on."
"I'm assuming it's not cheaper putting in a full blown processor." Ripley said.
Burke shrugged.
"I bet." Agreed Bishop as he moved to the front of the APC and sat in the driver's seat. Ripley moved to replace Bishop on Gorman's right. The cabin was tight and she preferred not to have to almost rub against Burke to see properly. Burke was similarly relieved.
"How does that thing work?" asked Hicks, craning his neck to see, still seated towards the back of the APC amongst the other marines. Burke turned and saw the rest of the marine contingent were just as curious. They were quiet when they were usually joking or psyching themselves up just before deployment.
"The nitrogen compounds in this atmosphere are heavier than oxygen so the oxygen in the air sits in the upper atmosphere like oil on water." Bishop answered over the radio so he didn't have to raise his voice. "The upper atmosphere is then heavily ionised causing the nitrogen to rise up, like it's magnetised to the field. The nitrogen rises and the vacuum effect brings the oxygen down. It's treated further, but that's essentially what happens."
"I thought it was just a giant filter." Gorman said.
"You could do it that way, but where do you then put the billions of tons of nitrogen that the filter catches?" Bishop replied.
"Underground?" Hudson suggested.
"Too expensive." Burke answered.
"And the hole you would need would have to be gargantuan and plugged with concrete." Bishop added.
"Up yo' ass." One of the marines joked idly.
"The processor is a giant fusion reactor. The ionisation process is very energy hungry." Bishop continued. "Mostly unmanned except for the odd engineer."
Gorman wasn't interested in the science, focussing on the mission. He spoke into his mouthpiece. "Ferro, sweep over the complex."
"Roger."
Ferro broke her gentle circle, banking lower and away from the processor towards another pre-mapped co-ordinate on her heads up display. It came within view quickly below and she set the drop ship into another gentle circle as the mounted cameras focused on the new target.
The outpost was brought up on the monitors in the APC, looking for signs of life and confirming the layout. The zig zag of enclosed metal walkways between great clustered bunkers resembled a giant intestinal tract, illuminated only by navigational spot lights at each corner of the maze. It was set in a natural plateau, surrounded by knives of grey rock all around like hairs surrounding a pimple.
"Admin offices and living quarters." Burke chimed in. "Enough for 200-odd people."
"We hope." Ripley replied, deadpan.
Gorman ignored the banter, reviewing the various view screens looking for signs of life. "Storm shutters are sealed. No visible activity and no response to the radio hail."
"What mining were they thinking of doing here anyway?" asked Ripley.
"Lithium mainly and rare earths apparently. Iridium." Burke said. "Lithium for batteries, Iridium for touch screens."
"Oh."
"They're just doing prospecting for the moment. Some major deposits were found from an orbit scan, but you need guys on the ground to do locals scans and marked everything out properly." Burke continued and pointed at the screen.
Gorman eyed a separate screen that showed a schematic of the facility. It was a tangle of white lines and nothing more. "No bio-movement detected. OK Ferro, set down on the landing grid."
"Roger." Ferro's voiced chimed in over the radio amongst a slight blur of static.
"Immediate dust off on my clear then stay on station." Gorman looked to Apone who nodded.
"A'right. Gear up, people." Apone ordered as he rose out of his seat, his body blocking off the marines from the front half of the APC where Gorman, Burke, Bishop and Ripley sat.
The rest of the marines rose out of their seats and went about retrieving their weaponry stowed away in the equipment racks. Ripley watched them and looked away. Amongst the dimness of the back of the cabin, the marines looked like those aliens in their combat armour, writhing around amongst each other.
"You alright?" Burke asked.
"Yes."
"We're ready, sir." Apone said over his shoulder.
"Roger." Gorman acknowledged without taking his eyes off the screens. He had switched many of the screens over to display vital signs readouts of the marines. Each of them had a tiny unit surgically implanted beneath the skin and amongst the ribcage that relayed their heart rate and oxygen intake amongst various other signals. Gorman watched the red lines for their heart beats bounce rhythmically.
Each marine also had a shoulder or helmet mounted camera which Gorman checked was feeding to his monitors. "Hudson, I can see that." Hudson was giving Apone the finger as his back was turned and the hand gesture was clearly visible on his screen.
"Approaching landing pad." Ferro said.
Ripley could feel her stomach lift up as the drop ship dipped closer to the ground in an aggressive dive. Just as quickly, a loud crashing noise filled the cabin and the descent halted suddenly as the dropship touched down, almost knocking her and Burke off their feet.
"Down and clear!" Ferro signalled over the radio.
Bishop did not hesitate as the drop ship's cargo ramp opened and he drove the APC down and out. Again, the force of the departure was so sudden and strong that Ripley and Burke were again almost tumbled over. Apone shot a hand out and guided Ripley into her seat, leaving Burke to stumble into his.
Amongst the roar and vibration of the APC's engine, Ripley heard the high pitched whine of the drop ship as it lifted off again and pitched up and away. The APC bucked as Bishop led it down the landing pad's ramp and swung it around towards the complex.
"10 seconds, people! Look sharp!" Apone shouted. "Vasquez and Drake leading, Squads A and B left and right back-up positions!"
Ripley could feel the fear creeping up her skin from her fingers to her shoulders and settling around her neck. It was dark, smelly and difficult to breath. Again the APC bucked, shoving her in her seat as it braked to a stop. A sharp stab of cold air rushed into the cabin as the side door was shoved open.
"Let's go! Move it out!" Apone shouted.
Ripley's face was coated with sweat and the shock of cold wind on hot skin dispelled her rising panic as the cabin emptied into the breach.
XXX
Hands alive with adrenaline gripped the SMART gun securely, sweeping left and right with measured practice. The rush of an engagement, or even just entering the field, was what every marine lived for, but the difference between a good marine and an also-ran was how the rush was controlled. If you got too excited, you tired yourself out, pulled the trigger too soon and made stupid decision that got yourself killed or got your squad mates killed.
Pvt Vasquez hands were abuzz but she regulated her breathing and made sure to periodically adjust her grip to save her fingers cramping. Blood needed to flow freely to preserve touch.
Rain bucketed down in a sheet so thick she could barely discern individual droplets in front of her. Her squad mates depended on her and Drake in situations such as this as her eye piece linked to her SMART gun scanned the locale for unidentified movement. Pulses of high frequency waves shot out in invisible arcs every one hundredth of a second from a small antenna attached to her monstrous weapon, detecting particle movement that mimicked lifelike functions. Walking, breathing, even the internal movement of blood flowing around a body were picked up and relayed back like SONAR bouncing off a suspect surface. The signals detected of her squad mates were automatically identified as friendly, whilst inorganic movements such as doors opening, objects blowing in the wind and even the rain were filtered out as extraneous.
Nevertheless, Vasquez preferred never to actually rely on it and scanned her eyes carefully over the scene as though her SMART gun's reassuring outputs didn't exist.
The ground was slick with mud, pools of water almost ankle deep nearly every step as she and Drake led forward out of the APC and towards the facility.
"Fall up." Apone's voice cut sharp and clear over the radio amongst the dull roar of the rain and the heavy splashing of boots behind her.
Drake led and Vasquez flanked on his right through a small clearing. Shards of rock behind her provided cover for the rest of the squad and she knew even as they were in the open, at any time multiple pulse rifles in trained hands were cover her with all senses alert. She was unafraid and pushed forward towards the complex.
A large tractor-like rover sat idle by a garage. Grime smeared on the front roller door and the spot lights above smashed. Drake veered around the garage to check down beside it for bogeys and Vasquez moved around him towards the main complex only 10 metres beyond. Through the blurred rain, a giant doorway sat closed as big as the APC. Vasquez proceeded forward looking for threats lying in wait and signalled over her shoulder after finding none.
"Move up." Apone ordered gruffly and the squads came up behind and around Vasquez in a semi-circle formation, looking outward now. Apone rushed up to the door and opened a flip top console, pressing a button within that controlled the door. A small screen indicated the door was locked. "Hudson, run a by-pass."
Hudson slung his rifle and stood before the console. From a leg pocket he produced a tablet computer. The flip top console had a USB port below the opening button and he plugged his device in. The tablet computer was a military grade hacking tool, pre-loaded with override commands that the door was pre-prepared to recognise in the case of an emergency as part of its standard software. Within an instant, the hacking tool had obtained approval, the console beeped and the door groaned to life, opening by sliding apart from the middle. Vasquez, Drake and Apone were ready, guns up and fingers hovering over their triggers. The view within was almost pitch black, but the shoulder mounted lights of the marines illuminated the scene before them to reveal another door just like the one they opened, forming an airlock.
Vasquez, Drake, Apone and Hudson proceeded within together and Hudson again utilised his hacking device to interface with the console panel and override the locking mechanism designed to never let both door remain open at once. Once again the door opened with Vasquez, Drake and Apone at the ready, this time revealing a corridor that spilled away from them like a tunnel, enough to accommodate six people abreast. The floor was raised steel and pipes and bulkheads lined the walls and ceilings. Down the way they could see intersections where the corridor zig-zagged off in other directors.
The rain behind them had dulled almost to silence and all eyes fixed ahead looking for anything untoward. The view was pristinely clean, revealing nothing out of the ordinary other than the fact it was completely empty and silent. Immediately to the right was a stair well leading up to a second level. Other marines silently poured in behind and trained their guns on all openings.
"Hicks, your squad up to second level." Apone whispered into his mic.
Hicks appeared through the doorway and Drake followed in behind as he proceeded up the stairs with his squad, everyone looking through their gun sights. Hudson waited for everyone to come inside and sealed both of the airlock doors behind them.
The APC remained outside, its door closed and Gorman glued his eyes to the feed coming from the marines inside. "Arming turret gun, set to target lock only."
The twin-barrelled machine gun mounted on the back of the hulking APC moved along a set track up onto the roof and lifted up. Set on a ball-swivel joint, it could target in virtually any direction, including straight up and down, although programmed to avoid firing on the APC itself. It was alive for the purposes of tracking non-friendlies now that the marines were clear of the field, but would only fire if Gorman authorised via an arming switch.
Back inside the complex, the marines inched forward, sweeping their weapons back and forth. Apone and his squad proceeded down the first corridor, with Hicks reaching the top of the stair well, stopping short as he slowly and silently raised up and peered into the open. The top of the stairwell opened up into a small foyer with a similar corridor snaking down the same direction as the floor below. Besides two upturned plastic chairs, the scene was quiet. Nothing appeared broken or out of place except for the absence of any human presence. A vase with plastic flowers sat in the corner flanked by a framed painting of a sunset landscape, set perfectly straight on the wall.
"Doesn't look good does it?" Burke murmered back in the APC as he watched the feed from Hick's helmet camera.
"This is not normal so far. Something has definitely happened." Gorman replied humourlessly and spoke into his mic. "Hicks, Hudson use your motion trackers."
Both of them unslung a cube-shaped device, holding it in front of them showing a blue screen that blipped as movement-detecting pulses like Vasquez and Drake's SMART guns, only higher powered and more targeted. Detected organic movement was indicated by a warning high-pitch that increased in tone the closer it was and a blip on the screen according to position of the detected signal.
Hudson's and Hicks trackers blipped like a heartbeat, detecting nothing at first and then fired into life, detecting bogeys behind the way they came.
"What the fuck?" Hudson swore.
"Where is it?" asked Gorman impatiently.
Hicks and Hudson were specifically trained to handle motion tracking units and how best to read them. "Outside!" Hicks shouted.
A screen inside the APC flashed, as the roof-mounted turret tracked a target and trained in on it. The software highlighted the target, taking a snapshot of the target that appeared and just as quickly disappeared again.
"What's happening?" Apone snapped.
"It's retreating whatever it is. Running goddamn fast!" Hudson replied. The trackers fell silent after only seconds.
"These trackers are set to fifty metres and whatever it was disappeared and shot off the screen fucking fast." Hicks said.
"Too fast for a human." Apone replied.
"Agree." Gorman said.
"Sir, did you get a visual?" Apone asked.
Gorman peered at the photograph the turret took and both Ripley and Burke almost smothered him as they strained to see. He pushed them off angrily.
"Unidentified. The turret barely saw anything." Gorman reported back.
"Could be a false alarm."
"Too fucking fast, man."
"Can't be right."
"Everyone shut their shit!" Apone shouted, causing the gossiping marines to go quiet and resume combat posture. Silence hung for a moment as the marines re-surveyed their surroundings, now on edge.
"Proceed as planned. Secure the complex, find central access." Gorman ordered into the mic.
Ripley and Burke looked at each other, nervous and excited respectively.
"Roger." Apone replied and directed the squads to resume their sweep.