AlienX: A Gathering Storm, Chapter 13: Getting to Know You

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Nope. Still don't own the Aliens/Predator franchise. Maybe someday…

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Chapter 13: Getting to Know You

The yautja ship, whose name would translate roughly into "Pathwalker," entered the space claimed, in their usual egocentric way, by the oomans. The Hunt Leader, an experienced (even by yautja standards) and battle-hardened warrior, one K'shandel'ay ("Sharpened Spear"), had specifically requested a cadre of experienced, blooded hunters along with the usual complement of neophytes. Something was happening here, in this part of the galaxy, that had drawn their attention. Something of such serious nature that one of the yautja's more advanced ships, equivalent to a human destroyer, had been dispatched to investigate. This was an information gathering mission, not a hunt-training one. Though, of course, there was no logical reason to deny the students the opportunity to learn.

Several yautja vessels had gone missing in this part of the galaxy, and the Elders felt it best to find out why. Only fools fought on in ignorance. The individual battle might come down to one on one, with courage and skill, but to simply bull ahead blindly was not the Way. Though it was a good way to die. If that were one's goal.

Now he heard rumors of several ooman ships also disappearing in the same zones. He didn't doubt for a moment but that they were connected, somehow.

So he delegated several of his most experienced warriors to determining the pattern, if there was one. While the yautja had computers far in advance of anything available to humans, K'shandel'ay put more confidence in the feelings and intuitions of those warriors who'd faced battle after battle, and lived to tell about it.

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"So. Here we are." Cedric Siraq looked across the table at the two soldiers—he had no doubt but that that's what they were—and examined them in the same way he'd examine any enemy: very carefully.

"Yes, sir. We'd just like to ask you a few questions, and, in return, we'll be happy to answer your own. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Mm-hmm." He was still trying to figure out what his questions would be. What was all this about? These guys weren't cops. So what could they possibly be after….?

"Your last employment was on the Norstromo, was it not?"

"That's right." It would be pointless to deny that, it being a matter of public knowledge. Of course, that might be it: Boss Cargo's influence could, in theory, reach even this far. And Weyland-Yutani's certainly did….he found himself tensing up.
"What did you think of the ship's captain?"

"Who, Ripley? Good captain. Fair. Paid on time. 'Bout all I could ask of a captain."

"What did she look like?"

"Look, what the hell kinda question is that, anyway?" Houston was silent. "I never actually met her. Found her profile online, but she never came out of the forward part of the ship."

"Never saw her on the intercom?"

"No. Why is that important to you?"

"So you just blindly followed a paycheck?"

Siraq was getting more annoyed by the minute. "I'm not that much of a fool. I ran a voice analysis. Just in case somebody was tryin' to play me for a fool. But it checked out."

"Let me guess: to twelve decimal places, right?"

Siraq's eyes narrowed even more. "And you know that exactly how?"

The man who'd identified himself as John Houston leaned forward. "Mr. Siraq, I'll be blunt with you. We think—I personally hope, anyway—that you were duped. I'd like to believe that, for reasons I'll explain shortly. However, before I do, I need to ask you something." He drew forth, from his pocket, a sketch of one of the biopackages Ripley had had him seed worlds with. "Does this look familiar?"

Siraq stared, amazed. There was no way these people could possibly know about the biopackages. "Yeah. The Cap and me….we…" He caught himself just in time. No need to incriminate himself. "Let's just say I've seen things like them before. Why?"

"Mr. Siraq….do you know what those are?"

"Sure. They're biological geoforming biopackages, designed to alter the atmosphere of Earth-like worlds, make 'em more livable for people, eliminate allergens, harmful bacteria and viruses, that sort of thing. 'Sposed to even make people more…fertile, if you get my drift." He shrugged, handing the sketch back to Houston. "At least," he said, warily, "That's what I've been given to understand."

Houston looked at his larger colleague. "Well, Butch?"

The one called Butch stopped stuffing a sweetcake into his mouth long enough to direct his attention to a thumb-sized device in his palm. He nodded. "Heartbeat, respiration, skin conductivity, pupillary contraction, alpha-rhythm brain wave activity…all consistent with someone telling the truth as he knows it. He doesn't trust us, of course. No big." He tossed down the remainder of his drink. "There's days I wouldn't trust me either."

Houston folded the sketch back up, his face solemn. "Mr. Siraq, you've just saved your life today, without even knowing it. Aside from the fact that you are currently in the crosshairs of one of the finest snipers it's ever been my privilege to know, my friend and I were quite prepared to break every bone in your body twice over before killing you. Oh, and I know all about those automatics you've got concealed up your sleeves. They wouldn't have saved you, I promise.

"We're Colonial marines, Mr. Siraq. Killing is what we do."

Siraq took a minute to digest that. "Alright. If I recall correctly, you said you'd answer my questions, too. That still hold?"

"It does. But I think I'll let our Captain answer your questions. I think it'll be more effective that way."

Siraq narrowed his eyes at them. "Then you may as well go ahead an' shoot, 'cause you ain't gettin' me on your ship. Not in one piece."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Our captain is standing right behind you." He nodded at someone behind Siraq.

Siraq stood and turned, trying not to whirl around. In front of him was a tall, handsome woman with dark, short-cropped hair, a strong chin and clear brown eyes. Her features promised not only high intelligence, but a fierce determination as well. And she looked awfully familiar….he'd seen her, or her likeness, somewhere before…

"How do you do, Mr. Siraq. I'm Ellen Ripley, Captain of the United Starship Vendetta. I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting."

To be continued…