CHAPTER 27

The wounded praetorian slipped back from the prone Yutja. As it backed away, with a sneer it brought about its tail. With an unearthly graceful crack of the barbed tail, it pierced the Yutja's right eye through to the brain, leaving the somewhat stunned creature thrashing and howling on the ground before it stopped twitching and lay in a growing pool of greenish goo. Without another word, the praetorian withdrew, disappearing into the shadows that filled the majority of the corridors.

The backlash from the Yutja's wound forced Abain to tear the control helmet off his head. He took a moment to gasp for air as the nearby technician in the small room advanced, asking if the director needed assistance. Regathering his composure, Abain held out his hand to stop the technician's advance. "Track it," he hissed, tossing the worthless helmet aside. "We need to know where it is going. I don't want it to interfere with our agreement with the engineers," Abain commanded.

"It took out the cameras in the corridor," the technician replied as Abain pulled up his own console. "Microphonic trackers in the area indicate it –," the technician paused, listening, "it is heading for the stairs."

Abain's hands curled into fists. "Do we have any turrets remaining on the fourth sublevel?" Abain asked.

"Turret two is operational, fully loaded with AP ammunition," the technician called back.

"That should deter it for the moment," Abain frowned. "I assume the tracking camera is still active?"

"Yes, sir – bringing it up now," the technician stated and a moment later the lime and chartreuse targeting view of the gun camera appeared on Abain's control screen, adjacent to the floor map that tracked the heavy steps of the praetorian. The targeting display slowly swung in a small arc, displaying an empty hall. Abain watched with baited breath as the noisy footsteps of the praetorian reached the fourth floor and the nearby stairwell door. Then, the echo disappeared as the creature came to a stop.

"What happened?" Abain asked.

"I – I don't know," the technician stammered, flicking through his controls. "The microphonics are working, but I'm no longer detecting any movement from the creature – or breathing. Or any sign of life."

Abain held his own breath a second, thinking. "It's smart," he whispered, "It's waiting for me to come to it." Abain turned to the technician, and queried, "Alert the nearest security team, and ensure they're heavily armed. I want this thing taken down."

"Sir," the technician responded, "I'm picking up movement on the third floor just outside Sector 10," there was a pause as the technician deciphered his panel's output. "I… think it is two drones. They're moving towards the stairwell."

Abain grunted. "The engineers assured me they had pacified all of the queen's pawns," he glared at his own monitor as he watched the two markers swiftly move into the stairwell. "They wouldn't dare to storm this sector; the turret would cut them to ribbons before -"

At those very words, Abain noted on the targeting monitor the door to the stairwell open. Something small and quick raced from the open doorway, moving too fast for even the turret to track. A glittering streak loomed toward the turret and a moment later, the screen fogged with static.

Abain slammed his fist into the metal frame of the panel before him. "What just happened?" he barked.

"I-I'm not sure," the technician floundered, checking his panel. "Some sort of projectile took out the outer defense turret."

"I know that," Abain seethed. He thought for a moment. "That's not possible," he finally stated, remembering the throwing disc the Yutja had hurled at the praetorian earlier. It fit the visual profile, but how could the creatures have directed it to strike the turret? It's guided path was electronically controlled by the Yutja's backpack computer.

"Are the secondary turrets operational?" Abain queried.

"Yes," the technician nodded. "I have also sealed the outer pressure door to this sector and all external ducting. We're running on a sealed system now. Our own security force is on full alert as well."

"Where is the security team you're dispatching from?" Abain asked.

"A squad of four, led by Stevenson is departing Sector 10 now," the technician stated. "They should intercept the xenomorphs in five minutes. They've been armed with electrocarbines and a VM-10 rocket launcher to take on the praetorian."

"Patch in their squad camera," Abain ordered. "We don't need them to get sloppy and spray acid everywhere."

A distant, heavy thrum echoed through the control room. The nearby technician tensed as Abain took a deep breath. "Sir?" the technician asked.

"It's at the door," Abain nodded at his tactical display, noting the repeating, reverberating thrum was coming from the heavy airlock door that was the sole access to the sector. "It should take it some time to get through, though." Several more booming, steady strikes echoed through the room before it suddenly became quiet.

"Sir, should we move away from this lab to a more secure area?" the technician asked, grasping the sides of his panel to keep from outwardly showing fear. "Perhaps the sector command center?"

Abain slowly shook his head negatively. "Did another squad intercept?" Abain queried, noticing that Stevenson's squad was still in the process of transferring from Sector 10 to the main central core corridor on sublevel three.

"Ah, no sir," the technician shook his head negatively as he inspected the tactical map. "It's simply stopped."

Abain continued to watch the monitor as two blips suddenly flared to life in the stairwell between sublevels three and four, indicating the xenomorphic cohorts were again active. He was somewhat surprised they were still hanging back from the larger, most likely acting as a rear guard. Abain inwardly smiled. The mercenaries should handily dispatch them before dealing with the praetorian. "What is taking Stevenson's team so long?"

The technician watched the mercenaries on his own monitor and made an inquiry to their leader. "The praetorian apparently damaged the electronic controls to the outer door," he reported. "They're running a bypass. They should be through momentarily."

Abain nodded, then froze as he noticed the two markers indicating the praetorian's xenomorphic cohorts were moving up the stairs. As realization dawned on him, he whirled to the technician. "Tell them to stop, NOW," he ordered.

The technician relayed the orders, but it was too late. Abain overheard the heavy hydraulics whir open, followed by the cougar-like screech of a pair of xenomorphs. There was the sound of gunfire and the confused shouts of the mercenaries. The last sight and sound that filled the head camera of the mercenary leader was that of a xenomorph clasping the man by the side of his skull as the creature brought its eyeless head forward. As the jaws parted to reveal the inner maw, the man let out a scream before the entire picture died to static.

The massive marker that indicated the praetorian's presence flared to life as Abain watched it stride away from the door at the current sector, moving back toward the stairwell.

"Seal that door to Sector 10," Abain called to the technician.

"I – I can't," he stammered as he pounded at the controls. "The override is still cycling it open, I can't control it."

"Smart," Abain frowned, "Too damn smart." He stated, collapsing back in his chair.

Those who had previously been to Sector 10 would no longer have recognized it. A vast, leathery bubble, held in place by giant femurs stacked around its base and made of a blackish-gray material replaced the distant Lab 10's rounded rectangular shape. Yellowish, muscular strands of resin held the great bones in place and likewise served as anchor points to the mole-ridden leather bubble.

Ropey, root-like tendrils reached out from the building, covering the floor as they stretched and consumed nearby buildings in vertically spanning ribs. The leaning command center was overrun with the vine-like threads. Bone columns lashed together with translucent muscular fibers overlaid the metal supports that once held it aloft. Wide steps of rib-like bone lazily wound up to an oval opening of the tendril-shrouded building, replacing the half-collapsed staircase. Condensation dripped from multiple points across the stalactite covered ceiling, and a thin layer of mist shrouded much of the sublevel to the sector.

With slow, heavy steps, the praetorian advanced through the re-engineered corridor, flanked by the two smaller xenomorphs that flitted between walking erect and bending low to examine their surroundings with their eyeless senses.

As the praetorian neared Lab 10, a figure stepped into view. A somewhat portly humanoid stood fast, seemingly dressed in its own bones and held together with ribbed cables. The praetorian instantly recognized it as an engineer, though unlike the other it had encountered, this one was dressed in protective armor and exuded no alarm at encountering the titanic xenomorph – clearly, it was prepared for this encounter.

The praetorian towered even over the two-meter tall humanoid that stood a handful of meters away. The engineer's arm melded into a pulsing, cable-shrouded pulp of metal and breathing flesh. Wisps of black smoke rhythmically expelled from along the bulbous shaft as it pointed it at the approaching praetorian. In its other hand, it held a small, pulsing red orb. With each pulse, the praetorian felt a throbbing, bass-like force reverberate throughout its body. The engineer's face was hidden behind an elephantine, skull-like mask. Bassoon, musical tones emanated from the figure. Though the exact words were unfamiliar to the praetorian, instinctively it knew that the engineer was expecting it to submit to its will.

On its flanks, the black-clad warrior xenomorphs halted, balking and hissing as they fought against recoiling at the same sensations the praetorian felt emanate from the tiny orb. Their screech-like calls seemed to be angrily directed at the praetorian, but they likewise seemed to refuse to move forward, as if some invisible leash had caught them. The praetorian seemed to glance at each momentarily, then lowered to one knee before the engineering, bowing its head as its knee came to rest on the grated metal floor.

The engineer touched the tube-like appendage that fed from its mouth to its chest and in a lower, but still music-laced tone uttered a litany of tones, apparently communicating with its brethren.

The praetorian's signal came as a slight flick of its tail. At the subtle motion, both xenomorphs leapt forward with a boisterous roar. The engineer shifted to bring his weapon arm to fire at the leaping creature. As he did, the praetorian wrenched a section of the floor grating in front of it and flung it at the engineer.

The massive metal section caused the spray of foaming black smoke to arc wide, only glancing one of the two leaping xenomorphs. Where the oily smoke struck the creature's left arm and side, the xenomorph's black chitin dissolved like smoke. It landed short with a screech, collapsing on the bloodless, wounded side and thrashing in pain.

The other xenomorph caught the engineer full on, knocking him to the ground and wrestling with the figure. It wrapped it's bone-ribbed tail around the engineer's weapon, yanking at the still smoking weapon to keep it off-balance.

The massive engineer easily pushed the gangly xenomorph off it, though it could not unwrap the barbed tail from its weapon. Using his free hand, the engineer reached to dangling web of rotten flesh about its waist and withdrew a conch-shell like item, holding it by the tapering end. At the engineer's touch, a black, tongue-like blade emerged from the other end, drooling with hissing, acidic fluid.

It brought the weapon about to sever the xenomorph's tail when the praetorian bodily lifted the armored engineer from the ground by the tube-like protrusion of its mask. The force of the praetorian's movement ripped the bone-like tube open as it flung the engineer back, spattering bluish bile-like fluid from the broken pipe.

The force likewise hurled the smaller, still attached xenomorph along with the engineer several meters before it collapsed on the corpulent humanoid's chest. The two lay in a heap for several moments before the xenomorph recovered first, and it bodily wrapped itself around the engineer's weapon and began to pull it from the humanoid's shoulder.

Nearby, the injured xenomorph had regained its footing and recovered from the pain and shock of the loss off its right arm and a crescent-shaped section of its midsection. With a howl, it hurled itself at the engineer, using its body to pin the thrashing engineer to the ground and keep him from pulling off the other xenomorph that tore at his weapon.

By the time the praetorian reached the engineer bluish blood was spewing from where the uninjured xenomorph was bodily disarmed the humanoid of its weapon. With a growl, the now adjacent praetorian rose to its full height. With a single fluid motion brought up its armored, booted heel and brought it down furiously on the engineer's already mangled face. It did not stop bringing down its foot until the chitin-covered heel resounded against the metal grating below the engineer.

The smaller xenomorphs were slow to release the limp form of the engineer. The uninjured xenomorph cast aside the partially dismember arm it had grasped as the other rose, screeching at the praetorian as if it were protesting against the larger from stealing its kill. The larger only gave a terse growl and the two lesser acquiesced and rose, leaving the limp and maimed engineer's body behind.

Stepping past the carnage, the praetorian continued toward the large dome that been Lab 10. The other two xenomorphs now moved ahead of their larger brethren, sensing the nearby presence of their queen. However, as the first reached the ovoid entrance to the strange building, it found itself suddenly enwrapped in a gossamer tendril. It howled as its limbs pulled taught to its side from the constricting filament, and it collapsed to the ground, helpless. The gossamer, enwrapping strand continued to tighten, biting through the black chitin and smoking as it did so. Moments later the gossamer line tensed, dissecting the trapped xenemorph into hundreds of small goblets of chitin-covered chunks.

The praetorian paused as it heard the pained screech of the Queen within lament the loss of one its children. The surviving, injured xenomorph pulled back at the praetorian's wordless command, its eyeless gaze not leaving the doorway where the remains of its companion hissed and bubbled on the tendril-covered floor.