'Entry 378:
4:00 a.m.. Things have settled down in Lab One. Everybody except for Darwin, me and Samuel have gone to bed, after it had been established that our test subject had indeed survived. That's not to say nothing can happen to him anymore, but it seems rather unlikely. The number of nanobots in his blood have already multiplied more than twenty fold, growth is exponential.. His body repairs itself at a rate that is nothing less than miraculous. All we had to do was replace the blood he lost internally through the rapid infuser. We didn't even have to open him up to repair the burst blood vessels. The nanobots are doing it for us .and, according to his readouts, they're doing a great job. If they keep on healing him at this rate he will be way beyond 'as good as new' in about six days. The only thing that leaves me puzzled is his sudden anemia. So far, I've given him three iron-shots within the last two hours, and yet, when I look at the readout, the level is down to just barely over the point where he needs another one. But he is not bleeding anymore. The problem puzzles me, and it also confuses Darwin after I directed her attention towards the problem, but since there seems to be no imminent danger to his life we agreed to leave it alone for the time being. We also agreed not to talk about what we'll be going through tonight… even if it is on everybody's minds: Raven. In about 14 hours from now, it will be Raven lying on that table – provided Hicks doesn't die in the meantime. It will be Raven battling against his restraints. Against us. We were barely able to hold down the Corporal – so how are we supposed to take up the fight with this monster? Scary prospects. I wish I were my former self. I don't want all these considerations in my head. I don't want to feel afraid! I didn't ask for this mess! Damn you, Rogue, why did you have to do this to me?'
***
Replay:
10:48 pm. It took a while to get down to Phooka's sublevel 8, close to the hull. I wanted to go right after leaving the Corporal, but Darwin and Kurtz kept me busy until now. But I desperately need to talk to my maker. He will know what to do about the virus. He must! I must raise him, even if I'm five days early. He has to be there!
I plug into the station's communication system, barely able to concentrate enough to think of all the security measurements necessary to wipe my trace. If they discover me with the hand in the honey pot Kurtz will disable me right away. One near-disaster – with Darwin walking in on me during our talk – was more than enough. I close my eyes as I feel my inner self call out through time and space to my father. It's usually a procedure I enjoy, floating weightlessly around in blackness, not caring for anything – but today I'm timid and nervous. Impatient. I call out again, and finally he answers, his deep, soothing voice filling the void. Oh, how I need him!
"Isis? What is it?" He sounds tired and alarmed at the same time. My CPU's telling me that it must be deep night at his hideout on LV-078. I woke him. I didn't think about that before, but I don't really care. This certainly is an emergency important enough to cause him a few wrinkles over lost sleep. I start downloading and cut him off.
"Father, I need you!" I gush, barely letting him end. "Something's wrong with me! I think I got a virus!"
"A virus?" Shocked silence. "How? Why? What is it doing?"
"I- I can't concentrate anymore. I can't think! Kurtz wants to disable me, and Darwin threatened me, too! I-I'm getting all kinds of – of … I don't know what to call them-"
"Emotions?" To my surprise – and horror! – he chuckles. Excuse me?
"What?"
"Emotions? Fear? Confusion? Anger? Is this what you're feeling?" I'll be dammed, he sounds happy! My misery pleases him?
"You seem to know something about it," I accuse him, inserting my anger into my voice.
"Of course I do." I can hear him smirk. "It's not a virus. Relax."
'Relax? My existence as I know it is crumbling to pieces! How am I supposed to relax?'
"Explain," I reply crisply.
"It's my program. The one you always refused to install, remember?"
"You mean…" 'Oh no!' I can barely bring myself to say it out loud. "You mean, I'm becoming… human?"
"As much as it's possible for you to, yes. Of course you could never become entirely human, but-"
"But I didn't ask to!" I yell at him in mind-talk, losing it. "I don't want all this useless stuff! It's rendering me unable to function! I can't concentrate anymore! I don't know what to do anymore! I – I never asked to become … flawed!"
"You triggered it yourself, Isis. You must have."
"How?"
"Has there been anything out of the ordinary lately? Did the problems occur after a specific incident, maybe?"
I inhale sharply, my mind registering the very human reaction and yet being unable to stop it.
"Alexander's death. Yes." I close my eyes and see it again in all its grizzly detail.
Silence. Then: "Alexander is dead?"
"You think I'm joking?"
"What happened?"
"Raven killed him. He and that marine corporal tried to escape. Alexander got in the way."
He chews on that for a few moments, then, hesitantly: "Did they – they didn't succeed, right? You said 'tried to'."
"They're back in the brick. Raven's badly burnt, but he'll make it. That pig is too strong. And the marine – they're going to waste him today."
"What?"
"They'll put him through the experiment. Three days ago, von Sontheim bought it the same way, so I don't expect him to live after tonight."
"This would be bad."
'You're telling me?' I think. 'You're not the one Darwin will put through hell for the next 48 hours straight to find the mistake.' But still I can't lie to myself – I want Hicks dead. I want him to die as ugly as von Sontheim. Purely for what he said to me.
"Yeah, well… there will be others like him."
"Not like him, there won't." I hear him take a deep breath. When he continues, his voice is low and even more confidential, as if he were in the middle of telling me a big secret. "You know, Isis, after your first report about him, I decided to activate my sources out there and see what I would be able to get, and you wouldn't believe what they came up with! This could be the one single incident that can bring the mighty W.Y. down – if everything goes our way."
I wait for him to continue, but he takes his time. Sounds as if he's frying his brains out there.
"How so? He just a soldier. Not even an officer."
"No. But his squad was sent out to LV-426 to investigate on a break-down of communication with the colony. Officially."
"Officially?"
"In reality, both the U.S.C.M's as well as the company's brass knew what the problem was. In fact, it wasn't a problem at all. It was exactly how they wanted it: According to an official report, signed by E.R. van Leuwen, a warrant officer by the name of Ellen Ripley stated that LV-426 was in fact the crash-site of an alien derelict. She also stated that one of the specimens they found there attacked one of her crewmembers and later wiped out the entire crew except for herself."
"I know," I inject impatiently. "We have an entire level crawling with these aliens. They're Darwin's primary field of studies. What else?"
"Weyland Yutani officially denied the existence of such a creature on LV-426, but ordered the colonists at Hadley's Hope to investigate the coordinates and – should they find something – to secure the alien lifeform for further investigation."
"Yes?"
"The station was overrun by the creatures in a matter of two days. The final reports issued from Hadley's Hope left no doubt about it – they even included video-footage. They knew perfectly well what happened. They knew the colonists were lost – and yet they decided to send an entire marine squad out there and NOT tell them what they were up against. What does that tell you?"
Easy question.
"It was a test. Either for the squad, or-"
"They wanted to see the potency of this life form. They wanted to know whether it would be worth their while developing this creature. If the marine squad had been able to handle them without problems then maybe they wouldn't have acted on it. But the aliens wiped out the soldiers, too. And they began seeing the possibilities. Do you follow?"
"Of course. Why should this bring the company down?"
"Because they were willing to sacrifice an entire colony – over 140 people – families, children! – and an entire marine squad for this. And an expensive ship, but that's not important. They killed over 150 people for the creation of a bio-weapon! People will be enraged when they hear about this! And they won't believe that Weyland Yutani's actually conducting experiments on humans!"
"But they'll see my footage!"
"Yes, and this helps, but it's not good enough – not as good as actually having a witness. Someone they tested on! Someone, who's carrying the proof in his memory and in his DNA! Don't you see, Isis, he has to survive! You have to get him off the station somehow!"
"How?" This is slowly but surely getting too much for me to cope with in one serving. I got my own problems and now he wants me to do the impossible and rescue Hicks? Is he crazy? "There is no way! And with me not functioning properly, there's even less of a –"
"On the contrary!" This time he cuts me off. "With you being able to understand human thoughts and behavior like never before, and to use your processing capacities at the same time, you will evolve to an entirely new level of intelligence – even Darwin won't be able to keep up with you! You will be more cunning than ever before!"
"This is crazy!" I laugh. Ridiculous! Rogue, however, doesn't sound amused.
"I think it's about time you remembered what your purpose on this station is, Isis. You are not there to serve Weyland Yutani! I sent you there to document. To spy. We work against them, so stop bringing up all kinds of invalid excuses as to why you can't do it! Remember your mission. This is what you were designed to do! Bring me the soldier – if he survives."
"But how-"
"You must find a way. And now I have to go. Call me again if anything important happens. But be careful! Don't give yourself away!"
"How am-"
"Act!" My maker's seriousness chances to impatience. "Look, I really must go, Isis. We can't risk keeping up the connection any longer. Get back to me if you must, but try to keep a low profile." He's gone. Without 'Goodbye', without the warm tone he usually reserves for the end of our conversation. He leaves me standing all alone in a black hole, feeling utterly deserted and confused, unable to move a finger until my beeper sounds off. I'm late for the test! So much for keeping a low profile! I turn and run towards the elevator.
I surface from my musings with something equivalent to a guilty conscience. But as I look around and down onto the sleeping Corporal, it appears as if nothing has changed. His vitals are still stable, and I'm still alone with him. It's just his iron level again. Inwardly shaking my head to myself, I prepare another injection and sit down again. Rogue's voice refuses to leave my thoughts. How am I supposed to get Hicks out of here? It was next to impossible even before the escape attempt, and now Kurtz has tightened security to a point that seems to make even just a rebellious thought dangerous. Which is why I'm sitting with my back to the camera. I don't know what's showing on my face. As long as I haven't learned to cope with the new program features, I can't afford to take any chances. I don't want to be disassembled. Not because I'm feeling so obliged to my mission, but – because I want to live.
So, what shall I do now? Rogue doesn't know what kind of pressure he's putting on me with this stupid idea. I would have had a much greater chance to succeed being my old, controlled self than the uncertain, self-doubting bundle I've become in the last three days. And I know the Corporal does, too. He was very clear about that. He hated me even before we put him through this experiment, and I'm sure he'd rather like to rip me to shreds right now than just listen to one word I'm saying. He won't even listen to my words. But maybe –
I pause. A sudden idea. We're alone in the laboratory. The camera's visual only, it doesn't record sound. And I'm sitting with my back to it. If I rearrange my seat just a bit, I'll also obstruct its view of the Corporal's face. I could tell him everything Rogue said to me… It would mean I'd take a huge chance, however. He could spill my secret to Darwin or Kurtz just to get even with me. On the other hand, why should he? If I told him I'd help him to escape – After I blew his own attempt? Hah! Good one, Isis! – why should he give me away? Even if he doesn't believe me, I am the only chance he'll ever get. Can he afford to ignore it?
My attention shifts towards the instruments as I'm coming to a decision. I don't know whether he'll even be able to understand a single word if I let him wake now, but this may be the only chance of talking to him without 'them' being able to spy on us. Now, what should I tell Darwin why I disturbed his phase of recovery? My eyes follow his alpha patterns, subconsciously noticing their extravagant line of hills and valleys. Something's going on in his brain that we – not even Darwin – can begin to guess… and suddenly I have my explanation. Just checking on him, right, Darwin? Just establishing he's still 'there'.
I stand up casually and prepare another shot. One of Darwin's eye-openers goes into the Corporal's system, and as I sit down again, I readjust the chair in an apparently casual way. What should I tell him? He won't be able to listen to any long monologues in his condition. I'll have to be brief and to the point. His eyelids flutter, and on the monitor I see his alpha waves changing again. He's waking.
Clicking. Beeping. A steady double rhythm over and behind him. The hissing of the ventilator. The expansion of his lungs. The beating of his heart. It gradually seeps into Hicks' numb, apathetic mind. 'Sickbay?. Again?' He feels the various needles and tubes in his body with a distinctness that's new to him. Senses the mattress under his back… and the restraints around his arms, legs and torso. It all nothing, however, against the profound feeling of having just been run over by an APC.
"Dwayne? Dwayne, do you hear me?"
His hand is being seized, and he gets a new picture in his mind. A whirl of colors and sensations he can't make any sense of, so strong he opens his eyes to escape them – to a soft, psychedelic blue vapor. It's all around him, glowing. A fluorescent blanket which simply can't be there. He blinks. Looks again. Blue. 'Damned drugs…' He turns his head and sees the black and flesh-colored mask of the android hovering in his vicinity. The lines perform a dizzying dance in front of his eyes, the delicate spiral patterns moving, hypnotizing – he blinks again.
"Come on, press my hand if you understand me."
His gaze finds her eyes. They, too, are behind a slight blue vapor, only of a brighter shade. Can he see people's auras now? What does 'blue' mean? Bitch? Probably, given the object it's surrounding. And why is she calling him by his first name now? She never did before – did she? He can't remember. Is it important? Probably not. Even when he doesn't comply with her request, she starts talking to him in a low voice. By all rights he shouldn't even be able hear it over the ruckus of the instruments behind him, but somehow, he picks her up with a distinctness that's astounding, given his current condition.
"Listen, Dwayne, I know we had a bad start, and you probably won't believe a word of what I'm about to tell you, but this is the truth: I am not your enemy. I am not one of them. I am a spy unit planted by a human rights group at this facility to collect data that can be used against the company. We're on the same side. Do you understand?"
Understand? Understand? He listens, he hears her words, but their sense escapes him. He's more wondering about this blue vapor. It moves with her when she bows down towards him now, and he can feel her voice literally crawl into his ears, can feel the short way in which it travels into his brain as if the words were actually substantial… and feels it leaving his head again in a different way, like a radio transmission. Weird.
"I'm here to help you, Dwayne. Trust me and I will help you off the station."
Her voice is merely background noise to the strange sounds his mind is filling with. He closes his eyes again to concentrate on them. It's not just sound. It's… like an energy field. A vibrant, living thing that fills up his body, his thinking, his entire being. All encompassing, soothing. Making the pain-filled state of his body disappear. Filling him with a sense of… protection… community. He is not alone anymore. He is part of – something - that he is yet unable to understand. He's a small child again that's learning to speak, learning to crawl, to take its first steps in a new territory. He allows himself to sink deeper into this feeling… to soak it up… to reach out…
I can't tell whether he understood me. For a moment, I was under the impression he was there, the human being that used to be Dwayne Hicks, Corporal of the USCM. He was being distracted though, I can tell. The way he looked at me, as if he was seeing something entirely new – not into my eyes, but – around me? He didn't listen. And then I lost him completely. He went off – into himself. I can't describe it more accurately. All of a sudden, he is entirely preoccupied with himself. I can literally see on his face how he directed all of his senses into his body. Although I'm disappointed to see this perfectly good opportunity wasted, I can't help feeling fascinated. Just what the hell is he listening in on? What is going on inside him? All that gives us outsiders a hint are his readouts. His brain waves. The strange pattern under his spiking alpha waves. Something big is happening, that's for sure. I'm in the middle of leaning back when I see Samuel enter the room, his stride purposeful.
"Isis?"
"Yes?"
"How is he doing?"
"Good enough." I gesture vaguely in the direction of the instruments. "He was awake a minute ago, but not really there. Right now, he's out and holding and appears to be stable. I guess this is more than we could have hoped for." My artificial brother nods while he takes in the Corporal's vital signs.
"What's this… double reading under his alphas?"
"I don't know. Nobody knows. I told Darwin about it, but the way things look, we'll have to wait until he comes around to conduct more tests on him." I eye him from head to toe and back and then ask: "So, what are you doing here?"
"I'm here to help you with the presentation."
My eyebrows lift without me consciously doing it.
"The presentation?"
"Hasn't she told you yet?"
"Obviously not. What kind of presentation?"
"Mr. Rosselli will be here for a surprise visit tomorrow. I don't know why we didn't hear about it earlier, but he wants to meet Darwin tomorrow at 2.00 pm, and she wants to be able to supply him with all facts about the newest development of the project. She wants complete tissue scans, video footage, the works. Within the next two hours."
I stare at him, incredulous.
"She must be joking, right?" A rhetorical question. Sam can't joke. Compared to me, he's a dumb machine. 'A dog', as Hicks would put it. I don't have to look at any watch to know that we've got no more than nine and a half hours to determine why the hell he didn't die when he should have. All because Darwin's in desperate need to show off some of her achievements to keep Weyland Yutani's high-ranking executive from ripping off her head over the escape-incident…
***
"Don't even try to deny it, Mr. Rosselli – you're only here because you wanted some more of our famous cappuccino, right?" I'm walking alongside our guest to take him to Darwin's office in Lab 1, trying to better his mood. He's solo this time, he would be able to react a little more to my playfulness. But he won't let me in today. His face is unreadable, a concentrated expression in his classic features that leads me to fear the worst for Darwin. He doesn't even laugh at my joke.
"Unfortunately, Isis, there are more pressing issues on my mind these days." Not even the slightest hint of a smile. "How far is it?" He's never been to Lab 1, I realize.
"We're almost there." I motion him toward the elevators, and we ride in silence. Darwin's realm is a place of concerted action during the daytime. Everyone knows their place, everyone is busy. After last night, there's a huge load of work to do. Tests, scans, reports, comparisons… Now that we've got our first success, we've finally got the basis for more extensive research. Only a few of Darwin's staff pause and look up as we enter, their eyes widening with curiosity when they see the mighty company manager pass. He doesn't acknowledge their presence, instead heading straight to Darwin's office after detecting her behind the window. "And there she is!" I say, superfluously, as we enter, feeling somewhat sheepish. My old self would never have uttered a similar stupid reply. Wondering whether Kurtz is in fact the reason for Santiago Rosselli's unexpected visit, and whether he also filled him in on my 'strange' behavior, I come to a halt in the back of the room, feeling the sudden tension in the office very distinctly.
"Mr. Rosselli," my human alter-ego says, extending her hand. "How wonderful to see you again. I am sorry to say that I heard about your visit only this morning, but my staff and I did our best to give you a brief update on the project "Perfect Soldier". Even if we didn't have a lot of time for our preparations, I think you will be fascinated with our progress."
He takes her hand in his, but still doesn't smile. Not even in a courteous way. Today, he is 100% the mighty Weyland Yutani manager who can make others shiver with a mere look.
"This better be good, Darwin. I'm not hearing good things of you lately; the escape debacle, the loss of Alexander Saitchev, personnel brutally shot dead, patients under you care liquidising. There's a limit to the number of people I can make disappear." Rosselli pins Darwin with a cold stare. She nods, briefly acting the intimidated little employee and not the self-convinced, arrogant genius she usually displays, and makes an inviting gesture towards the conference table, where – sure enough – a cup of cappuccino has been placed for the W.Y. boss. He slips into the black leather chair, for once ignoring the coffee, and his fingers set up a slow rhythmic drumming on the desk top. A quite threatening gesture. I take the seat to his left and watch Darwin press the button that lowers the plasma screen in to place behind her. That certain air of confidence that's part of her persona makes an unexpected reappearance as she readies herself for the most important lecture of her career, even if she is probably aware that it's hanging by a thread right now.
"What I have to show you, sir, will brush aside any doubts, and any deficiencies you have on my part. While it's true that some of the patients, as you so enigmatically put it, have liquidised in front of our eyes, one hasn't."
"You have - a survivor? A success?" Rosselli stops his drumming and sits bolt upright, interest lighting up his face. Good one, boss! Flatten him with the facts, before he can flatten you!
"We do. I'm not sure how or why, there was practically no difference between this procedure and the others. By all rights the patient should have died, but he didn't. That led me to a more thorough examination of what was happening. The survivor, wouldn't you know it," Darwin snorts, "was Corporal Hicks."
Rosselli leans back into his chair and responds dryly, as if his words alone would explain the phenomenon, "Hicks always was one tough son of a bitch."
"That's as may be, sir, but I suspect there's more at play than I can lay a finger on." Darwin pauses in thought and paces the room for a few seconds. Waiting for Rosselli to become sufficiently agitated before asking him, out of the blue: "Nanobots, have you heard of them?"
"Of course I've heard of them. We've had them long enough."
"Yes, you might well have. Crude, microscopic machines. Slow, simple, single tasked, ungodly expensive and slow to multiply, barely even useful except in advanced microelectronic applications. These are the machines you know." Darwin paces a little more. Stares at the plasma screen, her back to us, before she turns around, her blue eyes mustering the executive. "What if I told you that I've discovered nanobots that are as far ahead of our nanobots as current computer technology is ahead of the abacus?"
Rosselli stands at a speed sufficient to send his chair spinning back across the room. A startled "WHAT!" is all he can shout. I feel a smirk tug at the corners of my mouth, but hold it back as I lower my eyes. This is going well. I underestimated her. Just when I thought she'd be in a tight place explaining the failures of the past weeks, she not only manages to come out unscathed, but victorious. My human sister is smart enough to not let her triumph show as she casually retrieves the chair to let Rosselli sit back down. She's calm, precise, professional. She's toying with him now. She knows exactly what she has to do in order to make the threat go away. I observe her with new interest. Maybe I can take a few tips from her for my very own game of poker.
"These nanobots are a six-hundred-thousandth of a millimetre in length, that's sixty nanometeres. Fully a tenth the size of our current smallest nanobot. They move with a speed unheard of. They obviously use the bloodstream to get around but their ability to cross the flow is incredible, their navigational abilities astounding." She depresses a button on the remote. The lights dim and a picture swims into focus on the screen.
"That's it?" Rosselli squints, apparently not knowing what to make of the image.
"That's it." Darwin folds her arms over her chest and takes a step back, coming to a stop at his right side.
"It looks like a clawed tank!"
"Oh, that's just one type, there are more types than I can count so far," Darwin replies matter-of-factly. Here she is, just having made the biggest, probably most important discovery of the century, and she doesn't even sound excited. Rosselli, on the other hand, can't hold back his fascination.
"It looks, well, sort of - organic." He studies the picture. Rises and moves from his seat to get a better look. Behind his back, I exchange a knowing look with my boss. We're on safe territory now. He seems to have all but forgotten what he came here for. I think I see a trace of relief in her expression when she answers him.
"Indeed. In fact, it is partly organic. Just like the Xenomorph, the nanobots appear to be a perfect marriage between the organic and the machine, each complementing and supplementing the other. What is perhaps more startling is the size of the organic cells, they are miniscule in comparison to normal biological matter, how on earth they function is totally beyond us. The race that created these is so advanced in the art of biomechanics that I don't think we'd ever want to meet them. We'd be but Neanderthals to them."
Really? I think. What about me? Ain't I a 'perfect marriage between organic and machine as well? Would I be nothing but a crude machine to the inventors of the aliens' nanobots, too?
"Quite," is all that Rosselli can muster. "But how do they work?"
"I'm afraid we might never know how their internal structure works. This picture was taken with an electron-microscope. The process kills them. We do have footage of them actually performing their duties but we can only surmise what they are actually doing on the cellular level." Darwin pauses to take a sip of water then she presses a button on the remote and a video starts to play. I recognize it as my last night's work.
"What am I looking at?" Rosselli looks puzzled. I can't blame him. I also couldn't believe what I saw when I prepared these images for him this morning. I mean, we knew about the nanobots before, but it is only now that we are able to study what they do to the human body.
"This is the Corporal's tissue scan, taken while he was unconscious. The tiny black dots, heavily magnified, are the nanobots."
"But there must be thousands of them!"
"Many thousands," Darwin explains calmly, patiently. She's comfortable now, fully in command of the scene again. The way it's always been. "They multiply with consummate ease. There appear to be nanobots for tissue work, nanobots for building work, replicator 'bots, scavenger 'bots, the list just goes on and on." She takes up a laser pointer and highlights a group of black dots. The picture zooms in. Time for her big lecture. The object of her attention is more than ready for it. 'Go for it, Darwin! Blow him away with it!' She launches into it at full speed.
"These particular nanobots appear to be repairing tissue damage. We don't yet know why but in the first instance they seemed to be tearing up the body, making adjustments to structures that the body simply couldn't cope with. In the Corporal's case this action was abruptly, so we assume, slowed and other 'bots came together to start repairing damage to the cells. As fast as the builder 'bots were tearing away areas to augment other areas the repair bots were in there repairing the damage. A fraction slower and we would have lost the Corporal. Even now the 'bots are working hard at repairing his systems. Chronologically, we've determined that a part of his brain was restructured first for reasons not yet known to us. At this stage his systems were going wild when suddenly there was this slowdown in 'bot activity. Tissue that was being ripped up was suddenly replaced but the density started to multiply at an alarming rate. The 'bots were forcing massive tissue regeneration but somehow they were knitting the new tissue together to form incredibly strong bonds. This is how he managed to break the restraints. The internal pressure was intense to the point that many of his blood vessels were rupturing. The 'bots worked hard and fast to repair this damage, multiplying at a rate sufficient to keep just a step or two ahead of the damage. It sounds inconceivable but it's like they were being directed, yet there's no evidence, other than the 'bots modified actions, that supports this. One wonders if they use a collective intelligence, the more of them there are, the smarter they behave. But, again, there's no proof of this. It's all conjecture at this moment in time."
"So, he's super strong, what else?" Rosselli inquires. He doesn't ask about a single thing she just told him. I'm surprised.
"We don't know yet. We won't know until the Corporal comes around. Even then he might not be willing to communicate with us and I'm not sure that we could control him if he decided to get, well, nasty. We've no idea what abilities the 'bots are giving to the Corporal and, short of killing him, we can't stop it."
"You better damn well learn to control him, Darwin, he could be the greatest thing to happen to W-Y in years." Are those credit-signs I see in his eyes? Is he beginning to see the possibilities of this project? I don't know what he had to do in order to get "Perfect Soldier" green-lighted, but I assume it wasn't easy, even for him. And now, that triumph is near… Darwin, however, doesn't care to comment on his outburst.,
"To continue. We detected an alarming drop in the Corporal's iron levels. From this we can surmise that the 'bots are using the iron in his blood as part of their replication process. We assume that they use it for soft iron cores for their motors or whatever it is they use for motivation. Isis is pumping iron into him whenever his levels drop too low, and that's frequently." She takes a brief look at her notes and takes a deep breath before she continues. "Perhaps more startling was what we found when the Corporal was removed from the operating table. Isis noticed a dull sheen in some areas of the table, particularly where the Corporal's muscles and back had rested. On closer inspection it was found that some of the molecules had been stripped from the steel. It seems that the 'bots actively sought out materials external to, but in contact with, his body. This whole thing goes way beyond our understanding." Another look. Rosselli can't seem to wait for more. She can supply it. "So far we've noticed a change to the Corporal's muscle and bone structure, his brain structure, and his eyes. What that means we can only guess at but my guess is he sees things differently now."
Silence. This is all we know at this point. What it all means, and where it will lead us, we cannot even begin to understand yet. These are exciting times, but dangerous times, as well. All the more when I think of what lies ahead of us tonight… Raven. Will she really subject Raven to the treatment yet? While she doesn't even know what the alien 'bots will make of our soldier? Is she really going to risk it? Some more, long moments, we all ponder at the implications of our doings, staring at the plasma screen. It is Rosselli, who's finally breaking the silence.
"Can I see him?"
"Who? The Corporal?" Darwin looks at me. What? Does she want me to decide this?
"Is there anything speaking against it?"
"No… not really." Her gaze wanders off to a point somewhere beyond the window, into the vast realm of Lab 1. "I just don't think there'll be much to see. He's still mainly unconscious, and when he isn't, he's just lying there. He's still on the ventilator, so he won't even be able to speak. It's way too early for the circus show, yet."
"Well, I want to see him nevertheless." Rosselli rolls back with his chair and stands up, his firm voice an indication that he is not willing to discuss his decision. "Hearing you talk about it and seeing these abstract images is one thing, but seeing the man himself is an entirely different thing."
She shrugs.
"As you wish, Sir. Although it is likely that you will come out feeling disappointed. He's still looking like a normal human being. It's only on a cellular level that he's different." She pauses, then – noticing the executive's impatience - points towards the door to lead the way. "Very well. If you follow me, Mr. Rosselli, I will be happy to show you the sights of interest."
***
Darkness, except for a slight blue vapor that covers the dozens of carefully arranged, leathery objects in the hive like a blanket. And except for the green lights where emergency exits used to be in the days when level 13 was not being used as a gigantic sophisticated breeding ground for a natural weapon from the depths of the universe. They have been deactivated and shielded with stasis fields to erase all weaknesses, for the human beings on Phooka Station know the stakes of the game they're playing. A single mistake could be enough to bring disaster to all of them, which would mean it would be them who'd be glued to the ceilings and walls, and not some unknown souls nobody cares for. Nobody dares to talk about it openly, but a certain feeling of dread can be felt on each and every level and in every room. And nowhere is it stronger than here, in the misty blue twilight of the hive. The organic architecture of the walls, the deliberate pattern of the oval eggs, the crouching, passive black forms in the chamber, they all seem to wait for the one thing that will – eventually - go wrong.
The mighty black silhouette towering above them could be the sculpture of a sick mind, too, made of chrome, flesh, chitin and alloys, lifeless, unmoving – but its mind is active. Very active. While she ordered her drones to fall dormant and conserve their resources – there is nothing left to do at the moment – she has to access the new situation. Woven into a giant structure that keeps her hanging from the ceiling, there is no way for her to move anyway, so instead she dives into the memories of the creature that connected to the stream just a short while ago.
Its mind-touch tells her it is indeed of the same species that's keeping her and her kind captive, so understanding it and its tactics could be vital in foretelling this species' way of dealing with the likes of her when they are not confined, finding its weaknesses. Their bodies are grotesquely inadequate, endlessly inferior to her own, this much is clear. Soft-shelled, with no means – neither jaws nor claws – to overcome an enemy. By all rights, she should have found a way to overcome them a long time ago, but nothing she tried worked. They can't reach the creatures whenever they enter her realm to steal another one of her offspring, They can't reach the electrical circuits surrounding them, even though they're picking up their emissions. She sees the ways out of this chamber, but they can't reach them, either. Every time they try to access the vents, they hit an invisible wall. There is a tremendous amount of energy all around them, and yet they have not been able to tap into it, to use it for their own purpose. They can barely find enough metal and minerals to keep their own nanobots active – they don't grow, they don't evolve, they are forced to stay dormant until the necessary material becomes available. This problem confuses her. She even stopped laying eggs, as there is not enough food available to make the new ones grow into drones. It is a new situation, and she'll have to adapt and solve it.
So she opens her memory and listens to the stream of utterly alien sensations. Searching. Probing. Interpreting. Running the data through a cross-coupled trio of decoding algorithms, different frequencies, forwards, backwards, organic data, re-align for RNA molecular storage, zooming, until finally, she hears the familiar sound again. She replays, altering some of her settings. The sound becomes more distinct under an enormous noise. It is a drone, and it is under attack. It's heavily damaged. She replays again, and suddenly, her visuals fall into place. While she doesn't understand the creature's utterances, she does have the key to its optical memories now… only that she's strangely hesitant of using it to access the entire file. The first time she dived into the pool of data, she got hurt. Twice. Not enough for any permanent damage, but enough to irritate her. The sensation of an electrical jolt right through her neural-net. An EMP? Some sort of defense grid? Did she underestimate the creature? Can it hurt her again? Is her undertaking more dangerous than she thought at first? Can she really risk it? Was it just sensory overload?
Coming to a decision, she issues another command to her dormant drones. Orders them to attack her and use the material to allow a drone to become a new queen if the hunt for information should render her defective, she pre-primes the chosen drone. She only has to wait a micro-second for the single-minded confirmation, then dives into the realms of another consciousness…
***
„Next staircase down. Stay together, people."
Apone's voice barely penetrates the heavy crackling in Hicks' headset. He is at his usual position at the end of the squad, last man, his pulse rifle's safety off and ready for action, the heavy weapon a part of him. His eyes glide over bizarre outcroppings, molten metal which dripped down the walls like candle wax. Someone is whispering, but he can't understand the words. He stops for a moment to run his fingers over one of the bizarre walls. It feels smooth, organic. Alive. He can't recall ever having seen nor felt anything like this. A shudder runs down his spine and turns his stomach to a block of ice. The feeling of foreboding evil in these dark catacombs is overwhelming, causing him to turn his head every other step with the distinct notion of having missed something vital, something that will sneak up on him and rip his head off as soon as he's not looking. Nothing. Nothing on the tracker, nothing for his eyes to pick up.
It's obvious that his comrades feel the same. The unusual quiet over his earphone speaks louder than words. No dry jokes, not even from Hudson, who usually relies on them to keep his nervousness in check until somebody tells him to shut the fuck up. But nobody's talking now. The weight of the darkness and leaden atmosphere weighs them all down... Geez, it's as if they were walking through a graveyard... at midnight. A nervous smile tugs at his mouth, but it doesn't stand a chance. 'You're trying to play it cool, huh? But you know better.' Yes, he does, but why does he still feel this strange pull further into the cave, and not away from it? By all means, they should be running the opposite way, right? It's clear that something very bad is going to happen to them very soon, and still, he's strangely eager to proceed. Forcing himself to stop, he looks around some more, turns again. 'Damn, this is creepy...'
'An aggressive alien life form. Incredibly fast, strong... and smart. Not to be taken lightly.' Ripley's words, from the disc. Like the others he listened to it. Trying to take her report seriously, maybe a little more open-minded than the others. Still... they are Colonial Marines, right? Trained to handle the worst. The best modern military has to offer. How could simple bugs – however big and strong – pose a threat to them? He wipes the thought away, angry with himself for letting himself be distracted by it. Instead he concentrates on the silhouettes moving before him, heads bobbing up and down. Frost... Hudson...
The pull's getting more powerful. A current of air? No. It's more like… like a field of some sorts. A tractor beam. 'Yeah, right, Corporal. Give me a break!' And another sensation, almost like – a voice, but not really. Calling him, namelessly. Urging him along.
"Who is this?"
"Hicks?" Apone. „What is it?"
He listens intensively for a few heartbeats more, but picks up nothing else. Just a trick his over-active imagination is playing on him? He can't tell. Inwardly shaking his head to himself, he reports to his Sergeant.
„Nothing. Thought I heard something... must be the interference down here." A questioning look by his friend, Frost. 'Everything okay?' He nods. They understand each other. Years and years crawling through the worst shit together make words unnecessary. The Private turns around to follow the others, and with one last shrug, Hicks follows him into the next room.
"Jesus...!" Apone again, sounding upset, suddenly drowned out by the others. As Hicks enters, he's close enough to hear the shocked muddle of voices for real, can see the others grouped around something to his right in one of these artificial niches, blocking his view. The vague cold suddenly turns his stomach into the equivalent of a meat-locker.
"Hell..."
"God, what is this? How –"
Hicks steps forward, reluctantly wading through his men with the strange feeling of knowing what he is about to find. Sees Frost's stone-set face, the big trooper mesmerized by the obscene display in front of him. Hudson, equally shaken. Vasquez... wide-eyed like he's never seen the tough Mexican smart-gun operator before. Finally, Apone. His sergeant. A big man who laughed into death's face on more occasions than he can recall – so caught up in what he's seeing that he doesn't even notice Hicks stepping up to him. A terrible stench fills his nostrils, and the ground beneath his boots is sticky. He doesn't have to look down to know it's blood. Puddles of it. 'I've seen this before! This is the same as –' He stops, suddenly hesitant to look up. He doesn't want to see it all again. To relive it all again! Please – can't somebody make this stop?
"Goddammit..." The usual calm and determined expression has vanished from the Master Sergeant's eyes and been replaced by naked horror. Hicks looks up, and his stomach contracts into a knot, sending up a sour flavor into his mouth.
"God..." Slow motion now, and the distinct feeling of being operated by somebody else, some sadistic director who is using his eyes as cameras, leading his view upwards, zooming in on the torn bodies of Ferro, Spunkmeyer and the new Lieutenant... Gorman... their chests exploded, limbs torn and twisted at impossible angles to fit into the alien wall design. Somewhere in the back of his mind, in a yawning, bottomless black hole, terrror waits to take him into its cold embrace. And suddenly, even more distressful – he feels another sensation become stronger: The block of ice his stomach had turned into has melted and now – it's growling! He's hungry! Ravenous, in fact! A feeling so utterly obscene, he's horrified by it. But can't help it. Nor can he do anything against the stench of blood turning into a sweet perfume in his nostrils! In absolute self-disgust, he feels his mouth starting to water…
"Hicks! Please – please help us!" Another voice, all too familiar – and pain in it, too! Pain – and horror! He turns his head, and it's Ripley, woven into the delicate, obscene pattern, unable to move except for her head, eyes wide open in a display of endless horror, her neck bent back and trembling with effort, as her words melt into an incredible scream, torment, despair and pain - unbelievable pain. A strong, blue aura surrounds her. The smell of food – and new life! is almost too strong for him to bear. - "Kill me! Please, kill me!"
He tries to move, but can't as his feet appear to be solidly frozen to the ground. 'What is happening with me? Jesus-'
"Please! They're coming! Remember your promise! Please! Your promise!"
His arms move, but instead of lifting the pulse rifle to put her to peace, they throw it to the floor. He's HUNGRY! Again, the feeling of being moved – somebody is controlling him, as if he were but a figure in a video game or illuso. He doesn't want to, he –
"Kill me!"
"Hicks? Hicks, what's-"
He spins around to the sound of Apone's puzzled voice, and hears a collective gasp. Blue! A single blue blur in front of him as he lunges.
"Dwayne, don't!"
Huge eyes staring at him , the 'whoosh' of pulse rifles being raised – as he smacks into Frost and buries his jaws in his friend's face. Tearing, ripping, the rich, ripe flavor of brain matter and blood in his mouth getting him off, intensifying his hunger!
"Noo!"
A crescendo of noise, shouts, and then the angry bellow of weapons! The slugs tear into him, and he whirls around, emitting a high-pitched, unearthly scream, biomechanical arms shooting forwards, their inch-long claws finding their aim-