"We don't know yet," Ling stated, speaking as much to the new arrivals as
to Anne, "we've never seen anything like this before. All we know is we
can't pull it off. It's attached itself, but it's not smothering him. His
blood is thoroughly oxygenated."
"How's that?" Lydecker leaned forward, studying the patient, "the thing's completely engulfed his face."
Anne let out a sob and ran from the room. Simpson turned to his assistant.
"Smooth. Real smooth. Ling, see if you can get a scan on this thing. We'll attempt to get things under control out there," he gestured to the lobby, where frenzied staff could still be seen.
"Hell, you might as well call a town meeting," Lydecker pointed out, "everyone's gonna have heard about this in an hour anyway."
********************
The town hall stood off to the side of the complex. It was a low building, but it spread across a wide area. Used mainly by the small school as a gym, it was also the location of town meetings, usually revolving around new company policy or weather forecasts. Today the usually bored populace sat, attentive and alert. They'd heard about Jorden, and they wanted to know if they themselves were in danger.
Simpson stood at the front on a raised platform, looking out over the sea of engineers and their families.
"As most of you are aware," he started, speaking slowly and loudly so that his voice boomed around the hall, "Russ Jorden returned here this afternoon, unconscious. Attached to his face is an unrecognisable life- form. It does not appear to be harming him, but we are unable to remove it."
"Where the hell did this thing come from?" shouted a voice.
"Jorden was exploring the high plateau out past the Ilium Range," Simpson addressed the whole hall, "according to his wife, he entered a derelict alien vessel. He proceeded to the lower levels of the craft, and this thing jumped on his face."
"What was he doing out beyond the Ilium Range with his family?" came a cry from the back, "the place is a frikkin' maze!"
"Look, we all know how this goes," Simpson grumbled, "some paper-pusher back on Earth sends orders to explore an area, we go out and try to salvage a little treasure for ourselves as well as Weyland-Yutani. We've all done it at one time or another, so let's not jump around it. Jorden was looking for crap to salvage."
"While we're on the subject of Weyland-Yutani," came a voice near the front, "has anyone contacted the Company?"
The speaker, Don Bridges, sat in the second row. Tall and well-built, Bridges had bought land on Acheron and set up a bar within the colony. This gave him the position of one of the most popular people in Hadley's Hope.
"No," Simpson hesitated, then began, "you all know what'll happen if the Company get involved. They'll cordon of the whole planet, and we'll be shipped back to Earth with nothing. No, it's better we sort this out ourselves. It's just one organism."
"You don't know that!" Bridges rose from his seat, as did many others around him, "for all you know there could be hundreds of the things coming to attack us!"
"Attack us?" Simpson snorted, "it's a crab. It's an animal. I think you're getting a little hysterical."
Chuckles echoed throughout the hall. Colonists, respecting Bridges but not wanting to lose face in front of their neighbours, taunted the publican.
"Ignorant bastards," Bridges muttered under his breath, taking his seat. He turned left, to his employee and best friend, "John, get the tractor ready. We're going out there to find this ship."
John Marachuk, a strong young man of twenty seven, had been with Bridges for five years. He worked behind the bar, but occasionally carried out odd- jobs for the colonists. He, like his boss, was well-built, but shorter. His short blonde hair was usually covered by his cap.
"Go out?" Marachuk's eyes widened, "are you sure? You said yourself, there could be hundreds of the things!"
"I know what I said," Bridges growled as the meeting carried on around him, "that's why we're heading out. I'll prove to these people. Bring a camera, and two pals. We're gonna need some help if we don't wanna end up like Jorden."
************************
There were no guards in Hadley's Hope. Acheron had been checked for indigenous life years before, and when no results had turned up the colonists concluded that guards would be a waste of money. That was why nobody saw Bridges' tractor leave colony grounds, trudging along towards the Ilium Range.
Within the six-wheeled, amour plated vehicle sat four men. Bridges and Marachuk, as well as two others.
Mark Brorsbig was a Russian terraformer, and as big as an ox. He was always requested to move the heavy equipment, and was usually silent. However, it could be betted on that when the Russian did speak, his words were usually worth hearing.
Ben Wendigo was at the different end of the spectrum entirely. Small and weedy, the man had a face like a rodent. His greasy black hair hung over his face, bouncing now and again as the tractor hit a bump in the rough terrain.
"I can't wait to get in that ship," he chuckled, his abnormally high voice bouncing around the tractor's interior, "there'll be enough salvage in the thing to get me three - no, four - condos back on Earth. Maybe take a trip out to the Luna Camps!"
"We're not salvaging anything until we get proof that there're more of those things," Bridges growled, leaning back in his chair, "and even then you'll be careful what you bring onboard. I'm not having any hostile entities on this truck."
Wendigo let out a long breath, exasperated. They'd been driving for three hours straight, and found nothing. He'd sworn to himself before he'd taken Marachuk up on the offer that he'd come back with more than the measly fifty credits the publican was paying. Hell, he'd only venture beyond the Ilium Range if he came back with at least enough treasure to buy himself a small space cruiser.
"Don't worry about it, Ben," Marachuk laughed, working the gears of the tractor as he tried to steer through the rock dunes, "according to Simpson's report it's a derelict alien craft. The Company'd probably give us billions for the seatbelts alone!"
"How do we know it is derelict?" Brorsbig asked quietly, his accent thick, "what if the crew are waiting for us with more than big spiders?"
"The guns are in back," Bridges gestured to a large cabinet at the rear of the cabin, "we won't exactly be using our nails."
"This better be worth it," Wendigo muttered, leaning back and closing his eyes.
"Ben, don't nod off on me just yet," Marachuk leaned round the driver's chair, "we're here."
"How's that?" Lydecker leaned forward, studying the patient, "the thing's completely engulfed his face."
Anne let out a sob and ran from the room. Simpson turned to his assistant.
"Smooth. Real smooth. Ling, see if you can get a scan on this thing. We'll attempt to get things under control out there," he gestured to the lobby, where frenzied staff could still be seen.
"Hell, you might as well call a town meeting," Lydecker pointed out, "everyone's gonna have heard about this in an hour anyway."
********************
The town hall stood off to the side of the complex. It was a low building, but it spread across a wide area. Used mainly by the small school as a gym, it was also the location of town meetings, usually revolving around new company policy or weather forecasts. Today the usually bored populace sat, attentive and alert. They'd heard about Jorden, and they wanted to know if they themselves were in danger.
Simpson stood at the front on a raised platform, looking out over the sea of engineers and their families.
"As most of you are aware," he started, speaking slowly and loudly so that his voice boomed around the hall, "Russ Jorden returned here this afternoon, unconscious. Attached to his face is an unrecognisable life- form. It does not appear to be harming him, but we are unable to remove it."
"Where the hell did this thing come from?" shouted a voice.
"Jorden was exploring the high plateau out past the Ilium Range," Simpson addressed the whole hall, "according to his wife, he entered a derelict alien vessel. He proceeded to the lower levels of the craft, and this thing jumped on his face."
"What was he doing out beyond the Ilium Range with his family?" came a cry from the back, "the place is a frikkin' maze!"
"Look, we all know how this goes," Simpson grumbled, "some paper-pusher back on Earth sends orders to explore an area, we go out and try to salvage a little treasure for ourselves as well as Weyland-Yutani. We've all done it at one time or another, so let's not jump around it. Jorden was looking for crap to salvage."
"While we're on the subject of Weyland-Yutani," came a voice near the front, "has anyone contacted the Company?"
The speaker, Don Bridges, sat in the second row. Tall and well-built, Bridges had bought land on Acheron and set up a bar within the colony. This gave him the position of one of the most popular people in Hadley's Hope.
"No," Simpson hesitated, then began, "you all know what'll happen if the Company get involved. They'll cordon of the whole planet, and we'll be shipped back to Earth with nothing. No, it's better we sort this out ourselves. It's just one organism."
"You don't know that!" Bridges rose from his seat, as did many others around him, "for all you know there could be hundreds of the things coming to attack us!"
"Attack us?" Simpson snorted, "it's a crab. It's an animal. I think you're getting a little hysterical."
Chuckles echoed throughout the hall. Colonists, respecting Bridges but not wanting to lose face in front of their neighbours, taunted the publican.
"Ignorant bastards," Bridges muttered under his breath, taking his seat. He turned left, to his employee and best friend, "John, get the tractor ready. We're going out there to find this ship."
John Marachuk, a strong young man of twenty seven, had been with Bridges for five years. He worked behind the bar, but occasionally carried out odd- jobs for the colonists. He, like his boss, was well-built, but shorter. His short blonde hair was usually covered by his cap.
"Go out?" Marachuk's eyes widened, "are you sure? You said yourself, there could be hundreds of the things!"
"I know what I said," Bridges growled as the meeting carried on around him, "that's why we're heading out. I'll prove to these people. Bring a camera, and two pals. We're gonna need some help if we don't wanna end up like Jorden."
************************
There were no guards in Hadley's Hope. Acheron had been checked for indigenous life years before, and when no results had turned up the colonists concluded that guards would be a waste of money. That was why nobody saw Bridges' tractor leave colony grounds, trudging along towards the Ilium Range.
Within the six-wheeled, amour plated vehicle sat four men. Bridges and Marachuk, as well as two others.
Mark Brorsbig was a Russian terraformer, and as big as an ox. He was always requested to move the heavy equipment, and was usually silent. However, it could be betted on that when the Russian did speak, his words were usually worth hearing.
Ben Wendigo was at the different end of the spectrum entirely. Small and weedy, the man had a face like a rodent. His greasy black hair hung over his face, bouncing now and again as the tractor hit a bump in the rough terrain.
"I can't wait to get in that ship," he chuckled, his abnormally high voice bouncing around the tractor's interior, "there'll be enough salvage in the thing to get me three - no, four - condos back on Earth. Maybe take a trip out to the Luna Camps!"
"We're not salvaging anything until we get proof that there're more of those things," Bridges growled, leaning back in his chair, "and even then you'll be careful what you bring onboard. I'm not having any hostile entities on this truck."
Wendigo let out a long breath, exasperated. They'd been driving for three hours straight, and found nothing. He'd sworn to himself before he'd taken Marachuk up on the offer that he'd come back with more than the measly fifty credits the publican was paying. Hell, he'd only venture beyond the Ilium Range if he came back with at least enough treasure to buy himself a small space cruiser.
"Don't worry about it, Ben," Marachuk laughed, working the gears of the tractor as he tried to steer through the rock dunes, "according to Simpson's report it's a derelict alien craft. The Company'd probably give us billions for the seatbelts alone!"
"How do we know it is derelict?" Brorsbig asked quietly, his accent thick, "what if the crew are waiting for us with more than big spiders?"
"The guns are in back," Bridges gestured to a large cabinet at the rear of the cabin, "we won't exactly be using our nails."
"This better be worth it," Wendigo muttered, leaning back and closing his eyes.
"Ben, don't nod off on me just yet," Marachuk leaned round the driver's chair, "we're here."