This is my first try at writing fan fiction, so any constructive criticism is very welcome. Thanks for reading!
Colonel Harp watched the uplink dish begin to make its slow, methodical turn towards Sol. Although the dish was massive it seemed dwarfed by the vast, black thunderclouds that churned their way across the grey sky. The planet was only around a third the size of Earth, giving the horizon a perceptible curve that Harp still hadn't quite gotten used to, even after the five months they had been here.
The atmospheric fallout had played havoc with the planet's weather system, which had been far from idyllic to start with. The result were spectacular sudden storms such as this one, seemingly boiling up from nowhere - complete with 200 mph twisters and sheet lightening that rippled from one thunderhead to another. The Colonel found these displays of the planet's energy eerily beautiful, and he often liked to come topside to watch. The drawback was that the storms played merry Hell with Comms, and Meteorology had forecast that this particular storm was going to a kicker.
The windspeed had already reached 80 mph, although Harp could barley feel it inside his hardsuit. He was standing on the edge of the small rocky plateau the Communications Centre nestled on. Below him were the rows of neat, identical prefab hangers that made up the rest the surface component of Camp Foster, and beyond them the perimeter wall. In the gloom the Colonel could just make out the occasional figure of a suited Marine pacing along the top. Nobody on base liked pulling topside guard duty at the best of times, but patrolling in this weather produced the most grumbles. Being struck by lightening was not uncommon, and although the suits protected the wearer from any harm, it was still an unsettling experience, as Harp had discovered on more than one occasion.
Beyond the wall was a near-featureless rocky landscape, broken only by the occasional black basalt outcrop and covered in fine, grey-brown dust. The damnable dust covered everything, keeping Charlie Company's techs working from dawn to dusk clearing clogged vents and jammed rifles. It was highly radioactive, blown into the atmosphere and spread over the whole planet's surface by the plant that went critical two years ago. It also made wearing a hardsuit a necessity for any venture out of the base's structures - Harp had only been outside for twenty minutes and already the fallout covering his faceplate was making it difficult to see.
His suit's earpiece clicked twice and he heard the disembodied voice of the Comms tech on duty. "Uplink established, Colonel. Better hurry though, Sir, this weather front will be on us any minute."
Harp glanced up at the angry sky above him. "Roger that. On my way."
---
Once the decontamination cycle was finished Harp clambered out of the airlock, removed his suit and put on his base fatigues. One man looks very much like another when wearing a hardsuit, but once stripped from its protection any observer could see that the Colonel was every inch the stereotypical Marine officer.
He was perhaps a little shorter than might be expected - at 5'5" he was occasionally dwarfed by some of his own men – but his muscular frame and years of combat experience more than made up for it. He wore his grey hair cropped close to the skull; his body was covered in numerous small scars and vacuum burns, the result of a lifetime in the Corps. If asked, he would say that he was 51 years old, although a career spent at various lengths in hypersleep and the relativity conundrums that generated made pinning his exact age something of dilemma. He was usually a quiet and thoughtful man, although he had a fearsome temper when angered. His men respected and feared him in about equal measures, which suited the Colonel just fine.
The Comms Centre was the largest surface building on base, and sat next to the uplink dish. The walls of the circular room were lined with reinforced windows, providing a commanding view of both Camp Foster and the surrounding terrain. Above the windows banks of screens provided readouts from every data source available to the base, from weather reports to the transmissions of the orbital observation satellites. Below them technicians worked busily at terminals, interpreting data and passing reports to the Command Centre below ground.
When the Colonel arrived the tech who had spoken to him through his hardsuit handed Harp a slip of paper. "From Command, Sir. We have a window of about 15 minutes for your reply."
Harp quickly scanned the communiqué:
787-87D002
TO: CMDR PROJECT BRIGHTSTAR
FROM: MARINE COMMAND HQ
ADMIRAL JOHN H WALLACE
SOL MARINE INTELLIGENCE COMMAND
SUBJECT: RE: YOUR REPORT REGARDING BRIGHTSTAR UPDATE, BE ADVISED COMMAND EXPECT COMPLETE SURVEY OF LV-426 PRIOR TO WITHDRAWAL REPEAT ENTIRE SURFACE EXAMINATION VITAL. DO NOT INTERPRET NON CONTACT SITUATION AS INDICATIVE OF XENOMORPH ABSENCE. INTEL STRONGLY SUGGESTS INFESTATION, POSSIBLY HIDDEN. PROCEED WITH PATROLS. CONTINUE TO USE EXTREME CAUTION.
ADDITIONAL NOTE: I'm sorry to put you through this Andrew but Command seem to think your rock is crawling with some sort of alien killing machine. The brass are shitting themselves that they've spent ten trillion dollars sending a whole Marine Company there for nothing. There is no way they are going to sanction your withdrawal for another year at least, or until the survey is complete. The spooks have got a real bug up their ass about this supposed xenomorph so I'm afraid the only thing we can do is play along.
Lisa sends her love and we both hope to see you soon.
John
MESSAGE ENDS
Harp crumpled the page in his fist and turned to the technician, who was looking at him anxiously. "Take this down..."