The corridors were eerily silent, the only sound being the sound of their own feet as they advanced through the Cytheran complex.
>It's Talon, isn't it,> said Shadow.
Spiketail hissed gently. >How did you guess?>
Elysa looked up, her new abilities allowing her to listen to their conversation, but she said nothing.
>It was fairly obvious. You were never exactly forthcoming, but we've known each other for a long time. I could tell that you were… not sad exactly, but I can't think of a better word, about something. Now along comes Artemis saying that there was another Asphodel survivor, and you perk up. The only person I can think of who really meant anything to you on that ship was Talon.>
>Artemis only confirmed it,> said Spiketail. >I've been having… dreams. About… about the humans that I've killed. They said that Talon was not among the dead. I didn't dare hope, but now… and you can feel that distant Alien mind, can't you? There is something ahead, even if it can't communicate with us. The Queen knows I've tried, but there's no response.>
>Did your… victims say anything else?> asked Shadow hesitantly.
Spiketail turned, almost snapping at him. >No! Nothing important!>
>I just thought that if they knew about Talon… they might be able to help us now. Against Tartarus.>
>How could they? They're figments of my imagination! I really don't want to talk about it.>
Shadow was silent.
The corridor they had been following since the encounter with the Hybrids abruptly became a junction. Doors blocked all the routes out.
"What now?" snarled Othar'a frustratedly.
Her question was partially answered when a door slammed down behind them, blocking the way they had come.
>Now, we hope that their facility isn't Xeno proof…> said Shadow, and he leapt onto a wall.
"What are you doing?" called Elysa.
The drone made no response, and abruptly started hacking at a section of wall. Tan debris fell to the ground around them.
>This,> he said in satisfied tones.
The attack had revealed a narrow tunnel set in the wall about three metres from the ground. Jagged remnants of the metal covering lay on the edges.
"Where does that go?" asked Tyrion doubtfully.
>I have no idea,> Shadow replied. >But we don't have a great deal of choice.>
The clicking of Cytheran feet sounded behind one of the doors, growing louder rapidly.
"I think our choices just ran out," said Kal'Arak'e decidedly. He leapt for the tunnel, and pulled himself in.
"We can't get up there!" said Tyrion.
Spiketail muttered something about human inadequacy, and more or less threw both humans into the tunnel before climbing in herself.
Othar'a jumped for the narrow opening, and hauled herself into the tunnel just as a grating sound announced the opening of one of the doors.
She peered down, and saw twelve assorted Cythera, mostly Stalkers, milling around the junction. High-pitched buzzing hisses sounded, and the eyeslits flickered through the entire spectrum of colour.
Abruptly, one looked up at the tunnel entrance, screeched triumphantly, and crouched to leap.
She scrambled on all fours (the tunnel was too low for anything else) down the rocky passage, and tossed a Thei-bpi-de behind her. The Stalker screeched in an oddly familiar way, and recoiled as the plasma explosive collapsed the tunnel entrance.
>What was that?>
"Our exit going," said Othar'a. "I had to block it, they were giving chase."
"Then I was right, our choices have run out," said Kal'Arak'e dryly.
The tunnel didn't seem to be a natural part of the facility. It was entirely rock-based, with no metallic components at all. Not that that meant a great deal with technology that had been around for the best part of two billion years.
It was also very low, forcing them to crawl, or occasionally stoop. The Aliens were used to travelling on all fours, but their companions suffered.
There was a thump and a muffled cry of pain as Elysa rammed her head into an outcropping. That was the other problem – the tunnel was almost completely dark. The Yautja, with their helmets and filters, could see fine, and the battery of senses available to Shadow and Spiketail allowed them to see as though it were midday, but Elysa and Tyrion had to rely on clutching onto the Xenomorphs' tails to ensure that they didn't go too wrong.
And suddenly there was light.
Faint, but easy to pick out in this total darkness.
It was a glowing panel, set in the wall. The rock became metal, and the rough-hewn passage became the solid lines of an artificial section.
"A maintenance shaft, perhaps?" said Kal'Arak'e.
"What was that bit we just came from, though?" asked Tyrion suspiciously. "A natural fault in the rock that just happened to connect up with this?"
Spiketail reached out to enter the new metal framework, and recoiled as her claw sank straight through the apparently solid metal.
>What the hell was that?> she demanded. >I can see it with my eyes and my sonar, but I still go straight through it!>
Othar'a felt the metal tentatively. Her hand went straight through, and she grunted, satisfied. "A hologram surrounded by a low-power force field. Your sonar isn't strong enough to penetrate it, but your claws had enough force to go straight through. Someone's playing games here, and I think we all know who."
>What's the point of it, though?> pondered Shadow. >Only one way to find out, I suppose.> He pressed his head through the holographic corridor to see what was below, and recoiled.
>Tartarus was hoping that we'd be careless,> he hissed. >There's some sort of electrified spiked pit right below the hologram. I didn't see any Cythera, but there don't really need to be any.>
"So Tartarus found a useful rock corridor that linked up to what sounds like a power distribution grid, fired up a hologram, and hoped that we'd impale ourselves along the way," mused Othar'a. "Did you see any possible way forward?"
>Who knows? The only thing I could see was that grid of yours, and this hologram. We can see an end to the corridor at this end, but that could just be part of the illusion. If only we could get rid of the hologram, things would be a lot simpler.>
Othar'a cautiously looked down through the hologram.
"You won't like this," she commented. "There's a control station to one side of the grid that looks like it leads somewhere else. That's our best bet. The problem is that a power distribution grid like this has a top and a bottom, and power courses between the upper spikes and the lower ones."
"So there are spikes right above us… and while we're climbing down to this control station of yours, a big lightning bolt could jolt across the cavern," said Elysa. "Nice place."
"It will not be easy, but if we stick very close to the wall, we can make it."
Spiketail sighed. >From feared killing machine to common pack horse. Get on, Elysa, and let's run the gauntlet.>
Elysa gripped the drone's back spines tightly, took a deep breath – and then they were climbing.
The cavern was massive, the ceiling disappearing into darkness occasionally lit by arcs of electricity that jolted from the huge, four metre tall spikes that lined the bottom of it in neat rows. The spikes themselves had lightning-blue lines crawling across them, and the air hummed unpleasantly.
To the left side of the cavern, a small platform lay in a spike-free area. A corridor leaving the cavern was just visible.
Then a spike right below them discharged.
Elysa managed to shut her eyes tightly, but was still nearly blinded by the electricity coursing through the air. She felt heat, as though a few sparks had leapt off onto her, and then it was over.
Spiketail screeched in shock, and then started moving again, more slowly this time.
"What's the matter?" Elysa called.
>I can't see!> the Alien snarled back. >My visual receptors are gone. I'm going purely on sonar, which is not ideal in a place like this.>
Elysa spotted a blue corona forming around another nearby spike, and squeezed her eyes shut against the flash.
>My senses are all fuzzy…> complained Spiketail. >This is the problem with not having eyelids. And don't even get me started on my electrical senses.>
"Let's move across the wall instead of down," said Elysa. "Better to decend into that platform than climb onto it from the side. And we might avoid the lightning more."
>Let's hope,> the drone replied tersely.
Again Elysa shut her eyes against the intense burst of light from an electrical burst.
A cry of pain sounded from above them, and Elysa sent a look upwards. It looked like a discharge had partially rerouted itself into Othar'a's armour, but the Yautja seemed otherwise unharmed.
>The worst of this is that I have to climb head upwards with you on my back,> hissed Spiketail. >My agility goes out the window.>
"Try me," said Elysa.
A vicious mental grin flickered across the mental link, and Spiketail altered her direction.
Her passenger yelped, and gripped tighter. They were certainly going faster now, but Elysa constantly felt in danger of falling.
>This is nothing,> Spiketail commented. >If I could see properly, we'd be flying along.>
Elysa felt a sudden tingling sensation, and looked down. Sparks were flying into the pulse rifle she had strapped to her side.
A corona was forming around the nearest spike.
She swore, and regardless of personal safety clawed at the holster keeping the rifle in place. The straps released and the rifle fell just as the spike discharged.
Elysa screamed as the light burnt into her eye-sockets, and then again as shards of red-hot metal from the pulse rifle flew into her.
"Now I can't see," she said weakly, brushing off the remnants of the weapon.
>Only a few more metres.>
She waited for her eyesight to return. This had happened before, mostly after looking at a flash grenade by accident while she was training with the Asphodel's crew.
Evidently the lightning that coursed through this chamber was stronger than a mere grenade.
The feeling of climbing vanished, and she sensed they were on solid ground.
A feeling of claws on her face, turning her to face something.
Spiketail hissed. >My eyesight isn't working, but I can't see any damage with my sonar. We'll have to wait for the others.>
Movement not far away.
"What happened?" Tyrion's voice.
>She looked at one of those electricity bolts,> said Spiketail. >Couldn't help it, I think she was about to get incinerated because of her pulse rifle.>
"I can't see anything wrong with her eyes," Tyrion said after a pause.
>That's probably bad,> said Shadow. >We should get out of this place. The Yautja might be able to help when they catch up with us. There were a few close calls with their armour.>
A guiding hand led her somewhere. The humming in the air faded.
A thump nearby, murmured words, strange, scaly hands on her face.
"I'm no expert in ooman physiology," said Othar'a. "But there's definitely some damage to the optic nerve, or something along those lines. This should repair the damage; nerves are easy to repair. Oh, and this will be rather painful…"
A gentle brushing of something on her cheek. "Like most of Yautja medicine, you mean?" Elysa commented.
Mind-crushing agony flooded through her, as though red-hot spears had been thrust into her eyes.
It was still dark. Then she realised that her eyelids were closed.
She opened them. Vision returned, blurry, but there.
There was a collective sharp intake of breath.
Her eyes had changed. Evidently the strands of Xenomorph DNA had infiltrated the healing process again; her eyes no longer had whites, or an iris. All that were left were pure black orbs.
"Something happened?" she guessed.
Tyrion explained.
>Can you see anything differently?> asked Shadow. >When your stomach wound was healed, you became able to hear the hive mind. Perhaps your vision has been changed.>
Elysa considered this for a moment. "I'll get back to you on that," she said. "For now, we need to keep moving. Excitement over."
"She's right. We must have entered the main facility, wherever that is. Tartarus cannot be far ahead."
They moved slowly through the corridors, listening for the telltale clattering of Cythera, but once again there was an eerie silence apart from the distant cracking of the power grid behind them.
Then the corridor turned, and they came to a massive room. The corridor led onto an overhead walkway that looked down on the rest of it. Tall panels lined the room's walls and the intersections that littered it at ground level, with an effect rather like that of a locker room.
The sound they had been dreading, the sound of a Cytheran approaching.
A Warrior entered the room at ground level, and a panel opened in the wall to reveal a deep recess. The Cytheran stepped inside, and long cables extended to link up with the armour.
The armour split open.
The real Cytheran was revealed.
It was very spindly, and like the armour it used, had four long arms and short legs. Claws tipped all its limbs. It had dark, blackish-grey skin and a mouthful of needle-like teeth. The head was domed and smooth, in a contrast to the rest of the body. The two eyes were thin and slit-like.
The effect was remarkably similar to a Xenomorph.
The Cytheran moved with a strange loping motion to another panel in the wall, and vanished in green flash of a teleporter.
"Remember what the Cythera called Aliens? 'The Corrupted'? Maybe there's some connection between the two races…"
>There is,> said Shadow. >The Jockeys must have had a twisted sense of humour…>
Everyone looked at him, puzzled, and he realised that he had broken the promise he had made himself to keep what the Pilot had told him secret.
"What do you mean?" asked Othar'a curiously.
He explained.
CONTACT HAS BEEN LOST WITH GROUP AYH-1
FULL FACILITY SCAN INITIATING
SCAN COMPLETE
SIX ABNORMAL BIO-ELECTRIC SIGNALS DETECTED IN CYTHERAN ARMOURY 7
ACTIVATING COMMAND SEQUENCE 9-ALPHA
CALCULATION ENDS
There was a very long silence.
>There were theories that Xenomorphs were artificial life-forms before,> said Spiketail slowly. >There were several features that didn't seem to have any logical evolutionary history.>
"This can't be possible," said Othar'a flatly. "We Yautja have always been free to roam the stars! To think anything else is…"
>Blasphemous?> suggested Shadow sardonically. >How do you explain your legends of the Old Ones? Do you really think that those are just a set of nice stories? They fit the history too well.>
"He has a point," said Kal'Arak'e quietly. "Maybe this is simply a chapter of our history that has been forgotten, intentionally or otherwise. It doesn't sit very well with our outlook on life, does it? Knowing that we were once slaves to another race?"
"It couldn't have been forgotten that thoroughly to be reduced to legends," snapped Othar'a. "This is a nonsense, based on a legend and the ramblings of a dying alien."
"Has your technology advanced in living memory?" asked Elysa pryingly.
Othar'a hesitated. "Very little," she replied grudgingly, seeing where the human's point was going. "Our weaponry and technology has changed little in millions of years."
>Perhaps in around one and a half billion human years?> said Spiketail with surprising gentleness. She could see how difficult it was to accept a completely new view on the universe. >Look on the bright side. Xenomorphs were not only the slaves of the Pilots, but we were created by them, and destroyed at a whim.>
Othar'a made no reply.
Kal'Arak'e opened his mouth to make a comment about the alliance between Xenomorphs and Yautja being taken completely in their stride, when there was a familiar clicking of Cytheran claws.
A huge mob of assorted Warriors and Stalkers moved into the room below them, at least twenty of the armoured aliens.
Helmets rotated, eyeslits flickered.
They clearly knew that something was there, and it was only a matter of time before one looked up. They had had difficulty in killing Cythera in a one-on-one – this would be slaughter.
>Forwards,> said Spiketail as quietly as possible.
They crawled along the walkway towards the corridor at the end. Still the Cythera milled around.
Then one looked up, and all hell was unleashed.
Blasts of red light lit up the room, missing by inches as the six gave up all subtlety and sprinted for the end of the walkway.
The walkway vibrated as something landed on it, and Spiketail caught a brief glimpse of the hated Stalkers leaping onto the path behind them.
Then they were in the corridor, and the blasts from the Warriors stopped.
They kept going, the rapid clicking of the pursuing Stalkers driving them on.
And then they were on another walkway, overlooking a similar room to the one they had just escaped.
There was one big difference. The walkway met solid rock.
Dead end, with the chasing Stalkers intent on putting stress on the 'dead' part.
>Get down! Try to evade them in that maze of blocks!>
Elysa dropped from the walkway and landed heavily. She winced, but ran on around a corner.
There was a soft chittering from the other side of the block, and soft clicking sounds echoed through the room.
She stealthily drew her plasma pistol, mentally swearing about the loss of the pulse rifle. More primitive it might have been, but she had a feeling that the metal slugs would have been more effective against the heat-resistant armour.
Judging by what had happened against the Stalker back on the Yautja ship, she could take one down if she was quick and accurate.
A screech of Alien bloodlust echoed around the room, and there was the sound of a scuffle somewhere.
Then nothing but silence, and the steady click, click, click of the Stalkers' clawed feet.
One appeared around the corner, and spotted her immediately.
Despite inwardly preparing herself, she still paused in shock before aiming the weapon. Super heated gas streamed from the pistol's muzzle, and enough shots burned their way through the Stalker's armour to land a fatal shot. It crumpled, smoke trailing from the hole in its torso.
Elysa didn't wait for more Stalkers to arrive, but dived around the next corner. She mentally replayed the last few seconds and groaned. Nine shots gone. There would be a long wait before she could do more than slow a Stalker again.
Click, click, click.
There was a clash of metal nearby, and a Yautja snarl of fury. Again metal clashed, and then there was a thump as something hit the floor. An Alien hiss, and a faint scuttling sound.
How many Stalkers were there? From the sound of it, three were out of action. Ten?
She dived around the next block, and almost collided with a Stalker. Both combatants were surprised by the appearance of the other, but the Cytheran quickly recovered.
Elysa more of less fell backwards to avoid the lethal swipe of her attacker's claws. She fired the last shot, scoring a hit on the helmet. Although apparently unharmed, the Stalker paused.
The flash must have blinded it, she realised. If she were quick and stealthy, she could escape before it recovered.
Something (her ammo belt, perhaps) clicked on the floor, and the Cytheran lunged forwards like an avenging angel. She rolled over, barely avoiding the clawed feet, and crawled around the next corner.
There was a soft swishing sound very close to hand, and she looked around anxiously.
>Elysa!> came Spiketail's voice. >Don't say anything, just nod if you can hear me.>
It was a hive-link, Elysa realised. The Cythera couldn't overhear it. She nodded.
>Good. Can you fight at the moment?>
She shook her head.
>Run out of power?>
Nod.
>Ok. I need you to be bait here.>
What! she mouthed.
>Yes, you heard me. I'm out of sight at the moment, but in danger of being spotted and ribboned. Go to the end of that row – you'll see a Stalker pacing around. Attract its attention and stay alive for a few seconds; I'll do the rest.>
What the hell. You can only die once.
She walked around the corner, and was promptly spotted by the Stalker in question. It lunged, and was yanked backwards by a black tail that extended from above. Spiketail sunk her claws into the join between the helmet and armour, and the Cytheran crumpled.
Good one, Elysa mouthed.
Spiketail pointed down a corridor, and then leapt back onto the top of the 'lockers'.
The human moved down the indicated corridor, and checked the plasma pistol. Strange hieroglyphs lined a glowing panel.
She strained her memory, and recalled that they were Yautja numerals. Base nine.
She checked the panel again, and came to the conclusion that she had three shots. Not enough.
A human cry of surprise, and the thud of a speargun.
Hopefully, that made five down. Five to go.
Four shots. An Alien screech of pain somewhere nearby, followed by a series of rapid thumps as though something was being rammed into the floor repeatedly.
Chittering on the other side of her block, and twin Yautja roars of challenge. Metal clashed, and then silence again.
>There's only one left,> said Spiketail. >I can't see it, so watch out.>
Five shots.
Six shots, and there was a scrape behind her.
Instinct took over, and she leapt forwards. The Stalker hissed in irritation, and lunged again. Almost of its own accord, the plasma pistol rose and spat super heated gas.
As the smoke cleared, the helmet had been melted off but the Cytheran itself seemed unharmed. It flicked its claws out, and she did something suicidal.
She charged it.
As intended, the move caught the Stalker off guard. Her fist connected with the Cytheran's head, and it recoiled.
She punched again, but this time it snapped its teeth, drawing blood. It readied itself to unleash a killing blow, and then sprouted a speargun dart from its neck.
"Nice shot," said Elysa shakily.
"Thank you," said Othar'a. "That's the last one. We should move out – we managed to deal with these ones by surprise. The next set will be better prepared."
They walked around a corner to find the wall of the room, with the other four standing there.
"Wait," said Elysa suddenly. "Did anyone else hear strange swish?"
Spiketail stiffened. >I did, and I know where I recognised it from. One of those damned Cytheran teleporters. But what does it mean?>
"Either a Cytheran arrived, or it left," said Kal'Arak'e. "More likely the latter, or we would be seeing it."
Elysa considered the memory. Had there been a grinding sound? As though one of these panels had opened?
Her eyes tracked – and she realised that her vision wasn't changing. She tried to move her eyes again… and then it hit her that she had a much wider field of vision than normal.
"I think I just found what my new eyes do," she said. "It's like I can see in all directions at once. When I move my eyes, nothing changes."
Othar'a looked at the little black orbs. "That would make sense, based on their appearance. Mimicking the entire head of a kainde amedha."
"Perhaps it would be best if you tried to steer clear of that healing fluid in future, eh?" suggested Tyrion. "I'd prefer it if you didn't change too much on me."
The laughter was cut short by a grinding noise at the end of the row.
A panel opened in the wall to reveal a Cytheran Warrior. The barrels of its weapons tracked towards the six, and Spiketail leapt.
The alien's claws rose to protect itself, but she was too quick. The weak spot just below the head caved in beneath her attack, and it crumpled with a screech. There was a whine as one of the Cytheran's weapons discharged, and then it fell still.
She turned back to the group, and screeched, a noise of fury and loss.
Lying against the wall, a massive cauterised wound across his torso, was the limp body of Shadow.
>NO! You can't die on me! Not after all we've been through! Go dormant, quickly!>
>Too… much… damage…> he murmured. >Maybe… it's better… this way…>
>What are you talking about?> said Spiketail. >There must be something I can do…>
>Shut up… a moment, will you? Even if… we escaped this hellhole… I'd still be… Alien. I couldn't… survive like that. You treated… this as a blessing… while I treated it… as a curse. Maybe… you… were… wiser… than… I… was…>
There was silence, both physical and mental.
Spiketail looked at the dead body of her companion, dumbstruck, and then raised her head to the ceiling and screamed her loss to the uncaring world.
