The Hunter smelled the crash site before it saw it, a concoction of burnt wood, spilled fuel and other unknown scents. The smell grew stronger as it waded waist-deep through a shallow lake, its powerful legs tearing through weeds as thin and strong as spider silk, strong enough to eventually permeate its featureless grey helmet.
The Hunter had scoured many jungles like this, jungles of many colors, but it had never set foot in this jungle before. The trees and bushes were similar forms to others it had seen, but there were also plants and animals here that were dangerous in many ways. There flowers that could poison a creature just by touching it. Were this any other hunt it would relish the challenge of an unfamiliar environment, but here, the disadvantage was not wanted.
The jungle was pitch black tonight. The lake barely reflected the starry sky. The nocturnal beasts that inhabited the trees stayed silent and kept their distance, wary of the newcomer in their midst. But the Hunter was not troubled by the darkness. Through its visor the jungle stood out against the black, its limited warmth manifesting as figures of midnight blue and turquoise. As it neared the edge of the lake, the visor caught a hint of red. The vivid heat of a fallen ship that still had power.
The Hunter stopped and looked around. There were no other heat signals. No colonists, but no survivors either. The Hunter had gotten here first. It pressed a button on its wrist computer. Its view of the jungle flickered as the mode changed, the colors switching from blue to green. It slowly turned in the water, looking for any bright green shapes, any hint of tail or claw. The jungle was dark and quiet, as it should be. It switched back to infared and pressed on, reaching the ship within moments.
It paused when it saw the vessel. It knew this ship. Its clan had thought this ship lost almost two centuries ago.
The Hunter drew closer, stopping momentarily to plant a sensor on the ragged stump of a tree that had been in the ship's path when it made impact. If any life form larger than an insect approached the ship, it would know. The bridge window had been smashed- from the inside, if the thick and clear shards littering the jungle floor were any indication. The Hunter scrambled up a tree until it was high enough to make the jump to the window.
It found the first body there. The Elder of this ship had died gruesomely, a long, long time ago. The Hunter knelt before the aged corpse and stroked its clawed fingers across the fallen warrior's helmet, a mournful growl escaping its throat. The Elder had deserved a better death than this. What had happened here? The Hunter could see the answer forming in its mind, but it was all conjecture. It had to investigate further.
The helmets of the fallen warriors may answer its questions.
With respect and care, the Hunter removed the Elder's helmet, removed its own, and held the Elder's helmet to its own face. The Elder had died without realizing that anything was wrong, the view from the window the last thing it saw. The Hunter put the helmet back in its rightful place, armed its plasmacaster, and pulled out a short thick metal rod, which by the flick of a switch extended into a spear adorned with barbs capable of rending flesh from bone with every swing. It switched its vision to black and green and ventured deeper into the ship. It had to find the cargo hold.
Lights flickered. Sparks erupted from broken cables. Pale steam hissed from the ventilation system. One wrong shot from the plasmacaster could prematurely blow the ship. The Hunter would use it as a last resort. On its way it saw bright splashes of green on the floor, not serpent blood, but traces of the fluids left behind by its profuse salivation. Or the slime coating of a parasitoid. The Hunter explored with extreme caution, aiming the barb of its spear at every crack, nook and cranny it passed. The wristblades worked better for close encounters, but the spear ensured a quick kill at a safe distance.
It found the second corpse in a corridor that had been rent in two, held together only by a few strips of cable and twisted metal. The body itself was in even worse shape. The Hunter found the torso quickly enough, with the head still attached. A hole had been punched through its eye socket. There was another, bigger hole in his chest. The Hunter probed the chest wound; the bones and metal plate armor had been forced inward, not outward. This was not the host.
It procured the helmet, which still worked even with a destroyed eye lens dripping with neon green blood. It watched through its fallen clan brother's eyes as the creature responsible forced a door open, evaded the blast of a plasmacaster with incredible speed, and thrust its vertebral tail through the clan brother's chest. The Hunter watched as the serpent brought its victim close, right up to its eyeless face. The serpent flared its thick black tusks as it lowered its jaw.
The Hunter didn't see the inner jaw strike before the replay ended abruptly.
The Hunter replaced the bloody helmet, snarling behind its helmet. It was an abomination. A mockery of a Hunter's physical form. It couldn't be allowed to exist. It never should have existed. How could the crew have allowed this to happen?
It found the final two corpses in the hallway outside the cargo hold were the parasitoids should have been kept. They'd both been slaughtered, and a quick scan of their chest cavities showed that neither of them had birthed the Abomination. The Hunter didn't like this at all. If none of the crew had given birth to that creature, then what did?
It examined the security door, which was mangled beyond repair. There were deep scratches on the door, but it didn't appear that the Abomination had been successful in opening the door. The crash must have done the task for it.
The Hunter kicked down the remains of the door and readied its spear and cannon.
Nothing leapt out to greet it.
The tanks were smashed and empty. All six of them. Including the one carrying the royal parasitoid.
The Hunter released a sharp growl. The situation was far worse than any of them had anticipated. It tapped a button on its wrist computer and recorded a message to send directly to Homeworld. It expected a quick response, now that they knew that a serpent queen was involved.
Until that response came, it had work to do.
With urgency speeding its actions, the Hunter removed a storage device from its back armor, the cleaner case it had brought for this mission, and set it down beside the closest of the smashed tanks. It ran a claw down the slit that ran down the device, which proceeded to open up with a hiss. The Hunter took the tracking syringe and stuck his arm into the tank. The thick needle dipped into the neutralizing fluid that had pooled in the bottom of the tank and procured a generous sample. The Hunter injected a small drop of the fluid into the wrist computer, which responded with a series of jittering red symbols. With the helmet's tracking system calibrated to the parasitoid's genetic code, it changed the vision mode again. Instead of green against black it now saw fiery orange, streaks of fluid left behind by the smaller organisms.
The Hunter put the tracking syringe back in the case and pulled out the second item: a vial of glowing blue liquid that would dissolve any organic matter. Its clan was aware of the Earth-based organization called Weyland Ewetani, known colloquially as 'The Company', and its varied attempts at acquiring the serpent species for their own purposes. A faction of covetous fools meddling with a primordial species even the Hunters themselves couldn't entirely comprehend was a recipe for disaster.
Members of this Company were present on the planet at this very moment, seeking something that should never be unearthed. Dhi'haka. The site was undisturbed and undamaged, for now. It was as if the interlopers had learned nothing from what had happened on that frozen continent so long ago. Or perhaps time and curiosity had caused them to simply forget.
The Hunter fixed the fluid to its belt and took out the third and final item, an innocuous-looking silver brick. It started back toward the bridge, recalling everything it knew about serpent behavior. Unless they sensed the presence of hosts, the parasitoids were unlikely to stray far from the grown serpent, especially the one carrying the queen. And the serpent would almost certainly prioritize finding hosts for the parasitoids to implant.
Just before it reached the bridge, the Hunter received a response from Homeworld. Were it possible to translate the message into one of the languages of Earth, the message would present itself roughly as this:
Bring back the Queen. Kill the Abomination. Protect Dhi'haka.
There was no mention of reinforcements. That information would come later, once a plan of action was formed. The Hunter had more pressing matters. If the royal parasitoid had already found a host by now, the Hunter had two days at least before the queen was born, and another six days before it was mature enough to lay eggs.
It couldn't wait for assistance. It had to destroy the ship and get out.
Once inside the bridge, the Hunter fixed the brick to the control panel and opened it up to reveal the line of screen-like buttons inside. It began to input the code for the self-destruct sequence.
At that moment a series of symbols flashed in the top corner of its vision.
The sensor on the tree.
Something big was drawing close to the ship.
The Hunter drew its spear. It climbed through the broken window and crouched low on the nose of the ship, reducing its silhouette to a vague, inconspicuous shape. Through infrared it watched the jungle live and breathe, constantly moving, growing, and fighting for survival.
Then it saw it, a figure of pure reptilian muscle skulking through the foliage forty feet from the crash site. The Gorgon was an ambush predator, and at this moment it was on the hunt. But not for the Hunter. All the same, if it did sense the presence of the alien visitor and act upon it, things could take a bad turn. Gorgons were excellent climbers, ferocious fighters, and their jaws could crush even thickest bone on a Hunter's skeleton.
The three-pointed laser sight swiftly found its mark, focusing on the head of the native predator. One blast and the threat would be eliminated in a pink mist.
But the Hunter knew better than to fire right away. The bolt of the plasmacaster would soar through the darkness like a comet, visible for miles in every direction. Instead it watched from its perch, waiting for the Gorgon to leave the area. If the reptile chose to linger, the Hunter would use the trees to travel. Even the Gorgon couldn't leap from branch to branch.
The attack came from the side, from the other Gorgon that been stalking the Hunter since it had boarded the ship.
The Gorgon's jaws clamped down on the Hunter's shoulder, its teeth sinking into the armor protecting the important joint, as its weight and energy sent them skidding across the smooth metal of the ship. The Hunter almost managed to drive the spear into the belly of its attacker, but they went over the edge of the slip and fell to the jungle floor.
Impressively, the Gorgon had managed to keep its jaws locked on the Hunter's shoulder. With a roar the Hunter threw the Gorgon off and rolled to its feet. The spear had fallen from its hand. The plasmacaster spun searching for its target.
The Gorgon, appearing equally unhurt by the fall, dropped the piece of metal from its teeth and lunged again, aiming for the throat.
The Hunter's twin wristblades drove deep into its chest.
The Gorgon howled once and went limp. Its dead weight forced the blades deeper into the flesh as the Hunter held it aloft, to the point that its fist was pressing against the armored, scaly skin. Blood dribbled from the wounds, soaking the Hunter's arm all the way to its wounded shoulder. Dark red mingled with bright green.
Nearby, the first Gorgon stood still as a rock, its eyes fixed on the victorious predator. It had watched the brief duel in silence, torn between flight and fight. The Hunter glared and chittered at the at the loving Gorgon, holding the corpse high above its head.
The Gorgon heeded the warning and walked away.
Instead of casting the body aside like so much refuse, the Hunter carefully laid the fallen Gorgon on the forest floor, found its spear and missing armor piece, and climbed back up to the bridge. Before returning to the self-destruct device, the Hunter gazed down at the Elder's body. The unexpected ambush had given it an epiphany.
Homeworld had searched for the ship and the queen parasitoid for a long time. They'd had no success because they'd assumed that the crew had activated the hyperdrive before being killed. But they hadn't. The Serpent had killed them before they could. The ship had been sailing through space ever since, at faster than light speed, until it finally reached its destination almost two hundred years later.
Which meant that the Serpent couldn't have hatched on this ship.
The Hunter would piece together the rest of the puzzle later, back at Homeworld if need be. For now, it had work to do.
It inputted the code, beginning the countdown to destruction. Before it left, it knelt down and procured the Elder's plasmacaster. It was in excellent condition, and easily attached itself to the Hunter's other shoulder. It had a feeling that it would need all the firepower it could get.
Developed over millions of years in the Rhamnusia equivalent of limestone, the cave system stretched for six hundred and eighty miles, went as deep as three thousand feet, and was host to a vast underground river that fed the lake Zootopian Prospect had been built upon. Several species of fish, insects and other aquatic life had long since adapted to life in the subterranean water, while closer to the surface, small winged creatures clung to the walls and ceiling. Had it been discovered by that point, it would have been classed as the largest cave system in Rhamnusia.
Half a mile from Rhamnusia's surface, too deep for natural light to reach, the Serpent inspected the first host it had captured; a large creature that could best be described as a rhino with a blunt, bird-like beak, no ears and no horn, and scales the color of tree leaves. One of the normal impregnators had claimed it first, leaving the royal impregnator to sit curled up in a nearby alcove, waiting for the serpent to bring a new host. It wouldn't wait for much longer. Night had fallen not long ago, and the Serpent would be leaving soon.
The hive was almost complete. Formed from a resin derived from the Serpent's own saliva, the black bio-organic substance covered the cavern walls in their entirety. Already the atmosphere within the tunnels was being affected, the temperature and humidity rising to a more suitable atmosphere for the queen's eggs.
Crouched over the animal and its parasite, the Serpent's head sharply snapped to the ceiling. It was detecting miniscule vibrations through the earth. The vibrations were constant and felt nothing like footsteps. Nevertheless, the Serpent went to investigate.
The parasitoids that were still lacking a host stayed where they were. They were incapable of higher thought, but they knew the Serpent would not return empty-handed.
It travelled quickly, navigating the interlocking passages with ease until it reached the exit, a large cavern with a jagged fissure that had split ceiling almost entirely in two. During the day that fissure would pour white daylight all the way down to the bottom. The floor was littered with leaves, growing ferns, moss- and the occasional bone. A steady torrent of water poured from a stream in the jungle above, feeding the underground river.
The Serpent crawled up to the ceiling and through the opening, gripping the rock with claws stained with dirt and dried blood, and emerged onto an expanse of flat stone covered in moss and jungle debris. It remained crouched by the edge of the fissure, its long-barbed tail curling tight around its legs. Its tusks clicked together, but other than that it stayed silent. All the way along its elongated head, a series of sensory structures built to detect heat and sound searched for nearby prey. At the front of the eyeless carapace, vestigial photosensitive organs gave it the depth perception it needed to survey the jungle around it.
It could hear the rumbling sound of an engine. It uncurled its tail, turned to the east and started toward the source of the sound.
A quarter of a mile away, in the front vehicle, Administrator Hornbull watched wordlessly through the window at the endless black jungle surrounding him. The car was moving at a leisurely and safe pace, allowing him to make out individual leaves and flowers in the light from the headlamps. If it wasn't so dark, he might have tried keeping a lookout for any of the nocturnal wildlife. There was nothing interesting to look at, but as he was especially susceptible to car sickness, reading the wildlife pamphlet wasn't really an option. He'd tried a few times to strike up a conversation with Mr. Creed, the lion driving him back to the colony, but he might as well have been speaking to a cardboard cutout. Not even Bogo was this introverted. He'd resorted to his usual tactics, talking about himself non-stop and pausing every now and then to give the other mammal a chance to say his own piece. He never did, and Hornbull had long since given up.
Why did he agree to stay a few more hours? Dr. Ewetani had wanted to discuss a few more details and he'd wanted to stay in her good graces, that was true. He wasn't afraid to kiss someone's ass if he had to. But ass-kissing aside he'd wanted to make sure that all was well at the excavation site. He'd left the site at dusk with an ill feeling in his stomach.
He'd told Bogo and Clawhauser that the excavation would be taking place at Lake Kitticaca, and the site he'd left was not Lake Kitticaca. About six miles north-west of it, in fact. The excavation was taking place at a canyon that was connected to the lake by a river. The area was regularly patrolled by corporate security guards armed with machine guns. Ewetani had explained that they were there to protect the scientists and archaeologists and other non-combatants from the Gorgons and other dangerous wildlife, but the longer he'd lingered at the site, the less sure Hornbull was that that was entirely true. He'd had no idea that they were excavating a different area until he'd arrived at the canyon. Locking lower employees out of the loop was one thing, but outright lying to the Administrator of a colony was something else entirely.
It was this damn jungle. It was too damn claustrophobic, especially at night. Give him a concrete jungle any day. He'd feel better once he was back at Zootopian Prospect. Clawhauser would be asleep by the time he got there, but he could have someone from the night shift get his dinner. Preferably something fried and smothered in tartar sauce.
"Screw this jungle." He muttered under his breath.
In the jungle beside the road, little more than a shimmer in the darkness, the Serpent poked its face through the ferns and found the source of the rumbling sound. It was a mechanical beast trundling slowly down a dirt road with two bright lights shining from the fore. There were two creatures inside, both of flesh and blood, one much bigger than the other. A hulking grey animal with hooves that could crush skulls and a horn that could rend steel. Beneath the fabric and skin were huge muscles which radiated power.
An imposing mammal fit for a queen.
The Serpent salivated with anticipation and sped down the road ahead of the vehicle.
In the car, Hornbull had tired of staring at the darkness.
"I hear ZV-104 is looking to replace its Administrator. That true?"
Creed shrugged without a word. Hornbull rolled his eyes and kept talking.
"I did my homework on the place. Lots of ice, but it's a lot friendlier than the Antarctic. After this palaver with the excavation is sorted out, I think I'll send in my resume. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against ZV-73 or its people. It's this planet. It's too damn humid. And I hate this jungle. I know, right? I'm a goddamn rhino who hates heat."
Creed smirked. A definite step up from his usual response.
"I want to work somewhere where I can leave the colony without hating every second of being outside it. 104 seems like a safe bet. Maybe, after this excavation palaver is over, I could ask Dr. Ewetani to put in a good word for me to her step-"
It was a shock when they heard a loud bang from the left side of the car, which began to swerve. Creed slammed the brakes and the car fishtailed, almost losing traction before coming to a stop on the edge of the road.
Hornbull took a deep breath and let it out, willing his heart to slow down. He noticed then that the car had tilted at an angle. Either they'd hit a ditch or one of the tires had blown.
"Well, shit." He said heartily.
Creed tried to reverse. The car obeyed, making it back fully on the road. When he braked again, the car dipped.
"Wait here, sir. It could be a tire." Creed got out the car, which quickly cooled as it filled with air from the outside. He stopped and stared for a few seconds. "How the hell did that happen?"
"Is it a tire or what?" Hornbull asked.
"It's the tire alright. You're going to have to get out so I can change it." Creed walked to the back of the vehicle to get the spare.
"Great." Hornbull growled to himself.
Before getting out, he got out his communicator to send a message.
"Clawhauser, it's Hornbull. We've got a damn flat tire so I'm going be later than I said I would. Don't expect me in the office in the morning. Have my usual ready for three instead, or you're going to catch hell for it. Hornbull out."
He sent the voicemail and pocketed the communicator. "Creed, how long is this going to take?"
The lion didn't answer.
"Creed?"
Hornbull scowled and tried again.
"Creed?"
Thinking that Creed was busy with the tire, Hornbull turned in his seat. The view through the rear window was pitch black.
"Creed!"
He expected Creed's head to pop up in the window. It didn't.
"Creed, are you still there?"
He rapped on his side window. He couldn't see Creed anywhere.
"Did you lose the tire? Where are you?"
When Creed still didn't answer, Hornbull cursed and got out of the car. He strode around to the rear and found the spare tire lying uselessly on the dirt road.
Hornbull realized then how quiet the jungle was… how alone he was… and his mouth went dry.
"Creed, where the hell are you?"
He moved to the other side of the car, the dirt under his feet crunching loudly in the silence, hoping to find Creed preparing to jack up the car.
Nope. Not even a car jack.
Hornbull felt a chill when he saw the tire. They hadn't just blown a tire. They'd lost a tire. Even the hub, bearing and drive shaft were gone. The impression was that entire thing had been literally ripped off.
Hornbull grabbed a flashlight from the glovebox and aimed it at the jungle. He regretted instantly. The ways the trees looked in the harsh bright beam, gaunt and white like bone, terrified him. "Creed, get your ass back here now!"
He shut up and listened. If he heard footsteps, they'd better be fucking lion steps.
In the patchy grass by the road, lit in the ambience from the interior car lights shining through the windows, he found a lug wrench. Where the hell was Creed?
Hornbull was too scared to leave the vehicle. He wanted to get back in and taking his chances driving back in the dark with a missing tire. But he had to find out what happened to Creed first.
He stepped closer to the edge of the road and straightened out the arm holding the flashlight. At first, he saw nothing but foliage.
Then he saw Creed. He was standing in the jungle, staring at something.
"Creed, you son of a bitch!" Hornbull felt no relief as he charged into the jungle, pushing aside leaves and branches as he approached the lion.
Creed showed no sign that he had heard him.
Hornbull lowered his flashlight and raised his other hoof to grab the bastard's shoulder. He hadn't realized that Creed had been propped up by a gnarled, tree that glistened from dampness until the lion collapsed under his own weight. Hornbull dropped the flashlight to grab Creed with both hands. His right hand grabbed the back of Creed's head.
He felt a hard, jagged edge and wet mush, like jelly in a broken bowl, and stumbled from the lion's weight and the uneven jungle floor. He felt on his back, and to his horror, felt his fingers go inside Creed's head and touch the frontal lobe. Something had smashed the head open. Most of his brains had fallen out.
Hornbull dropped the fresh corpse, which landed noiselessly on his legs, and then there was movement from the gnarled tree that had been holding up the body. He thought at first that it was a Gorgon, but no, it was eyeless and vaguely mechanical and far, far worse, and his last thought before it dragged him into the darkness was that he should have gotten off this godforsaken planet sooner.
