A/N: Thank you to everyone who is submitting ideas for the story, I'm not ignoring you guys, and I'll try to get around to as many of them as possible. I do glance back over the reviews on both stories frequently to make sure I don't miss anything, it may just take some time for me to write it in.
The RFS Призрак had drawn to a halt with the careful precision of its manoeuvring thrusters, leaving it utterly motionless in the vast expanse of empty space. A few dozen kilometres away – relatively close in the context of enormous spaceships – was the USS Voyeur, drifting at a leisurely metre-per-second pace, well within comms range.
On the bridge, a stout man with hard eyes and a grim frown sighed and removed his cap to sweep his short, tidy hair aside, before placing it back on his head and pressing the comms button once again.
"Last time Americans; if you can hear us, respond." He and his bridge crew waited a few moments, none of them actually expecting a response. They hadn't received anything the first two times they'd tried either, and had already written it off as an emergency situation. Even so, it was always prudent to triple-check, as their English-speaking associates were very touchy about maintaining great distances from any of their ships or planets. The captain gave the order to board the ship, and prepped the manoeuvring crew for the appropriate stopping procedures once they were docked.
He didn't like it; nobody ever flew a ship this slow unless they were midway through a sloppy attempt at stopping. What bothered him more was that it was a military ship which had no right being out here in the middle of nowhere, which of course meant it had been drifting for some time. It was obvious then, that the crew were most likely dead. However, the scanner station attendant soon informed him that the engines still had residual heat, which meant whatever happened, hadn't happened all too long ago. Hours, maybe a day at most, depending on how abruptly the engines had shut down. Whatever the case, there was a possibility of survivors, so rescue teams would be prepped. There was also a possibility that there were threats on board, alien or otherwise, so the rescue teams would be well-armed.
Half an hour later, the ships were anchored together, long umbilicals were stretched between airlocks, thrusters fired up to slow the drifting vessels to a halt, and the Russian Marines shifted steadily by the bulkheads.
"Kak vy dumayete, eto Xenomorphs?" a marine asked in hushed tones, nervously sweeping her rifle in wide arcs so the torch beam could cut through the darkness of the American ship. The lights were out, leaving only the glow from machinery in the walls and floor to raise the light level above pitch black.
"Vozmozhno…" came the equally-nervous reply from her fireteam's leader. Like the rest of the cautious figures who were shuffling in through the peeled-open airlocks, his rifle's stock was shoved tightly into his shoulder, barrel darting from shadow to shadow as if any one of them might leap out at him – which could very well be the case if any of what they had heard of Xenomorphs was to be taken seriously. Their empire hadn't seen much action in terms of the hyper-deadly aliens, and that was fine by them, even if the cause of such a phenomenon could be directly blamed on the power-hungry Weyland-Yutani Corporation. It wasn't as if they had much of a choice other than turning a blind eye anyway, as the Wey-Yu had long ago managed to put them in the same position as the Americans, and the Indians, and the Chinese, and all the other superpowers which had survived the trials of time.
The fireteam leader put a finger to his helmet's radio and quickly sounded off. He waited patiently, and received only static in return. With a growl of frustration, he hailed their ship – or more specifically, the command centre – to the same result. Their comms weren't working. That was never a good sign, especially considering they were well within the radius of their ship's short-range. That meant something was blocking them off, probably on purpose. With that in mind, he barked for his team to be on alert and stay within shouting distance, then continued shuffling forward.
The rear two privates leapt in fright and jerked their guns towards a dark corridor as gunfire rang out from distant halls, while the leading Corporal placed his hand on the third private's shoulder and directed his gaze to their comrades' rears. Nobody was to have their back unprotected, not while Xenomorphs were a potential part of the equation. The Corporal quickly demanded a report, to which he received an underwhelming, but predictable, response. Nothing. The commotion was too far away, impossible to spot without marching down the twisting corridors, deeper into the heart of the ship. He tried to reach the RFS Призрак once more, but again, predictably, found he was still cut off. He grimaced as he weighed his options; he could call a retreat back to the airlock, which would most likely guarantee them safety as they hadn't managed to venture very far within the American vessel. On the other hand, if he didn't press forward, he could be dooming any surviving crew members on board, and without comms, he had no way of knowing who had come out on top of the firefight or what the enemy was. It could even have been a false alarm; he'd heard Americans weren't big on hygiene, and often had rat infestations on their space stations and vessels. All it would have taken was one rodent and one jumpy marine. "Ivanov, datchik dvizheniya."
One of the privates – Ivanov, his tag read – who still had his rifle trained in the direction of the noise nodded with a nervous gulp. He lowered his Pulse Rifle to his side, clutching it in one arm whilst he fumbled around his backpack with the other, eventually pulling out a cluster of screens, plastic and wires which looked like a clunky old police radar gun. He flicked a switch on the side, filling the immediate area with a soft, barely-audible, high-pitched whine which quickly rose to its crescendo and faded into the background. A fuzzy blue cone flickered to life on the digital display, seeming to have waves of static washing over it like ocean currents intermittently.
The screen crackled and descended into a frenzy of dancing white lines, and Ivanov uttered a curse under his breath, smacking the side of the machine with vengeance. It spluttered back to life, the display wobbling from side to side for a moment before settling in its proper place. A shrill beep sounded throughout the room, immediately stilling them all. Another, and another, the gap between beeps getting smaller and smaller. Ivanov pointed at the intersection before them, stepping back so the group could cover him, as defenceless as he was.
A flash of movement, a black shape darting past at high speed, seeming not to notice them, and then it was gone. The beeping settled like a heartbeat after a short sprint, eventually disappearing entirely. The soldiers remained still a few moments longer, weapons still trained on the now-empty intersection, hearts pounding in their chests.
"Xenomorph…" a private breathed. But it hadn't seen them. Maybe it was heading for another group of marines? If that was the case, they needed to give chase and assist. The private voiced these thoughts, and her CO grimly agreed, waving his team forward. They found themselves coming out in the ship's hangar, gulping nervously at the high ceiling brimming with catwalks above, shrouded in darkness which could conceal an army of Xenomorphs. However, what really put them on edge was the ships. Small dropships lined the walls in neat lines, toppled and tilted, scorched and missing parts. Landing gear, engines, computers and other essential components littered the floor nearby to their vehicles of origin. They had clearly been blown off by explosives of some kind – sabotaged. But why? Private Ivanov kept his eyes glued to the screen of his motion tracker, even though it was pointless. If there was motion in the catwalks above them, it was out of range of the severely-outdated equipment, but not out of range of a drop attack from a robust Xenomorph.
Their corporal suddenly called them to a halt, raising a clenched fist in their air, before pointing out a single, undamaged ship, not daring to utter a word. The ship was an utter black sheep; it wasn't military like all the rest, and it was parked haphazardly in the middle of the hangar. The corporal deducted this meant they had never gotten around to parking it properly, so this ship had arrived soon before the disaster. He motioned for the privates to watch his back while he stepped closer to the vehicle, running a hand along its side as he walked around it, inspecting it. It was a maintenance shuttle, the kind that space stations leant to docked cruisers to fix up any hull damage. So this shuttle had either abandoned a space station to be picked up, jumped ship from a different cruiser which had departed its station in a hurry, or had been leant to this vessel, only for it to launch prematurely. His hand brushed over the designation. He couldn't read it, but he knew Private Sokolov had some English under her belt.
The Corporal motioned her over, and she whispered her response so quietly she was almost inaudible.
"Ree-vell-iss… Three…" She turned that word over in her head. Reveles. She'd never heard of it before. The Corporal scratched his chin and began pacing away from the vehicle, causing her to half-turn in case he gave any hand signals. And that's how she caught it. A red glint, bouncing off her CO's breastplate – one dot, two, she didn't bother to count. "Snayper!" she cried, throwing herself onto his back, toppling them both to the ground as a blur of blue flashed past them, colliding with the far wall and exploding into a brilliant shower of sparks and flame.
"Dvizheniye!" yelled Ivanov, pointing wildly in their direction. Sokolov rolled to her feet, bringing up her Pulse Rifle as her eyes darted about, searching for their enemy. Ivanov took matters into his own hands, backpedalling away from his team in order to pull out his pistol, wielding it alongside his motion tracker. He began firing wild shots at nothing. Literally nothing. Sokolov had her torch beam darting around wildly in the area he was shooting, and she saw not a shape nor shadow. If there was a Xenomorph there, she would have seen it by now.
Then, blood sprayed from his stomach, two holes appearing from thin air as his mouth flapped open and shut in disbelief, equipment falling from his hands. He was hoisted a foot into the air, then dropped onto the floor in a pool of his own blood. There had been nothing. Nothing. Private Vasiliev screamed and pressed his trigger down, his Pulse rifle matching his roar of rage and his ammo counter rapidly spiralling down into the depths of nothingness. Sokolov didn't hear his dying gurgle over the high-pitched gunfire, but she saw the circular object as it passed through his chest and circled around the hangar. Vasiliev fell to his knees, then collapsed onto the ground, gun finally clicking empty.
The Corporal, to his credit, kept a level head. The disc whistled quietly as it circled back around the room, and he followed it with his Battle Rifle, keeping his eye glued to the scope and finger pressed as hard against the trigger as he dared, until the disc disappeared. He pulled the trigger. A spray of green flew up and splattered across the floor, the air flickering and distorting. A creature in a near-featureless silver mask with dreadlocks spilling from the seams and barbarian-esque armour complete with fishnet stockings was stumbling backwards, a hole in its shoulder leaking green fluid.
Sokolov took cover behind a wrecked dropship when she spied a small weapon on its shoulder rear up. The Corporal must have seen it too, because he rolled aside, barely managing to avoid the bolt of blue energy which ensued. But the dodge left him vulnerable, and with a leap that no human was capable of, the creature landed on him, one hand on the man's throat, the other drawing back its fist so a pair of wicked blades could flick out of its wrist armour. The Corporal choked on his own blood when those blades embedded themselves in his chest, but as all humans must, he had the last laugh. With a lunge unexpected of a dying man, the creature stumbled back, a combat knife buried in its neck.
To Sokolov's amazement and horror, the creature yanked the blade out of itself and tossed it aside, as if it had been a spit ball from a fourth grader; a minor annoyance. Sokolov quickly ducked behind her makeshift cover, evening out her breathing in an attempt to quieten herself. A quick check of the situation made it obvious that despite the burning need to avenge her comrades, any attacks on the alien would most likely be ineffective. What's more, her helmet camera's feed had captured most of the battle. If she could find a way out of the communications block and get the info to her people, they could analyse it and find a way to take the bastard down.
She cautiously took another peak over the lip of an upturned wing, and spotted the creature hoisting her Corporal's body into the air by the chin, turning the head this way and that, sizing it up. The blades slid from its wrist, and Sokolov had to force herself back down when the cruel metal began carving away the man's skin and flesh, right down to the bone. She didn't understand what purpose the sick act held, but it created an opportunity for her. Keeping low to the ground in a careful crouch, she shuffled her way across the room, avoiding rolling from one cover to the next, as although it would leave her out in the open less, the noise could very well alert the creature, who was still busily chipping away at the Corporal's flesh.
She reached the exit just in time to see the creature finish hollowing out the skull, thin red splotches still clinging to the pure white bone, running down the smooth dome and dripping from the upper jaw. The creature slipped it tenderly into a netted pouch on its belt. A trophy, it seemed. Almost in the clear, she stepped through the empty doorway, an entire bulkhead door having vanished mysteriously at some point before they'd arrived. That was when an air-shattering clang split the eerie silence, making her physically cringe and skip a heartbeat. She pressed herself into the alcove created by the door's frame and took a sharp breath as a low hiss filled the corridor.
In the darkness, she could barely make out the unfolding form of a Xenomorph as it slid stealthily out of an overhead vent, as if the entire ship hadn't just heard that cacophony. Within the hangar, the injured creature unsheathed its claws and primed its shoulder cannon, assuming an aggressive stance. Sokolov bit back a whimper as the Xeno screeched and sprinted past her with unmatched speed, barrelling straight towards the other alien. The injured extraterrestrial let loose a ball of energy, which was deftly avoided by a timely leap to the left, barely putting a dent in the Xeno's furious pace. They clashed, and Sokolov decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, instead choosing to use the opportunity to flee, before any other aggressive, deadly creatures decided to appear.
She dropped into a sprint, confident that nothing would hear her over the explosive weaponry and screeches of rage. It seemed that the Xenomorphs were no friends of these new creatures, which was a blessing for her and the rest of her kind. One species could be used as a distraction for the other, giving humanity a respite in being hunted down and slaughtered.
Just as she'd expected, several more Xenomorphs seemed to pour off the walls, out of small crevices and maintenance shafts, drawn to the sounds of battle. Sokolov did her best to ignore them and kept tearing her way through the winding corridors, her booted feet pounding on the metal grills more than likely painting a massive target on her back, but it was too late to stop now. They had her scent.
She burst into the mess hall, finding the swinging double doors would only open so much, as tables and heavy furniture had been pushed up against them as a barricade, with a small gap over the top to shoot out of. Sokolov rolled over the small mound, thumping onto the floor on the other side in a crouch, before figuratively ripping up the ground as she resumed her hasty pace.
She slid to a halt, nearly toppling over as her momentum threatened to overbalance her armoured form, but she stuck out a hand to catch herself, her palm finding her target. A discarded Pulse Rifle, left behind by one of the several torn-apart corpses which littered the room. This one was American standard issue – slightly different to her own. She scrabbled with the corpse's ammo pouch for a moment, retrieving two bulky, smooth capsules. She loaded one into the under barrel which her own weapon lacked and pumped the loading mechanism. Then, alongside a nearby furious screech from a Xeno, she was off once more, heading at full speed towards the other exit on the opposite end of the room.
She leapt through the similar gap in the barricade, slamming into the doors with her shoulder while twisting her body so she could aim her commandeered weapon behind her. She unleashed the single capsule from the under barrel and hit the ground with an undignified grunt of pain, ending up sprawled across the floor with her cheek pressed against the cool metal grating. The doorway exploded, sending the doors flying off their hinges and smoke clouds billowing everywhere in the corridor beyond, so thick with the residue of burning wood furniture it was near impossible to see.
"Grebanyye Amerikantsy," she muttered through coughing fits. She tossed the Pulse Rifle and its attached grenade launcher aside in favour of covering her stinging eyes with her arm as she pushed her way through the smoke and out into a clear corridor. There was no way anybody on the ship had missed that, but any pursuers would lose her in the smoke, so she quickly settled into a stealthier approach, sticking to shadows, triple-checking the way was clear, keeping noise to a minimum and hugging the walls.
She had decided not to use her flashlight, as it would only serve as a beacon to give away her position to the assumedly-copious amounts of hostiles roaming the ship, yet found herself missing its guiding beam. She brushed into what looked like the infirmary, keeping her Pulse Rifle in her hands with the safety off, ready to end her quiet streak if need be. She could make out the shapes of the rows of cots and carts of supplies strewn about with abandon, as well as something hanging from the ceiling. With equal parts caution and curiosity, she shuffled closer, keeping her weapon trained on the unidentified object and not daring to avert her eyes.
Just as she began getting close enough to make out its shape, it suddenly lunged at her and screeched, exposing a row of razor-sharp teeth which glinted in near-absent light, a small set of jaws popping out where the tongue should have been, nearly scraping her forehead. Sokolov fell back on her ass and squirmed away, hesitating on the trigger when she realised it was wriggling, but not getting any closer to her. Upon further inspection, she discovered the Xenomorph was in fact hog-tied with some kind of durable steel rope, disallowing movement in any of its limbs to attack or free itself with. But it was still alive, and that was bad. Not because it was a deadly creature hell-bent on killing humanity as creatively as possible, but because it had been caught by one of the other aliens, and left alive. Trapped. In need of rescue. As bait.
Sokolov dived onto the nearest cot and rolled over its bouncy mattress to thump onto the floor on the other side. She snatched a blood bag from the cabinet beside her and dug into it with her teeth, spitting out the coppery taste. She tossed it into the middle of the room and jumped on it as gracefully as possible, spraying crimson up her legs and giving the walls a new coat. A blotch of red reared back in confusion, and Sokolov grinned nastily.
"Privet, ublyudok," she chirped with a little wave, before tucking in her stock and opening fire. The shimmer of red-tainted air leapt aside, deftly darting away from her short bursts of gunfire. It was closing the distance between them, forcing Sokolov to let up her assault so she could retreat, turning her back on it momentarily so she could vault over another cot. That was her mistake. When she whipped back around, she was just in time to see a splotch of blood smear onto the wall were the creature was wiping its hands clean, leaving it just as hard to see as when they started.
She desperately searched the area for anything she could use, and spied a familiar word; 'morphine'. She snatched up a syringe and clutched it like a knife, pressing her back against the wall so she couldn't be snuck up on. The creature was hard to spot, but not completely invisible. There was always a telltale distortion in the air…
Sokolov lunged and jabbed her needle forward, sticking it into the blur of movement and squeezing the contents into its body. A heavy fist collided with her stomach, sending her crashing into the opposite wall, but her mission was accomplished. As an added bonus, when the alien yanked the small needle out of itself, the rough handling made a trickle of green blood ooze down its body. The creature snarled, flickering into visibility and removing its face mask so Sokolov could stare into its ugly mandibles while it approached her. It was a harsh blow to her seemingly-excellent plan, but the overdose of painkillers seemed not to affect the creature. She was too winded to move in any meaningful way, but she still decided to flop over and try to crawl anyway. The creature seized her by the throat and she slipped her pistol out of its holster. As quickly as she did, the alien batted it aside with the back of its hand, sending it clattering pathetically to the floor. Rather than grace the monstrosity with her squirms, she yanked out her combat knife, too groggy to stab the bastard as her Corporal had done.
The creature gripped her wrist hard and forced the knife away from itself, its immense strength leaving Sokolov with no chance. No chance except yanking the weapon to the side. The alien hadn't been guarding against such a move, as it wouldn't have served any purpose. Or it wouldn't have, had the knife not been strong enough to cut through durable steel rope, given enough force. The blades flicked out of its wrist device as a heavy thump sounded. The creature threw Sokolov and quickly brought its arm across its face as its midnight black captive leapt at it, claws and tails ready to strike, despite still being slightly tangles up in the steel wire. Sokolov's head collided with a cabinet, sending her vision into a hazy blur that threatened to teeter into pitch black. She woozily swayed as the two aliens clashed, one slashing viciously and animalistically while the other used its blades to block and defend.
The Xenomorph gave a heavy swipe, which was dodged, leaving its flanks open to attack, which the other creature took full advantage of. It kicked the Xeno's side and struck down with its blades, only to have its arm smacked aside at the last second by the Xeno's tail. The shoulder-mounted gun flared to life while the creature stumbled, determined not to leave itself unguarded against attack. A blue bolt fired, forcing the Xeno to leap away or be incinerated. The creature felt a tug at its belt as it reached for its Smart Disc, and it whirled to smack the attacker away, but Sokolov had already collapsed back onto the floor, atop her discarded Pulse Rifle. Before it could sink its blades into the vulnerable human, it was tackled by the Xenomorph and thrown to the floor.
Not even a second later, the Xeno was sent flying back by a concussive blast courtesy of its wrist device, fading from its angry read glow. The shrill roar of a Pulse Rifle filled the room as this was happening, leaving no room for dodging. Several dozen caseless rounds were emptied into the trophy bag on the creature's belt, detonating the under barrel grenade she'd placed within and completely consuming the creature in flame, as well as tossing its dismembered body parts across the room.
Sokolov sighed and allowed her head to hit the floor, the weapon slipping from her hands. She'd done it; she'd –
Kssssss…
Sokolov chuckled deliriously. Of course. The Xeno had been knocked aside seconds before the explosion. She didn't mind though. She got to take down one of the bastards who'd wiped her squad out with her. The Xeno appeared in the edge of her vision, a drop of drool splattering onto her cheek. It poked her body testily until she hissed with pain when it hit a sore spot. Much to her dismay, this prompted further investigation in the way of the deadly alien sticking its head under her shirt to check over her bruised ribs.
"Prekrati eto!" Sokolov complained as loudly as she dared – which wasn't very loud, but that could also have been due to her aching chest which made it hurt to breathe. The Xeno drew back and cocked its head, clearly confused. "Vi ponimayete menya?" Nothing. "American?" The alien before her nodded eagerly. It recognised that word. "American alien eh? American ship, American alien. American mess. You understand American?" Another nod. "What you know eh? American train alien, like puppy. We make good team, you and I. American agree?" The Xeno dipped its head rather aggressively at the word 'puppy', but nodded grudgingly nonetheless.
Sokolov groaned as she gingerly hauled herself into a sitting position, panting slightly at the pain which raced up her chest. "Ugh. We make team then, hm American? You be my soyuznik. Both go home. Good?" A forlorn nod. It seemed to be hung up on her last statement. It was surprisingly easy to read such a creature; the body language was quite similar if you watched carefully. The way the Xenomorph's gaze drifted into the distance at the mention of home, thinking deeply. "You not have home? No worry, American. Come home with me, make you little sweater for cold, drink vodka together and talk on porch. Like happy family." Sokolov barked out a short laugh and patted the alien's shoulder, making it flinch defensively, but relax after a short moment. "Captain like you, I'm sure," she concluded in a slightly more serious tone. "Now, help up dying woman eh? I kid, take more than that to kill Russian."
The Xenomorph huffed, but complied anyway, offering its tail as a handhold. Sokolov seemed amused that it acted above holding out a hand for her and accepted the help, finding even its tail had the strength to haul her to her feet with ease. "Where we go, Soyuznik? Maybe sniff out Russians, eh? Not liking American. American stupid language, why I stop learning it." The Xeno huffed at her again, which was their kind's equivalent of rolling their eyes, unbeknownst to her. It took the lead, out the opposite end of the room from where Sokolov had entered. "That and American boyfriend break up," Sokolov reminisced as she followed. "Good thing I learn for him. Why speak American anyway? Speak Russian. Russian good language."
The Xeno cast a disdainful look back at her, as if pleading her to shut up. Sokolov laughed heartily and took the silent advice, pausing to retrieve her pistol and knife. "Fine, fine Soyuznik. I be quiet now." She paused, her hand hovering over her knife, before snatching it up and approaching one of the unidentified alien's arms. The wrist device was still completely intact, though the same could not be said for anything past the elbow. Sokolov ran her hands over the device, and found a clip that was much higher-tech than it needed to be which allowed the lightweight yet robust metal to slip off and into her grasp. Now was an excellent opportunity to grab research material for the scientists back home. For good measure, she nabbed the mask from where it had fallen to the floor in the scuffle, clipping it to her belt alongside the wrist device.
Distraction over, Sokolov hobbled back to her companion and waved it on. Him, Sokolov decided. She waved him on. She doubted she'd ever be able to discern its real gender anyway, so this was the best way of saving herself from a headache. "Soyuznik, stop. Bridge that way. American put control centre in bridge. Very lazy, convenient for us. We turn radios back on, yes? I phone Russian ship. Maybe find documents if lucky. Then we go home. Good?"
Soyuznik, as he had been dubbed, drew to a lazy halt, pausing momentarily to try and convey how much he despised the way this little alliance was going, but finding the emotions lost on his human companion. They ought to be fighting or escaping, not mucking around with control centres and radios. But most of his siblings were dead or scattered, and he had found that being alone hadn't worked out so well previously, so he gritted his sharp teeth and complied.
They were in the front section of the ship now, and the duo made good time to the bridge, not encountering anything along the way as Soyuznik would often hear when something was coming. He had a pleasant way of informing her to hide too – a hearty slap on the calf with his tail that would surely leave a welt later.
Sokolov brushed past the operations consoles, ignoring the recently-deceased Americans slouched over consoles or spilled onto the floor. She saw enough of them to notice the holes in their chests however, and cast a sour look at Soyuznik, who simply smirked slightly and gave his best innocent shrug. Oh how he enjoyed getting on her nerves for once.
Just as she'd expected, the bridge was still operating – albeit barely. Curiously, the lighting systems seemed fine, and Sokolov frowned as she pushed the small slider up the console, bathing the entire ship in bright rays. She brought up some audio logs so she could do some detective work while she searched for the communications console, stumbling over the English labels. She wasn't all too good with the reading side of the American language, and had to spend several seconds sounding out every word, while still keeping half an ear on the logs.
"Playing all logs marked 'priority'. Captain clearance accepted," a painfully-artificial voice informed her, before the log began playing.
"Negative on your mission, Captain. Reveles is dust. However, laboratory XN-332 has kindly offered to share some of their specimens with us in its place. I have uploaded the new coordinates to your console. Oh, and Captain? Do hurry; without Xenos around, human experimentation is becoming the latest muse amongst the scientists. Urandin out."
"Playing entry two of three," the synthetic voice droned.
"Ship is a maintenance class short-range shuttle assigned to the Reveles station."
"Shit, Reveles? How the hell did it end up all the way out here?"
"According to the sole occupant, the shuttle was flown off this planet here; Altin."
"Altin is two weeks' flight away from Reveles in a military-grade cruiser. This guy was in a fucking shuttle. Are you some kind of moron?"
"Apparently, the shuttle was taken there aboard the ERRV Merciful Indictor, alongside a small army of rebels and the station's Xenos. This guy was on the crew of the USS Black Hand when they tried to storm the planet, and ultimately joined the rebel's ranks to avoid dying, before flying out here in the hopes of finding us."
"Pretty shit plan if you ask me. Idiot could have been stuck out here for months."
"Well, it worked didn't it? The colony on Altin probably has long-ranged scanners, or maybe they got tipped off by some of their rebel friends. Either way, he wouldn't have found us without the help of someone, so he could very well be telling the truth."
"Well, we'll need to grab some back-up then, no way in hell we're going against… is that important?"
"That? That would be the recording light. Damned thing must have started automatically when we picked up the shuttle. Computer, end log."
"Playing entry three of three."
"Okay, if you're hearing this, we're probably dead. The situation is simple: alien hostiles known as the… uh… Yat-yoot-y-y- fucking Predators are attacking us. They have some kind of grudge against the Xenos, and vice versa, so we're just gonna let them fight it out. Hopefully they'll thin out each other's numbers enough for whoever comes to rescue us to mop them up. The Predators have the technological advantage, so I'm turning off the lights to give our alien test subjects a chance. If you are the rescue team, and the ship's still overrun, then get the hell out of here. They'll take over your ship too. If that has already happened, then all the ships in the hangar have been loaded with coordinates to the nearest inhabited planet. Don't try to save us; we're probably all already dead."
"End of priority logs." Sokolov finally found the screen which controlled the communications, and painstakingly shut down the signal jammer.
"Damn Americans," she muttered, "block everything but own frequencies. Stop access by others." Soyuznik seemed as though he couldn't care less about the whole ordeal; all he really wanted to do was take the man's advice and get off the damned ship. But Sokolov was insistent on wasting their time pressing buttons and talking into metal panels.
"Vnimaniye!" a feminine, synthetic voice blared from the console. It was the RFS Призрак's AI. "Sudno nakhoditsya pod atakoy. Otstupleniye."
"Ship under attack," Sokolov explained hurriedly as she limped towards the exit. "We hurry Soyuznik; maybe not much time." Soyuznik briefly considered snubbing his nose at her and finding his own way, but he couldn't fly a ship. If he abandoned his temporary companion, he would be dooming himself to die on this ship, as the Yautja would not rest until they were all wiped out. This wasn't a matter of hunting, after all. This was a matter of destroying the Xenos before they could become a major, interstellar threat.
The duo rushed down the corridors, towards an airlock with an attached umbilical. Sokolov slammed her hand on the cycle button impatiently, giving it a few more firm smacks as if that would hurry it up. A sharp, stinging slap on her leg, probably drawing blood due to the careless handling of the blade-tipped tail. Sokolov half-turned, and cursed as she spotted a flitter in the air. A Predator was near. She slammed her hand on the button a few more times.
"Chertova Amerikanskaya musor!" Sokolov yelled. Soyuznik got the impression he didn't want to hear a translation of that. He hissed and bared his teeth, lowering his stomach towards the ground as he heard the faint, light-footed steps of the Predator which stalked them.
"Preduprezhdeniye!" the AI announced over Sokolov's radio. "Byla nachata posledovatel'nost' samounichtozheniya."
"Nyet!" Sokolov cried. The airlock door rumbled open, exposing the umbilical beyond, the transparent tube exposing the starlit blackness of space beyond. It seemed almost too fragile to be trusted with their safety, as the glass-like substance was all that stood between them and a horrible death. To her frustration, all the time spent cycling the airlock had been for nothing, as a bypass courtesy of the Russian marines had caused both doors to be synchronous – i.e., they both opened at once, rendering it useless as an airlock, but helpful if you wanted to get in and out of a ship quicker than you can say 'hurry the hell up I'm going to get ripped in half by an angry evil alien'.
"Dyesyat, dyevyat, vosyem…" the AI droned. Soyuznik found himself unexplainably nervous. The rhythm of the computer's pseudo-speech reminded him of something. Counting. "Syem, shest, pyat, chyetirye…" Three dots flared to life, quickly homing in on Sokolov's exposed back while she ducked into the airlock's doorway, tugging Soyuznik's tail along behind her. "Tree, dva, odin."
"Der'mo," Sokolov breathed, screwing her eyes shut. The ship shook violently as through the umbilical, enormous balls of fire could be seen erupting from the rear section of the Russian vessel, spreading quickly along the underside before shooting out the front in great plumes. The aftershock quickly followed, whipping the umbilicals as if they were skipping ropes, sending a wave throughout the small tunnels that shattered, bent, and twisted everything it touched. The lights flickered as the second, more vigorous tremor hit them, throwing things onto the floor, shaking loose roof panels and jerking pipes out of their housings. Then came the deafening rush of air and the shrill squeal of the alarm. Soyuznik embedded his claws into the mesh below while Sokolov braced herself in the doorway, watching with grim awe as the Predator was hurled past them, out to where the umbilical had once stood. It attempted to catch the outer doorway with its claws, but merely created a shower of sparks as it bounced off and into the void beyond.
A mechanical whirr followed by a resounding clang had the outer doors firmly shut, courtesy of the automatic safety procedures, which had thankfully bypassed the marines' tampering. The duo collapsed back into the dingy corridors of the American vessel.
"Der'mo!" Sokolov cried again. She didn't know what to say for a few minutes, so the two merely listened to the clangs and booms of debris from the Russian vessel hitting the ship's hull. "Aliens must have overrun ship. Too many soldier die in American death-trap. This way nobody try rescue us to same fate. Honourable thing," Sokolov droned finally. Soyuznik grimaced at the human who was slouched on the floor, back pressed firmly against the cold steel wall. Her eyes looked unfocused, fixated on something distant, beyond the corridor walls, beyond the ship even. She was very obviously shaken and in a state of disbelief. He had to muster up some sympathy for her; he knew what it was like to watch one's Hive vanish like that. One moment, they were there, the next… poof. "Worst part Soyuznik, if Americans still alive, would not even be grateful for rescue. American hate Russian. Russian hate American. Way things are now. Ever since Corporation leave Federation."
Soyuznik nuzzled her arm gently, pitying the defeated tone in her voice, but knowing full well this wasn't over yet. They could still escape; the log had mentioned a nearby planet they could fly to. If they were sneaky enough, they might even manage to get away un-followed. If not… well, he hoped the planet had some serious firepower. Sokolov sighed and wearily forced herself back onto her feet. She needed a doctor to check out her ribs; she suspected they were broken, judging by the sharp pains which still plagued her. She'd had bruising before, but this felt different. All the more reason to get to that colony. "You are right, Soyuznik. Can do no help now. We go to hangar, tell colonists. They deal with it; American solve own problems."
That was good enough for Soyuznik, who nodded sagely and turned tail, ready to lead the way. Then he paused. What was a hangar? Sokolov laughed quietly and patted his flanks. "I lead, I lead." The two carefully picked their way back through the ship, making a couple of wrong turns when Sokolov misinterpreted signage, but mostly remaining unhindered. If Soyuznik had to guess, the Predators had deemed most of the threats wiped out, and only a few scout teams would be left to clean up the survivors. To Sokolov, it was simply unsettling, and she was constantly on edge. Soyuznik wished he could console her, if only to stop her twitching and ducking into alcoves whenever she heard a noise. It slowed them down, and the longer they stayed, the more likely it was they'd be found. As much as he relished their victory over the first Predator, he doubted they could take on another one, especially seeing as they were both injured.
He grimaced as his broken ribs poked at his insides uncomfortably. If only there were Xenomorph doctors. Some royal jelly would do the trick, but it had been so long since he'd last seen a Queen, and stopping off at a human colony would only take him further away from hopes of rejoining a Hive. But the alternative was hardly better, so stop off at the colony he would. Maybe one of the humans' experiments would inadvertently heal him up.
The duo made it to the hangar, but lingered in the doorway a moment. It was a very open area, with the only cover being the wrecked ships – the ships. Sokolov cursed, scanning the area. All of the dropships. All of them, in ruins. For a moment she was utterly lost, all hope seemingly having failed them, but then she remembered her team's gruesome deaths. Or, rather, the object that had been next to the massacre. A small maintenance shuttle, barely big enough for three people, let alone vehicles, supplies or comfortable living space. But it would have to do.
She ran her eyes over the scene again, searching for the tiny vessel, ignoring the bodies which became obvious in the light; hanging out of vehicles, slumped on loading ramps, buried under supply crates, crushed under heavy pieces of wreckage. Every one of the destroyed ships was a failed escape attempt, which would explain why the shuttle hadn't been destroyed; nobody in their right mind would pick that as their first choice of escape vehicle. But for them, it would have to do.
Sokolov ducked back into the doorway and faced her alien companion. "Alright, Soyuznik. One ship; we go, find supplies, leave. Food, water. Watch for aliens. I ready ship, you supplies. Yes?" Soyuznik hesitated. That sounded like a pretty good opportunity to ditch him and escape herself without the risk of having a deadly alien on board. "Trust, Soyuznik. Russian never go back on word. Spend too much time around American. We go together, or neither." He got the feeling she was exaggerating slightly, but gritted his teeth. He wasn't getting out of here without her to fly the ship anyway, so he could either help her and risk dying here, or refuse and guarantee it. He nodded, hoping he wouldn't regret this. "Good. Soyuznik be ready; ship very loud, lots of attention. Do not let break."
Sokolov set off, keeping as low to the ground as she could while maintaining a steady jog, wasting as little time as possible in finding the undamaged ship, praying that it had stayed that way while she was gone. Meanwhile, Soyuznik darted across the wide open spaces, stopping at every open dropship door to check the supplies which were strewn about. Most ships just contained bodies, as the would-be-escapees didn't plan ahead, but some contained heavy bags which Soyuznik sifted through. Some had been ruined by heavy objects or corpses falling on them, but he found plenty that weren't and quickly looped his tail through the straps.
Sokolov deftly ran her hands over the controls, powering up the engines clumsily, as the tech was incredibly outdated and labelled in English. The low whine began, and Sokolov grimaced. It was loud, but not loud enough yet to drown out a crackle and shrill beep. Sokolov's heart stopped. She knew that sound.
Letting the engines warm up, she ducked through the small entry hatch and stumbled over the corpse of her dead squad mate, stooping to pick up the fizzling device which he had once held. Another beep, accompanied by a white dot appearing on the blue screen. "Soyuznik!" she cried, leaping aside just in time for a bolt of blue to sail past her. She whipped out her pistol and fired off several rounds, using her motion tracker as a reference. All of her shots missed, but clearly they gave enough indication for a certain black mass of muscle and claws to crash into the invisible target. The camouflage flickered off the Predator as they both sailed to the ground.
Soyuznik tore off the creature's mask with a deft flick of his claws and shot his second maw straight into the offending alien's forehead, killing it instantly. The element of surprise had won him that one, but if there were more nearby, they might not be so lucky.
Sokolov swiped one of her comrades' Pulse Rifles off the ground and pressed it to Soyuznik's chest. Fearlessly and with an expression of grim determination, she grabbed his left hand and placed it on the foregrip, followed by his right hand on the handle, taking extra care to thread his long, bony finger through the trigger guard. She pointed to the barrel. "Point at enemy." Then the trigger. "Pull for kill. I handle ship, you handle enemy." Soyuznik nodded shakily. He hated guns. He hated their shrill squeal and the painful, sometimes even lethal stings as the sharp bullets tore through his skin. But he hated the thought of dying and letting the Predators win even more, so he steeled himself. He jumped in surprise a little when he felt his tail being wrapped around a second object. "It guide you; tell you where unseeable enemy is."
Soyuznik raised the small screen into his vision, noting a white dot appear on the edge with an accompanying squeak. "They come. Ready, Soyuznik." Then she stooped down to pick up the bags he had dropped in his ambush, ready to stock up the ship. She was much less efficient than him, only carrying two bags at a time, and thus made him question the decision to have him here with the gun he could barely operate. But Sokolov took a few minutes to come out, and Soyuznik realised she was probably readying the ship as well. That, or… no. She wouldn't leave him. She promised.
His finger tightened on the trigger, and he would have dropped the weapon if his fear hadn't been causing him to clutch it in a death grip. As it was, he managed to keep ahold as the weapon struggled and kicked in his hands, sending dizzying sprays of light and deafening noise through the air. He wasn't hitting anything, but the chaotic jumps the dots made on the screen led him to believe he was at least keeping them occupied. He counted three, but he didn't know what the range was like on the device.
A bolt of blue soared from his right, and he leapt aside just in time. It struck dangerously close to the ship, and Soyuznik realised he had to give it some space, or risk it suffering the same fate as the others. He quickly danced away, spraying bullets everywhere as he went. The dots followed, and he caught Sokolov loading the last bags inside the shuttle out the corner of his eye. That meant they were ready, all he had to do was make it back there. But the moment he made a move to go back, Sokolov shook her head at him. "No Soyuznik! They shoot ship if we leave! Need to get rid of aliens!"
She threw herself to the hangar floor as a disc whistled overhead, narrowly avoiding her before circling around in a wide arc towards the opposite end of the room. Soyuznik's suspicions were confirmed; there were more outside the range of his motion tracker.
Suddenly, the room got a whole lot quieter. His finger kept tightening on the trigger, but only clicking met his ears. The gun had stopped working. With an 'eep' of terror, he bolted into the nearest wreckage, throwing himself behind a heavy-duty metal crate. He found himself oddly disturbed by the human corpse laying beside him, slumped over the crate with his cold, dead hand on the electronic lock, a pair of holes penetrating deep into his back.
A crack split the silence, followed by several more. Soyuznik peeked over his cover to find Sokolov backpedalling towards him. As soon as she was in range, his tail shot out and wrapped around her waist, yanking her behind his cover. A second later, two discs thunked into the metal walls of the broken dropship. "We need weapon," Sokolov stated desperately. Soyuznik glanced down at the motion tracker. Five dots… six… closing in on them. Sokolov's eyes locked onto the American soldier's hand, resting atop an electronic lock, light a steady green. In his last moments, he had tried to open the crate, only getting so far as unlocking it. Why? What was in there?
Sokolov grimaced and gently nudged the body aside, wincing as it thumped unceremoniously onto the metal floor. She hefted the lid open, and simply stared for a moment. Soyuznik had no idea what the thing inside was, but it had Sokolov's eyes wide open. She touched a small screen which was mounted to the long pillar of an object. It flickered on a steady blue, displaying some numbers and several white dots like the one on the motion tracker. The dead soldier's helmet lit up on its own, and Sokolov gasped. She removed her own head protection and pressed it into Soyuznik's hands. "You hold," she said, oddly calm. She carefully reached into the crate and picked up the object, cradling it as if it were a newborn child, then plucked the dead soldier's helmet from his head and slipped it on.
The object was huge, and bulky, and there seemed no way it could be a weapon, but Sokolov clutched a handle on the top of it and an odd trigger at the back, which somewhat resembled the brake lever on a bicycle. There was also a huge box attached to the bottom, with a string of bullets leading out of it and into the main body of the gun.
Sokolov tightened the helmet's straps and grinned maniacally as she flipped the visor down over her eyes. The white dots on the gun's computer were present on her HUD now. Small boxes flashed readouts to her, detecting multiple energy surges at the locations of the dots. Plasma casters. Somehow, probably due to their species' history together, Soyuznik saw this coming from miles away. As soon as Sokolov began standing and readying her massive weapon, he Spartan-kicked the metal lid of the heavy weapons crate hard enough to snap its hinges. The piece of metal flew into the dropship's wall with a heavy clang, bouncing off at an angle, where it was caught by the Xenomorph directly in front of Sokolov. Six plasma bolts struck the thick metal one after another, the last two melting holes in the five-inch-thick steel.
Soyuznik threw the metal down and dropped to the floor, clearing the way for Sokolov. She unleashed a roar of maniacal laughter as she pressed the trigger down, swinging the gun in slow sweeps as the automated targeting kicked in. The bullets sought out their targets like angry bees, and Sokolov laughed again at the thought of how much American money was burning with every second of sustained fire. "I feel just like American!" she cried joyously. The dots were scattering; the Predators were retreating. The Predators were retreating. "God bless America! Sing national anthem with me, Soyuznik. Oh say, can you see! I forget rest! Ahahaha!"
Sokolov began marching, taking careful steps forward so as not to be bowled over by the sustained kickback. The ammo counter on her HUD had hit 384, from the initial 500 rounds. Soyuznik shook his head at the sheer destructive force of the weapon; he had no doubt it had been intended for his kind – and truth be told, his kind would be decimated when faced with such a device. He watched two halves of a Predator materialise from thin air, a jagged, green-soaked tear separating its waist from its torso where the gun had passed through it.
A blue bolt and a disc whizzed towards them from opposite directions, but Soyuznik had been keeping a careful eye out for exactly this. With his kind's natural reflexes, he tackled Sokolov to the ground. The gunfire let up for barely half a second – probably to ensure the Xeno wasn't caught in the uncontrolled tumble onto the ground. But Sokolov rolled onto her back and resumed her onslaught immediately, throwing one Predator against a wall looking like Swiss cheese, and the second one only had time to stumble before its own Smart Disc came back to it. A stray bullet from the Smartgun clipped the glorified Frisbee, sending it slightly off-course, and its owner was unable to catch the deadly weapon in time. Soyuznik cringed when its head flopped onto the floor, followed by its body a few seconds later. An American might have taken the time to point out that was the definition of going out like a jackass, but Sokolov didn't know the expression, and thus merely continued grinning madly as the bullets kept raining down upon their enemies.
Soyuznik shook his head and hauled her to her feet, careful not to interrupt her… 'aim'. He half-dragged her back to the ship, which was whirring steadily by now. "I hate to let favourite American go, but you hold." Had Soyuznik possessed visible eyes, they would have widened at the massive hunk of carbon fibre and lightweight alloys being plopped into his hands. Despite the background sounds of the ship, the room seemed completely silent while lacking the constant roar of gunfire. Sokolov placed her borrowed helmet on the floor, resting Soyuznik's tail atop it to steady it, then ran into the cockpit. Soyuznik's motion tracker beeped insistently, and he knew he had no choice but to ignore the nervous hammering of his heart and squeeze the trigger.
Sprays of green filled the hangar once more as the floor lurched beneath him, the entry hatch still gaping open so he could fire. The ship began rising, and Sokolov reappeared, reclaiming her own Russian-branded helmet and plopping it on her head. "Soyuznik hold on. Things get little bit… spacey now." The shuttle's automatic launching procedures had been activated, and it was now descending into a rather large recess in the hangar floor. A heavy bulkhead door resided at the bottom, a thick window revealing it was all that stood between them and the vacuum of space.
Soyuznik understood, and threw down his weapon in favour of holding on to the ceiling-mounted handrails. The Smartgun would do him now good now anyway; the pit-like recess had cut off his line of fire. Sokolov leaned out the entry hatch, gripping a wall-mounted handrail to steady herself, her fingers brushing upon a large, red lever. A thump shook the shuttle as something hit the roof. The Predators were relentless. Sokolov gripped the big red handle and heaved. It didn't budge. It was only meant to be used in emergencies, so naturally it was made to be pulled with both hands, to make sure you were totally-absolutely sure and it wasn't an accident. Soyuanik grabbed her forearm and shoved, successfully aiding her in yanking the lever down.
The doors screeched open below them alongside mournful, repetitive alarms, and the rush of air swiftly followed. Sokolov lurched forward, but managed to stay within the shuttle thanks to a certain alien's strong grip still on her forearm. Soyuznik hauled her back inside, and sighed gratefully when she slammed her hand on the button which would close the shuttle's entry hatch.
The Xenomorph cocked his head in a mixture of confusion and fear when he noticed the shuttle was now spinning around him. He twitched his tail, and instantly regretted it as his body began rotating slowly. His heart was pounding; he didn't understand. He was floating. The ship was still making dizzying circles around him, supply crates bumping pathetically into his twitching limbs. Then the ship slowly stopped spinning, and Sokolov re-emerged from the cockpit. Soyuznik couldn't turn to face her – every movement sent him into sways and movements he didn't like. He began panicking. Was it a trap? Was this the part where the human killed him?
But then a soft, fleshy hand was lain gently on his forearm, and Soyuznik nearly had a heart attack when Sokolov effortlessly nudged him over to the opposite wall, where he immediately latched onto the closest handrail. He was weightless. That, or the human had suddenly gained godly strength. "Small ship, no gravity," Sokolov explained with an apologetic smile, one of her arms looped around a handrail of her own to keep her anchored to the wall. "I set course now. Ship take care of rest. Then we wait." Soyuznik dared not move for fear of setting himself into another dizzying spin, despite the handhold. Sokolov shook her head at him and elegantly pushed off the wall with her feet, sending her floating gracefully through the air towards the cockpit, like she was swimming.
However, hours later when Soyuznik would work up the courage to loosen his grip on the now-warped metal, he would be very distraught to find that being in zero gravity was not like swimming. At all.
~~~~~~~~~~()~~~~~~~~~~
Days after the incident, on the far away planet of Altin, a soldier and a scientist were sitting side by side on a comfortable couch within a cosy little cabin.
"Okay, serious question though," the soldier began, "is Sal horny like, all the time? Advena wants sex basically every night, and I want to know if it's a problem." Tyler gave a noise somewhere between a snort and a chuckle.
"Jacob, that sounds like something most men would consider the opposite of a problem. Why do you always come to me for shit like this anyway?"
"Uh, maybe because you're one of the two only other people here who sleeps Xenos? I mean, I'm not exactly brave enough to start up the local Alien-Shaggers Anonymous."
"Touché."
"Jacob!" Jeica's voice barked over his radio. "You'd better be in uniform!" He quickly snatched the device off his vest – for he indeed was in uniform; just because nothing had threatened their very existence on that day didn't mean he should neglect his duty.
"Yeah, I'm suited up. Is there trouble?"
"Get to the spaceport now. Take any backup you can afford to grab, but don't even think about taking a second longer than you need to."
"Moving. Talk to me," Jake informed her as he barged out the door. Tyler stood curiously and followed, albeit at a slower pace, as he was unarmed and unprotected.
"Unidentified ship is approaching our orbit. Tiny bloody thing wasn't picked up by our long-range. It's too small for substantial voyages, so it must have come from nearby. For some reason that we won't mention, we lack orbital defences, so we're going to have to set up a firing squad on the asphalt. You're leading it."
"Understood. Have we got a ping on the identity?"
"It's a Reveles ship; we didn't authorise any of them for launch, so it's rogue. Could potentially be a poor attempt at a Trojan horse."
Jake jogged up to the chain link fence which bordered the spaceport's asphalt and quickly ducked inside the gate. He spotted several marines standing by within nearby hangars, waiting to rush out as soon as the ship landed. He took up a similar position in the dark recess of a garage which housed the colony's Power Loaders. "Ship's broken atmosphere. You should have visual in five seconds." Jake peered upwards into the sky, and true to his superior's word, caught sight of a tiny blip in the sea of azure. The tiny dot was speeding towards them, its belly turning to negate its speed with maximum air resistance. Something fell off it, and was sent spiralling towards the ground, leaving a trail of smoke behind it.
Jake grimaced. Even if they were potential enemies, the occupants of that ship would not be having a good time; the maintenance shuttle wasn't meant for re-entry, it was built to fix ships and stations in deep space. One of the stabiliser thrusters detonated, rocking the vessel considerably. Somehow, the tail thrusters managed to keep it straight enough to stay on course. Jake raised his radio to his face.
"Lieutenant, we're going to need a fire crew here. The shuttle's coming in hot – like, explode-y hot, not under attack hot."
"Understood. They've been dispatched, but they're to remain outside until you have the situation under control."
The laughably-small vehicle wobbled unsteadily closer to them, moments away from impact on the asphalt. Up close, Jake knew immediately this couldn't be a Trojan horse; it was too small to carry anything threatening. No reason to be careless however.
With an ungraceful belly-flop and a tremendous cacophony, the egg-shaped vessel hit the ground, bouncing and skidding until it was dangerously close to crashing into a building. Luckily, its weight was substantial enough to dig it into the ground, kicking up chunks of concrete as it gouged deep holes in the smooth tarmac. Finally, it rocked to a halt, and the order was given.
"Move!" Jake commanded, then he charged out from his cover. The hatch was easy to locate, and he immediately dropped into a crouch before it, nodding in satisfaction when six more marines and two Xenos fell in behind him, all armed with Pulse Rifles which they trained on the entry hatch.
The small circle of metal creaked open with a hiss of depressurisation, making the marines tense. The doorway would normally have been set into the vessel's side, but seeing as it was listing, the hatch was sticking up straight into the air, making the vehicle look like some kind of ungainly, lopsided submarine. A single hand shot up out of the smoking wreckage.
"Privet Americans!" a woman hailed them in a thick Russian accent. "Do not shoot! I bring offering of friendship!" The hand disappeared, and a moment later an enormous weapon toppled out of the small entryway and onto the ground. Jake glanced at it briefly, recognising it as the uncommonly-deployed Smart Gun. Boisterous laughter erupted from within what could be likened to a metal coffin. The hand reappeared and latched onto the lip of the doorway, followed shortly by another. A tall, well-muscled woman in Russian fatigues hoisted herself out, and blinked in surprise. "Eh, Soyuznik, friends of yours?"
Jake couldn't help the look of annoyed confusion from crossing his face, despite the fact that the other marines were looking to him for guidance. That is, until, an elongated, eyeless, black head popped out next to the Russian. Immediately, it sprang out of the interior and flopped clumsily onto the ground, taking large gulps of fresh air whilst lying on its side. The Russian slid down the curved hull and landed neatly on her booted feet, carrying a bag of gear at her side. She cast an amused glance at her alien companion before turning back to the colonists whose guns were still trained on her. "He be okay soon, I think," she chuckled.
Jake sighed and lowered his weapon, and the others quickly did the same. This ought to be good.
A/N: Obligatory disclaimer for the groups I could potentially have offended in this chapter. Number one, as much as it pains me, for the sake of consistency in the Universe, all of the remaining 'countries' hate each other, but more on that later. Point being, I love America, some of the characters do not. Their views are not mine. Yada yada yada. So as much as it pains me to write such unpatriotic insults to the US of A, I must push onward, for the story.
Secondly, I hate to stereotype, but there's something about the broken-English Russian accent which I find equal parts adorable and epic. I know not all Russians talk like this. But hey, at least I only brought vodka up once, and it was ironically too, so, you know…
On another note, I plan on adding a couple more chapters like this over the course of the story, i.e. based around other characters in other places, to give y'all a glimpse at what the universe looks like, or to show off the effects the cast is having on the galaxy at large. If you don't like this idea and just want to see Jake 'n' Vena 24/7, then just scream at me a bunch and I'll probably get the picture.
CrazyBirdMan59 out.