Hey all.
First of all i'd like to make a progress update. The next chapter is going to take longer due to lack of time, i had a friend's wedding to go to in August so that took up a lot of my time. (Not something i normally do due to Aspergers but i did it for him.) and also because it is going to be the climatic boss fight of the story. And i know we got to have it truly rocking. Also, i had been busy with my getting things up and running for it, sorting rewards and such. And i have yet to get a single patron, which is disappointing. Putting so much work into something and getting sod all from it, much like trying to win a wargame, having the best strategy and units to do the job, only for the dice to give me the big middle finger at the crucial moment. As i often think due to past events, stemming from primary school, and maybe quote for you lot: Don't ever take the initiative, it will only blow up in your face.
So anyway, in a blatant example of advertising and because my previous attempt failed miserably at gaining interest on this site, likely because it was in a separate story entry (which i have since deleted), i am since posting snippets my freebies here. It is the first of the Morse Interviews. the premise is that OSIRIS have tracked down the only survivor of the Fury 161 incident, Morse, and have since taken him into their custody for the purpose of documenting his experience with the Xenomorph. Being the only living witness of the original incidents, or one of them at any rate, his knowledge would prove invaluable to OSIRIS' archives. but will the now aged convict cooperate with them?
So anyway, that's the jist of it and only you guys can help make a difference.
But enough of this blabbering, sit back and enjoy and be sure to leave a comment.
The Morse Interviews.
Date: March 1st 2205 8 AEI
Location: OSIRIS Alexandria Base, Primaris tier intelligence archives, Egypt.
Subject: Robert Morse, sole survivor of the Fiorina 'Fury' 161 xenomorph incident.
Clearance Level: Alpha. Onyx Class.
Status: Previously under Weyland-Yutani incarceration. Now under OSIRIS jurisdiction awaiting evaluation.
Interview #1
9:00AM
Deep within the bowels of the top secret facility, deep beneath the sands of Egypt, there was a room. A room where information was gathered. Gathered by persuasion or under duress, whatever it took to obtain the truth. Some would call it an interview and others would call it interrogation. But, as this entry in the Primaris Archives of Alexandria would tell, a gap in mankind's history with the most deadly organism in the galaxy would be filled. A name that evoked fear to all who heard it or had the grave misfortune of actually encountering them.
The Xenomorphs.
A race of endoparasitoids, analogous to insects, that almost brought Earth to it's knees in the infestation of 2192. Creatures that were paragons of perfection in the fields of death and planetary assimilation. Thanks to the deranged Xenomorph Cult, who saw the xenomorphs as God's messiahs, the parasites had spread to all major nations, making containment virtually impossible. Seventy percent of humanity had perished within the first months before hasty evacuations were called, leaving many unfortunates stranded on Earth which had became hell incarnate. In the five years that it took the combined might of humanity to reclaim Earth and eradicating the bugs from the planet, nearly ninety percent of Earth's population was killed or hived to birth new xenomorphs and many of the colonies suffered great losses during Operation Extinction.
Billions of lives lost because of the actions of a few fanatics.
But after this apocalyptic conflict, a benefit it could be said, was that humanity was finally united and emerged stronger from the ashes of near extinction. The United Earth Federation, formed from the remnants of the old power blocs such as the United Americas and the Pan Asian Cooperative, would guide and protect humanity to ensure that such a cataclysm would never happen again. By any means.
Humanity had been given a second chance for survival. There would not be a third.
The rooms lights flickered on, showing off the interior in a white sterile glow. The room of polished metal plating and ceramic panelling was bare save for a metal table with an electronic interface and three chairs, two on one side and one on the other. Both side walls were mirrored and the front and back wall had solid reinforced doors not unlike those found on starships. Doors designed to contain their occupants by all means. In the upper corners of the room were surveillance cameras, keeping all corners of the room under constant supervision for the observers at their terminals who would be recording the sessions.
On the doors were the emblem of the secretive organisation that was formally known as The Office of Strategic Intelligence and Research Initiatives. But known to the masses as OSIRIS. A pyramid within a sphere, each side representing one of the three divisions of OSIRIS, with a djed column inside with the Earth on it's plinth. The column represented OSIRIS' primary duty in maintaining the stability of Earth and her colonies. And on each door was a mirror-like panel with glowing led lighting that glowed a bright red
One of the doors' panels glowed from red to green before, with the sound of magnetic locks releasing, it slid open upwards with a soft hum. Two OSIRIS agents came walking in. Both belonged to Intelligence Division, the main body of OSIRIS. Their uniforms marked their position as archivists, evidenced by the scroll badges on their chests and the Eye and Quill emblems on their left sleeves. On the right sleeve was the symbol of OSIRIS. The Eye was the chosen sigil of Intelligence division, symbolising it's duty of watching over earth and the colonies, the variation of which depended on their country of origin and also position within the organisation. One of the most high level variations was the Eye of Horus itself.
The first agent was the elder of the two, carrying a large case by it's handle. A man nearing middle age with square features, sharp green eyes and blonde hair in a crew cut. He also had a compact computer unit on his wrist, a standard OSIRIS issue PDA of sorts. The second was several years younger, smoother features, brown eyes and dark ash hair, was holding a large datapad in his hand, along with several others in a satchel around his chest. This agent also had a wrist unit, modified for archival use with direct links to terminals.
The older agent walked up to the table with a notable limp before putting the case down onto the table. An articulated brace was around his right leg, a reminder of the Agent's earlier posting in field espionage during the rebuilding of Earth after the Infestation. He sat down in a chair, giving off a sharp squeak of the hinges before the second agent pulled out an audio recorder from his satchel and placed it on the table.
The cameras focused in on the agent as he activated the recorder unit and began the briefing on this particular assignment. One which would hope to fill in the gaps of one of the pivotal moments of human history. That of an encounter with the deadliest organism in the galaxy and potentially the universe.
"March 1st, 2205. Fiorina 161 Incident evaluation. Alexandria Archives. Interview #1." the Younger Agent, American by his accent, reported. "Subject: Morse, Robert. Serial number: YY34107. Background: Former inmate of Fiorina 'Fury' 161 work correctional facility under a life sentence for armed robbery and murder. Status: Previously under Weyland-Yutani custody following closure of Fury 161, now under OSIRIS jurisdiction. Undergoing evaluation."
The agent sat down in his chair before placing his case on the table.
"Bring in the subject." the Older Agent ordered in a clear German accent.
The door on the opposite side of the room unlocked and slid open upwards and three figures entered. Two of them were Spec Ops marines, loaded out in security configuration attire with stun rods and tazers holstered on their thighs and were armed with the new M5A1 bullpup pulse rifle that was now standard to Special Operations Division. The military arm of OSIRIS. Comprised of he most elite troops of the armed forces, Special Operations was entrusted with the most clandestine of tasks.
And between them, hands cuffed and dressed in Weyland-Yutani issued convict jumpsuit, was a man in his sixties, slightly gaunt faced and sporting a shaved scarred head be and also bearing a slight limp from his left leg. Two prominent scars marked his head, one trailing from his forehead to the tip of his left eyebrow and another from the front of his right temple in a curve to the top of his head. The convict also had a large ragged scar on the back of his head from ear to ear, a healed burn or blunt trauma from it's mottled texture, and the remnants of the standard bar code tattoo that was compulsory to all inmates of high level prisons.
The Spec Ops marines escorted the convict to the table and the agents gestured him to sit. The convict simply looked at them for a moment, like he was daring them to force him to sit. He then looked at the two guards for their input but he only received silence as the soldiers kept their eyes forward.
"Is this it?" he asked in disdain, looking around the bare room. "This is what I get after nearly six months in the fridge."
"Robert Morse." the older agent introduced, getting the inmate's attention. "I am Agent Mason and this is Agent Salem. Intelligence Division of OSIRIS, Primaris Archives. Welcome to Alexandria Base."
Morse fixed them with his glaring brown eyes. Eyes that still held a spark of defiance and sarcastic humour from his youth. He looked at the table, his eyes darting to the recorder and also the case on the floor by Agent Salem's feet. His brow furrowed in mock disappointment.
"Where's the electrodes?" he demanded. "I was told I was having shock treatment."
Morse then looked to his left at the mirrored wall, tilting his head. He then walked up to it, pushing past the marine roughly and pointing his finger at the reflective pane.
"I should sue you all for false advertising!" he jokingly dared to the operatives who were no doubt observing from behind their mirrored barriers. "Getting my hopes up!"
The shoved marine who clearly had reached his limit, walked over to Morse, grabbing the convict by the shoulder and hauling him back to the table before planting him on the chair. Morse chuckled mockingly at the soldier's manhandling.
"Sit down." The marine firmly ordered.
"How about I sit down on my arse?" Morse sarcastically asked them before patting his left leg. "My legs are tired. Especially this one. Thank the Company for that."
"Now, Mr Morse." Agent Mason cautioned as the guard grabbed Morse's bound hands and held them over the table. "Welcome to your first day on parole." he congratulated as the guard let go.
The agent pressed a button on his wrist unit and the cuffs around Morse's wrists released with a loud click before clattering onto the table. Morse rubbed his wrists as he realised that this interrogation was something special if he was unbound.
Morse grinned toothily at them, showing off his gold capped teeth from his left upper incisors to his molars. The two marines stood either side of him kept their guard up. Despite Morse's age, he was still a double Y and thus capable of causing significant harm if he had to. However, Morse did not have any intention of inflicting harm other then verbally abusing them.
"Parole? Is that even a word you Gestapo knock offs use these days?" he asked, sitting back in his chair.
Both agents were somewhat vexed by the comparison to that infamous secret police organisation. While it was true that OSIRIS works to ensure the security of the United Earth Federation from threats outside and in, it was by no means a despotic organisation. Well, that depended entirely on the individual's point of view. Usually the one who was on the receiving end of OSIRIS.
Mason's knee began to throb as the unpleasant memory of a bullet punching through his leg resurfaced. By a neo-nazi of all things during the rebuilding of Earth. In the aftermath of the infestation, there were many dissident groups that tried to take power through any means. Fascists, communists and especially religious theocracies to name a few. But, given history's more then colourful accounts of such regimes being in power and the fruit that it bore in the deaths department the Federation was having none of that. And also the reminder of how the Infestation came into being was still strong from the enemy within.
As the saying goes: To kill a cancer, kill every single cell. Leave one cell alive and the cancer just regrows.
"Only to those who deserve it." Agent Mason tersely reminded. "And you should keep the insults to a minimum in these sessions."
He then nodded to the marines and the two soldiers stepped back from Morse and took up sentry positions on each door, keeping their pulse rifles up. Giving the convict some space should give him some measure of incentive to cooperate. Despite this, the marines still had their weapons at the ready should Morse try anything stupid.
Agent Salem checked his pad, going over the details of Morse's profile and his transfer. He saw the big Weyland-Yutani logo appear on screen as he read. He flicked it off the screen with an irritated grimace before resuming.
"Let's see." he began, reading each box." Robert Morse. Born June 6, 2142. London, United Kingdom. Double Y Chromosome. Sentenced to life in prison for five counts of armed robbery and murder. Incarcerated at Fiorina 161 Class-C Work Correctional Facility in the Neroid Sector. Outer Veil."
Double Y Syndrome, the one thing that the inmates of Fury 161 all had in common, is the name given to the deformity of the X/Y chromosome pair, that resulted in the X later mutating into another Y. This conflicting pattern results in the recipient, always male, having a predisposition towards antisocial behaviour and acts, typically involving rape and serial murder of women. While this syndrome is a genetic deformity, nearly all who are afflicted have ended up in the penal system brought about by their actions because of it. Study have shown that the condition can be brought under a measure of control through force of will, psychoactive conditioning and if the afflicted are isolated from women. Getting rid of the temptation as the logic goes. Hence why installations housing Double Ys are located in remote areas. It helps to further reduce the risk of relapses.
But that being said, regardless of how many measures are taken, incidents had been known to happen.
Bringing up the appropriate file on his pad, Agent Salem then placed the pad onto the table and pressed a button. The holographic projector built into the pad projected an orbital image of the complex. The former penal colony was over sixteen square kilometres in size. A vast city of metal, dominated by the massive furnaces and pipe networks of the installation's foundry. Situated on a vast plateau next to the ocean, the outskirts of the facility was lined with dilapidated roads and rusting cranes with tier chains swaying in the strong winds.
"Big place. Used to house five thousand Double Ys." Agent Mason commented. "Also housed a lead foundry running on natural methane for manufacturing containment shielding for toxic waste containers."
"Until it was shut down in 2175, due to slave labour accusations." Agent Salem reminded. "Housed a custodial staff of twenty two inmates who volunteered to remain behind after the facility's closure, plus two wardens and a medical officer."
Morse just sat there in his chair as the two agents talked about the bleeding obvious. He muttered in annoyance, enduring several mind numbing minutes and the rapping of his own fingers on the table before speaking his mind.
"Yeah I already know the fucking history of the place, Captain Obvious." he pointed out. "I lived there!"
The agents ignored that outburst as they continued going through every detail of Morse's former home, detailing its previous intentions as a mining colony and its transition into a maximum security prison for double Y felons. After five minutes of an unwanted history lesson, and Morse mumbling incoherently and insultingly to the observers behind the mirrors, the agents resumed their questioning.
"Weyland-Yutani was reluctant to let you go." Agent Salam said, picking up the pad and shutting off the holoprojector before swiping a finger and scrolling the screen. "Citing confidential reasons. The Fiorina 161 incident of which you were the sole survivor."
Morse saw on the pad's screen a massive restricted sign projected, filling up every pixel on the screen. The typical greeting to those who would come across it.
"They should be." he stated with a smirk. "I know what they know about what really happened on that rock."
"And hence the reason you are now in our custody." Agent Salem revealed, pressing the pad's screen. "Hopefully, we can get the truth after more then thirty years of silence on the Company's part."
The restricted symbol blipped out before reverting back to Morse's file. Agent Salem raised it back up before bringing up another piece of Morse's history. That of a former faith.
"You also used to be a member of the Brotherhood." Agent Salem addressed. "Apocalyptic millenarian fundamentalist offshoot of Christianity. Popular among the penal populations throughout Federation Space, in the Core Systems especially."
Morse scoffed loudly as the mention of his previous religious calling.
"After seeing that fucker kill all my mates, how could I believe in God?" he asked, disgust lacing his voice. "What kind of god, or better yet what kind of devil, would allow such a... 'Thing' to exist?"
"Xeno Extremists think otherwise." Agent Mason stated with equal disgust. "And we all know what happened because of that." he then resumed back to the subject at hand. "Now, we are under the assumption that you have never spoken about the incident?" he assumed.
Morse simply smirked at the exceedingly obvious fact, showing off his gold teeth.
"The Company had me under strict silence." Morse explained, holding a finger to his head suggestively with his thumb sticking out like the hammer of a pistol. "And I knew the penalty for talking about it to anyone." he lowered his thumb as he clicked his tongue to simulate gunfire. "But, they didn't say anything about not 'writing' it down." he pointed out, lowering his hand.
Agent Salem flicked his pad to the relevant article and nodded.
"Ah yes, you are the author of 'Space Beast'. A previously banned manuscript of a graphic nature." Agent Salem confirmed. "Of which I have a copy, right here. First Edition actually. Very rare."
The agent then picked out from his case the book in question. The book's hardback cover, in pristine condition, was a stylised rendition of a xenomorph towering over a prison facility set in a bleak wasteland with fire engulfing the planet's surface. This xenomorph in particular was very specific, lacking the dorsal spines of it's mainstream kin and a streamline quadrupedal-like body. It was of the actual xenomorph that caused the incident as sketched by Morse himself. A runner as they had came to be known or, as it had been named by the former inmates of Fury 161, The Dragon.
Morse was familiar with this work of art. He had spent many hours scribbling the creature since being incarcerated by Weyland-Yutani after the incident. Sometimes, his cell would be covered in xenomorph diagrams. Mostly the head with the xenomorph's characteristic grin. And this was the same picture that he had sent for publishing.
"My god, you actually brought it with you." Morse said in disbelief.
"You sound slightly miffed." Agent Mason pointed out as Agent Salem slid the book to Morse.
Morse looked down on his work, seeing the xenomorph on the cover as he picked up the book. Seeing it's predatory grin. He blinked several times as the unpleasant memory of seeing one of his mates butchered right in front of him pervaded his mind. He rubbed his head subconsciously as the sticky sensation of still warm blood danced on his scarred scalp.
"Miffed?" Morse said, insulted by the word before tossing the book back at Agent Salem who caught it deftly. "The shit that happened to me that day was worse then anything afterwards. Had the horrors for years. Every time I shut my eyes, I could see the fucker smiling at me. That book was my way of exorcising that fucking demon out from my head." he starting rubbing at his eyes. "Even now, when it's dead quiet, I can still hear it. That fucking screeching."
"Yes, nightmares are usually the result of encounters with the Xenomorphs." Agent Salem said idly, putting the book down before checking his datapad and picking out a specific article. "Speculated symptom of failed indoctrination."
That last word caught Morse's attention. Why did the agents use that particular word to classify his nightmares? Did they know something he didn't?
"What?" Morse asked suspiciously, lowering his hand.
"Nothing to be concerned of at the moment." Agent Salem cautioned. "Please continue."
It was evident to Morse that this 'Indoctrination' business was a tight lipped subject among OSIRIS. And it was unlikely that they would inform him of all people of the inner workings of this matter.
Morse grunted in compliance as he continued about his short lived literacy career. And the reception he got after it's publication. Something that he got ribbed out on during his incarceration by Weyland-Yutani.
"When my book was published, aside from my lacking in writing skills, it was laughed off as pure fantasy. A lunatic's raving." Morse said before he laughed laconically. "Well, after the shit-storm on Earth, they're not laughing at me now." he gloated.
"I'm sure." Agent Mason assured. "Especially since it is now required reading."
That change in status from laughing stock to essential knowledge provoked a louder reaction from the convict.
"Required reading?" Morse asked in disbelief before he laughed aloud. "Ha! Rubbing salt in the wound, are we?" He looked down to his left onto the floor and banged his foot on the linoleum loudly several times. "Do you hear that, bastards?! Required reading!" he shouted to his critics who were no doubt burning in hell.
Agent Mason banged his fist sharply with a loud metallic bang on the table to bring Morse's attention back to them. He then cracked his fingers audibly, muttering in german as his colleague continued the talk of Morse's late success.
"Think of the royalties, Mr Morse." Agent Salem reasoned, hoping to get Morse to cooperate. "Thanks to mandatory education on the Xenomorphs, your book had now become a best seller."
The talk of riches that came from the licensing of his work played little to elate Morse further. In fact, his grimace spoke towards the opposite of pleasure. Something which his current status of a condemned criminal would easily prevent.
"What good are royalties in my position? Not like I can spend them!" Morse scoffed. "Life sentence. No parole."
He remembered the day that he was sentenced and the Judge's verdict on his crimes was very clear. Life sentence with no chance of parole. Only the mentally deficient would have argued with that. And the reforms against repeat offenders ensured that Double Ys like him would never have a chance of freedom ever again.
"Now, Mr Morse, we have ensured your release into our custody from Weyland-Yutani for the duration of these affairs." Agent Mason cautioned. "I suggest that you cooperate if you wish to remain out of their corporate jurisdiction."
Morse frowned at the two agents, not buying into their rhetoric.
"And what makes you think that you're better then the Company?" he questioned. "From what I've seen of you guys, it suggests that you lot don't leave witnesses."
That was a truth regarding the modus operandus of OSIRIS. If there was ever a significant to Earth and her colonies, OSIRIS would take great lengths to ensure that threat would never rise again. Taking note of history and the unenviable cycles of repeated offences of course.
To treat a cancer, you must kill every cell. Leave one cell alive and the cancer just regrows.
The two agents looked to each other, mentally conferring with each other before they both nodded. It was time to add the big incentive to the equation. Something that Morse would not even suspect of being possible.
"As per the Redemption Protocol, of which you had been understandably denied, there is a way out for the condemned community." Agent Mason informed. "As effective during and after Operation Extinction, penal populations have the option of signing up for combat duty in exchange for a pardon. If they survived." he then nodded to Agent Salem who then opened his case before reaching inside. "While these were often in the vein of suicide missions, you on the other hand can contribute in a more... safe locale."
The Redemption Protocol is an ongoing method of conscription that originated from the Infestation of Earth. In preparation for Operation Extinction when all available military forces and civilian volunteers gathered for the final last gambit offensive, a call was issued to the penal colonies. The offer was simple: Enlist to help reclaim Earth and all who volunteered will receive their freedom, their crimes absolved and a fresh start. While this attractive offer did bolster the armed forces by many tens of thousands, with many a bloodthirsty maniac among the newly formed penal legions, that did lead to the issue of control. But, once on a battlefield infested with xenomorphs, there was nowhere to escape when the fighting began. Either they fight and have a chance at winning their freedom or die.
In subsequent formations, various methods of control are used depending on the individuals in question. These ranged from elaborate slow acting poisons in their bloodstreams to the more simple explosive collars that would detonate if they left the battleground. And the penalties for 'relapsing' were just as varied. They only have one chance for redemption and if they fail, there was no second chance. Quite literally in most cases.
Agent Salem pulled out from his case a file folder. Bearing the OSIRIS logo on the front, he placed it on the table. Morse looked at the file with suspicion, expecting a death warrant fro his refusal before the agent flipped it open. Morse's widened when he saw that it was not a warrant calling for his execution. Rather, much to his long dead surprise, it was in fact a Federation Council pardon. As written for the Redemption Protocol, he was entitled to a clean slate in exchange for his service.
"Here's your proof." Agent Salem revealed, waving his hand over the document like a magician who just performed a magic trick. "Please take time to read the small print."
Morse was speechless by this revelation. Effectively, this document would wipe his criminal record clean. It was all signed by the OSIRIS authorities and the only thing missing was his own signature. But, as a dragging sense of apprehension took place, was there a catch to this too-good-to-be-true offer?
In this day and age of corporate dealings, there was always a catch. A price that had to be paid.
Morse looked closer at the document, going over every word. He could make out the customary paragraph that provided confirmation of his service and his ultimate reward. But since this particular event was hardly a suicide mission, it should be a breeze to pass. All that was needed was his signature and he could consider himself a free man.
"I'm sure there is a world in the Frontier where you can live out the rest of your days. On a nice secluded island perhaps, reaping the fruits of your work." Agent Salem alluded with optimism as he slid the document towards Morse for a better look. "But that just depends on your retelling. Truth is the key and false information, or excessive exaggeration, will not be accepted. History has enough lies on it's pages as it is. As the saying goes: History is written by the winners."
"Help us with this endeavour and you'll have a comfortable retirement." Agent Mason proposed, holding a pen in his hand.
Morse looked up at them, half leering at them. His features then softened as he grinned at them.
"Hell, I'm near the end of my life anyway." he mused before he laid back in his chair and shrugged. "Why the fuck not?"
That blunt question was all the confirmation the agents needed.
"Very well, let's begin." Agent Mason said, petting the pen back into his chest pocket.
Morse frowned as Agent Salem reached over and recovered the pardon, flipping the folder shut before placing it back in his case. There was the clause to the agreement that had been nagging the back of his head. Or was it just that phantom itch of coagulating blood? Either way, it was apparent he had to earn his freedom as per the Protocol demanded.
Knowledge first, freedom later.
Agent Mason pulled out a portable vid unit from the case and placed it on the table. Flipping it open, Morse's eyes narrowed as Agent Mason plugged it into the interface's receptacle, the piece of visual tech powering up.
"What's that for?" Morse asked.
"This is a visual reminder of sorts." Agent Mason explained, switching on the unit and pressing some buttons in sequence. "What visual and audio data that had been recovered after Weyland-Yutani decommissioned the facility. Not much by any means, owing to the dilapidated state of the prison, but it helps to fill in some gaps."
Morse remembered that. He remembered that little speech he made about having nothing, none of the basic amenities and commodities that a prison should provide. Nothing but shit. Saying it right into Ripley's face. Even after all these years, he somewhat regretted saying that they should shove her head through the wall.
Agent Mason began typing on the table's keyboard, bringing up an array of surveillance icons for a myriad of recordings and also audio files for those cameras that had lost visuals. All that had been retrieved from any and all working close circuit cameras in the dilapidated facility. And Weyland-Yutani had been very thorough in scavenging every single iota of data of the incident.
It was one of the reasons why they were so well prepared during Operation Extinction.
"Not exactly skimpy on the details, are we?" Morse asked, seeing the sheer amount of files on display. "So, some cameras did work after all?"
"Now, Robert Morse." Agent Mason began. "We are going to be going over key events of this incident and we want you to answer them to the best of your ability and above all truthfully. We will know when you're lying and I strongly suggest you don't. Do you understand?"
"And if I don't?" Morse half asked and half dared.
"Lets just say that we have ways of making you cooperate." Agent Mason hinted. "Would you prefer chemical, electrical or physical?"
Morse grinned again, his gold teeth shining in the light.
"So there are electrodes here then?" Morse confirmed before gesturing to the guards and the stun rods they carried. "And are they going to be doing the zapping?"
The agents ignored that smart comment as they checked their instruments and prepared to document the testimony of the oldest surviving witness of the Xenomorphs. This was history in the making and they were going to record every word of it. Future generations would rely on it.
"Now, we will be starting from the beginning." Agent Salem said, checking the recorder on the table. "What happened when the EEV crash landed near the prison?" he questioned.
Morse took a moment to compose himself before he began to tell the agents of what happened that fateful day. And the nightmare that he had spent many years trying to forget.
"The year was 2179. August. Don't remember what day it was but it was a shit morning. "Morse began, remembering back to that eventful morning that preceded the horrific week. "One of many endless shit mornings on that rock. Dreary, damp and cold. First in the daily agenda, one of our daily rituals of life, I was busy shaving my head, fucking necessity that was. Fucking lice. Even worse when you put your underwear on and there's a whole nest of them making home."
"Ah yes, the indigenous life." Agent Salem agreed, checking out the relevant file on his pad. "Arthropods similar to head lice and attracted to the keratin in human hair. Oddly enough, not the keratin in the nails." he then frowned. "Come to think of it, given the environment, Fiorina 161 is pretty inimical for life." he concluded. "Please continue."
Morse tapped his fingers on the table as he thought about what happened and thinking of something to say about Agent Salem's words.
"Call it what you want." Morse jested "Regardless of how shit it was, it was still our world. Our own little corner of the universe. Far from all the shit going on back on Earth."
He looked up to the ceiling, no doubt thinking of the planet where he had spent many years. Despite it being a maximum security prison on a remote rock, he still had some memorable moments.
"It was the start of the night cycle. That meant no light for days, even weeks at a time and forty below the line. Hard to believe when the planet is orbiting around two fucking suns!" Morse continued with a dash of irony at the end. "There was noise at the main entry to the facility, the shower block as it was one of the only outer doors that could open, as the doc barked orders that an EEV had crashed into the black beach. And that he had been found carrying a survivor inside."
"Black beach?" Agent Salem questioned before he consulted his files. "Ah, the nature of the water bodies on that planet. Has the colour and consistency of oil. Acidic as well, but capable of sustaining plankton and some rudimentary fish species."
"If the water turned out to be crude oil, it would've solved the fuel crisis." Morse joked. "More profitable then a lead works. And plenty of it."
"What happened during the recovery?" Agent Mason questioned in a formal tone.
Morse shifted in his seat as he recalled what he saw that day.
"I wasn't part of the recovery detail." he stated clearly "But I did see them hauling it in. The EEV was fucked up to say the least. Ripped open on impact like tin foil." he shook his head in disbelief. "When it was brought in, I couldn't believe that anyone had survived. But I heard that the survivor was in the infirmary, stabilised and being tended to by the doc."
"337's had that issue." Agent Salem agreed. "No wonder they earned the nickname Flying Coffins. Thank god for recent developments."
Agent Mason highlighted a surveillance file, from one of the outside cameras facing the beach. Bringing it up on screen, they watched the clip of the inmates hauling the EEV from the black oily waters, aided by a group of eight oxen that did the brunt of the hauling. Alongside, as Agent Salem zoomed in, they saw several of the inmates carrying the dead occupants, wrapped in canvas bags and one in a plastic bin bag. One of the canvas bags was slowly going red. The EEV, it's yellow floatation devices stained black from the water, had suffered tremendous damage on impact with the black sea, its hull was buckled and torn on the side that made contact. And, zooming in on it, the interior was wrecked with three of the four pods smashed open with one splattered with blood and the other with white hydraulic fluid. The blood, so to say, of synthetics. The one intact pod left showed signs of severe flooding.
"Just as I remember it." Morse confirmed.
"And the sole survivor was LT Ellen Ripley." Agent Salem recalled, bringing up the relevant file of that now legendary woman and showing it to Morse. "Her third such survival. Holds the longest record of hypersleep as well. Fifty seven years."
Morse blinked at that revealing piece of information. Ripley was older then she looked? He guessed her to be in her mid thirties at most. If what they were saying was true, then she was older then every inmate in the prison. Even older then Superintendent Andrews himself.
"She was over eighty years old!?" he exclaimed before his gave a bemused grunt. "Huh, she did look good for her age then."
Agent Mason then brought up a file of the transmission sent by the former superintendent of the prison. It showcased that the lone survivor was Ellen Ripley and the names of the deceased. L Bishop M341-B, Corporal D Hicks and an unidentified female aged approximately ten years old.
"A pity." Agent Mason lamented. "What we could've learned on LV-426." he focussed on Morse. "Now, we understand that an emergency meeting was assembled, following the crash." he continued.
Morse remembered the emergency meeting that was called as soon as the EEV and the bodies were secure.
"At the meeting, Superintendent Andrews began his typical 'Rumour Control' speech routine whenever anything serious happened." Morse remembered. "Dillon, our prison chaplain of sorts, said a prayer beforehand to lighten the mood. Andrews then briefed us about the EEV that crashed at 0600, enlightening those of us who hadn't been part of recovery. One survivor, two dead and a droid smashed into a million pieces." he then grunted in rememberer annoyance. "And the survivor had to be a woman. I pointed out clearly, celibacy vow of course, that is wasn't in anyone's best interest for her to be intermingling with the boys and Dillon agreed on that. Violation of the harmony as he called it. Andrews then assured us that a rescue team was coming to evacuate her inside of a week and that we should just carry on with our routine."
At the same time, Agent Salem was flicking through the copy of Space Beast to corroborate what Morse was telling them compared to what he had written down over twenty years ago. For the most part, after getting around the inept and crude writing, Morse was telling them the truth. However some of the things he had been saying were more abridged then what was written down. Then again, Morse didn't have to say everything if they had the book to back it up.
Agent Mason brought up a recording of the 'Rumour Control'. The meeting was held in the assembly hall in question, a tall room that connected all levels that served as a central hub for the prison. Lined with gothic style entry ways and panelling that covered the stairways, it very much could resemble an impromptu church. The inmates, all in varying states of readiness from either helping in the salvaging of the EEV or were in the middle of preparing for the morning, gathered around on various levels. The assistant warden came walking in calling for everyone's attention before a robust african-american convict, wearing glasses and wearing clothing sort of reminiscent of a pastor's robe, began a prayer beseeching unity for the day of reckoning. This was Dillon, the prison's de-facto religious leader. After finishing the prayer, the Superintendent began his meeting.
From there it pretty much went as Morse had described it, with Morse's objections and Dillon's concerns being important. Also, having amplified the sound of the recording, was the mention of Ripley to be interred in the infirmary until the rescue team arrived. The inmates then dispersed after the end of the meeting, voicing their own opinions about the situation.
With that information, the Agent's brought up a surveillance file from the Infirmary. Of Clemens treating a later conscious Ripley, who had been stripped and placed in one of the beds after her initial admittance., and informing her of her companions' deaths. She then immediately wanted to see the wreck, getting out of bed without hesitation despite the doctor's objections. After a smart comment about her current state, and the preference of clothes from Clemens, the doctor went to get her some spare clothing from one of the lockers. He was heard saying that nonoe of the prisoners have seen a woman in years and, under his breath, neither had he for that matter.
Morse's brows raised when he saw the nude form of a woman for the first time in years. He was quick to slap himself back to form.
The next file to be shown was more corrupted then the ones shown previously, owing to the state of the camera's location. But with the several minutes of footage recovered, they could get a clear idea of what was happening. Clemens led Ripley into a large holding courtyard that had been converted into a storage area by the inmates. The EEV wreck was being lowered down through the open ceiling, the cabled releasing once it had made touchdown. After a period of static, Ripley was seen to have clambered inside the open hole, seeing the devastation inside the craft. She asked as to the fate of her companions. Clemens informed her as to the fates of her friends and Ripley was notably upset when informed of the child's death.
Pausing the footage, the Agents took notice of the cryotube Ripley was next to. On the side, close to the rim of the tube, was a corroded burn, tinged green and looking recent. And only one substance could leave a burn like that. Xenomorph blood. Resuming the footage, Ripley noticed the burn and gasped notably. Asking where the girl was, Clemens explained that she was in the morgue, Ripley said she had to see what was left of her.
Agent Salem then checked one of his datapads, gathering up a compilation of medical documents as written by the chief medical officer of the prison. A Jonathan Clemens, who was also a former Fiorina 161 inmate after serving a seven year sentence for negligent manslaughter by overdosing painkillers that led to eleven deaths after an industrial accident at a fuel plant. The result of getting drunk after a thirty-six hour shift in the emergency room.
Aside from that virtual career-ending mistake, Clemens was considered a highly skilled medical practitioner.
The documents detailed Ripley's diagnosis. At most she suffered scrapes and bruises from the crash and near drowning. The most pressing concern however was her sudden release from stasis with resulted in fatigue and nausea. Considering how she could have ended up, she was lucky not to have died. The same could not be said for her companions though.
"What can you tell us about the deceased?" Agent Salem questioned. "The medical reports indicated that the child was given an autopsy."
Morse sighed as he remembered what he knew. What he saw.
"I caught a glimpse of the Corporal, the body bag slipped open on the way to the morgue mind you." Morse clarified before he gave a disbelieving huff. "Hard to believe he used to be a military man. Now he was a lump of meat pounded beyond tenderness. Safety support beam to the face from what I heard from Frank." He then bowed his head as he brought up the other fatality. "And the kid." Morse added, shaking his head. "At least she wasn't conscious when she drowned in her tube."
"Was there anything out of the ordinary after the retrieval of the EEV and the internment of the deceased?" Agent Salem added, typing into his pad.
"Hauling the wreck in was slightly challenging. No one was bothered to maintain the cranes since the prison shut but Troy got them working again. He could fix most things using only a brick and a bit of string." Morse said with mirth. "Of course, bricks and string was one thing we had plenty of. The bodies were the easiest to shift, down to the morgue for cold storage until the rescue team arrived." He then remembered something he had overheard the next day after the crash and after things settled down as much as they could."Kevin mentioned the next morning that Ripley was acting odd around the kid's body when she asked to see them. Especially when she asked for a moment alone." Morse recalled. "Pushing on the kid's chest, rubbing her neck. Like she was searching for something."
Agent Salem then brought up on the screen another surveillance recording, in the morgue. On screen, they watched as the former medical officer Clemens, accompanied by Kevin, led Ripley down the spiral staircase. Banter was heard over Ripley's insistence to see how the child died, coupled with Clemen's repeated and slightly irritated explanation that she had drowned. Clemens also asked whether or not the child was in fact her daughter, to which Ripley answered that she wasn't Coming up to the relevant locker, Clemens opened it with the hiss of refrigerated air. Ripley was notably distressed when the table slid out and Clemens unveiled the child's shroud to her waist. After asking for a moment alone, of which Clemens and Kevin complied, Ripley began to examine the child's corpse. Pushing her chest and rubbing her neck like Morse described. After Kevin pointed out Ripley's puzzling actions, Clemens then approached her and questioned to what she was doing.
Watching the vid feed, Morse and the Agents saw how Ripley convinced Clemens to perform an autopsy on the child, under the pretence of checking for signs of Cholera. Cholera had not been reported for two centuries as Clemens stated. As the doctor performed the autopsy while Kevin was sitting on the stairs and watching them, Ripley was notably anxious and possibly terrified of what they might uncover. It was only after the chest cavity was opened, only to reveal flooded lungs as confirmation that she drowned, did Ripley calm down.
The two agents understood what she was doing. She was determined to see whether or not the child had a chestburster inside her at the time of her death. No doubt a fear caused by her previous encounters and the nightmares they brought.
At that point Superintendent Andrews and his assistant came into the morgue, Kevin swiftly moving out of the way as the two approached Clemens and demanding to know what was going on. Clemens gave his report, of which Andrews was irritated that he was not informed beforehand, while Ripley urged that the bodies had to be cremated. Andrews refused, citing that they were evidence for the rescue team. Clemens then illustrated the possibility of an outbreak of cholera, citing insufficient means for conclusive testing such as laboratory tests, despite the bodies showing no apparent sign of contagion. While this did partially convince the superintendent, Andrews made the situation of the inmates, double Y's with a variety of convictions ranging from murder to child molestation, very clear to Ripley. That because they may have taken to religion doesn't make them any less dangerous and he did not want anything happening that may provoke them and disrupt the order. 'Ripples in the water' as he was heard saying.
After leaving the responsibility of funeral arrangements to Clemens, Andrews and his assistant left the morgue. The recording at that moment ceased and the agents documented what they had just witnessed in their logs and also comparing it to what Morse had written in his book.
Morse on the other hand was digesting what he saw on the screen. Seeing it for himself was more confronting that hearing gossip from his mates. He even felt a little nauseated during the autopsy. Especially when the bone-saw was cutting through the child's sternum.
"I don't think I'll be forgetting that any time soon." he muttered, rubbing his eyes to get the burned in image out of them.
"As we understand, the bodies of the dead were cremated in the foundry as per Ripley's request." Agent Salem queried. "What exactly happened at the funeral?"
"Just the usual funeral business, what we did for anyone who opted for cremation. Only method convenient on that rock." Morse explained. "I moved the lead basin gantry over the open foundry. Some of the lads were with me, getting ready to hurl the bodies into the furnace. Nothing would be left, no ashes, nothing. Just vapour blowing out the top of the funnel to be carried by the wind."
He made the impression of air wafting upwards, symbolising the deceased's passage to Heaven.
"The rest of the lads were down below as Andrews was giving a sermon from the bible, ushering their passage to the Lord. Textbook routine whenever anyone died in the prison." Morse said before shrugging. "Then again, he never really put much effort into it. Just enough to state the point so things could get back to normal."
"Dillon said a eulogy after Andrews performance." Morse remembered. "Quite a good one in fact. He always had a way with words. Especially the ending."
Morse then recalled what Dillon had said. The final verse in his speech, one of rebirth from death.
"'For within each seed, there is a promise of a flower, and within each death, no matter how small, there's always a new life. A new beginning… Amen.'" he recited, habitually holding his fist up in the traditional Brotherhood gesture. "Christ, I hadn't done that in years." he realised, lowering his hand.
The agents compared it to what was written in the book and it was, word-for-word, identical. And it was one of the few passages in the book in which the writing was actually pretty good.
With that, Agent Mason brought up a recording of the funeral. It began with Morse and the few inmates positioning the lead gantry over the operating foundry, ready to drop the canvas wrapped bodies into the open doors below. The rest of the prison population was gathered at the bottom, Andrews at front and Ripley standing with Clemens. The Superintendent then gave his sermon and, as much as Morse said, Andrews was playing it by the book.
It was during Dillon's eulogy did things seem to perk up into a more sombre funerary atmosphere. So much so that Ripley shed tears as the bodies of her companions were released from this physical world, the inmates on the gantry dropping them into the open foundry. The bodies burnt up within seconds from the intense heat, becoming nothing more then clouds of vapour. But as the camera zoomed in on Ripley, the Agents noticed that her nose started to bleed as if at random. Clemens noticed this as Ripley wiped her nose. Maybe this was due to stress or some other unknown factor that was he was not aware of.
After the end of the service, the foundry was shut down and the population dispersed back into the main complex. The clip ended and the Agents documented what they had seen.
"Was there anything odd that happened after the funeral?" Agent Mason questioned.
"Well, at dinner Frank and Murphy were asking questions about who gutted the ox, Babe they used to call it, that they had strung up in the abattoir before the service." Morse recalled. "They were pretty annoyed at the mess left behind. Offal strewn about the place like someone had stuck an airline into it's guts and then popped it with a needle."
"Gutted?" Agent Salem questioned before checking his pad. "Ah, I see. The first victim."
"And there was that odd thing that Murphy found next to Babe." Morse added.
"Odd thing." Salem said, opening the book and flicking to the right page. "Lets see. 'Larger then a human head. Scaled tail, quills on it's back and eight spindly webbed fingers for legs. The bastard child of a spider and a fish Murphy called it.'." he recited.
"That's what I wrote." Morse confirmed. "Never saw the thing myself, just what Murphy was talking about."
"That is a close description of a Royal Facehugger." Salem confirmed, typing on his pad. "Here we are. Is this it?"
He then showed Morse an archival image of the creature in question and the convict's eyes widened in both surprise and revulsion. The royal facehugger was a larger specimen then the traditional facehugger, befitting of it's status for carrying the queen embryo. It had a darker colouration to it's finger-like legs of which they were webbed like an amphibian's. It also had an array of quills on its back that reached just past the base of it's tail and mottled colouration on it's 'flaps'.
"I don't think I gave the ugly bastard justice." Morse quipped.
"This variation is unusual in that it can impregnate multiple hosts before expiring." Agent Salem briefed. "Typically a queen and a drone or two for protection."
"What happened to it?" Agent Mason asked as he flicked through Weyland-Yutani's own reports. "The Company reports made no mention of retrieving it's corpse."
"As far as I know, Murphy just got rid of it." Morse answered, imitating the action of tossing something over his shoulder. "Threw it in the trash and that was that. Probably rotting back in the black water or burnt in an incinerator for all I knew."
Both agents documented their findings and even ran through several surveillance clips after the funeral. Nothing of interest was seen, just the inmates going about their business, powering down the foundry and retiring for the night. Some inmates gathered in the mess hall for a game of dice while others retreated to their cells for an early night. With so many empty cells it was easy to find some privacy though they tended to stay relatively in the same area.
Considering that the facility it self was ten miles square, it was easily to get lost if one didn't know the way.
Going on Morse's mention of the ox being 'gutted', they tried to run the surveillance files on the abattoir where the ox was strung up. Unfortunately, this camera was more corrupted and did not capture the whole conversation between Frank and Murphy. But what the techs did manage to recover through the static was enough to get a clear picture.
It showed Frank and Murphy hauling in the dead ox via cart, making a light-hearted comment that Christmas had come early. But that was tempered by the fact they now had only seven left and then they were done with them. As they were stringing up the ox onto the overhead railings for easier movement and Frank mentioning his displeasure of hosing them down, they began chatting about Ripley, making some lewd comments while they were at it. As Frank began walking out, Murphy wondered what could have killed Babe. Frank simply said she just keeled over before saying they'll chop her up later. He also mentioned that she was eleven, in her prime. As Frank walked out, Murphy noticed something on the cart that they had missed. Walking up onto the cart, he picked it up by the tail shouting to Frank on what this was.
What Murphy was holding as the agents paused the clip and enhanced the frame of film was the Royal facehugger. And Morse looked just as repulsed as when he saw the image of the previous one, considering that this one was dead dead by a few hours it had began to atrophy and would later end up as a shrivelled husk.
Fast forwarding, around the time that the funeral was taking place, they came across that moment when the catalyst for the incident shown itself. First, it began with the remains of Babe beginning to sway on the chains, accompanied by the sounds of gurgling and squelching from within. Something inside the dead bovine was moving. A few moments later, the sound of bone splintering could be heard and the ox's chest was beginning to slightly bulge as the internal movements got louder. Then the bones were starting to break as the now moving and growing bulge was getting closer to popping, splits tearing through the skin and lice riddled fur. Finally, the chest gave out with a loud sickening crack as a red mass of diced entrails and bone fragments came spurting out into a steaming pool
And what was in the pool of blood, bone and bodily fluids was a small, quadrupedal creature with a lithe body and limbs, skeletal-like features, a barbed segmented tail and a banana shaped head. It shakily got up on it's own feet like a newborn foal, mewling and looking around as the remains of what could be described as the amniotic sack sloughed off it. Opening it's human-like mouth, it gave out a soft hiss as another set of jaws stretched out and flexed, drawing out a thin membrane of mucus-like matter.
This was the Dragon.
This was different then to what newborn xenomorphs were normally documented as. Chestbursters had a more larval form, much like a combination between an insect pupae and a snake. This on the other hand was like a miniature version of an adult. Agent Salem postulated in his head that, because of Babe's stronger skeletal structure, the Dragon had been stuck in it's host after it had technically been born and was not yet strong enough to burst out. Hence why it emerged in a more developed stage then normal.
The Agents and Morse watched as the newly born xenomorph shook itself of any membranous matter before quickly running out through the open door of the abattoir. Like all newly birthed xenomorphs in a strange environment, it need some place quiet to grow.
And also on an interesting note, comparing the times of the two clips, this happened at around the same time Ripley had her nosebleed.
"That explains the mess." Morse quipped before his shook his head as nausea was lingering in his mind. "Good god!"
He had to fight the urge to vomit as he felt his stomach gargle as his mind processed what he just saw. And the feeling of congealed blood on his head resurfaced. Holding his breath, Morse slowly shrugged it off with a loud gulp as the Agents documented their findings.
"That's Ground Zero covered." Agent Salem confirmed, documenting it in his pad as Agent Mason switched back to the main hub. "What else happened during the night, Morse?" he asked.
Morse took a breath, ignoring the tang of almost regurgitated food, as he continued where he left off.
"That night was uneventful. Just like any other night, you spend time trying to get as much lice out from your bed before sleeping." Morse recalled. "Then the next morning, Murphy came around the mess hall at breakfast asking if anyone had seen his mutt, Spike." he shrugged. "After the funeral, no one had seen Spike. We assumed he had gone off into the air vents like normal. But, he always came out in the morning for his feed." "Thinking about it, maybe that fucker had gotten to him first."
"Yes, there is mention that some of the guard dogs were left behind when Weyland-Yutani shut down the prison." Agent Salem confirmed.
"Breakfast was uneventful, as usual, apart from the usual complaints of the quality of the food." Morse said "Hell, why were we complaining? We couldn't grow our own food." One notable highlight was Dillon having a talk with Boggs and Rains concerning Golic." Morse remembered. "They were refusing to go on their next salvaging sortie into the abandoned areas with him. Calling him 'Crazy' and he smelled bad."
"Golic?" Agent Salem questioned before he realised. "Ah yes, Walter Golic. Mass murdering schizophrenic. Over thirty counts of murder and dismemberment."
"He did things that made all of us cringe." Morse said with a mocking shudder. "Still he was one of us, for better or worse. Come to think of it, worse took precedence later on."Morse then continued with the subject at hand. "Anyway, Dillon wasn't having any of that. He wouldn't tolerate any disharmony if he caught wind of it and he persuaded them to just get on with it." Morse concluded. "Sometimes he uses words and, if they don't take root, then there is always his lead pipe." He then smirked. "When he gets that out, then you knew you fucked up." he warned.
He then paused for effect, allowing them to document his words, before he continued with the next notable event that happened that morning.
"Then Ripley came walking in, shaved up and in prison issued gear." he revealed. "Everyone went silent as she walked in and got herself some food. Looks were exchanged between the guys as she approached Dillon. I could overhear Andrews confirming his suspicions with 85. The ripples in the water. Gregor and David had mixed feelings about her when she personally thanked Dillon for what he said at the funeral."
"And what happened when she did?" Agent Mason asked.
"Dillon bluntly told her that she would not want to know him." Morse said. "He was a self proclaimed 'murderer and rapist of women'." he then smirked as he remembered Ripley's response. "And what she said in response was 'Well, I guess I must make you nervous.' right before she sat down right in front of him."
He shook his head as he gave a curt laugh. That had to be one of the highlights of her stay. From her passive aggressive action of standing up to Dillon.
"I guess Dillon was impressed, which was something that didn't happen often." he continued. "He settled into some friendly banter, even calling her 'Sister'. Like she was now one of us, just like that. Heck, he even started talking about all of us. How we were waiting for God. "
The agents ran through this on the camera footage and it was for the most part true. Especially the dead silence that was heard as Ripley walked in, shaved up and in prison clothing.
Agent Mason at this moment looked at the chronometer readout on the table. He saw that, giving the slow start and Morse's initial reluctance to comply, they had been here for five hours straight. Cross-referencing and comparing the facts with what was already known, the surveillance and audio footage from Weyland-Yutani, and from Morse's own testimony was going to take some time. And Morse would need time to gather this thoughts for the next session.
"After breakfast I was doing my usual shift of hauling crap from one place to another." Morse continued, now certain that he was wasting their time. "Then after that I was chilling out in the lounge, drinking beer and playing cards, Well, I would if we had any beer or cards."
But, as he thought for his own amusement, might as well give them what they want. No matter how trivial and irrelevant it may be. They were the ones documenting his rambling, not him.
"Speaking of games, there was this one time when Gregor and Junior found a football, still in one of the sports lockers in the disused gym." Morse rambled. "Though it took just one kick from it and *POOF* the whole thing exploded is a cloud of dust. The two of them were coughing petrified foam for a week! We all had a good laugh."
Agent Mason chose that moment to conclude the session by banging his fist on the table. In mocking manner of uncontrollable laughter from an obviously predictable joke.
"Not a fan of the ball gag are we?" Morse asked with a questioning smirk.
"I'm not into sadomasochism." Agent Mason sardonically stated. "And this droning is going on for too long."
Agent Salem looked at the chronometer from the datapad he was holding, frowning as he calculated how long they have been in this session and then nodded in agreement. They were going to need to stop and process their findings.
"I agree. That will be all for the moment." Agent Salem stated, placing his pad down. "It will take some time to collate this information with our archives."
"So soon?" Morse asked, holding his arms out in feigned offence. "I only just started."
His sarcasm for the interruption and subsequent ending of the session only reinforced Agent Mason's decision.
"Escort Mr Morse back to his quarters." Agent Mason ordered to the marines. "We will begin again tomorrow."
"Oh come on." Morse mockingly pleaded. "I haven't got to the good part yet!"
"In which case, we'll be rolling in our beds in anticipation." Agent Mason mockingly replied as he snapped his fingers. "Besides, I think you're due for a nap."
"Ooh!" Morse groaned in fake insult as the marine behind him approached. "The jokes about age coming out."
The marine, the earlier target of Morse's verbal abuse, roughly forced Morse into the table with a loud reverberating thud before grabbing his hands and pinning them to his back. Morse chuckled against the table surface in a sultry manner from this rough treatment.
"Hey, why don't you give me a reach around while you're at it?" Morse asked, much to the marines evident disgust as handcuffs were reapplied to his wrists. "It doesn't technically violate celibacy."
The marine stood Morse up on his feet as the second marine approached and grasped him by the shoulder.
"One at a time lads." Morse warned with a smirk. "Not as fit as I used to be."
"This session is dismissed." Agent Mason concluded. "Please escort our guest back to his luxury suite. We will continue tomorrow."
The marines began to escort Morse out of the room towards the door, Morse hobbling between them. The first marine tapped his pulse rifle's grenade launcher on the panelling and the door opened. The marines then led Morse out.
"Remember, Mr Morse, your freedom in exchange for your cooperation." Agent Mason reminded, gesturing to Agent Salem's case as Morse was led through the door.
"Oh where have I heard that before, Ges...?" Morse tauntingly called back as the door shut behind him, blocking out the last word.
It was enough to make Agent Mason groan in German.
Now that the two agents were alone, so to speak regarding the observers behind the mirrors, they took time to evaluate what they had learned. Agent Mason was quick to give out a long sigh he let his built up resentment surface as he continued to mutter to himself in his native tongue
"Well, aside from the rough start, things seem to be going well." Agent Salem praised as he gathered up his things. "He hasn't deviated much from what he had written. So his memory is good.".
"So was his mouth." Agent Mason pointed out, shutting the vid unit and unplugging it. "Gestapo of all things!" he fumed, hefting it back into it's case.
The mere mention of the Nazis in Germany was still a sensitive subject, despite the centuries. Though the level of taboo about it had since diminished, to the point where it can be discussed and talked about, actual participation was still illegal. Federation Law is very clear about the penalty for terrorist seditions.
In the case of Xeno Extremists and their role in the infestation of Earth, they are subjected to the death penalty without trail.
"Lets hope that he still remembers the incident proper." Agent Salem hoped, placing his pads back into his satchel. "But I think his Pardon definitely influenced his cooperation. And he doesn't have any reason to lie."
"Yet." Agent Mason reminded, placing the vid unit into it's case and shutting the case's latched lid. "I've dealt with people like him. Mouths bigger then brains."
"We will see." Agent Salem assured, placing his case on the table. "We have only just scratched the surface of Fury 161. Who knows what secrets he had been holding." he hoped, as he put Space Beast back into it.
"What secrets Weyland-Yutani hadn't probed from him." Agent Mason corrected, hefting his case. "They have ways that would make the actual Gestapo blush."
Agent Salem simply shrugged as he picked up his recorder and formally finished the session.
"Morse interview #1" Agent Salem documented. "Session time: five hours. Conclusion: The subject, Robert Morse, had proven resistant to comply at first but the Redemption Protocol had convinced him to a degree. Still had disruptive mouth that impeded some of the testimony. Opening stage of the incident documented, concerning the crash of the EEV from the USS Sulaco. Fate of the survivors of LV-426 Incident noted, Ripley's sole survival apparent and the deceased cremated in foundry. Source of Xenomorph ascertained via impregnated work animal, Oxen in this case, that was carried by the EEV, the method of how it had smuggled itself on board we are still unaware of pending current lack of information. Possible defensive activity theorised according to Morse's account of missing guard dog."
He paused for a moment, thinking of something else to record.
"Overall results adequate for Archival standards. Will be recommencing interview in the morning." Agent Salem formally concluded "This session is closed."
He then clicked the recorder off and placed it back in his pocket before he picked up his case.
"To the Archives." Agent Salem said in a cheery tone, pointing the way with his case.
Agent Mason simply shrugged as he walked over to the door and held his wrist unit to the receptacle. A beep was heard as the door recognised his security clearance and it slid open, allowing the agents to pass through. As they did, Agent Mason hit the button on the outside before following Agent Salem.
The door slid shut behind them, a whirr was heard as the magnetic locks engaged, the lights went red and within seconds all the lights in the room shut off, humming into silence and bathing the room once more in darkness.
When the lights came back on, the story would continue.
This interview was over and the next was yet to come.