Darkness is cruel. Darkness is patient.
It is the dark that seeds oppression in justice. It is the dark that taints love with contempt. It is the dark that presents that which is unknown to us. Darkness is the constant of the universe, swallowing up the sparks of light that are brief lives into its entropy.
Eventually, even stars burn out.
Ellen Wright, Umojan philosopher
StarCraft: Loomings
Chapter 7: Den of the Beast
2345 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara
Flannum Installation
"Watch your backs. This place must be crawling with xenomorphs."
It didn't show visually, but Arlo could not help but be faintly irritated by his superior's comments. It was all very well for him to give pointers and suggestions from his desk, but he didn't have to state the flicking obvious. The xenomorphs had taken control of the Flannum Installation and were currently giving Alpha Squadron hell outside. It was pretty much a given that xenomorphs would be inside the structure.
Looking down the darkened corridor that led from the installation's entrance, illuminated only by flickering lights, Arlo knew that architecture was not in their favor here. Flannum was built into the side of a valley wall, carved out of the rock of Chau Sara. Extensive ventilation was required for its personnel, along with cooling systems. And given that the installation was used for scientific research, Arlo guessed that the place had massive power requirements as well.
"Watch our backs?" murmured Keyes. "Hell, more like watch every side of our bodies…"
The captain didn't bother to discipline his subordinate, silently reflecting that the PFC had a point. He had a map of the installation's workings, the display shown on his HUD in regards to what he saw through his own line of sight. Extensive ventilation ran through the roof above them, numerous ducts and fans present. Below them were maintenance shafts, used by service robots as corridors. Based on what he'd seen of the xenomorphs, Arlo suspected that they could fit into both.
"Alright, form up," he said, prepping one of his flamethrowers in one hand, activating a motion tracker in the other. "Milton and Romesh, you're on rear defense. Rest of you, keep one eye on the ceiling and one eye on the floor in front of you."
General affirmation coursed through his men. In the company of lesser soldiers, Arlo could have expected a few snide remarks or jokes, especially in regards to his "rear" comment. Still, he was among Cerberus-a group of the best soldiers the Confederacy had to offer, though not the most imaginative. Neural resocialization did that to people. Hell, even if he'd been allowed to keep his killer instincts, Arlo was still far less able to imagine ways to use them than he had been in his former life.
"What about the service lines?" asked Summers as the Firebats began moving through the installation. "Who's keeping an eye on them?"
Arlo sighed, though his helmet muffled the sound. Summers had gone through resoc like the rest of them, though the captain suspected that the corporal's was close to expiring or something. Still, he had raised a fair point. though despite a hindered imagination, Arlo had considered them also.
"We shouldn't have to worry about the service ducts," he said. "They're mainly used by maintenance robots, ensuring that they don't get in the way of the staff. As such, there's barely any air in them."
"But there's some, right?"
Arlo shrugged. "Some, I guess. But not enough to sustain a human for long. No-one could remain for more than an hour down there without suffering oxygen deprivation."
Summers fell silent, though whether this was acknowledgement of Arlo's point or simply letting the assumption that the xenomorphs had the same biological constraints as humans wash over the group was unknown. Regardless, the captain didn't care. The xenomorphs were living creatures; they had to get air and energy from somewhere. And even if they were able to survive in near vacuum, they were no more resistant to firepower than humans were.
And that, thought Arlo as he checked the fuel available in his flamethrowers, is all that matters.
That his perdition flamethrowers were full and functioning perfectly was all it took to keep Arlo going through the dark corridors of the installation. The xenomorphs hadn't done much damage to Flannum's structural integrity (apart from the destroyed blast door of course), but had seemingly caused damage to its electrical systems, causing multiple lights to flicker on and off, or simply fade out completely. Still, with his power suit capable of generating infa-red vision and with enough fuel to burn down an entire building, Arlo found himself without unease.
At least he did initially.
"Something's wrong here…" a Firebat murmured eventually. "It's too quiet…"
Arlo remembered that the phrase "it's too quiet" was meant to be some kind of cliché in fiction, but having never read or watched much back on Tarsonis, he couldn't really say. However, he found himself agreeing.
Something's wrong alright… he thought to himself. He looked around him for the signs of battle. He saw them too-projectile and flame scarring on the walls, blood both splattered and accumulated in pools… Yet the sources of these scars were absent. There were no bodies, terran or alien…It was if someone, or something wanted to remove the evidence of a battle, yet had only done half the job…
"Colonel," the captain said into his radio. "You certain that the scientists are here?"
"Yes, of course," said Kurze, sounding surprised. "Why?"
"Because if they're here, they seem to be the installation's only occupants."
Silence lingered on the radio for a few seconds, the static filling Arlo's ears. He tuned it down. Even with the infa-red, his vision was not the best it could have been. Hearing would be a very useful sense in this situation.
"Pardon?" asked Kurze eventually. "You mean you've encountered no opposition?"
"Negative sir. There's signs of a battle, but those signs don't include bodies. Living or otherwise."
Another bout of static came before Kurze answered.
"I can't offer an explanation," the lieutenant colonel said, the admission seeming to surprise himself. "But there should be a security room up ahead. Use the security cameras, locate the scientists and get out of their ASAP. Kurze out."
Arlo remained silent. He could see the security room up ahead, or rather the sign that once hung above the door that was now lying on the ground by the arch. Signaling for his team to follow him, Arlo led them through it, their armor thumping down on the broken door with more sound than Arlo would have cared for.
"Alright. Keyes, get on a terminal, see if you can find the egg heads," said the captain. "Rest of you, secure this room."
No affirmation greeted him this time. Like Arlo, his team had seemingly come to value silence. By maintaining it, any break in silence would have to come from an outside source. Just like the sound of broken glass crunching under his armored soles as Arlo made his way around the room.
There wasn't anything too unexpected. A spilled cup of coffee, a half-eaten donut on a desk with scattered paper, empty weapon racks… All the signs that something bad had happened that hadn't left the installation's security detail much time to react.
Or no time at all, thought the former serial killer to himself, looking at the blood splattered over the walls haphazardly. When one considered this and the destroyed door, it seemed that the security guards had fought within their own room. Yet like the rest of the installation, there were no bodies to show for it.
"I don't get it," said Summers, breaking the silence. "Where are the bodies? Why are there no bodies!?"
"Burial detail?" asked Private Milton. "You know, getting the fallen to a dignified location?"
Arlo shook his head. "There's hundreds of xenomorphs outside the installation. I doubt the staff are going to worry about the dead. Besides, why give both sets of bodies a burial?"
If any of the team had an answer, they were denied the opportunity to give it, courtesy of Keyes.
"Sir, I've found the missing scientists," the PFC said, glancing around from the terminal he'd used. Arlo came over, neither of them sitting on the chair that wouldn't support their armor.
"Sector four, southwest corner of the installation," said Keyes. "Security cameras are still working…"
Arlo remained silent as the scientists came up on screen. Five scientists to be exact, guarded by a security detail of the same number. From the looks of things, they'd barricaded themselves in a lab with a single entrance. The door was intact, but that hadn't stopped them from barricading the entrance and setting up the desks as cover further away from it. The guards seemed to know what they were doing, but given the haunted look in all twenty eyes in that room, how much longer they were rational was another matter entirely.
"Most of the security system's out of whack," continued Keyes. "Autoguns, flame and missile traps… They're all busted. Still, given the lack of opposition, we may not need them…"
Arlo didn't know what could cause the defenses to short circuit but didn't stop to ask. They had their targets. All Cerberus had to do was extract them and get out of the installation ASAP. Locking the co-ordinates of the scientists into the electronic map he possessed, the captain prepared to do just that.
"Alright, we're moving out," said Arlo to his squad, taking point as he walked back out into the corridor. "Based on what we've seen so far, we shouldn't have much opposition. Still, say frosty…"
No affirmation greeted him. His men simply followed orders as was expected. A relief as it was…
…right now, Arlo wasn't in the mood for anything else unexpected.
2357 hours, November 8, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara
Fort Keldathu (current Office of the Colonial Magistrate)
Edwin Collins was a worried man.
If anyone else had been in what accounted for his office, they would not have been surprised by such a fact. Pacing around endlessly, muttering something under his breath all the while as sweat collected on his forehead, it was obvious that something was bothering the man. What was bothering him however, was another matter altogether.
Based on such observations, it would be unlikely that said observer would discover what bothered the magistrate. For starters, "what" was bothering was perhaps not the best term to use. No single problem was on Collins' mind and if it were, he could have easily ignored it. As the case was, it was a set of issues that he had on his mind, the xenomorphs among them.
What if this gets out? he wondered. How far will plausible deniability go?
Collins suspected that it wouldn't go very far. The existence of life beyond Old Earth was hardly a secret, and had been a known fact since the settlement of the three colonies. The existence of life that not only possessed a degree of sentience but also seemed bent on using that sentience to eradicate humanity was a different kettle of fish entirely. And considering that the Confederacy had been keeping such a secret for years, the revealment of such a secret would hardly be looked kindly upon by its populace.
Still, the Confederacy was good at shifting responsibility. It had portrayed both Moria and Korhal as the aggressors after all, the issues of both planets having been dealt with harshly. And when one considered that it was on Chau Sara that the little beasties had raised their ugly heads and that the planet's magistrate had known of them beforehand…
I'm the villain here… thought Collins, his pacing increasing in speed. I'm in a prime position to be a scapegoat…
A naive individual may have assumed that the Confederacy would never do such a thing, that they wouldn't leave one of its members out in the cold to the mercy of jackals. However, Collins had grown up without a sense of naivety and knew that his posting on Chau Sara was an attempt to get him out of the spotlight in the first place. If the spotlight fell on him again, not even Kurze would lift a finger to get him out of it.
"Kurze…" the magistrate murmured, ceasing his pacing and clenching his fist. While one hand shook with fear, the other was clenched with anger.
From the outset, Kurze had suppressed Collins' authority. While he undoubtedly had more experience in this kind of situation, he was willing to do whatever it took to deal with it. And although Collins couldn't give a damn about Alpha Squadron being thrown into the meat grinder to allow Cerberus access to the Flannum Installation, he did care that his authority was being superseded in the matter. Not only had Kurze acted without his consent, but he'd also gone behind his back, accessing data that only Collins should have had access to.
It's only temporary though. He'll leave when this is over.
The terran shook his head. It wasn't a question of when this was over. It was a question of if. And despite his best attempts at reassuring himself otherwise, Collins knew that there was a strong chance that this problem might not have a permanent solution, or if there was, it would be of the same significance as Korhal. And considering how that solution had backfired horrendously, Collins somehow doubted that his superiors would be willing to bite the bullet.
This might be the rest of my life, thought the magistrate, looking around his room, rubbing a hand against its coarse stone walls. A footnote in Chau Sara's history…
Sighing, Collins lay down on his bed, uncaring of the hard mattress. It was late, and his worry had only increased his weariness. He knew that whatever the outcome of the challenges that faced him, there was only so much he could do to overcome them and that he had already played his ace. Whether Kurze or the xenomorphs managed to pull out a better pack of cards was beyond his knowledge. Turning off his light, Collins knew that knowledge was a commodity he was short of right now, robbed of the devices he'd had back in Los Andares.
Devices that might have alerted him to a number of terran ships exiting from warp space above the planet…
0007 hours, November 9, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara
Flannum Installation
"Fire!"
Arlo sighed as a barrage of projectiles headed his way, courtesy of a security detail that was jumpy, idiotic or both. Firing on instinct in hell's enclave was one thing, but firing at an armored soldier that obviously wasn't one of hell's critters was another. With the bullets reaching their target however, the difference was academic.
So was the effect too for that matter, or lack of it. Arlo had anticipated such a reaction, though it was admittedly Kurze who had first raised the possibility of such a scenario. As such, he'd equipped himself with a force field generator that while may not have done much good against his enemies, would render any light arms fire useless.
And security grunts dumbfounded too… thought the captain, standing in the doorway of the lab where the installation's survivors had barricaded themselves, looks of surprise on all their faces.
"Bloody hell…" murmured one of the grunts. "You're not alien. You're…you're human!"
"Oh really?" asked Arlo sarcastically as he walked in, half of his squad following him while the rest positioned them by the entrance. "What gave you the first hint?"
One of the grunts mumbled something, but Arlo didn't know or care what. He had other things on his mind right now, such as making sure the goods he'd been sent to retrieve were still intact. A quick glance at the huddled scientists confirmed that, fear aside, they were ready to continue serving the Confederacy.
It was ironic, really, how scientists had landed Arlo in his current occupation and here he was saving them. Admittedly it was the TPF that had brought his serial killing hobbies on Tarsonis to a close, though it was Confederate scientists that tinkered with his brain, making him loyal to the government against which he'd recently offended. Still, he didn't possess any ill will. Partly as an experiment, partly out of a need for his instincts to be retained in Cerberus, he'd been allowed to keep most of his memories. Kurze had taken note of his 'skills' and wanted Arlo to keep his track record of them. A bit of resoc and the implantation of aggression inhibitors later, Shiff Arlo was ready to serve Council and country.
Overall, he'd come to enjoy it.
"Who…who are you?" one of the scientists asked.
"Your extraction team," the resoc grunted, not in the mood for equivocation. "Follow me."
With that, he began walking out, signaling his team to follow him. He doubted that the scientists understood his hand signals, but knew that they'd follow him regardless. People were like sheep, following the shepherd willingly. And although Arlo had never been into fluffy animals, he ensured that the scientists were in the center of their formation, guarded on all sides by first squad.
"What about us?" asked one of the guards as the Firebats walked off. "Are we getting out of here too?"
Arlo shrugged. "If you're shooting suddenly got better, then you may be able to escape alive."
"What!? You mean there's still hostiles in this place!?"
Arlo sighed, partly due to the guard's idiocy, partly due to Summers laughing.
"Don't worry," the corporal said, looking back at the trailing guards. "All the xenomorphs are outside the installation. The interior is deserted."
"Deserted?" one of the scientists asked. "Completely?"
"Yeah. Even the bodies are gone."
The scientist nodded. "The creep," he said to himself softly. "They've been taken to the creep…"
Arlo stopped short.
The most immediate reaction on his mind was this "creep." He'd never heard of such a thing and although it was none of his business what the Flannum Installation's staff was dealing with. However, the lack of bodies reeked of wrong, and if this "creep" could account for this phenomenon, he wanted to know what it was. That being said however, he would have stopped at this point anyway. The group had come to a cross junction, and basic training taught Arlo to check his corners.
Yet there was another reason for stopping. A reason that had to do with a steady beeping behind him.
"What the hell?" one of the guards murmured, walking forward towards the captain. However, his eyes were not on the Firebat, but rather on a device he was carrying in his hand. A motion sensor.
"What is it?" asked Keyes. "What's wrong?"
"This," said the guard, holding up the motion tracker in front of him. "Incoming contacts…"
Arlo glanced at the motion sensor. It was a simple device, tracking moving objects within a twenty-five meter radius. And judging from the direction, these contacts were coming at them from all directions, except from the lab where they'd rescued the scientists.
"You sure that thing's working?" Arlo asked, all thoughts of creep forgotten.
The guard nodded. "Yeah, it works. That's how we knew you were coming when we opened fire."
The former serial killer remained silent, realizing that perhaps the guards hadn't been so trigger happy after all. On the other hand, if the motion sensor had picked them up, why was it picking up contacts moving towards them? The installation was deserted of man and beast alike. What was going on?
Beep…beep…beep…
"What's going on?" Summers whispered. "Who's coming at us?"
"Not who," said Milton. "What…"
Beep…beep…beep…
Arlo sighed, looking at the now nervous scientists. Trust Milton to stir things up.
"Alright, form up," he said, taking command of the situation. "Firebats in front, guards behind, quacks in the center. "Fire on command."
Silently and efficiently the humans obeyed, the closest any of them getting to the doors being ten meters. It was perhaps a bit risky to make a stand in the center, but the corridors weren't wide enough to accommodate such a long firing line and would risk overlapping fields of fire. Besides, Cerberus trained its operatives to act alone as well as in cohesion, not to mention that the xenomorphs would have to rip through metal doorways. For all their co-ordination, Arlo doubted that the creatures could operate a keypad.
Beep…beep…beep…
"Alright, get ready," said the captain, glancing at the motion tracker. "Here they come…"
Beep…beep…beep…
"Twelve meters…" said the guard.
Beep…beep…beep
"Eleven meters…"
Beep…beep…beep…
"Ten meters…"
Beep…beep…beep…
"N…nine meters…"
"What?" Arlo asked, turning back to face the guard. "How could it be nine meters?"
"I don't know!" the grunt exclaimed, waving his arms around. "How should I know!?"
"Because nine meters is beyond the doorways!"
Beep…beep…beep…
"Eight meters…"
Beep…beep…beep…
"What the flick!?" Keyes exclaimed. "You reading that right!?"
Beep…beep…beep…
"Seven meters," warbled the guard. "It's impossible, but that's what it says!"
"Like hell!" Arlo yelled. "How could it be seven meters!?" We'd see them!"
"Flick, why are they even here!?" Summers yelled. "We searched all the installation and saw nothing! The only way they could get to us is by the corridors or the ventilation or…service…shafts…"
Beep…beep…beep…
The facts hit Arlo all at once.
Fact: Summers had made a valid point.
Beep…beep…beep…
Fact: He'd miscalculated. They hadn't seen any xenomorphs, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Hell, ventilation shafts were a classic hiding place.
Beep…beep…beep…
"Still seven meters…but more are piling up…"
Fact: Who was to say the aliens couldn't survive in near-vacuum? They could travel through space after all.
Beep…beep…beep…
"What!?" shrilled one of the guards. "What's piling up!?
Beep…beep…beep…
Fact: Captain Shiff Arlo had made a fool of himself in assuming that not only were the xenomorphs not there, but that they didn't have the intelligence to wait for the scientists to be extracted so they could butcher them, killing the people who knew how to defeat them.
…
Fact: The beeping had stopped.
"What the hell!?" Summers yelled. "The beeping stopped!"
Fact: Summers was an idiot.
Fact: Xenomorphs were descending from the ceiling and rising from the floor, demonstrating that Summers wasn't the only idiot.
Arlo snapped out of it, letting lose a burst of flame in front of him, screams, gunfire and more flame joining his. Letting instinct take over, the captain processed two more facts before letting rip.
Fact: For all their guile, the xenomorphs could still be killed.
Fact: They were still screwed.
0020 hours, November 9, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara
Lazaran Gulleys, Grid G7
"Hate to say this Perry…but I think we're screwed."
"Oh really? What gave you the first idea?"
Ducking behind a boulder for cover and to reload her rifle, Wilkes was surprised at Perry's reaction. She'd expected him to chastise her for such comments and/or state that it was important for her to remain focused, not to be faced with a wall of pessimism.
"Well?" asked her subordinate, taking cover behind an adjacent boulder and giving his own rifle reloading treatment. "Why are we screwed?"
Wilkes sighed. This wasn't going as she anticipated. Then again, very little had gone according to plan since touching down on Chau Sara, at least from her point of view.
"Hard to say," said the lieutenant, resting her rifle on the boulder and letting lose a stream of 8mm spikes that gutted one of the oncoming critters. "Maybe it's the fact that we're outnumbered, low on ammo and have no chance of survival?"
"Oh, we have a chance," said Perry, resting his rifle on his own boulder and letting lose a burst of his own, cutting down two of the advancing monstrosities. "Just not a very large one."
Wilkes laughed. "Never thought of you as an optimist."
"I'm not. I'm just a realist."
The conversation may have continued, but the pair had other concerns in mind, specifically the shout of "fire in the hole". Even with the roar of gunfire and the screams of man and alien alike, the marines were able to hear it, courtesy of their suits' aural directional enhancers. As such, they could also here the screeches of more of the critters behind their boulders as shrapnel gutted the xenomorphs.
Should have thought of that myself, thought Wilkes as she got to her feet, intent on finding the source of the grenade. She quickly found it, her HUD identifying the Alpha with the C-14 with a smoking grenade barrel as Private Frost.
"You two alright?" he asked, running over.
"Yeah," said Wilkes, getting to her feet. "Yourself?"
Considering that it was at this point that one of the giant snake things emerged from the shadows and decapitated Frost with a single swipe of its right scythe, it was almost an academic question. And considering that it folded back its upper carapace plates, ready to launch a volley of armor piercing spines, Wilkes knew her own well being could be rendered moot in a matter of seconds.
As such, she began firing.
That's it, she thought as the spikes tore into the hydra-esque creature. Let's see how you like it.
Given its screeches, it didn't like it. Unlike its smaller brethren however, it was able to take the punishment far more easily, advancing on the terran with surprising speed. Even at point blank range, it was able to raise its left scythe up, to bring it down for the killing blow.
Oh my God, thought Wilkes. This is it.
It would have been, if not for a barrage of gunfire from Perry, his rifle's spikes tearing into the creature's exposed arm (or at least what substituted for an arm), the force of the projectiles tearing it off. No matter however. It raised its left scythe…
Only to drop dead, Wilkes' fire having found its mark in its skull.
"Tough little bastards aren't they?" asked Perry, walking over to the creature and letting a burst of his own into its forehead, either for good measure, vindication or a combination of the two.
"Little?" asked Wilkes, leaning back against her original boulder. "They're taller than any of us."
Perry shrugged. "I guess. Still, considering that…ma'am, you alright?"
None of the marines had their visors polarized, the darkness of night ensuring that there was no light to reflect apart from their own chest and shoulder mounted illuminators. Illuminators that highlighted the tears running down Wilkes' face.
"I didn't sign up for this," she said softly. "I signed up to see the universe, not fight…fight monsters."
Perry remained silent, the only sounds being the sounds that had been present for what felt like a lifetime. Gunfire, explosions, screams…more screams. Yet the sound that she didn't hear, the sound that she'd been anticipating, was the sound of scathing criticism from the staff sergeant. The sergeant who'd knelt down to her level.
"I know," said Perry kindly. "None of us signed up for this and I doubt even the resocs are enjoying it much. But we have to keep at it."
"Why?" asked Wilkes bluntly.
"Because these creatures won't stop until every one of us are dead, and that Cerberus may be the only unit with the ability to defeat them. They've already lost both their Skullders (Wilkes shuddered at this, remembering how the pilots had been torn apart whilst still in their vehicles) and there's no telling what hell they're going through in the Flannum Installation."
Wilkes grunted. "Could have fooled me."
"Maybe," said Perry. "But there's also this to consider."
And with that, he fired.
It was a strange feeling, expecting to be dead and realizing a few seconds later that you weren't, that in fact the only thing that was dead was the critter that had been sneaking up behind you, ready to sink its claws into the back of your neck. It was even stranger for Perry to be extending a hand down to help you up.
"Need a hand?" he asked.
Wilkes nodded, accepting his offer. She came to accept a lot of things, among them were that monsters existed and that she had no choice but to fight or die.
"Thanks," she said simply. "I needed that."
Perry remained silent, even while Wilkes used her radio, liasoning with those left of her platoon, ordering them to converge on their location. The battle lines had been broken, with every man and xenomorph fending for their self. Sticking together in groups would increase their chances of survival. This, Perry knew, because of common sense. However, he did not know the full story.
He did not know that Wilkes was gathering her men together to ensure as many of them survived as possible as opposed to killing as many of the xenomorphs as possible.
He did not know that Wilkes was now completely willing to fight the xenomorphs, was willing to fight monsters.
He did not know that she was so willing because finally, after all this time, she could serve the Confederacy without being a monster herself.
He did not know any of these things. But he suspected them.
And surprising himself in the process, realizing that they'd both changed each other for the better, he respected her all the more for it.
0022 hours, November 9, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara
Flannum Installation
Beep…beep…beep…
It was strange really, how even in the midst of the gunfire, screeches and jets of flame, Arlo could still hear the beeping of the motion tracker. An annoyance, but one that he couldn't deal with. Not only were his hands tied with xenomorphs, but he wasn't sure where the arms of the guard that had been holding it had landed when the xenomorphs had disemboweled him.
Beep…beep…beep…
Shut up, shut up, shut up! Arlo thought as he kicked one of the smaller critters away with his armored leg, letting lose a burst of flame at one of the larger snake creatures. He'd learnt quickly that they were the greater threat and had to be dealt with such, seemingly more developed and by default, deadly, xenomorph strains. Over two meters in height, baleful orange eyes, curved scythes for arms and the ability to fling armor-piercing spines gave that impression.
Still, at least they burn easily.
If his circumstances hadn't been so desperate, Arlo would have been able to derive some satisfaction from seeing one of the monsters experience a slow and painful death. However, despite its screeches as its carapace boiled, the corridor filling up with the scent of burnt flesh, Arlo knew that it met little in the long run. More xenomorphs came out of the air ducts and maintenance tunnels. The trap had been sprung, and they wouldn't rest until their enemies were dead.
Or taken into the creep…whatever that is.
Arlo glanced back at the scientists in the middle of Cerberus' ever-shrinking protective ring, all of them cowering in fear and at least one of them in a puddle of his own urine. The sight of it made the Firebat's nose twitch, despite not being able to smell it due to his CMC-660's filtering system. Still, he supposed it was better than lying in a pool of your own blood, which all but two of the security guards had succeeded in doing. The projectiles from their AGR-14s had been accurate, but lacking Cerberus' powered combat suits, they were exceptionally vulnerable to their alien foes, the smoke from burnt flesh not helping their vision either.
Christ, I never even learnt their names, Arlo thought to himself. If we get out of this, the report will be hell to write.
Despite his training and neural resocialization, the former killer shuddered, not liking the key word in that sentence.
As such, he resolved to turn "if" into "when."
Arlo had learnt how to assess a situation with just a glance, a technique that he managed to pull off once more. It didn't take much mental effort to deduce that Cerberus' situation was grim-the squad was outnumbered, cut off and at least in Arlo's case, was running dangerously low on fuel. True, he could take down one of the doglike creatures with his augmented strength, but not only were they pouring into the corridor in excessive numbers, but the Cirion Multinational Corporation hadn't accounted for giant snakes when designing their powered armor series. However, they had accounted for closed doors…
Napalm rockets weren't standard issue for the CMC-660 Heavy Combat Suit, but Cerberus always got dibs on new technology. However, they were designed for long range combat, not the close quarters battle that was currently ranging. However, Arlo knew that he had to get his squad and the scientists past the door that led towards the installation's entrance. However, not only would he have to enter the correct code, but he'd have to fight his way past hell's minions and continue to fight them off while doing so.
A rocket on the other hand…
It was a long shot. The rockets has an explosive yield, but were primarily used for incendiary purposes. Then again, as the body of another security guard went flying over him, Arlo was willing to take that chance. He turned to the north door, pinpointed his target, and fired.
A number of xenomorphs were killed, but not only due to napalm. Shards of flying metal tended to do that.
"Cerberus, let's move!" the captain yelled, his squad reeling from the blast just as much as the xenomorphs. "Grab a scientist and move out, double time!"
Picking up two scientists and slinging them over his shoulders, leaving Summers empty handed, Arlo knew he had to move quickly. Part of napalm's effectiveness was due to its ability to suck up surrounding oxygen, which would result in the scientists' suffocation. Cerberus were fine, their suits providing them with life support and NBC shielding, but they were expendable. The scientists weren't.
"Normandy, this is Captain Shiff Arlo," yelled the Firebat into his radio. "We've extracted the scientists and need immediate dust-off."
"Rodger that, Normandy moving on station. Everything alright down there?"
Considering the screams of the last security guard as he was torn apart, the screeches of the xenomorphs, the wailing of the scientists, Summers' whining and that Cerberus would have to run like a bat out of hell to get to the extraction point in time, Arlo decided not to justify that question with a response.
Through the eyes of its minions, the being watched.
For all their bravery, the Swarm's enemies could not stem the tide. Keep it at bay, yes, but not indefinitely. After all, the Swarm was eternal. The being was eternal. These frail creatures however, these humans were not. Even if they did escape its wrath, they were doomed to die after one and a half centuries at the most.
Watching them flee down the corridors of their base, its minions in pursuit, the being wondered if these terrans were worth it. While the galaxy was not devoid of life, few species had reached sentience and from experience, the being had found it far simpler to eradicate them. Only the Firstborn were worthy of full assimilation, those with Purity of Form. A purity that had granted them incredible psionic powers that could be the determinant in the inevitable conflict with the Creators' children. Purity of Form and Purity of Essence would clash…and combine.
Before that could happen however, humanity's psionic potential had to be assimilated, or at least that was what the being believed. So far however, this species had produced nothing but disappointment. Taken into the pure substance that was creep, the psionic potential was indeed there, but had yet to manifest. A few generations might see humanity develop into a psionic power, but despite having seen the passing of countless millennia, the being was not keen on waiting for that to happen. Not only did this species leaders inhibit psychic development, but the Swarm had already made their presence known. They were in the shadow of the Firstborn, of Aiur, and as far as the being knew, its enemies were unaware of the Swarm's existence.
Perhaps I overestimated this species, thought the being. Perhaps their potential is indeed lacking…
In a sense, its enemies had achieved a victory, extracting their precious scientists and were within sight of one of their landing craft. However, the being was willing to let them go, was willing to give humanity a victory in exchange for learning more about them, how they would react to the information they had collected on the Swarm. A determined species to be sure, but that meant nothing. Determination had not availed its creators or the countless species it had eradicated to ensure the Swarm remained pure. What did these terrans possess that set them apart from its former enemies?
Given how one of their soldiers tripped and was subsequently torn apart by its minions as the landing craft took off, the being knew the answer…
Very little.
0039 hours, November 9, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara (geo-stationary orbit)
Discovery-class science vessel Charon
Xavier Kurze was satisfied.
Satisfied, but not pleased, to be exact. If he were pleased, not only would he have tucked into a glass of Benson Cognek by now, but the mission would have gone without losing six Cerberus Firebats, five of them due to a crummy pilot, and the bulk of Echo Company. Grunts, of course, all of them expendable, but useful tools just the same.
On the other hand, the mission had been a success. Six Flannum scientists had been extracted, all of them in good physical condition, the xenomorphs had taken a beating from Alpha Squadron in addition to dishing out one themselves and the remaining Blood Hawks were being evacuated, courtesy of their APCs and dropships provided by Cerberus.
Could be worse, Kurze thought to himself, ceasing his pacing around his office and returning to his desk chair. Could have been much worse.
Feeling tired, a weariness felt even in his cybernetic graft, Kurze considered popping off where he was sitting. However, he fought against the temptation. There was still one lose end to tie up. A lose end consisting of a small fleet of Alpha Squadron ships that had emerged from warp space. Not entirely unexpected, but not entirely prepared for either, all things considered. Kurze knew a lot, but Confederate High Command knew even more. And given that his desk's transceiver was blinking, they evidently knew his office's frequency and wanted the fleet's leader to contact him directly.
Or they're doing it on their own accord, Kurze thought as he hit the receive button and waited for the ceiling's hologram projector to power up. Don't they know what time it is? Don't they know that contacting the bridge is far more formal?
As the hologram formed, it was obvious that Colonel Edmund Duke didn't…
A/N
Why yes, there are references to Aliens and Doctor Who in this chapter. How could you tell? :)
Suffice to say, I wanted to diverge from Mission 3 and the two medias provided the inspiration as to how I could do that. In the game, the zerg are encountered as you would expect in an installation mission, attacking the player in groups, often through unburrowing. However, I didn't feel this would make good story material. Regular appearances would greatly reduce the ammount of tension I could sustain, would be somewhat monotomous in the light of previous/simultanious action sequences and wouldn't really do the zerg justice. They're intelligent creatures, or at least used intelligently by higher strains (or Kerrigan as the case is in the future). Somehow, the protagonists had to realize this too.
Concerning the hiatus between ch. 5 and ch. 6...firstly due to the trip to New Zealand. Secondly was the release of I, Mengsk. I've been unable to get my hands on the book due to Australia's strict copyright laws (don't know the details, just guarantees a delay in the arrival of outside books...or something) but have still familiarized myself with the storyline. Among said storyline is that Korhal's destruction is distinctly portrayed as occurring in 2491, as opposed to the earlier assumed date of 2498 as per Mengsk's comments in Rebel Yell. Not exactly a retcon, but certainly shifted the timeline around a bit, as most of StarCraft's dates are relative, rather than absolute. As such, I spent some time revising the previous chapters to match the new info. May have missed a few spots, but hopefully the bulk of it is up to date with recent canon.