Author's Note: So far as I am presently aware at the time of this posting, "Alien,"Aliens," and all related properties belong to 20th Century Fox. This story is unofficial, nonprofit, and is for entertainment purposes only. It is posted on fanfiction_net and is not to be reproduced in any other medium or website without my explicit permission.
Forewarning: the piece is also written in first person perspective.
Mothers (Chapter 2)
The act of creation requires a great deal more energy than one might think. When the first of my offspring emerged, I had to push it out firmly, guided by the contractions that moved along the stretched flesh; it was a decidedly odd sensation, and took more than a bit of effort. I repeated this with the second, then the third, the tenth, the hundredth, endlessly. The process was slow, and draining, and required some level of concentration. (I confess I took intermittent breaks.)
The organ (or womb, or whatever one might choose to call it) inexorably continued its growth. The others—my siblings and my Children—manipulated it as necessary: moving it as it grew, despite my discomfort; affixing it with gossamer supports as needed; moving my round little darlings out of the way when necessary as I focused solely on the Task. I rested my head and my limbs and lost myself in Motherhood.
Soon my brood was large, and my older Children took fewer of my round ones away, only moving them about the chamber as necessary to make room for others.
Then the invaders came. I never learned their numbers, for I was focused on one thing only, but I heard loud noises from elsewhere.
I heard my Children screaming.
But all of my Children are cunning creatures, and I had faith in them. They learn quickly, and communicate with one another effectively, and know the nature and necessity of sacrifice.
And so I focused all of my efforts, all of my senses, on the Task; on my reason for being. Slowly the threat was diminished as my Children neutralized it. Still, there was a dim feeling of foreboding whenever I chose to contemplate the matter.
When the Children brought the little one to the threshold of my chamber, I paid the matter no heed; in hindsight I should not have ignored the warning signs: the invaders had penetrated deep inside before we noticed them, and the act of bringing the little creature to my chamber should have suggested that much of my home had been compromised.
But I paid it no heed, lethargically focusing on the Task, focusing on the exhaustion, focusing on attempting to relieve the constant feeling of "fullness," focusing on reproduction, on the act of creation.
I was Mother to many, and would be to many more. I would not describe the feeling as "joy," so much as contentment: there is comfort in having Children; in knowing that you are cared for and will not be alone; in knowing that you have a purpose—a reason for being—and are fulfilling it, and I lost myself in all of that.
The comfort was shattered by the Other.
The Other, one of the invaders, entered my chamber. I didn't initially hear the screams of my Children but I felt that something was wrong. There were noises that grew in intensity and volume. (There were other noises as well: hissings and loud crackling and humming sounds; dull rumblings; I ignored them.)
The small creature awakened and began screaming, and suddenly one of my young was murdered. I could feel it: the round one, the creature within it... both gone with a loud sound and screams. Then rending, tearing noises as the Other must have freed the little one.
Together the creatures approached me as I pushed forth another of my offspring, and I roused myself to full wakefulness. The pulse continued, but the Task itself was interrupted.
How dare they? How dare they breach my sanctum, interrupt the natural cycle of creation that was my purpose and my life?
And then suddenly it was clear: the larger creature was the Mother of the smaller one. It was the only explanation that made sense; this sort of action—this invasion—was unprecedented.
It was unacceptable. My respect for another Mother only goes so far, and while I quickly understood the Other's intentions, I certainly had no intention of complying. They were inferior creatures, useful only for brooding my Children.
There were two small patrols which would routinely check on me. All of my Children obey me without question, and any of them will die to protect me. One of these groups heard my displeasure and cautiously entered my chamber.
Only one, suggesting the second group had somehow been neutralized by the intruder, and I was at a loss as to how that could be.
Then the Other showed me: a massive blast of heat, an enormous gout of searing flame, far hotter than even my surroundings. And then the Other, her young still perched on her shoulder, pointed the device at my young.
I think I screamed. I didn't want them to be killed! I panicked, quickly ordering the patrol to back away at all costs (for my Children always listen to their Mother) able only to hiss my rage at the intruders.
I had to think of something quickly: letting them go was actually tempting, but they deserved punishment.
I don't remember what prompted the petals to open (perhaps one of the little ones heard me) but they did.
Whoever or whatever was at fault, it was a critical mistake.
The Other destroyed.
The Other regarded me and then unleashed pain, and destruction, and fire upon us: killing my patrol, annihilating my young, and firing projectiles into me, into my body, into my exposed flesh—violating, rupturing, severing, destroying the massive womb from which I birthed my young.
Pain exploded through my consciousness. It was agony on a level I couldn't completely comprehend—every nerve on fire, everything burning. I screamed in rage and in pain: I'd never felt so much pain before, as that part of myself—and as a further part of myself contained deep inside it—was violently destroyed. My supports crashed down, broken, hurling me against the floor face first to lay amongst flames and shattered corpses. The motion tore further at my now useless womb, pulling it away from my body and straining the exposed flesh and fibrous connections beyond their limits.
I needed to escape the destruction, and I needed vengeance; more than anything I needed vengeance, whatever the cost.
The now useless organ was still attached to my pelvis by scraps of flesh. Struggling, I tore myself from it completely, seconds of nearly unbearable pain drowned out by rage. Once the connections were severed I no longer felt the pain—only a dull ache at my stomach and a disturbing emptiness between my legs that had once been filled. Mustering my willpower and my rage, I forced myself to my feet.
Walking was initially more difficult than I remembered, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered except my revenge: the Other had killed my Children; I would return the favor and kill any and all of the Other's offspring while my counterpart watched.
It would know suffering; it would know powerlessness; it would feel emptiness and loss... and then I would tear it apart as well.
At the time, I wasn't sure if I would be able to breed again; if I would feel the fluid pulse of growing young filling me, swelling me, each subtle movement at my hips giving way to an undulating wave along a distant (and yet ever present) part of myself. There was a void there now, endlessly reminding me of what I had lost. (That void is still there: the womb was far more than a mere bag of flesh, and it contained more of me than merely my young.)
The two Destroyers fled; I pursued them. They escaped briefly, but I watched them go and replicated their actions in order to follow them; all of Us learn the mechanisms and ways of our environment quickly.
They nearly escaped me in a great flying structure, but I restrained it with debris just long enough to climb within an exposed portion—nestling uncomfortably in its belly, biding my time.
Things quickly became loud, and then hot, and then very cold, but I suffered in silence; We are made far better than the invaders, and that is the reason I yet survive in this cold place now.
In the end, I think there were two of its Children left. The adult I impaled and tore in half before descending. The other Mother distracted me briefly and I pursued her, forgetting about the little one; blinded enough by vengeance to briefly abandon my plan. The Other evaded me, fled from me, hiding behind a barrier... abandoning the small one to its fate.
And so I pursued the little thing for a time; the Other's offspring would perish as surely as mine had—and if not, the Other would likely return to rescue its offspring, and I would be waiting for it.
And it was so: the Other—my counterpart and my nemesis—emerged and screamed a challenge at me.
It had changed, much as I had long before; it was larger, encased in armor now. It thought it could deprive me of my vengeance and it dared to challenge me.
If my Children were here, they could tell you that I am never one to back down from a challenge. I have known the challenge of creation, the challenge of survival, the challenge of building a home out of an unfamiliar structure, the challenge of endlessly giving birth, the challenge—and the blessing—of Motherhood.
It dared to challenge me, thinking it had a chance at defeating me, and I swore to prove it wrong.
I would destroy it.
Author's Note:
The Termite queen's abdomen swells not simply with eggs but with her ovaries and enlarged internal organs. While it is probable that the majority of the Alien Queen's internal organs are contained within her enlarged torso, it seems likely that her ovaries etc. would be contained within the "egg sac," contributing to its size.
The Queen portrayed in Aliens Vs Predator simply jettisons the organ as disposable, and I have always disagreed with this interpretation of "detachability." The Queen in Cameron's film rips herself free in desperation, visibly rending already torn flesh, and assuredly severing any remaining connections to her ovaries; it isn't a removal so much as a severing or an amputation.