Here's to the usual disclaimer: I do not own any of the involved universes.
Bear with me as this chapter is a little shorter than the usual, the next is sure to be much longer and more fulfilling.
Chapter V : Adrift
2083 HOURS, JULY 5, 2571 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/
UNSC DEADLOCK, UNSC-Kobolian Border
The Deadlock, a modern UNSC Halberd-class destroyer eight hundred meters long and shaped like a narrow arrowhead, was performing a regular patrol along the far end of the UNSC-Kobolian border where it forked apart. It was not there long when it picked up a signal. It was a distress beacon, a call for help. The beacon hailed from a system nearby just outside the fork. Captain Jerome Loraine served years upon the Deadlock, and destroyed many enemy vessels in his time as captain. He was quite revered and was trusted with guarding the outer fringes of the territory.
"Sir, the beacon is hailing from approximately forty-one light-years." The navigator shouted from his station.
"Captain, that beacon hails from the Macab System. Particularly from over Terscelid." The ships A.I. rasped from the Captain's chair.
The captain then bore a puzzled expression, "Terscelid? Wasn't that an old UNSC colony?"
"Indeed, sir. Terscelid was an old research colony prior to the Galactic War, primarily for Imperial research projects. It was destroyed by a Gardexian-Gryllian joint operation. This vessel may be a colony ship. The UNSC has been reacquiring its old colonies as of recent. I would not be surprised if this was a recolonization operation gone bad."
"Huh. Get the marines ready for rescue and recovery. Navigator, bring us to that vessel. Make sure to have all weapons are ready for combat, activate energy shields upon leaving slipspace ASAP."
"Aye aye, captain." The A.I. and navigator said in unison. The ship opened the dimensional fabric of space, pulling through into the void of slipspace. Within seconds they were several thousand meters away from the vessel. The windows opened and revealed a long, rectangular vessel with a hub jutting out from its belly. The vessel rear was torn asunder and its starboard side was ripped open. It spoke stories of what may have happened.
"The vessel is an old Conestoga-class troop transport. It is of a Weyland-Yutani manufacture. Its data history reports its first use in a ONI military operation. Often they were used to transport and drop ODSTs in surprise strike. It became a staple when it came to combating the Xenomorphs."
Weyland-Yutani, an old mega corporation now small and rebuilding. It was initiated without harmful intent by a man named Charles Weyland who started up Weyland Industries. However, with their growing works with logistical and militaristic technologies, they drew the attention of Yutani Industries. It wasn't long for the two to join and become a massive Corporation dealing with the wide spectrums of technologies. They were often interested in the Xenomorphs, Predators, and more so. When they began working with ONI, Weyland-Yutani's corrupted side took root and violated a number of civilian rights in their quest to weaponize the Xenomorphs.
The weaponization both succeeded and failed. An individual named Salexa managed to take over a horde of sentients, but used them for her own misdeeds. The event created a civil war within the sentient aliens, wrecking havoc upon their ability as a civilization. It weakened the alien empress' empire dramatically and they were forced to flee even after Salexa's eventual defeat. Weyland-Yutani was disbanded after the Galactic war for their war crimes. They returned a decade later purely as a manufacturing company.
"Weyland-Yutani... Interesting. Can you tell me what happened to it, firstly?"
"Reports within the ship indicates that the engines went offline and promptly exploded, which caused a domino effect to the on-board flammable cargo on its starboard side. No residues from ship based combat from my scanners." The A.I. confirmed.
"Captain, the ship is within safe pelican transfer distance. The marines are ready when you are." The navigator awaited.
"Send them over, keep communications with them!" The Captain shouted.
The pelican raced out from the Deadlock. Inside, Sergeant Ford Lockman and his squad of ten marines were stepping into the rear to the cockpit of the troop transporter. He was dressed in full marine battle armor, ready to encounter anything that could be dangerous. He stopped and spun on his heel, performing a clean crisp about-face once they seated. He was a large, burly, and intimidating man with scars across his cheek that came from the claws of an alien.
"Alright, Marines! We are boarding that ship whether you like it or not! Now, you know the history of those ships with Xenomorphs! We must accept the fact that we may be attacked by those damn monsters, barrel through, and save those helpless fools off of there! However, we will have to find the least damaged emergency generator because the only damned way we can turn them on is with our rough ass hands! Are you ready Marines!?"
The sergeant was met with a pleasing storm of enthusiastic "Ooh-Rah!"s from his squad of soldiers. There were ten of them, plus him and that was enough to convince him that no alien could bring them much hell without having their chitinous hides torn apart by the will of humanity. That will being the magnetically propelled 7.62x51mm armor-piercing full metal jacket rounds that would be blasting from their assault rifles and into the bodies of the Xenomorphs, if there were any there.
The troop transport vehicle's lights flashed on, blaring on the surface of the military space troop transport. It read 'UNSC Tarasque' upon the side of its bow. The pelican swung over the ship and searched for one of its mostly undamaged hangers. The pelican paused in front of one of the hangers, its door were closed. The pilot put in the access codes to have the doors opened. The code was accepted and the bay doors slid open, allowing the pelican to enter. The room was vacant of anything that could not be strapped down. This also mean't the bay was also vacant of air as well.
"Oxygen levels out here are at zero, Marines! You know what to do!" With that order, the marine placed on exo-atmospheric equipment to their suits. The pilot's door shut and the bay door of the transport opened upon the sound of a knock. The marines grasped their respective safety bars as the air was momentarily sucked out. Quickly, they ran out and into the hanger bay. The hanger's door shut and overwhelmed the place in a shroud of darkness, which then lit up as the Marines turned on their weapons' lights.
"This place don't sit right with me, Sarge." One of the marines said as he scanned the walls of the hanger. "Where's the crew?"
"We'll find them Corporeal. What we need to worry about is getting that emergency generator online! Do not split up in any case what so ever. You see something shiny, remember what happened to James! Understood? Good. Lets move Marines!"
"What happened to James, Sarge?" A new squad member said as they moved towards one of the many doors of the room.
"Ah, Private, something so terrible that Edgar Allen Poe would wet himself! He found himself a nice shiny ring in a ship we were searching and found himself turned into a Human hamburger by this skeleton shrouded by a black cloud!"
The new marine fell silent in both perplexity and fear, "So know, that if you see something that might make you get left behind, don't go for it!"
Two marines formed up on both sides of the door and a third tapped on a device next to it, opening it. The two marines on the sides filed through, guns raised and securing eyes on both sides of the hallway they entered. the rest filed through. Sergeant Lockman stepped through and began walking down the left end of the hall, "Generators this way. Have all eyes open, we don't if there's people or monsters on board!"
The squad moved through the halls of the ship like liquid, always on guard and checking any place with a doorway. They even stopped upon the medical hall. The place looked more of a wreckage than the rooms they moved through. There was blood everywhere. One of the marine's, a Herald Becker, advanced motion trackers picked up foreign movement from thirty meters, inside another room, closing in on them. He shouted the direction and the squad faced the direction and their flanks. "Ten! Five... zero... five." The marine turned.
"It was either above or below us." The sergeant acknowledged.
"Above sir. The tracker registered it one floor over."
"Even more incentive as to why we should haul ass to that generator, step up marines!"
They continued trekking, though at a more quicker pace. Whatever that thing was, it was fast. The sheer swiftness of a creature who's footsteps were not heard roused ideas throughout the squad. The private was the one to speak one, "You don't think its one of those face spiders do ya?"
"We haven't seen facehuggers for a very long time, private. If they're back, that's telling us something. Either the Sentients are using old methods, or a feral got lucky. Either way, it spells bad news."
They rounded a corner and came upon a door with 'Emergency Generator II' printed bold font in white. The sergeant nodded to them and they readied their weaponry, approaching it while checking the adjacent rooms. Lockman radioed in with captain Loraine, "We've found one."
"Good, see if it's any good Sergeant." The radio crackled back.
The squad formed up around the door, burst through it, and scanned the room for anything like blood or a body. They found both things within it, next to the generator. They rolled through, the sergeant making a bee line straight to the generator while ordering one of his corporals to check the body. The man found five holes, three in chest, one in the throat, and one in the person's cranium. The medical officer of the team approach the body, inspecting it.
"Looks like gunshot wounds from a magnum. Sarge, from what I'm looking at, there was either a turncoat or something caused the crew to go free-for-all." The officer said as he looked the body over. He took out a scanning device, running its light along the body. "Nothing is looking good here, Sarge."
"Generator's torched, Sarge." Herald sighed as he gracefully moved and darted his hands around and in the machine, searching for any way to repair. The bullets had went through the man and also the generator. The places the rounds hit did not leave any room for repair.
"Damn generator's a piece of crap!" The sergeant kicked the machine and created a dull clang as his armored shin impacted it, "We have to keep moving, let's get to the next one."
They passed through another series of halls, finding more gunned down bodies, before pausing at the entrance another room. Above the door read "Crew Quarters." The marines lined up to the walls, and the first two opened the door via pad and then flooded into the room when it opened. They found one person in there, deceased as well. The abdominal of the body, however, was eviscerated. The medic ran over to scan the body, "This guy was hit with an eight gauge shotgun. Military type. Probably one like yours, Sarge."
"No shit." One the marines grunted as he went around.
The sergeant nodded grimly and radioed in with the captain, "Captain, generator was FUBAR. Bullet impacts rendered it null, and we're finding some of the crew. Doesn't look good, seems like when the ship blew they went FFA."
"Damn, anything else sergeant?"
"Yeah, motion tracker picked up something fast and noiseless a floor over us before we found the generator. Think it might be one of those facehuggers again?"
"Could be, keep your eyes peeled sergeant. Your mission status went up another level, find the next generator fast."
"Roger that, sir."
"Thank god the gravity systems still work. This would have been a bad place to be." One marine rummaged through several cabinets, finding syringes of some kind. "Looks like there were a couple of diabetics aboard."
"Diabetics? Can't we cure diabetes, Jordan?"
"Yea, but that costs dinero, Rodriquez. Some people just can't afford it." Jordan rubbed the fingers of his hand together, before the sergeant crossed between them.
"Lets go, we have another generator to find. When we get it turned on, we can take off our very unpleasant space suits!"
"Sounds like my last date, Sarge." Jordan snorted.
The squad exchanged a round of chuckles before heading through a series of halls, through a mess hall, and then out into another large hallway full of crates. Then Becker's motion tracker made a deep ping, picking up foreign movement again. Becker pointed down the hallway and Rodriquez aimed down his battle rifle's scope, turning off the rifle's flashlight and activating the scope's night vision feature. What he saw did not settle his nerves, but rather intensified them. He saw a small, sickly, and bony tail slide up into a ceiling vent.
"Contact is confirmed Xenomorph sub-type. It's entered the ventilation system."
"Keep your eyes peeled. You see it, you shoot it, unless you want to harbor alien chest babies." The sergeant cautioned, moving towards the other end of the hall. "We should be- there she is."
They entered the room, guns high and scanning for any skittering creature that might be awaiting them. Finding nothing of the dangerous sort, except for perhaps the dead body that was splayed in front of the generator. Though from the way it was positioned, the person was not in front of the generator. The medic drew this knowledge together while also looking at the lethal wounds that took the person's life. Despite their nerves being on end, they did not register the increasing thuds of the motion tracker as something foreign drew closer.
"This was also shot in the chest, three times, but one in the head. I'd say this guy was caught in the room with that thing open. I think I know why everyone's dead even though there's no adult Xenomorph on the loose."
"Jesus, sounds like everyone went nuts and started killing each other because everyone thought someone was infected." Jordan mumbled.
"Found out how it got here!" Becker grunted as he poked a large fleshy egg attached to a small corner of a room. The top was peeled open four ways, showing that it's inhabitant was lurking the ship if it had not infected anyone yet.
"Careful now. You do not want to be a host of these things." The sergeant pressed several buttons on the generator's holographic pad and then pulled a lever three times, activating the emergency machine.
The generator hummed to life in a crescendo before whining down. The lights flickered on and the life support systems ran at full efficiency. It wasn't long before the appropriate atmospheric gases filled the air. A robotic voice spoke through the room's speaker, "You may now remove extra-atmospheric equipment."
The marines removed their equipment accordingly, a relieved sighs escaped some lips. They congratulated each other, uplifting each other's morals. The new threat aboard the ship, waiting to strike at any moment-
"Holy shit, Private! Move!" Rodriquez shouted in alarm, raising his gun. He was looking past the private's head.
The private spun on his heel. It was to late. All he saw was the opening belly, sprawled spider-like legs, and whipping tail of the facehugger as it soared upon his face. It grasped his head with its legs and wrapped its tail around his neck. He screamed, and it was gargled as the creature's tube-like ovipositor appendage was forcefully shoved down his throat. Chemical were unleashed and the private fell to the ground unconscious.
Sevastopol Station, 0438 hours, July 6, 2571 (MILITARY CALENDAR)
A stealth corvette drew towards a looming structure hovering over the gas giant KG348. The structure itself was a trinity of towers held together by tram networks and smaller miscellaneous structures. It was a dark structure that was both old and new. Old in its rough appearance, but new in the technologies it held. It was a sight to behold, even to the ODSTs whom were aboard the corvette seeking to dock the station for supposed refueling reasons.
The truth behind the matter, however, was more grim. Recently, the higher ups had received news that an emergency had taken place aboard the station after the UNSC Deadlock had docked there. The destroyer was still docked upon the great station, resting its bow between trio of space towers. The corvette drew closer, automatically clearing for docking procedures inside one of the towers. The ODSTs themselves had been warned beforehand that the issue was caused by an Xenomorph entity, and that the only way this issue could have occurred was due to a crew member being infected. This posed a high level threat to everyone on the station, the ship, and anyone who was able to dock there.
The left the small stealth ship, in which itself was only a few times larger than a pelican troopship. The ODSTs peered around, noting the lack of people attending the hanger bay. A heavily plated soldier with a red band painted across his breast plate and a skull etched onto his helmet stepped forth, "Alright, the higher ups wanted us to go on a bug hunt, so keep your eyes and make sure your shots matter. We don't need a possible infestation happening."
A graveled Irish accented voice piped, "I wouldn't be so worried, these little buggers haven't caused much grief to us in the past. I know to not underestimate these things, but don't you think that it's a little odd that they would send us here to hunt bugs?"
"Because it's one bug that causing this problem, and there's a EMP device aboard this station that is a risk of capture. We don't know if this one of the Sentient's ploys or if this is just a feral on the loose." The baritone voice of the skull ODST retorted.
The station shuddered and a robotic voice filled the air, "Orbital correction complete." Then another shudder rocked the ODSTs until there was a violent shake that sent them stumbling, following with the crack of an explosion. The quartet of shock troopers regained their footing. The fourth ODST who bore a scythe on his chest plate and a reaper on his helmet growled in annoyance.
"Sweet Christ, it sounds like either the station's falling apart or the locals are trying their hand at killing the thing." A light, young voice rang.
"Probably, Conner." The leader agreed, approaching the door and drawing his shotgun. The rest followed suit, the Irishman drawing his chain-gun, Conner drawing his pair of sub-machine guns, and their last member his designated marksman rifle. "Jesus..."
Their eyes followed Conner's gaze. It was an awful sight, something straight from a horror movie perhaps. They all peered down upon the eviscerated body of an Asari, a hermaphroditic creature with tendrils where hair normally was and usually colorful skin. This one, however, was pale from death and its blood was drawn and splattered all around the control room. Overall, this sight reeked of bad news for them.
Let's see how those ODSTs fare with the horrors of Sevastopol Station in the next chapter!