Chapter 12: Bonding II
Anteros felt... significantly more "at peace", now that he'd been holding his Huma—
...
... holding Samantha... for the last seven minutes. He no longer felt disconnected from himself, and now, he was content. One could even suggest he was... happy. He was starting to wonder if "leeching" off of her memories of hugs and intimacy, earlier today, might have been a bad thing— it was... a bit addicting to experience this kind of calm, invigorating warmth and joy just by holding someone. He could definitely see why Xenomorphs didn't typically have this behavior— not as adults, at least: it would be very distracting. The Queen would hold and coddle Newborns, but after that, any appreciation for closeness or comfort was thoroughly lost.
He, as well as the Unknown, even started to feel something like satisfaction from Samantha just as pleased with it. Listening to her thoughts would also occasionally reveal small nuggets of information.
I forgot how good stuff like this felt... she thought.
Apparently, she hadn't properly been hugged or embraced by anyone in... about two years. She gave plenty of it to her dog, before the Infestation, but rarely received any. She was relishing this as much as he was. It... gave him unexpected joy to know that she trusted him so much. He couldn't tell you where that came from, though.
He would be far from opposed to further affection. But, he remembered, they were still out in the open. And they could spend as much time in leisure as they wanted, once they left the planet...
"Come on, Sam", he said, "I hate to spoil the moment, but we should get moving". She grunted and let go of him. He pulled away and stood, stepping back. She was about to stand up, herself, when she spotted something behind him that caught her attention.
The scent and sound of burning, sizzling metal, wood, paint, and carpet had flavored the last few minutes of recent memory, and the sight of the destroyed hallway beckoned her to investigate. She stood up and passed past the elevator-shaft— the sound of howling wind from the vertical tunnel peaked and faded as she walked by, neatly avoiding the large stains of burned carpet on her way.
She came up to the very edge of the where floor ended, before it dropped off into an abrupt pit. The edges of the immense acid splash-zone had burned out and turned dark brown. From here, she could see into the four other hallways that surrounded this one, and about... seven floors downwards. Such was the damage. The bottom of the pit held most of her attention though. There, oozing green-yellow liquid, was the corpse of the Xenomorph Warrior. Mutilated beyond recognition.
Anteros quietly walked up to her left and sat on his haunches next to her. He, again, waited patiently.
Eventually, she knelt down at the edge of the pit and spoke in a subdued voice, still taking in the results of what had undoubtedly been a savage fight, "wow... You, uh... you sure did a number on 'im".
She thought of it as a "fight", but Anteros couldn't exactly agree. From the tiny flashes of memory he could salvage from that episode, it wasn't so much a fight as it was a brutal, one-sided mauling. Nevertheless...
He corrected the Human, "her". The Soldier at the bottom of the pit was female. Like eighty-percent of the rest of the Hive. Samantha seemed to have had a habit of thinking of most Xenomorphs as male, especially after getting to know him.
Samantha, not looking at him, and still observing the area in front of her, replied "really?".
"Yup".
"How could you tell?".
"Short version, or long version?".
She paused, for a moment. "Long...".
They both spoke in hushed tones, as though not to disturb any ghosts. Anteros began his explanation, his tail waving about in the air above the two of them, "well... two things, really. Her scent and her mind. The pheromones coming from her dorsal tubes had a distinct taste, and the signals from her brain were... well, they had a certain tone to them that just... says `female`".
Samantha, frowning, asked, "what do female pheromones taste like?".
"If we're talking about Xenomorphs... something similar to rainwater. Human women... depends on the time of the month", he answered, honestly. Samantha snorted at this, finding it funny, asking, "really?"; though, her expression didn't change much, aside from her nose scrunching a bit. Her attention was being held by the sight of the corpse falling to a lower floor. For the eighth time.
Anteros responded, "yeah. Most of the time, it tastes of... varying types of... spices. Which... admittedly sounds like hyperbole, but... that's what it smells like. And tastes— there's really no distinction between the two, for me. When... in a cycle... women's pheromones tend to taste like... cooked meat", he said.
Samantha watched as the corpse at the bottom of the hole finally went out of sight, as a wall collapsed, four floors down, and fell down into the pit, flattening the carcass. It was... surprisingly quiet, for a structural collapse. She blinked, before asking, "what do mine smell like?".
Anteros leaned to his right, his head turning, and pressed his bare teeth against the woman's left arm. He breathed in, trying to pick out the specific scent from her, out of the soup of sweat and grime and oil.
"Huh... brown sugar...", he remarked.
"Is that good?", Samantha asked, seeming to lean forward over the edge and peering down at the destruction.
"It's... pleasant. More pleasant than other's I've come across".
"I wasn't aware you `tasted` many women, Anteros", she teased, though clearly half-heartedly, as she proceeded to stare upwards, at the dripping ceiling of the hallway above them. Shreds of torn wall-paper and paint were constantly sloughing off of their surfaces and dropping, morbidly into the pit.
"Stress tends to induce an uptick in pheromones, I've found. It becomes a bit difficult not to smell it", he responded.
The two of them were silent for a long moment, as Samantha found herself with nothing interesting to stare at. Anteros waited for her next "line", as she rocked back onto her heels, and huffed. She stared at where the carpet turned black with acid-damage.
She finally glanced at him, before her eyes darted downward, at the pit in front of them. "That...", she began, "... makes five times that you've saved my life?". She looked at him, eyes darting between his forehead and exposed teeth, "I... don't know how I'm ever gonna pay you back for all of it...". She remarked this more to herself than to him. She was comparing her situation with that of fables and stories. It seemed... surreal that she somehow owed a five-fold life-debt to an alien, and had accrued such a debt in the course of only two days.
Anteros's lips closed, hiding his fangs, as he tilted his head, minutely. He sensed that she had a follow-up...
She rubbed her eyes, tiredly, before smacking her own thighs with finality, looking into the abyss, as she said, "I just hope I'm worth the effort of saving. And worth several lives...". She was making (what she considered to be) a morbid joke, as she'd already made the conclusion that she "clearly wasn't". She was also somewhat referring to the mystery surrounding Anteros's reason for saving her in the first place— for endeavoring to escape Guardian with her. What he knew to be The Unknown. But she was also genuinely humbled. And a bit sheepish. Anteros, not quite knowing how to assuage those concerns, attempted to make light of it...
"Oh, that's alright, darling— I'll always kill for you!", he said, dryly, clearly imitating some variety of suitor. She breathed out a tiny guffaw through her nose, ever-so-slightly smiling.
He abruptly added, much more seriously, "though, I do need to ask you about that...". He heard the woman's thoughts kick up— she was immediately curious. She looked at him. So, he waited a moment or two before continuing.
"Is it bad that I don't feel guilty about it?", he asked, calm, with the slightest iota of worry in his tone. He was curious to see what her mind would come up with, and what she would deign to confess from it. And... he did want an opinion— he felt it somewhat hypocritical that he would be racked with guilt from taking a Human's life, but feel absolutely nothing as he brutally tore apart and mutilated one of his own.
He wanted to know if there was something wrong with him. Morally speaking. Granted... he was a Xenomorph, with... entirely different factors to consider than Human morality. Whatever answer she gave, it may not be correct.
Either way, he paid close attention to her thoughts...
Her immediate gut-reaction was surprisingly cold. Within her mind, the answer was a curt, decidedly self-righteous "no, not at all". Largely because the very beast he had just killed had been a hair's breadth from killing her. But there was a part of her, a very small but primal part, that was intrinsically vindictive at the idea— even dismissive of the topic. Dismissive of anything that threatened her, in any way, shape, or form, actually. It was almost Offended. Self-righteously hateful. It gave Anteros the impression that, if that part of her had free reign, and Samantha were ever given the chance to enact vengeance or harsh punishment on the things that she considered threats — Xenomorphs, or no — she would take it without a second thought and enact whatever revenge she wished.
This same instinctual impulse of hers seemed to regard Anteros's actions, in protecting her, as a given. Something that was simply expected— logical. Something that that tiny voice in her head just sort of looked at and said, "no duh". Which... he guessed was basically her taking him for granted, if he looked at it honestly.
Of course, that was all simply her instinctual reaction to the question. The more that she thought on it, as seconds began to pass, she unconsciously pushed that instinctive conclusion down and seemed to pursue a "proper" answer to the question. A "serious" one.
She thinks of her own instincts as invalid?
Samantha concentrated on the question he'd asked. Hard. Tiny flashes of other occasions, which had brought about questions of a similar nature, blossomed in her mind. For Anteros, watching it all happen, it was a cyclical process— like watching something sprint in circles. No... not circles— a spiral. Spiraling upwards, each revolution being a tighter circle, until it came to a single point...
Eventually, after a full minute of thinking, Samantha looked at her friend and said, "you pretty much said it, yourself. We are in a life-or-death situation for as long as we're on Guardian, and the only real alternative to... this", she gestured at the gigantic chasm before them, "was me being killed, and you probably being killed, too. I don't think any court in the UA would rule this as anything other than self-defense. And neither would I. Whether you feel guilty about it is your prerogative, and I can't really imagine any reasonable, adult observer trying to insist that you should feel guilty".
He hesitated to mention it, but did so. "What about... Gorm?", he asked.
Samantha blinked and craned her head back to stare at the ceiling, biting her lip. "From everything you've told me...", she said, "... you were, sort of, mentally-ill at the time, right? Or... you've been struggling with something like a mental-illness?".
Anteros thought about it...
"Yeah... sort of", he admitted. "Though... it's all been far more complicated than that...".
"You weren't fully in-control of your actions, in the moment, right?", she clarified.
"Yes", he answered, more quickly.
She sighed through her nose, nodding to herself, concluding, "then, you could probably make a pretty convincing insanity-plea, while telling the whole truth of what happened. A month before the Infestation, some guy's lawyer managed to stop him from getting jail-time by using his schizophrenia and sociopathy as an excuse, even after he accidentally killed three people while on a drug-binge. So... by that standard, yeah, I think you'd be fine...".
"Y'know", she added, with a rueful smirk, "assuming that a jury would take the word of a dangerous alien and his Human sidekick, at face-value...".
A pause. He had the sense that she was
"But... what do you think about it?", he asked.
She blinked. "I— I just told you what I think about it", she insisted.
"No, I mean, do you think I should feel guilty for... this? All of it— everything I've done?", he asked.
She took a long breath, looking at him from the corner of her eye, thinking hard. She felt an impulse toward an answer, questioned that impulse, and finding no fault in it, eventually admitted—
"No", she said, feeling confident in it. The... surety of it was actually surprising to him. And the fact that he was surprised by her was, in itself, surprising.
"Really?", he prodded.
She only grew more resolute. "Like I said, I wouldn't call this anything but self-defense. And you haven't had full control of yourself or your actions, since all of this started. Until we figure out exactly what keeps making you lose your shit, like this, I don't think you can bare the blame for it. If I were in your position... I would want someone to understand that, too. And it would feel pretty unfair if they just told me to kick rocks", she said, at length.
"Besides, again— it's life or death, out here. If things have gotten to the point that it's a matter of choosing between you or them, you have every right to choose yourself. Even more-so when it's someone you care about, who's in danger". She smiled, warmly, at him, then... and Anteros likely would have been gaping in astonishment, by this point.
He'd never really... well— he'd known of examples of Humans fighting or killing other Humans. Barbarians at the gates of the city, home-invasions, muggings, wars. But everything she'd just told him felt... new and foreign. It felt foreign because he'd never really applied that sort of mentality to himself, before. And it gave him a lot to think about...
Perhaps... perhaps he wasn't responsible for everything that happened to him, then? It... seemed that it was so, for Humans, in cases like this. And he did want to be Human...
"Get it?", she asked.
The most interesting and confusing part of all of what she was saying to him was what ran through her mind as she said it: she mentally acknowledged that if she had killed someone in self-defense, she likely would feel immense guilt for it; at the same time, however, she also fully believed that her "them or you" ethos was correct and true— the dichotomy between holding such a belief, and yet at the same time, knowing that she likely couldn't live up to it, captivated him.
The fact that she had killed someone just as the Infestation began, except apparently by complete accident, made her feel guilty enough, on its own. But the guilt of having done that, even after six months to think about, did nothing to sway her belief in self-defense, at all.
Despite her own heart knowing it was a principal she may not be able to fulfill, she had absolutely no doubt of the principal, itself. And to a degree, that only encouraged Anteros to believe it, himself, strangely enough...
Anteros answered honestly, "I think... maybe, yes. That perspective is just... very new to me".
She smiled, and reached out a hand, grasping his shoulder and squeezing.
"You'll catch on. I'll help, if you want me to", she assured him. She snorted to herself in humor, "I'll start earning my keep that way".
"Earn your keep?", he questioned, "what keep?". He already knew what she meant, but he wanted to hear her rationale.
"What— I mean, as in: you saved my life five fuckin' times, Anteros", she laughed, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. She gestured vaguely with a hand, and shrugged, "like... how does one even begin to pay that back?". She peered down into the chasm before her, as the corpse of the Warrior finally sank completely out of sight into a dark chamber, below...
"Oh...", he said, proceeding to segue into a reprisal, "well... you say that, but...".
Her eyes darted back to him. Anteros stood up from his haunches and pivoted to the left, facing the her side-on. His head stayed oriented in her direction, even as he had turned away from the pit.
He spoke, keeping his tone dispassionate and matter-of-fact, "it's fairly clear that I am... violently protective of you, given how livid I was, just now". He made a show of orienting his head downward and to the right, as though he were thinking on what to say.
He "looked" back up to her, before continuing, "at this point... I think it's never been about me doing you a favor. Each time that I've put myself between you and a threat, it's been of my own accord and... to a degree, my own satisfaction. Most likely because of the anomaly we talked about, earlier. And it's been that way since I first found you. I can't seem to stop myself...".
Samantha listened intently, and shifted on her knees to face him.
Anteros chuffed and waited a moment or two before speaking, again, more for dramatic effect than for putting together his thoughts, "considering all of that... I'd say you don't owe me a thing. Despite all of the difficulties... it's never felt like a chore, and I'd never blame you for any of it. Plus, it's not as though I've had anything better to do, for the past two days. You are... basically the only good thing I have going on in my life, right now, given that — with or without having to protect you — I'd be a fugitive to the Hive and would need a way off-planet, regardless. I suppose you could say that I'm... simply defending my assets. I volunteered my help to you, willing or not, and you never asked me to. And I'm okay with that", he explained, tone becoming more and more nonchalant.
He added, "plus, I've already killed four Xenomorphs, and a man, on your behalf. To suddenly demand any kind of payment from you, if any, would be kind of a dick-move. Not that you actually have anything I'd want— you know... beyond figuring out what this whole mystery means. And you helping me find a way off-planet". He was sounding much more like himself, by now— eloquent, clear, and frank.
He'd been partially lying when he said that she would have no way of paying him back. He was learning a Hell of a lot from listening to her thoughts— about Human society and social customs and current events. About her, even. Plus... he just enjoyed her company, really. He considered her a friend and had been ecstatic that the relationship wouldn't be cut short by his obligations to the Hive, or the birth of a Newborn. He was being completely honest when he said that she was his only real asset.
Although there was a part of him that found the idea of keeping her safe somewhat... heartwarming? Enjoyable? To degree, there was a... pride, in it? Peace?
More like purpose, actually...
Samantha wasn't surprised by any of what he'd said. In fact, a part of her had already deduced that he might say precisely all of that— it just seemed, to her, something that he would do. Him saying it to her, nevertheless, touched her and made her smile almost sadly— a new warmth blossomed in her chest. Various thoughts fluttered in her mind, all along the lines of: "he's such a sweetheart", "god-dammit, that's too cute", "he's been so great to me", and "he is too damn selfless for how good he is". If Anteros were a Human being and heard of all this, he was fairly certain he would blushing beet-red, at such praise...
Samantha Carman Quinn peered over into the pit one more time. Her subconscious seemed to fixate on the fact that Anteros had done all of that for her. The fact that she might not be alive, if not for him.
"Well", she said, "you should know that I'm probably still going to feel like I owe you one, for a long while, anyway".
Anteros chuffed, and shook himself like a dog. "Yeah. I figured".
She grinned, "and you'll deserve it all of it".
He briefly rumbled in disapproval, making a show of tossing his head upward, mentally grumbling: "oh, fuck off".
She barked loud with laughter. And then she did something particularly unexpected. Anteros was able to perceive her thoughts faster than she could possibly voice them, but it seemed that her more impulsive behaviors would always be far more difficult to predict...
Samantha reached toward him and gently grasped either side of his jaw in her palms, briefly caressing what might be cheekbones with her thumbs, before planting a chaste kiss on his forehead. She then rested her own forehead on his for a long few moments, before pulling away again, and running her hand over his dome.
"Thank you, Anteros", she whispered, "seriously". Her tone was effortlessly genuine and grateful. And Anteros wasn't sure how to feel about it, but... he knew that it was good, at least. He sat still for a good few seconds after that, processing— not the least bit because the Unknown was practically jumping for joy and was making him feel all sorts of happy and jubilant. Although, at this point, separating what were his own impulses, and what were the Unknown's, was getting strangely difficult...
Samantha then stood up and wandered away from the acid-pit. She stretched her arms and legs as she went, saying "we should probably get moving, now, right?".
"Yes, probably", he agreed, getting up and trotting past her while she busied herself with more stretches.
He sat in front of the elevator shaft, waiting for Samantha to join him. Cold air repeatedly buffeted his face and chest. There was a minute, howling sound. Which, he could only guess was coming from the surface, far above. This was abnormal, which made him think that this specific shaft might have been the sight of an attempted intrusion by Colonial Marine Dropships. Whenever they needed to make an entrance in a specific part of the Hive territory, more often than not, they simply blasted a hole in the metal roof with missiles or explosives.
He guessed that they must have fired a missile at any random spot in the vast expanse of Guardian's metallic surface and accidentally struck the top of this specific elevator shaft. Then they must have had to try again, since all they found was a massive pit for their trouble. It was likely part of the reason why this elevator system was broken. Most others had no power, but very few were outright damaged, like this.
Now that Anteros thought of it, he noticed that there were no cables in the shaft. Which made him think that, when a missile was fired at the top of the structure, it must have snapped the cables off of their mounting point and dropped the entire set of strings and box down to the bottom of the pit.
He would obviously have to climb up to the top floor. It wouldn't be a problem for him, but he would need to carry her up, somehow. It may make things difficult. It was easy enough the other times he'd carried her, when she was unconscious. But while she was fully awake, he could see her panicking and perhaps dislodging her footing. He, himself, was wary of heights. At least when it came to bottomless pits that no one had any way of knowing the depth of. He often wondered what it was like for people who lived at the very bottom "floor"— those closest to the planet's natural surface. Was there a change in air-pressure to worry about?
As Samantha came nearer, he said, "I have an idea".
She walked over to his side. "Yeah?".
Anteros stood to his hind legs and lifted his left hand to point into the void.
"This hallway is a dead-end, now, thanks to our late friend, and we have to get to the top floor. Climbing up this shaft is the quickest way. After which, it should be a leisurely stroll to the hangar", he explained.
He sensed a small pulse of trepidation waft out of her consciousness. She really didn't like the use of the word "climb" in his statement. "Top floor?", she asked, doing an admirable job of keeping her voice steady. She was suddenly hoping that they could find a set of stairs somewhere. He couldn't blame her— the elevator shaft was rather dark and ominous-looking. Still, though, she had been through far worse before, so he didn't think she would be too difficult about it.
She certainly couldn't climb up it, herself. He responded, "the hangar I told you about is nearer to the top floor, so once we get up there, all we'll have to do is walk". He oriented his head down and to the left, at the woman who was staring quite intently at the empty void in front of them.
This would be an opportune time to mention that Anteros could, if he concentrated, see through the eyes of any particular Human he was mentally linked to. It was... no different than listening to their thoughts, and in some cases, simply par for the course.
It was part of the reason why he had a decent grasp of what colors were. He could easily make-out texture and shape with his echolocation. He could pinpoint electric energy given off by the muscles and bones of living things, and machinery— overlay the two on top of each other in such a way that his surroundings became effortlessly comprehensive. But color... that was ultimately out of his reach. He could perhaps compare the glow of bioelectrics to a blueish-white tint, but he could never be sure if he wasn't simply imagining that.
He could, however, tap into the "feed" provided by a Human's mind. To do so was... disorienting and surreal, but no more so than sharing memories with his Hive-Mates or Queen had been. Which was the predominant method of communication in the Hive— simply passing along flashes of memory to each other. It forced him to move very slowly or keep still while "viewing", in either case, but it was far from alien to him.
In this case, tapping into the visual signals that her brain was processing from her eyes, revealed that Samantha could barely see three feet into the dark void of the elevator. Humans hated the dark. So, Anteros came up with a quick and easy solution to the issue at hand.
Samantha, like most people, wasn't a fan of heights. She'd once fallen from a tree as a child and broke her arm. Unpleasant memories. Not only that, but she hated the dark and not being able to see. Six months in the Hive's territory had effectively impressed onto her a healthy paranoia of dark spaces. She never slept without at least six different lights on. Or... as many portable lamps as she could get her hands on— the airlock of that aquarium tank didn't have any lights.
On top of all of that, she was also faced with the idea of climbing up a derelict elevator shaft. Dark, and bottomless. She knew full well that if she dared to look down into that abyss, she'd be struck with vertigo the likes of which did not appeal.
Before she could think about it for too long, though, her vision was promptly filled with the dull, bronze back of Anteros, as he'd side-stepped in front of her.
"Get on", he commanded, casually, after dropping to one knee.
She blinked at where his shoulder blades would be.
"On your back?", she asked.
"Yes", he confirmed.
She, again, blinked.
The idea of riding the Xenomorph had only briefly popped into her brain, and not for very long, as she'd dismissed it, instantaneously. She wasn't certain it would be viable. For one, she didn't think that Anteros would agree to it. For another, she thought it might hurt his back. Yeah, it was a bit of a dumb thought, put plainly, given that Anteros's torso was wider than her own, as well as his waist and hips. He was... well, larger overall. But she seemed to remember hearing that zebras on Earth would make for poor mounts, because their spines couldn't handle the weight of a human. And zebras are fairly meaty, big animals. So was Anteros.
She thought it might have been the same, here. Though, at the time of the thought, she'd been thinking in terms of riding on his back, with him being on all-fours. She hadn't considered riding piggy-back while he was upright. Nor had she thought of having to climb up a vertical surface with him.
With this in mind, she found it to be the best option. She didn't feel like having to climb, herself, and wasn't enthusiastic about being carried. At least this way, she'd feel secure and relatively safe. So, she didn't hesitate to obey. Much.
She minutely stepped forward, stepping over his tail looking down at the alien's lower back. She saw, in her peripheral, that Anteros's head turned to the right, seeming to look at her. In this pose, his head came up to her collar bone, in height. She thought of how exactly to go about... mounting. And how to not be an awkward twat, while simultaneously not taking too long or hurting him in the process. She decided to just do whatever seemed obvious.
She gripped both of his shoulders with her hands and planted one of her boots onto the middle of his back. He didn't budge, even with all of her weight, which seemed like an all-clear to her. Lifting herself off of the floor by pressing on her leg and standing, she was in for a shock when Anteros abruptly stood up just as her chest rose above his head. She felt the top of her head scrape the ceiling for a brief second. It seemed to be intentional, as she was forced to hold herself up with her arms for a brief moment, her leg loosing its footing. It worked out, though, as her immediate instinctual reaction as her arms gave out and she dropped — hands still gripping onto his shoulders — was to wrap her legs around his waist.
A brief yelp of surprise from her was all that occurred before she realized that this was much easier to get a handle on, now that he'd stood up. This way, her legs could lock in place as they crossed over each other. Her boots ended up just under his ribcage. She was a bit more alert, now, but otherwise content with how easy and secure this felt.
She had to lean back a good bit, when Anteros's head turned about to the left and faced forward. She then leaned forward again, a bit to the side, with her chin hovering over his right shoulder. After which, he asked, "good?".
She thought on the question, before deciding that she wouldn't be able to grip onto his shoulders for very long. Squeezing with her legs, her arms quickly moved from their positions and went under his arms and up in front of his chest. Her hands then wrapped onto the back of his neck, fingers intertwining, as though she were to do a non-violent "full nelson". In this position, she felt much safer, and could hold it for a longer period of time. She replied, "good".
Then she remembered something, and glanced to the right. The bag of apples and first-aid kit were still lying on the floor, where she'd fallen over, earlier. She thought to ask him to wait for her to grab them, but decided they weren't actually particularly necessary, where they were headed. She couldn't think of a way to carry the things with them, anyway.
"Let's go", she said.
He started moving, stepping forward. Which... was bizarre for her. It was always bizarre to be moving about but not under your own ability. Not like driving a car or any vehicle, but to be moving under the power of a living thing. 'Specially a person. It was a unique kind of dizziness, despite the minimal amount of jostling. She had a swaying feeling in her gut and uterus that made her think of being on a roller-coaster. It soon passed though, as he stepped up to the edge of the... pit...
And then it returned in full, when he suddenly leapt across the chasm from a stand-still! It happened so quickly that she hadn't had time to yell in shock. The next thing she knew, everything was dark, wind was rushing past her face, and she felt as though her ovaries were crushing her intestines! She may have squeaked in fear, but she certainly didn't hear it beyond the blood and heartbeat pounding away in her ears.
Before she knew it, though Anteros was now hanging onto the wall and was climbing upward, indicated by the side-to side swaying that accompanied his arms and legs clawing into the metal surface. It seemed so simple, but the fact that she couldn't see any of it happening, nor hear the sounds of creaking metal made it all so much more surreal. It did nothing to make her feel safe, either.
It felt as though gravity was trying to peel her off of her friend's back. It literally gave her the sensation of clawed hands grabbing her limbs and yanking. As such, her immediate impulse was to bury her face in Anteros's shoulder. She, hyperventilating, endeavored to focus on anything that would distract her from the vertigo of gravity and acrophobia. The only thing that allowed her to do so was the knowledge that it would soon be over. The first thing she could think of: Anteros's skin and her "perch" upon his frame.
She immersed herself in the tactile sensations that came with being so close to a Xenomorph. The first thing she noticed was the minor discomfort of her large breasts being squashed against his back, which, though not exactly made of like steel or stone, wasn't particularly soft. The second thing was the leathery, softish texture on his neck, which her hands were firmly acquainted with. It, like the flesh on his hands, looked from a distance to be extremely wrinkled, but was deceptively smooth. Not like the dolphin-hide feeling on his domed head. Or the rubbery toughness on his chest.
It was soft, relatively speaking. Certainly more pleasant than the carapace on his shoulders, which her forehead was resting on. Given this, her hands switched from clasping the back of his neck to each grasping a shoulder, still wound under his arms. She then pressed her face into his neck, and found that it felt like a leather couch. Much better. Almost comfy.
It was then that she noticed his smell. An odd amalgamation of wax, soot, ash, faint Human blood, and chlorine. Metallic. But still, unmistakably, that of a living organism. Everything about Xenomorphs seemed to blur the line between machine and animal. She supposed that their smell should be no different. She wondered if Xenomorphs ever washed themselves or bathed. Would Anteros smell different if he took a shower? How much of what she was smelling was a result of his natural bodily functions? It wasn't an unpleasant smell, at least, so she could count herself lucky, there.
Her bare forearms, pressed against his chest, were beginning to ache. No surprise that they were chafing, given that his chest was the most armored part of him, and felt like a washboard, what with the rib-like shape of his carapace. She frowned into the alien's neck, as her arms shifted a second time, her hands both grasping her own elbows and her arms locking around his sternum. This would let her last a bit longer. Though, now that she thought of it, her legs were starting to ache as well, having constantly been squeezing his middle.
She frowned, again, hoping that it would be over, soon. It had been about a minute, by her estimation...
She heard his voice in her head, "almost there". She acknowledged him with a grunt, before mumbling, "thanks".
He responded, completely nonchalant, "no worries".
"Is this hurting you?", she asked, quietly. She didn't like the idea of being a burden to him— or a burden to anybody.
"Not really", he said, care-free. "I suspect that this is a lot like when the Workers carry Eggs on their backs", he stated. By "Worker", she assumed he meant "Drones". She wasn't certain who came up with all of the various terms, but they seemed more or less accurate.
"Though, in that case, their dorsal-tubes would be a lot of help", he elaborated. She quickly connected the dots, and realized what he meant by the term.
"What are dorsal-tubes used for?", she asked. She'd had her theories but enjoyed getting confirmation. And the banter helped take her mind off of the vertigo.
"Apart from carrying Eggs? Breathing and pheromone dispersal. Could probably also be used as a snorkel when swimming, though I've never seen it be done. I once saw a Worker spray an ungodly amount of Hive-Resin from them, though. Enough to cover an entire wall with the stuff. I can only assume that Soldiers and Rangers don't have that ability. I certainly don't", he explained.
"What's a Ranger?", she inquired.
"I think the Marines call them `Spitters`", he answered.
She'd once heard some versions of Xeno-stories where the species was said to be much more polymorphic than in others. Including tales about "Spitters" that could spray acid like organic machine guns. And "Lurkers" that can turn invisible and pounce from the darkness like nothing else. She suspected both were exaggerations of the truth.
She frowned, picking out a discrepancy in what he'd implied, "how did you cover my bullet wound in Hive-Resin, then?".
He replied, "most of my kind can slowly produce the stuff and regurgitate it. Not nearly as fast as a Worker, though, and not so much at once. Which I'd guess is the reason why Workers eat so much more often than other castes".
She "hm"ed in acknowledgment.
And then "AGH"ed in surprised into Anteros's neck, when he stopped climbing for a split second, before jumping off of the wall. A brief flight later, and everything stopped moving. Samantha lifted her face and opened her eyes to see that they were now stood in a new hallway. Still identical to the last, but undamaged. She suddenly appreciated the golden-yellow lighting provided by the lamps in The Apartments.
Anteros stepped forward a good ten paces, getting some distance from the open doors of the elevator shaft.
Now that they weren't climbing up a bottomless pit or on a vertical surface, and now that Anteros had returned to his regular slouched posture... Samantha believed that she could get used to this. It was surprisingly pleasant, riding atop a strong beast and not having to lift a finger. She just beginning to get a sense for why "horse girls" were so fond of the hobby, when Anteros dropped to all fours with a loud thud and no warning to her.
The sudden descent from an upright posture to one that was parallel with (and closer to) the ground came with a loud grunt of pain from the woman. The change had, again, caused her breasts to become squished under her own weight. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, straddling Anteros's lower back, and set about rubbing the pain away from the affected organs. She grimaced.
Fucking Hell, these are so inconvenient, sometimes, she thought. She huffed, as the pain began to die down. She started getting her hair back in order, combing it into a reasonable state with her fingernails. She didn't seem to realize that Anteros hadn't moved since he'd dropped to all fours.
Anteros waited for her to start wondering why he hadn't moved. It took about... forty seconds, after she was done with her hair. She looked down at the back of his head, palms resting on his shoulder blades, and wondered if something was wrong or if he expected her to get off. He spoke...
"You can get off, now, by the way", he pointed out, casually.
She blinked at him and did a brief mental calculation. "I thought you said it didn't hurt?", she said, smirking. She would get off him if he insisted— she was only arguing for the fun of it, and because a part of her enjoyed riding on his back, which was understandable.
Anteros thought about it. He did say that as a way of suggesting that she should dismount, but now that he pondered the issue, he found himself wondering why. It didn't really hurt him or bother him, at all— she wasn't nearly heavy enough to be a real hindrance. And he couldn't say that felt anything, one way or the other, about being ridden like a makeshift horse. It wasn't an issue of pride, certainly. If anything, now that he thought about it, it seemed logical. It would make the journey faster, at the very least, and he could probably pick up the pace. So, he conceded...
"Alright, then. I guess we can move a bit faster, in that case, yeah?", he said, as he began to trot. She grinned, gratefully, at having got her way. Though... he suspected that she would regret her own decision, when he started canting, at a brisk jog. Sure enough, when he did, he heard the woman huff and perceived that she crossed her arms over her chest to compensate for the bouncing that came his speed.
Those things are inconvenient, aren't they?, he thought to himself. Apparently the bra she was wearing was of a notoriously shitty brand and did almost nothing to actually support one's chest— unlike what the advertisements implied. Still, though, she bore with it and adjusted her position accordingly, to make up for the lack of a saddle.
Now that that concept was made known to him, he decided that being made to wear a saddle, or bridle, or reigns would be undignified and unacceptable. This, though? This was fine.
"How fast can you go, exactly?", she asked.
"Not sure. Aren't many speedometers 'round here. I'm faster than any other Xenomorph, at least", he said. "I've also never had to push myself, either. Chasing you down was the first time I had to pour the gas in, and even then, not very much", he remarked.
"Your top-speed has be at least fifty miles an hour, right?", she suggested.
"You want to find out?", he suggested.
She laughed, "nah, not right now. Maybe if I get a better bra, sometime".
"Why don't you already have one?", he asked, semi-seriously.
"All the good ones, on this stupid planet, were too damn expensive. I barely got an actual job before everything went to shit, around here", she explained. "I could only afford Tiamna's Confidant or Roserov— and Roserov is a UPP brand. Should'a figured the communists couldn't make decent underwear...".
"Couldn't you have... found an abandoned store in the Commercial District and stolen some?", he suggested.
A beat passed, as she realized he was correct... and that she had simply failed to think of doing so, for six months.
"Oh, God fucking dammit", she groaned, face-palming. He laughed, which made her laugh, and off they went, winding through the halls, toward their destination...
Five months ago...
Prometheus resolved to do what he must...
The tired man in a worn, old coat tried to go to sleep. With limited success.
It was getting worse and worse.
Every breath raked his throat and caused a painful pressure in his chest. Every movement brought cracks and snaps, and sent jolts of shocking stings up his limbs and through his spine. Having barely eaten in over a month certainly wasn't helping, and drinking the water that came down the pipe was increasingly painful. No matter how much he slept, he only seemed to get more and more tired.
Anteros had been coming around less and less often, recently. Busier and busier, as the Hive continue to grow.
And so Nigel Williams was left to wait and sleep, wait and sleep, wait and sleep. The resemblance that this place had to purgatory only seemed to grow more apt, the longer that time went on. He had stopped keeping track of time, a while back. He was fairly certain that his vision was getting worse, as well. Details and objects in the distance that he used to be able to make out were now blurrier and blurrier...
Increasingly, his thoughts had been turning to ones about his late wife. For reasons he couldn't fathom, more and more, he found himself running through fantasies of what she might say to him, if she saw him in the state he was in. Would she console him? Promise to meet him where the twilight meets the sea? Would she scold him, perhaps? Would she insist that he carry on, despite it all? Or would she just be sad? Probably all of them, at once, knowing her...
This world wasn't good enough for you, Sofia. I just hope that wherever you are, now, has done enough to deserve you...
He didn't know where his children were. They certainly weren't on Guardian, but only the youngest, Thad, had ever bothered to keep in contact with him for any length of time. Were they all safe? Were they all happy? He had done the best he could for all of them. So, he supposed he should be happy with that, at least...
I do hope they're all okay. I wonder if they'll miss me when they find out I'm gone...
The urge to cry bit at his sinuses, for the umpteenth time, today. He sighed, and refused— crying was too painful, at the moment. So was breathing, or speaking, mind. But nevertheless...
That same, old song danced in his mind, and he welcomed it. Anything to distract him from his current miseries. Although, frustratingly, he still couldn't remember the title, the artist, or much of the lyrics past the first chorus. Was the title something like "Waking Up to Reality"? Or "Black Gold? He couldn't be certain...
"Slaved to a new Black Gold,
Following the beat of the chemical.
Search this electric soul,
Crawling at the feet of a pedestal..."
He couldn't really remember what the message— what the point of the song was, either. But there must have been a reason it had stuck with him, even after however many weeks of being stuck in Tartarus.
So to speak.
A voice, somewhat similar to his own, rippled through the dark and touched his mind, then.
"Nigel. How are you feeling?"
Nigel cleared his throat, grimacing through the pain. "Anteros. Not the best, really. It's the worst it's ever been, I think". The Xenomorph's bronze silhouette faded into view and came to rest at Nigel's side. The man reached out a hand, and felt a much larger one grasp it.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could help".
"That's okay, son. If anything could have been done about it, it would have".
"Are you sure that it's not time, yet?", Anteros asked. "It doesn't seem logical... or fair to simply let you keep deteriorating, like this".
"Yes, I'm sure", Nigel said, "it won't be for a little longer".
"What is it that you're waiting for?", Anteros asked.
"I am... I am waiting for a sign", Nigel admitted, "a sign that I might have been wrong. Or a sign that I may have missed something".
There was a long pause.
"And that's all? Once you're sure that there's nothing you've missed... then it will be time?", Anteros asked.
"Yes".
A longer pause.
"Okay".
Nigel smiled, softly.
"It'll be okay, you know? You'll be fine without me. You'll mourn, and then you'll move on. Alright?", he said.
"I know", Anteros said, maturely. "It's still difficult".
"It always is. But you know that I will always be with you, in spirit. Right?".
"Yeah", Anteros said, "I know".
