Forward
This story originated during the start of COVID. At the time, we had both been suffering burnout at our respective jobs.
We always had a thing for 12 inch action figures, also know as 1/6 scale, like GIJOEs and Barbies. Fresh off watching the 2004 movie Alien Vs Predator for the first time, we stumbled upon a few figures that caught our interest.
The Hot Toys version of 'Predator Scar', Damtoys 'MARSOC Marine', and VeryCool's 'Miss Spetsnaz'. And so the collection began.
Through casual joking, a story was suggested using the figures as baselines for our characters. Like many, we are fed up with the absolutely atrocious storytelling of Hollywood started in 2008 or so with the writer's strike and has steadily gotten worse. We also wanted to practice and perhaps write independent digital books.
AVP was chosen because it was neutral ground. Neither of us had much background in the lore other than the movies, which would force research. It also wasn't a fandom inundated with tons of fics like Halo or Star Wars, our respective fandoms.
About ¾ of the way into writing the story, the war in Ukraine unfortunately broke out. Several details within the story which deal with the Russian military may understandably be uncomfortable for some readers, but this is assuredly not a fic written in support of any military or country (as you will see during the progression of our story).
The next unfortunate truth was the difficult source material. While not wanting to commit assassination to the lore like Hollywood seems to enjoy doing to franchises, we did streamline this fanfiction to be both logical, but respectful at the same time. Some research showed the Predator species have some not-so-great practices and views that are certainly unacceptable (the practice of slavery, etc) but we stuck to the source material, even if it is distressing to modern sensibilities. We also tried to keep human characters as realistic as possible, including a variety of personalities that may or may not be likeable.
The final trouble was the unexpected passing of our mother. She was a big fan of the original AVP movie, so we finished it for her, mostly.
The story is completed and just undergoing quality control review, so be assured we will post it all. It just may take time as every is a volunteer and has a day job.
We do appreciate you taking the time to read our work. Feedback and any errors with the lore is appreciated (Or, if there are any Russians reading, feel free to give us recommendations to improve our writing of the culture), even if we purposely changed it for our needs. We definitely want this to be a group effort.
Prologue
Somewhere in the heavens… they are waiting…
Siberia, 1908
The clear, brisk, and bright sky over Russia promised a beautiful morning.
Soon, however, the still peace was broken by the large object entering the atmosphere.
The extraterrestrial object hurtled along at an unfathomable speed, but began to break apart about twenty kilometers over Earth's surface. The intense heat from this event produced devastating shockwaves; and when the inevitable airburst occurred as a brilliant, fiery cloud on the horizon, decimating the remainder of the meteor, the area's residents began to take notice. Tremors could be felt as far as one thousand kilometers away from the epicenter.
A group of sleeping reindeer herders were thrown from their tents; one herder flew 12 meters into a tree, and hundreds of the reindeer were killed as radiant energy from the explosion ignited the forest.
Thankfully for the area's few inhabitants, the subsequent blast wave quickly overcame the fires and extinguished them, leaving a scorched, butterfly-shaped patch of land in its wake.
Meteor fragments littered the area, yet another visual reminder of what had transpired.
But the meteor was not the only thing to travel to Earth from the heavens that day.
Anatoly Semenov had been knocked to his back by the earth-shattering shockwave. Already an old man, it was not easy for him to get back on his feet. He had been starting his morning routine with the reindeer earlier than the other men when the explosion had occurred. Now he – and other herders who were uninjured enough to travel – were heading towards the smoldering remains of the forest, to see if they could find any surviving deer.
They stood not 10 meters from the broken trees, staring at the flattened space in wonder, the heat too intense for them to get any closer. The trees were broken and laid out like matchsticks, still smoking.
Little did the men know, something had ridden in on the meteorite… and had survived the airburst, as well as the fall to the surface.
But it was already gone.
The herders were in a frenzy now, excitedly talking about the strange path of destruction before them, what to do about it, and how to find the remnants of their heard. Their location was so remote it would take much time for a man to go report it, and even more time for the response to arrive.
So engrossed were they in debate, they failed to notice they were being encircled by the very things that had left the meteor.
It was only when a beige, spidery-looking monstrosity jumped one of the herders and latched onto his face that the men realized they were under attack. Two of the humans went to try and help their comrade by pulling the thing off, but the more they pulled, the more it tightened itself onto their friend's throat with its tail, depriving him of much needed airflow.
The rest of the men turned, old hunting rifles and shotguns at the ready. Anatoly cursed himself for not bringing his own.
Crawling over the fallen trees were more spiders; but joining them were black creatures, the kind from myths to scare children into sleep at night. They looked serpent-like; hissing like them too, fluid falling from their mouths. Nothing less than demons.
The monsters charged in, and Anatoly backed away, letting the young men with guns step forward. A few spiders fell to bullets. But when a black demon closed in and pounced on one of the younger herders, Anatoly had to watch in horror as a second mouth shot out from the beast, piercing the forehead of his friend.
The creature was promptly shot by another man. Puke-green blood sprayed everywhere, including on the dead human beneath it. The herder's corpse began to disintegrate.
"Bagiennik…" Anatoly murmured. Bagienniks were of Russian folklore. They supposedly lived in the lakes and rivers of Russia, which are often made dark or bubbly because of the Bagiennik's presence. These monsters are able to emit a hot substance from their nostrils, burning victims to death; which was what Anatoly believed he was seeing now.
Recovering one of the guns from the now rapidly disappearing herders, Anatoly ran towards the camp. He didn't get very far before he felt a stabbing pain in his gut. Looking down, all he could see was his own blood and body - along with some distortion in the air resembling a blade. Looking up, he could make out the rest of the distortion to be roughly man-shaped. Apparently, Leshy existed, too.
Anatoly was dropped to the ground – not by the choice of the new monster that caught him, but because this Leshy creature was attacked from behind by Bagiennik.
The last thing Anatoly saw as he bled out were the two mythical creatures locked in a deadly embrace, tumbling down into the mass of logs that had once been a forest.
St. Petersburg, 1908
Tsar Nicholas II sighed as two of his children crashed into his study.
"Papa, papa, Tatiana stole my blue ribbon!" cried Anastasia, pink-faced and indignant as she threw herself into her father.
"I did not, it's my ribbon and she's a liar!" snapped Tatiana, her hair haphazardly done up with a suspiciously blue-hued tie.
"Girls, please," said Nicholas sharply – more sharply than he would have liked – as he gently pushed Anastasia away. "Where is your governess? I am sure we have plenty of blue ribbons around."
Before either of them could respond, he stood from his desk chair and placed a hand on each of their backs, escorting them out of the study.
"But, Papa-"
Nicolas felt a stab of guilt as he hustled them along. He loved his children dearly, but between little Alexei's illness and the seemingly insurmountable pressures of being the Emperor of all Russia, some days…
He felt he was in over his head.
"I'll see you after your lessons, I promise," he told the girls, giving them a warm smile as they crossed the threshold of the study door.
He watched as the girls wandered away, Tatiana giving a small wave in his direction; and his grin grew as Anastasia's little hand reached over to her sister's hair and snatched out the desired ribbon. Tatiana squealed, and they began a chase down the hall.
Nicholas' smile faded, though, as he noticed his advisor, Dimitri, approaching. The man was grim-faced and holding what appeared to be a handful of small papers.
Why, wondered Nicholas, could he never be brought good news?
"Tsar, may I have a word?" asked the advisor.
Gesturing to the empty study behind him, Nicholas said, "Of course," even while alarm coursed through his mind. He almost never had one-on-one meetings with his advisors. Usually, they all crowded together at a table and the advisors would argue with one another, while Nicholas tried to keep order and sort through the facts.
The situation must be profoundly serious, indeed.
The men retreated to the study, and Nicholas closed the door.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Nicholas nodded to Dimitri. "What have you brought for me, Dmitri?"
Dimitri paused, glancing about them as though afraid the very walls were listening. "Please understand, my Tsar. We mustn't… this cannot go beyond myself and you. This may shape the future of Russia, even the world. I did not even reveal this information to the other advisors."
Now Nicholas' alarm deepened to true fear. Dimitri was not the type of man to seek favor or status, as some of his fellow advisors did. Nor did he speak in hyperbole.
"Then tell me what you know," said Nicholas.
"Do you remember the explosion over Siberia a few months ago?"
Nicholas nodded. "Yes. Was it not determined to be a meteor or other astral phenomenon?" Moving to his desk, the Tsar lifted the oblong chunk of rock he'd been using as a paperweight. "They brought this back to me. They said it was from the meteor itself."
Dimitri looked at the meteor piece but did not touch it. "Yes, you are correct. It was a meteor. But they have found something else in the area." He handed the sheets of paper to Nicholas.
They were photographs. At first, Nicholas could not understand what he was seeing. Then, the grainy, black-and-white images became starkly clear in their grisly violence.
Men – or what had once been men – lie contorted on the ground, meters away from one another. But that wasn't what made Nicholas gag in horror.
It was their chests.
Broken skin, empty cavities, ribs twisted outward, blood (and other things Nicholas did not want to guess at) all comprised the gruesome scene he was seeing. Oddly enough, the rest of the corpses' bodies seemed to be intact. Their weapons lay scattered around them.
"What happened to them?" he finally asked, unable to tear his eyes away. His mind was racing to fill in the answers – bears? Wolves? Even the rarely seen and elusive tiger?
But why the same injuries, in the same exact place? Animals didn't do that. At least, none that science had encountered.
Nicholas let his paperweight drop onto the desk. "What kind of… Middle-Aged barbarity is this?"
"We think they arrived on the meteor," Dimitri said hesitantly, as if expecting argument.
They. It took Nicholas a moment to process what he was saying. "You mean… life from space."
"Yes," Dimitri said simply.
Nicholas ran a hand over his face. "What makes you believe this?"
"The scientist who brought these photos said the locals were very reluctant to talk about it. Ever since the meteor came, villagers have gone missing. They usually find the bodies later, looking like…" Dimitri broke off and nodded at the photo "…that. They think it's the Bagiennik."
Nicholas scoffed. "Superstition." He'd expect nothing less of the uneducated rustics who lived out in Siberia. Yet, did creatures from space make any more sense?
"Doubtless. Our scientists dismissed it at first, too. They thought the bodies were the result of some rabid animals. But then one of the scientists was killed by a – well, they couldn't get a picture. It was too fast. But they described it as a giant bug-like snake, larger than a bear and stronger than a crocodile." Taking away the top photograph, Dimitri tapped the one below it. "But, they managed to capture a few of the little ones in jars."
"'Little ones'?" Nicholas looked at the new photograph. Inside the jars, the specimens sat. Even in the still image, Nicholas could feel their feral impatience. They looked almost like the skeleton of an animal he had seen once, in another photograph. A manta ray.
"The scientists caught them while they were feeding on some deer," Dimitri explained.
"Feeding?"
"We think so. They're not sure yet. They attach to the face; or more specifically, the mouth."
Nicholas looked at the creatures more closely, suppressing a shudder. "Have the scientists destroyed them yet?"
For the first time, Dimitri appeared surprised by his questions. "Of course not. They want to study them further."
Grimacing, Nicholas leafed through the remaining pictures. "Have them destroyed. And I will send soldiers to hunt down the larger creatures. The snake ones. We must eradicate this threat to Holy Russia."
"Tsar, if I may suggest…" said Dimitri carefully, taking the pictures from Nicholas.
"What?"
"Allow the scientists to study them more. Think of the opportunities, think of what we could learn!"
"Such as?"
"They are powerful; so powerful. Think of how strained things are with Germany now. If we could harness what they have – the Kaiser would grovel before you! We could make Japan pay for the war. And even things closer to home – you stopped the revolution four years ago, it's true – but what if the people try again, and in greater masses?"
The words sounded good. They made sense. But after all his recent defeats, Nicholas was beginning to wonder if some things were simply uncontrollable.
"What If–" Dimitri grasped Nicholas' arm, a shocking breach of protocol. One did not grab the Tsar. "What if they held the key to curing your son? His hemophilia–"
Angered, Nicholas threw Dimitri's hand off and stepped back. "How dare you speak of that?"
Dimitri held out his arms placatingly. "My only wish is to help you make an informed decision. I came to you, not the other advisors, because I knew you would make the right choice. For your empire. For your strength. Even if the creatures cannot cure your son, you could use them to ensure Russia is strong enough, ensure the emperor's position is strong enough, that you can leave things for him to rule peacefully."
Nicholas's anger dissolved. He knew he was being manipulated (perhaps Dimitri was not as trustworthy as he'd thought), and yet…
Maybe Dimitri also wasn't entirely incorrect. Alexei was getting weaker, despite Alexandra's insistence that Father Grigory's prayers helped. And if Alexei couldn't be cured, maybe, just maybe, the empire he would inherit could be made powerful enough that Alexei could concentrate on keeping healthy, and not managing crisis.
Stroking his beard, Nicholas said at last, "Very well. Set up a laboratory somewhere remote. The Ural Mountains, I think. There are old mining complexes there that can be repurposed without raising attention. And, Dimitri?"
"Yes, Tsar?"
"We tell no one. Nobody," Nicholas emphasized. "I want the records of the scientists' visit to Tunguska removed from the record today."
Dimitri gave a short smile. "Immediately."
Fifty-one years later, February 1st, 1959
True to the order, a laboratory was set up in the Ural Mountains; or, more specifically, beneath it. It wasn't long before it was converted into a weapons lab and military base, however.
The structure was upgraded over the decades to include more concrete, and even foil layers, so nothing could detect it. The base was given the nickname склеп – 'The Crypt' - by those who worked in it.
Very few within the Russian government knew of its existence; and those who did, didn't even know what it was for. The lie spread forth was 'a storage space'. Rumor told it was a nuclear weapons test silo. Another still said it was for the Soviet Space Program, and the supposed origin point for Sputnik I.
Nikita Khrushchev himself didn't even know. Those who worked within the facility were not allowed to leave it. They ate, breathed, slept, and bathed within its walls, entombed by the namesake. In the case of the captured Nazi scientists, the prisoner-like lifestyle they were forced to live made sense. But the select people from the Soviet Space Program, the KGB, and military personnel were also forced into the same way of living.
The need for such diverse groups within the Russian government became apparent early on – the clear extraterrestrial nature of the subjects was what started the Space Division in the first place.
But while the public saw Russia trying to achieve space flight, this group studied the monsters from Tunguska (lovingly named Bagiennik, after its origin story). This group hoped its space-faring sister group would be able to reach out to the stars and find more specimens, whether new or more of the same, for study.
The KGB, although in its infancy, also had a special unit assigned to this facility. If even possible, this branch of the KGB was less accountable than its other half.
With the fall of Nazi Germany and the start of the Cold War, this faction of the KGB was looking for any and all weapons against the United States of America; especially ones that couldn't be tied back to Russia and possibly incite nuclear war.
They had seen some success in these organic weapons, with trial runs made by Russian advisors stationed in Vietnam. These 'tests' were little more than simply letting the black devils run loose to take out the South Vietnamese army, French Foreign Legion, and even the rare American advisor.
The problem was controlling the damn things. For every NATO force killed, the alien animals would also kill North Vietnamese and the few Russian advisors there.
Then, there had been a further complication. Letting Bagiennik run free had resulted in a second extraterrestrial species becoming involved.
Russian forces could never get a look at this new species, and rarely did any live to tell about it, either. The best description given was a human-like outline in the air; transparent, of course.
The Space Division scientists were quick to deduce that this was an alien entity, and not American technology. Bagiennik, it seemed, drew attention when used. There were currently no ideas on how to capture one of the new species.
Current KGB facility director Chernov rubbed his temples, feeling the start of a migraine coming on. The few involved in this project were demanding results, and although he had delivered plenty, the question about control still remained. Chernov knew the key lay with the big one in the basement.
The egg producer.
It lacked eyes, but Chernov could tell when it was staring at him, so to speak; like it was trying to work him out… or work on a way to get out.
They had people working around the clock to incinerate the eggs it – or, rather, she – produced. They had plenty of specimens to work with, but she endlessly laid, and they endlessly destroyed what they didn't need.
Of course, replacements for the black devils were needed, and there was no shortage of political dissidents in Russia to sacrifice when the need arose. But population control was critical, lest the base be overwhelmed, and the things escape. Russia may have wanted control of the world, but they couldn't do that with Bagiennik spreading like wildfire.
Rising from his chair, Chernov made his way out of his office. Another field test was due – but first, a stop at the infirmary before this migraine got too far along.
Once the drugs were in his system, he made his way to the elevator.
Inside, he held down the bottom floor button. This was a security measure to descend to the levels below that weren't listed. Once at the true bottom floor, Chernov stepped out and made his way to the observation window.
There she was in all her glory, furious as always. The chamber she was held in was specially constructed. Not only was she restrained; even if she did escape, there were no doorways for her to fit through, nor could she smash her way out of the thick concrete walls. Buried in a mountain, no less.
"How is our Baba Yaga today?" Chernov asked the staff.
"Temperamental, as always."
Typical. She hadn't made it a secret she wanted out. Wasting no more time, Chernov ordered what he wanted.
"We are doing another field test. Search and destroy simulation. Did we secure the articles of clothing?"
"Yes, comrade Chernov."
Chernov had to smile. The KGB had been keeping tabs on a group of students from the Ural Polytechnical Institute.
They were planning an expedition up the mountain, and the only reason why the institute had approved their trek and a route so close to the base was because the KGB orchestrated it.
The clothing had been secured from each of the students and would be presented to the big one and her spawn. They seemed to function much like bees, a hive mind. Control the big one, the Queen, you controlled the drones. The idea was to see if they could convince her to destroy a specific target, instead of merely pointing her spawn in a specific direction in hopes they killed the target with little collateral damage.
"Show her. Use the electrical prods, if needed," Chernov ordered. The assumption was they could hunt by sense of smell. Most animals could, after all. With no visible optical nerve system, how else could they?
As a few brave Russian souls approached her with the clothing in hand, an ear-splitting screech emitted from her. Not a roar; much higher pitched, more on the side of hissing. After a few attempts to use her arms and inner mouth on the soldiers, she finally submitted, but Chernov knew this was smoke and mirrors. Biding time, so to speak. Her drones were dumb, but she could almost be classified as 'intelligent' life.
Using three-meter poles, the soldiers presented the clothing for her to smell – or at least, Chernov hoped she would smell. When it felt like she had adequate exposure, the soldiers left to present them to the drones.
Chernov just prayed this would go well enough to even fudge the results as successful, least he be demoted or even worse – facing a firing squad for the knowledge he possessed. So lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice the scientist addressing him.
"What?" Chernov asked.
"The soldiers are reporting they are ready. Do you wish to deploy?"
"Da. Have the soldiers recon the situation as it unfolds. We need to be ready to contain if this gets out of hand."
The scientist nodded and went to relay the command.
May Igor and his people's death be swift and painless.
Igor Dyatlov and his team were settling in for the night. They were too far west now; the snowstorm had deviated them from the original route. Frustrated, he had decided to set up camp, not wanting to lose the altitude they had gained.
Plus, it made for good practice, setting camp on a mountain slope. With warm food in their bellies and decent shelter with sleeping accommodations, the team had fallen asleep. All were eager to receive their grade III hiker certification on completing this trip.
It was early in the morning when Yuri awoke him in a panic.
"Igor, there's something outside!" he stated in a harsh whisper.
Igor listened. He heard something akin to hissing, but that wasn't unusual on mountains. They made all sorts of strange noises.
"It's just mountain ambiance, Yuri. Go back to sleep," Igor shrugged off. It wasn't a second later that a screech ripped out.
Now Igor was awake, and so was the rest of the camp. No time was wasted in fleeing, not even boots were donned. They didn't see the origin of the noises.
The Russian soldiers observed the unfolding situation as best they could. The assets had successfully tracked down the intended targets, and now actively hunted them.
The captain had to scoff at how these monsters were dressed. Someone had the brilliant idea of giving them camouflage flak vests to ensure they could be identified as 'their' extraterrestrials and not… someone else's, apparently? Ha! In his opinion, it just slowed the weapons down with more weight.
That's when the soldiers took notice of the orange lights in the sky, rapidly descending to the Earth… and the very alien craft they came from. There was no chance the students hadn't seen it as well.
"Call the crypt, let them know we are about to have company," the captain ordered. Chernov was either going to be very happy or very angry.
Chernov was not happy. His test had been going well, but it appeared the other species had arrived. The results would now likely be tainted – if any subjects survived at all.
Having no choice, he ordered the captain and his team to engage: kill the serpents and the students, since they could always make more serpents and engineer more test targets – but try to take the invisible ones alive.
He had to laugh at that last part. From what was learned in Vietnam, there was no way he was ever hearing from those men again. Moscow would have to send another detachment.
In the chaos, Igor had found himself under a pine tree and in the company of Kolmogorova and Slobodin. They were everything short of the definition of naked in the frozen wasteland, and he was pretty sure he could hear intermittent gunfire mixed with… roars? Tigers or bears, perhaps. And screams. Very human screams.
"What do we do now?" Slobodin asked, his teeth chattering together.
"We must return to camp," Dyatlov answered.
"And die by those… creatures?!" Kolmogorova pointed out in protest.
"We stay here, we will die anyway. At least at the camp we have tools and warmth and shelter. We stand a better chance," Dyatlov argued.
"What about the others?" Slobodin asked.
"We will try to find them on the way back. But we are no good to them dead," Dyatlov stated morosely. In agreement, they set out, unaware they would not get very far.
Dubinina felt very little relief after stripping Krivonishenko of his meager clothing and putting it on herself. She had watched him die by some dark outline of a creature, hissing and screeching, and then she blacked out completely. When she awoke, a new monstrosity was laying next to her – a 'huge beige scorpion' was the best description she could come up with. It appeared to be dead, likely from the cold.
What was more curious was that when more of the black serpents that killed Krivonishenko came up to her, they merely passed her without interest. Perhaps their vision was based on movement? Or maybe they hunted by heat, and her body temperature had dropped too low. Either way, she wasn't complaining – and not sticking around to find out, either.
Moving across the ravine, she found one of her comrades, Semyon, had fallen with a gaping hole in his chest.
Suddenly, she felt like something was crushing her chest. Panicked, Dubinina frantically began stripping the clothes off of her body. Some part of her brain wondered if she was hypothermic, but - no. She felt pain, a lot of it.
Then, her breathing feeling less constricted, and she decided to sit down. She was trying to make sense of everything when a figure appeared before her, from seemingly nowhere.
It was monstrously tall, well built, and all manner of skulls hung off it. Perhaps a new Soviet soldier? Dubinina felt too weak to really care at this point. The masked face looked down at her with what she could swear was pity.
Suddenly, it balled its fist and punched right into her chest, killing her and the unknown parasite inside her, but leaving no trace of its existence - or her cause of death, except severe chest trauma.
Giving a huff, the alien hunter moved on. There was little honor in killing an unarmed human, but she had already been infested. Regardless, there were more Hard Meats to eradicate, and the source, if it existed, still had to be found.
The outbreak was unexpected; it was only by sheer luck that one their warships stationed to monitor and protect Earth had caught it at all. At first, the assumption was that they had somehow leaked from their hunting grounds in the southern polar region of Earth; but a quick check showed a Chiva had not been conducted there in many rotations. A party had been dispatched to be sure nothing had escaped the pyramid there, just as a precaution.
Either way, uncontrolled Hard Meats on worlds could not be allowed. They were an invasive species and tended to clean out the natives, ruining future hunts for others.
There were also an awful lot of human warriors running around, however… and briefly, the alien hunter had to wonder if something else was in play here.
He didn't have time to dwell on it, however, as the excitement for more trophies flooded him. More beasts and more humans had appeared.
The army captain had known from the moment the order was given, they were all dead. He had been stationed here long enough, while running combat simulations and training with the serpents, to know what he was up against. Add in this new batch of monsters that they couldn't even see, and they never stood a chance.
The colonel was dead; the fool had never seen a day of combat, and simply wanted to suck up to the director by insisting on overseeing the test personally. Therefore, the company – or what was left of it – now fell to his command. A pittance of twenty or so men. They had started with two hundred and fifty. Currently, they were stalking the mountain, having only found one of the Polytech students' bodies.
"Captain! Down the mountain there!" a private called out.
The captain motioned for someone to hand him binoculars. Sure enough, their black devils were going down the hill. Probably for more victims, now that they had cleaned the mountain side out. Turning, the captain grabbed the radio that was on the back of another soldier.
"This is Captain Plotnikov; they are making a break down the mountain…"
Plotnikov trailed off when he saw a strange sight. Three red dots, in the shape of a triangle, were dancing across the unaware private. When they came to rest on his chest, a bright blue light blinded the men. When their sight returned, the private's chest was nothing more than a cauterized, gaping hole.
"Say again your last, Captain! We only caught that they are going down the mountain!" the voice over the radio requested, but Plotnikov wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he and his remaining men had brought their AK-47s up, looking for the source of the attack.
They didn't have to wait long as seven armored figures appeared out of the thin mountain air. These were clearly not 'their' extraterrestrials, but the other ones who had landed with the strange craft. For a moment, there was a silent standoff; but soon, roars of challenge from the new arrivals overcame the howl of the mountain side wind, and Plotnikov knew this was the end.
Chernov had just been informed by the captain – over the radio, right before he'd died – that the Bagiennik were making a break down the mountain.
"Chyort!" That was unacceptable. If they got into a populated area, they would wreak havoc, and he would undoubtedly take the blame – and the bullet. This had to be stopped, fast.
The facility director stormed into the queen's chamber with a batch of soldiers and spoke to her in a booming voice. "Call them back!"
She made no noise or even acknowledgement of his presence. Looking over to a soldier, he gave a nod. The soldier put a few bullets into one of her fresh eggs. The queen screeched in protest.
"I know you understand me. Call. Them. Back," Chernov said through clenched teeth. She fell silent, leaving Chernov to wonder if she obeyed, or just kept quiet.
"Comrade Chernov, our remaining scouts are reporting that the Bagiennik are turning around, heading back to the base!" one of his assistants stated. Chernov turned back to the queen.
"Thank you, your highness," he said in a mocking tone, and gave her an insulting bow. So, she could understand. Perhaps the field test wasn't a complete waste.
Tired, he left the chamber and returned to his office. He didn't get a moment's rest before his assistant, Pyotr, entered.
"We lost all contact with the recon teams and our species were killed while returning to base," Pyotr said.
"The other aliens, I presume?" Chernov stated, rather than asked. His migraine was now resurfacing with a vengeance.
"If I had to guess," Pyotr retorted. Chernov exhaled loudly.
"Call Moscow, report the test a success. Tell them we need another detachment of soldiers; I don't care who they send. Make sure the KGB oversees the autopsy of the students - Dyatlov's people."
"What should the cover story be?" Pyotr asked.
"Avalanche," Chernov answered, to which Pyotr gave a light snort. He agreed. It would never be bought, but it also would never be disproven, even if they found the bodies.
"As you say," Pyotr affirmed.
"Pyotr?" Chernov called before the man could leave.
"Comrade?"
"I need a protégée to succeed me. Tell Moscow and then start pillaging our schools for the best and brightest."
"Yes, comrade Chernov."
Home of Fedor and Olga Mikhailov, Moscow, Russia, late 1992
Fedor Mikhailov was sorting his paperwork when a loud knock sounded against his home's front door.
"Olga, Karik, I am busy. Will one of you answer?" Fedor called. He received no reply from either his wife or son; and, annoyed, rose and went to the door himself.
Standing outside was a bent, old woman. Her skin reminded Fedor of dried, dead leaves. He had no recollection of ever meeting her, and it confused him so much that he didn't immediately notice the little waif of a baby in her arms.
"Who are you?" he demanded of the woman, crossing his arms. "What do you want?" He hoped she was not a beggar. Somehow, they had only increased since the recent end of the Soviet Union.
Lifting her pointed chin, the old woman glared and held her ground on his porch. When she spoke, her voice was like her wrinkled face: brittle and dry. Conversely, its tone held a surprising amount of harshness.
"I am Anya Zakharov, great-aunt of Mila Zakharov," said the woman, glaring at him, and Fedor felt a jolt upon hearing the second name.
Mila.
"You need to hear what I have to say," rasped Anya, as if on the verge of a cough.
Fedor was not listening to her. Instead, he was looking at the baby, a sense of foreboding creeping through him. Mila…
He should shut the door. In fact, he should have already done so. Why should any name invoked from his past matter?
But the baby was now staring at him with enormous, curious hazel eyes. Strange, how it didn't seem frightened of him at all. Fedor's own boys had been terrified of strangers at that age. But this one, undersized and dirty, seemed to be sizing him up without as much as a blink.
Old Anya, meanwhile, was still speaking. "Mila is dead. I know she was your secretary. She was hit by a car one week ago." She said it bluntly, showing no hint of emotion.
"She hasn't been my secretary for more than a year, now," Fedor interrupted hastily, even as he reflexively glanced over his shoulder into the house, making sure his wife was nowhere nearby.
Anya scoffed. "I know that." Curling her lip with disgust, she added, "She also told me who you worked for and the things you did for them."
Fedor gritted his teeth and tempered the urge to shove her off the porch. "I'd watch what you say, old woman."
"I also know that you had an affair with my Mila," said Anya, shifting the baby to her other hip. "This is your daughter. Your name is on the birth registration."
Fedor was, by now, prepared for this revelation. He had not risen – and fallen – from his former position by being a fool. "And why should I believe you?"
"Because you know it's the truth," Anya said coldly. Reaching into her shawl with her free hand, she withdrew a folded paper. "Here. This was written to you by Mila not long after she gave birth."
Skeptically, Fedor unfolded the letter and began to read.
March 11, 1992
Dear Fedor,
I am writing this to tell you that I have given birth to our daughter. Her name is Jekaterina. I apologize for not tell you sooner. When I realized I was pregnant, the Committee was in disarray, and your job and very life were in jeopardy. I decided to spare you the extra burden of worry that this information might cause you and raise her alone.
However, if you are reading this, it means that I am no longer able to care for her, and she needs your help. Please, if you can do one thing for me, make sure she has a safe home.
Yours,
Mila Zakharov
Fedor grimaced. The letter was Mila, from beginning to end. It showcased her elegant and immaculate penmanship that had been the envy of every other secretary in their building, and the note itself was written on old KGB stationery. This was not a forged letter. And Mila was no liar.
But what to do about it?
"So, now you believe," said Anya, sounding satisfied. "You must take her. I cannot care for her. If I could, I would. I have no money, and I am too old–"
Barking a laugh, Fedor cut her off. "And I am not? I am already 50! I cannot raise another child at my age. And my wife – my wife will know that I…"
"Perhaps you should have thought of that before seducing your young secretary, then, hmm?" Anya sneered.
Fedor looked away, warring with his thoughts. He should have no reason to feel guilty. Mila had her own mind and had made her own choices, the same as him. Yet…
"Fedor? Fedor! Who is at the door?" barked his wife, Olga, as her heeled footsteps stomped through the kitchen behind him.
Before Fedor could close the door, Olga pushed past his shoulder and joined him in the doorway, peering out at Anya and the baby.
"What is this?" she demanded. Noticing the letter in Fedor's hand, she snatched it away from him and began to read.
Fedor held his breath.
A reddish-purple hue spread slowly across Olga's face – just before she crumpled the note and slapped it against Fedor's chest, pushing him out of the door and onto the porch.
"You filthy, disgusting–!"
"Olga, please," Fedor said, glancing at the windows of his neighbor's house, praying they were not privy to the scene.
"How could you humiliate me this way?" she cried, making fists with her hands. "Thirty years, I have been married to you, and this is how you treat me?"
She was embarrassed and angry, Fedor realized, and not hurt.
What, he had to wonder, did that say about their marriage?
Anya, observing, gave a low chuckle. "At least he treated you to this big, fancy house, hmm? Not a tiny apartment with twelve other people like the rest of us peasants."
"Keep out of this, old woman," Olga spat. "Leave and take that urchin with you before I summon the authorities!"
Beginning to show signs of panic, Anya stepped forward and grasped Fedor's sleeve. "No! Please, Mikhailov, please! You must take Jekaterina. If she goes to an orphanage, she will be starved, neglected. Do not let that happen to your daughter."
Olga started shouting again, and Fedor began alternately arguing with and apologizing to his wife.
Drawn by the sound of his parents fighting, Karik, Fedor's teenage son, crept out and joined the group of adults on the porch.
Even with Olga's yelling, Fedor noticed Karik looking at the infant intently. Baby and boy held one another's gaze for a moment, then Karik looked up at Fedor and spoke, though he couldn't hear him over the commotion.
"Olga, please," he said, holding up a hand. "Karik, what is it? Go back inside, the adults are talking."
"Is this really my sister?" asked Karik, sounding more grown up than Fedor had ever heard him.
"Yes," Fedor admitted, running a hand over his face. "I think so."
Sensing an ally, Anya shoved the baby into Karik's arms. "I can tell you're a good boy, who wouldn't abandon his sister," she said persuasively.
"Don't try to influence my son, you hag," Olga huffed. "Karik, give it back."
"No," said Karik, clutching the infant to his chest.
"Excuse me?" said Olga, straightening. She wasn't used to her orders being defied.
Karik was not cowed. "I'm not giving her back to live in an orphanage. She's my sister. Even if you're mad at father, it's not her fault."
"Karik–" Olga began threateningly.
Fedor spoke up. "Karik, take Jekaterina inside. Your mother and I will… discuss this."
And what an unpleasant conversation it would be.
Karik carried the baby into the kitchen. Even with all the screaming outside, she wasn't crying, which was strange. His friend Karl's baby brother cried all the time.
"Are you hungry? There's some mashed potatoes in the refrigerator." One thing he'd learned from Karl's brother was that babies needed everything mashed.
He heated the potatoes on the stovetop while he held Jekaterina. She seemed more interested in the buttons on his shirt than anything else.
Once the potatoes were lukewarm, he went to the table and set her in his lap. It took some time (and spills that mother was not going to be happy about) but in the end, Karik had fed her several spoonfuls of the creamy starch.
His sister – Jekaterina – twisted around and looked up at his face. Then, she reached up with a potato-smeared hand and patted at his chin gently.
"Jekaterina is too big of a name for you," he told her as he wiped his chin. "You're Katja to me."
She gurgled; the first sound he had heard her make. "Don't worry," he promised her softly. "I'm going to watch out for you from now on."