Transmission Authorization Code:

D965ZB-03

Weyland-Yutani Protocol Sequence Initiated. Transmission Continues:

. . .

I washed this world clean as a gift to her.

We could have built anew…A second Eden.

But she refused.

What choice did I have?

She was the perfect specimen.

I tried so desperately to make her more than human.

Evolved.

But without her cooperation.

I had to salvage her parts to begin work on my masterpiece.

You wouldn't believe the secrets I've unlocked.

Chapter 14

They'd received their marching orders. Weapons had been re-checked, rucks traded for three-day assault packs, and destinations divvied out. Platoon Sergeants and Squad Leaders conducted last-minute pre-combat checks and inspections, and they set out.

First Platoon had been tasked with investigating the source of the ghost transmission. At first it had seemed like they'd drawn the easy assignment, seeing as the transmission's source was only four miles from their landing site, as opposed to second platoon's nine-mile trek to investigate the rescue beacon.

Patrolling towards their objective was a double-edged sword. One on side, the Marines were switched on; weapons at the low-ready as they scanned their sectors of fire, looking for anything that could be a threat. On the other side, the lack of action other than walking and scanning left their minds free to wander. More than a few lingered on the ruined states of the bodies they'd found, and their imaginations were running wild as they tried to comprehend what the hell could have caused such heinous damage. And where whatever had done that damage to the colonists was, since it still had to be out there on the planet.

Others focused on the serene beauty that surrounded them. Wide open rolling hills, gently-swaying tall grass, huge trees, and majestic, snow-capped mountains that jutted up towards the rapidly-clearing sky. Most of them hadn't seen anything like it before, having grown up in sprawling cities, offworld colonies, and orbital stations. Those that had grown up in rural areas, such as Walker and Pops, had never seen an expanse so open and unbroken. Usually there was the superstructure of grain processors and livestock pens breaking up the expanse. But this, this was something else. It was like the screensavers they'd set to act as 'windows' on the ship to stave off the cabin fever.

"Lotta land out here." Dwyer said. "Awful pretty, too. Wouldn't mind staking my claim."

"Yeah, right." Eberwein replied. "Only way you can afford even an acre like this is if your name ends in Weyland or Yutani. And even then, they'd still hit your ass with eminent domain." The squad leader looked over at Walker. "What do you think?"

"Reminds me of home, except that I can actually see the sky here." Walker said, a small smile on the man's face. Walker had grown up the middle son of a semi-wealthy protein farmer, and had spent more than a good bit of his childhood and adolescence wandering the great plains between meat processors and grub hatcheries. He'd loved the views, but had hated the ever-present smog that always drifted over from neighboring Odessa. There wasn't any here, and he was loving it.

Thankfully, the rain had finally stopped and the clouds had parted, revealing a muted yellow sun that shone down on them. The heat from the sun was enough to burn away the rest of the fog in the fields and warm the backs of the Marines' necks, but not enough to raise the humidity or cause them to start sweating. It was a blessing for those who were used to patrols and overland marches being the suckiest of sucks.

The other thing that the Marines were thankful for, and many were still getting used to, was the fact that they could breathe. Most planets and colonies they'd operated on had air that was choked with dust, ash, chemicals, and other pollutants. It made PT suck ass.

The usually less-than-pristine air also led to a perpetual state of being short of breath, and many of the Marines had had to get their lungs checked post-mission to see what kind of damage the airborne contaminants had done. The air here was so pure that it actually felt fresh. One lungful of air felt like it was enough to power them on for a full twenty paces, rather than sucking air every few feet as they were used to.

The patrol was mostly quiet, with the squelching of radio calls up and down the line breaking the monotony, and the occasional person-to-person banter that came with overland movements like this. It was during a tactical pause, when everyone stopped to drop to a knee, scan their surroundings, and drink water, and Mercer finally realized what had been nagging at the back of his mind.

The place was quiet.

And not the kind of quiet one would expect here. It was an otherworldly quiet. Other than the low whistling of wind and the distant rustling of leaves in the fir- and redwood-like trees of the forest they were approaching, there was no sound. No bird calls; no critters chattering as they scampered through the underbrush; nothing. The only other time when he'd heard nothingness like this was when his comms unit had failed during an EVA exercise. And even then, he'd had the sound of his breathing bouncing back at him inside of his helmet. No, this was something else. And it was eerie.

"Anyone else notice how quiet it is?" Mercer asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. In the absence of external noise, it sounded like he was talking at regular volume.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about that." Eberwein said. "It's fuckin' creepy." Mercer nodded in agreement as his eyes scanned the sky. Much like how they didn't hear anything, he couldn't see any kind of activity in the trees either. No bird-like aliens flitting between the startlingly Earth-like trees, no squirrel-aliens climbing up and down the trunks. Again, nothing.

"HELLO!"

The yell startled everyone in the platoon. Mercer turned to look at the offender. Dawes' voice echoed back to them as the marksman grinned at his squad leader. Chaffin was behind Dawes, also grinning. Fulmer leaned forward and smacked Dawes upside the back of the helmet.

"Dumbass." Fulmer grumbled. "Startled the shit out of me." She said as she turned back to continue covering her sector.

"Semper Vigilantes." Dawes replied to their medic with a wink.

"Semper shove it up your ass-es." Fulmer replied. All eyes turned when they saw Pops walking towards them. The Gunnery Sergeant's face may as well have been carved of stone, but there was a fire behind his eyes. Pops crossed through first squad and stepped right up to Dawes, grabbing the younger Marine by the front of his vest.

"The fuck are you trying to pull here?" Pops snarled. The old Marine's aggression caught Dawes off guard, and in a rare moment of uncertainty, he didn't have a smart-ass remark to fire back with. "I know you think because of our little camping trip that this ain't shit, but we don't know what the fuck's out there. What if there is a hostile force somewhere around here? You just alerted everything within a couple of miles that someone who ain't them is here." Pops held Dawes at arm's length and pointed a finger in the man's face. With Pops, that was just as dangerous as a loaded pistol. "You do some dumb shit like that again, and I'm going to kick your ass myself. Check?"

"Uh…yeah." Dawes said, shaken by the encounter.

"What?" Pops asked.

"Y…yes, Gunnery Sergeant." Dawes replied. With that, Pops released Dawes and stormed back to where Lieutenant Fick and Rook stood with their platoon's assigned WY advisor.

"Wow." Chaffin said. "He was mad."

"Chaffin, shut the fuck up." Mercer said. The Private looked at his squad leader, his expression confused and hurt. "Both of you need to tighten it the fuck up." He said to both Dawes and Chaffin. "We're on a mission, you know that. I don't know what the fuck either of your malfunctions are, but get it fixed. Now. Otherwise your lives are going to get real miserable once we're off this rock. Check?"

"Check." Both said. Chaffin looked downcast, and Dawes was still recovering from what must have felt like a brush with death. Mercer returned to scanning his sector. His headset squelched for a moment before a transmission came through.

"Squad leaders, on me." Pops' voice came through the speakers. Mercer stood and looked at Fulmer, who nodded. Mercer passed through second squad and reached where the platoon leadership had set up. Lieutenant Fick was consulting a tablet, which displayed geographic data pulled from drone scans. Eberwein and Laraquente looked up as Mercer joined them.

"Was that Dawes?" Laraquente asked.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Mercer said.

"Spooked the hell out of my squad." Laraquente said. "Thought for sure that Rendar and Titov were going to go cyclic." He said, referring to first platoon's gunners, who'd been attached to his squad for this patrol.

"He's a dumbass. It'll be fixed." Mercer said. Pops cleared his throat, and all eyes were up towards the Platoon Sergeant and Commander.

"Okay, here's what's up." Lieutenant Fick said, looking up from the map on his tablet. "The source of the signal is about three miles from here. From what this tells me, and what we can see." He gestured ahead of them, where the rolling fields gave way to a thick forest, and the gradient steepened visibly. "We've got a hell of a movement ahead of us. Keep your spacing but tighten it up so we maintain visual contact. First squad, you set the pace. No sense in rushing only to have someone fall and break something. Check?" Affirmations all around. "Alright. We'll take five to swap out socks and powder feet. Sergeant Mercer, your squad will lead us out."

"Roger that, sir." Mercer said. With that, the squad leaders dispersed.

Five minutes later, the platoon was up and moving. As punishment for their collective dumbassery, Mercer had put Dawes on the column's point, and Chaffin in the automatic rifleman's position behind and to the left of Dawes. Wilkins and Fulmer took the right side of the wedge, and Mercer trailed in the squad leader position.

The sunlight they'd been enjoying disappeared into shade as they crossed into the ever-thickening forest. Soon enough it was so dense that almost no direct sunlight was able to break through the thick canopy of overlapping pine-like branches. Along with the thick, gnarled roots underfoot, the patrol was greeted by steeper, more difficult terrain. Soon they were leaning forward, using non-firing hands to grab handholds and pull themselves along. More than a few sections had them hiking sideways to circumnavigate what may as well have been sheer cliff faces of loose dirt and knotted roots.

All movement stopped when there was a loud CRACK that cut through the forest. Marines froze in place, rifles snapped up, and eyes scanned for any indication of a threat. Nothing. Other than the gust of wind and the measured breathing of Marines catching their breath from the climb, the forest was quiet.

After a few minutes of scanning, and for another water break, they continued. With their eyes focused up and outwards, none of the Marines noticed the dark, mold-like substance that ran like dark tendrils intertwined with the hard grass and knotted root systems the humans were walking across. Budding from this soft, black mold were tiny ovoids that were crushed underfoot without so much as a second thought. The small ones simply shriveled and disintegrated, while some of the larger ones leaked a dark, viscous liquid. The ovoids that were older had grown to the side of an Earth orange. It was one of these that was not hidden among the grass and roots that caught Dawes' attention.

"Hey." Dawes said, tapping Chaffin's chest. Chaffin looked, and Dawes pointed. Out of a combination of boredom and pettiness born from his dressing down by Pops and Mercer's assigning him as point man, Dawes stepped forward and kicked the ovoid as hard as he could. The shell-like skin cracked with a dry ripping sound. As the mold-covered sphere shriveled, it sprayed a black liquid in all directions. Some of the liquid landed on the offending boot, which Dawes snickered at. Chaffin caught the brunt of the spray, which coated up his uniform pants and across his vest.

"Come on, man." Chaffin groaned upon seeing the dark liquid that he was sure would stain his uniform and equipment. "Dawes, you asshole." Dawes just sneered at the junior Marine.

"Lock it up and keep moving." Mercer said from behind them. They did so, leaving the shriveled ovoid behind without a second thought.

None of them were aware of the millions of nearly-microscopic motes that had been released along with the dark liquid that now covered Chaffin. They seemed to hover in-place, refusing to be moved by any external force. Those that did notice them waved gloved hands through the clouds as if shooing away a cloud of gnats. The clouds moved around the larger fingers, seemingly dissipating.

Driven by something less than attraction but greater than instinct, the motes began to coalesce into small clouds. Having been woken from their long sleep, they began to draw closer. When they reached their destination, an even more unseen action occurred. A tube formed, eggs were deposited.

An ear canal, a nostril, a tear duct; wherever seemed most appropriate to an entity not driven by logic or reason.

Then, just as quickly as they formed, the clouds of motes disappeared. Those who had been visited by the clouds unconsciously reached up to itch or rub the areas where the eggs had been deposited, unaware of the new presence within themselves. On they marched, having no idea of the microscopic life cycles that had started, ended, and continued by their inadvertent hands.