chapter Seven, Deja-Vu, is continued from above......
Blinding snow swirled around the vast grey passenger ship as it slowly alighted on the landing pad above the loading bays of the Arachnid Complex. The layers of fluff here hadn't been disturbed in months, since the planet wasn't exactly the main concourse of Coalition commerce. The Niveus Corporation had built this and several other stations on the remote ice planet called "Pluth". Much interesting work had been done in them by Coalition and corporate scientists alike.
A series of unfortunate events had occurred several years back, that had resulted in the closure and quarantine of most of the Pluth stations. One incident was related to experiments with the dark energy that humans had taken from the Origin Nexus. The Lucifer corp. had attempted to design a form of 'hand-cannon' that employed the tremendous power of dark energy. Early tests were promising, but progress was slow as the design teams kept underestimating the blast radius, and were consecutively replaced. The weapon itself, codenamed the Lucifer Cannon, had all but been dismissed as a functional alternative to the age-old grenade launcher, partly due to instability, and the constant lack of dark energy used to fuel it.
Other incidents had taken the form of explosions attributed to corporate espionage, and a number of devastating alien incursions had rendered personnel and equipment null and void. Only now, after extensive robotic probing, certain stations were being opened for operation. One of three specifically bio-science-oriented stations, Arachnid 1 (or Arachnid, as most called it), had been selected by the Lucifer Corp. as the sight of the proposed alien testing.
Roslyn stretched as she walked down the service ramp onto the tarmac, then quickly closed her arms around herself as she felt how cold it was. She waited impatiently as the servicemen defrosted a control console that hid below several years of ice and snow.
Such a hideous place... thought Roslyn. They were supposed to put the aliens through their paces, but not kill them outright. Or perhaps she was underestimating them again.
Best not to do that, she thought to herself.
The servicemen had finally melted enough ice to push the buttons that needed pushing, and a low, terrible groaning noise joined with the swirling as a huge bay door slid away, revealing a dark, subterranean room with numerous cargo lifts and mountains of unmarked crates. A burst of warm, stagnant air escaped, throwing snow and noses up and away.
"That's right. Things die here,"a technician told her with dark cheerfulness. Then,
"Hello Sir. Everything's in order, unloading will begin as soon as we've cleared the facility."
"And why," said Professor Wetz in a deep voice, "hasn't this been done yet? We landed half-an-hour ago.
"I'm sorry, sir, but orders are for the Remdann security-persons to evaluate the facility for safety before we can let you in. And they haven't landed yet," he said, but indicated two growing shadows that were materializing out of the snowfall.
"Considering what they're being payed, you'd think they'd be running a tighter operation," said Wetz sourly. He turned and began to walk back into the ship.
"Notify me when they have finished, please."
"Yes, Sir!" said the technician, enthusiastically. Roslyn rolled her eyes and shivered.
"I'm Richard," he said, turning to her with eyes that smiled a little too widely.
"I'm Carrie," she replied, and turned for the ship herself.
"I thought -", he began.
"Middle name. Friends only." She hurried into the ship. It was so cold out here.
He was still looking after her when the hatch closed. Nice to finally meet you, he said to himself.
Jake, Gill and Marty were all part of the same squad. That meant that they marched together, ate together, fought together, and died together. And they were just fine with that. There was also John, but he didn't say much.
Their shuttle dropped quickly onto the landing pad, dwarfed by the great cargo ship. Alongside them, shuttles were landing from the other destroyer as well, the troops ready to scour the facility and set up camp.
Marty, the Mec-1 or squad leader, stood in front of them as they lined up in the snow. Farther down the line, other squads lined up to receive their orders.
"Here's the story," Marty began. "This facility was probed two months ago by Remdann Electronic Spies. They found minor biosigns, probably stray dretches, and nothing else of import. Our job is to weed these out, if they are still alive, and to secure the facility. Then we will remain with the civilian team for the duration of their month-long stay."
Gill began to raise his hand.
"Orders. It's a formality for the records, okay?" Marty told him directly. "You didn't think it would all be glamor and glory, did you?"
Gill quieted down, visibly pissed off.
"We clear on this? Any questions? John?" Marty joked. The others let out a chuckle and John grinned slightly.
"Good. You've been briefed, we'll await the orders of the Mec-2 to move out."
They stood at attention as well as they could in the ankle-high, gusting snow. Finally, once all squads had been briefed, the Mec-2 transmitted the orders to move out. The landing bay slid open again, and the soldiers slid down metal cables into the darkness one after another.
"Okay, men, it's our job to get the lights on, that's one floor down. Jake, take point."
"Yes sir!" Jake started off down a long hallway, the other following. They had their rifles at the ready, sidearms, and the Mec-1 had a throwing knife that was more a status symbol than a tool.
"Floorplan says take a left at the junction." said Marty.
"Where's that?" said Jake, squinting through a pair of night-vision goggles.
"Twenty paces," replied Marty. "Who's got the scanner?"
No one answered.
"Good, John's got it. I trust him over any one of you."
"Turning left!" notified Jake, having reached the intersection. He walked hard into a solid wall of crates, upsetting several of the topmost boxes and making a general ruckus. Two bodies crashed into him from behind.
"This is stupid," complained Jake, rubbing his head. "I can't see a thing. Why don't we have flashlights?" The others looked at him, grumbling.
"Well?" he pressed.
"There will be no flashlights," Marty said in a godlike monotone.
Jake let a sigh out and took the scanner from John.
"It's the next junction, not this one," he corrected, breathing heavily. A box that had been grandstanding on the edge fell loudly, breaking and spilling its anonymous contents. They all jumped. The other squads were out of sight and hearing now.
"Okay, let's get moving."
They went on, turning at the junction, and passed through more bays full of stacked boxes, crates and containers. Finally they arrived at a long, gradual ramp that led into blackness.
"This is it, the generators are down there. Now, who wants to go first?" Marty may have been joking, and may not have been.
"Heck wid' it." snorted Gill, and started off down the ramp, rifle held in a firing position. The others fell in behind him.
"John, I want you up front with Gill. Otherwise we'd have no way of knowing if you got nabbed." John shrugged, and moved up in the line.
"Is he mute?" whispered Jake, checking the crevasses in the ceiling.
"No." said John suddenly.
"That's good to know," Jake said.
The scanner beeped.
"Twelve-thirty, multiple contacts!" Jake announced in a hushed voice.
"Awwww, dey're cute!" said Gill.
They had come upon a gathering of three or four dretches at the bottom of the ramp. There was a huge room beyond them. The dretches did not attack or scurry away, just parted and looked at the humans curiously.
"Musta been without an OM for too long," observed Gill roughly. "Hey, little guy...c'mere! I won't hurt ya..." he coaxed the nearest bug with wiggling fingers. It didn't move. Gill stepped closer.
"That's it...come to Papa!" with a sudden motion, Gill stepped firmly onto the dretch with his full weight. The alien burst like a pinata, mucous and guts painting a fan on the metal deck plating. The other dretches exclaimed fearfully in insectoid jitterings, and sped away.
"Nice, Gill, now you go chase them," Marty said dryly. "We could have had them. What did you want, an autographed photo?"
"No problem, Sir." said Gill in a low voice.
Marty shook his head. "Fan out, cover the room. We'll meet on the other side at the generators. When we've - "
He was interrupted by shots from Gill's rifle, aimed into the darkness. A moment later they heard the splat of a small, falling body.
"Nice," said John, startling all of them.
"Looks like competition," said Marty aside to Jake, as they began to separate. Gill grinned and pretended to chew something messily.
All right! Jake thought to himself. Level One, target practice with retarded bugs.... He moved toward the left wall of the room.
"Got more contacts, the original three and two more on Jake's side," called Marty softly, who had taken the scanner. Jake braced himself and walked along the wall, checking every platform and pillar for hiding dretches. This was certainly a strange room. As he passed another row of pillars, he looked up.
A streak of red filled his night-vision. He raised his rifle, but wasn't fast enough. He was knocked sideways by something with serious momentum, and felt a large claw pass through his armor like hot butter. Part of his shoulder pad fell away dreamily, the razor-sharp claw barely missing his skin. Adrenaline blurred his vision and clouded his hearing.
From where he fell, he faced the red blur and squeezed off a dozen blind shots. The muzzle flashes illuminated the room, and drew the attention of the others.
"I see it!" called Marty, and he and John both took a knee and fired single shots at the alien. Moving fast, it didn't stop at the wall, but began to bound up it as if it were still moving across a level floor. Sparks lit it up from near misses as it kept its unreal movement tack. Jake struggled up and held down the trigger, praying for a hit. Several rounds seemed to pierce the red alien, but they did nothing to slow it down. It reached a high platform over the generators and crashed through a vent, out of sight.
Jake breathed a big sigh of relief and reached for another clip. His hand met with stinging pain halfway down, and he cursed loudly as a dretch dug through his glove. Dropping the rifle from his other hand, he reached for his service pistol, grabbed it, and fired into the bug. The bullet tore the small alien to shreds, but also clipped his finger on the way out.
"AAaaah, shit!" cried Jake carelessly as his blood mixed with alien goo. "DAMMIT!" He reached for a small pack on his belt, pulled out a syringe, and thrust it into his arm above his wounded hand. If anything, the effects of the drug were more painful than the bite, but at least the wound began to foam and close in what seemed fast-motion. Jake held his breath, sweating heavily. The others had arrived at his side.
"That," said Jake haltingly, "was not, a dretch."
"No kidding," said Marty, assessing the damage. "The signals have vanished, so we sent them running. Our priority is the generators. Can you stand?"
Jake stood up painfully, discarding the syringe and torn glove.
"Respect it," he waved his pistol shakily, trying to smile. Marty clapped him on the back, and they walked the rest of the way toward the generators.
"You know, this would never have happened if we had had flashlights," Jake couldn't help but bring up.
"There will be no flash- " Marty began, but Jake cut him off.
"If you say that one more time. . ."
"You'll what?" said Marty, grinning crookedly. They had reached the large, cylindrical engines that powered the station.
"Where's the 'on' button?" asked Gill loudly.
"There," said Marty, pointing to a console. "You've gotta prime it first with that crank-handle."
Gill slung his rifle over his shoulder and began to crank the handle clockwise until he heard a beep. Then he pulled up on a toggle that said simply, "Main Power".
For a moment, nothing happened. Then a loud humming noise began, and lights came on everywhere. The room was flooded with light, revealing the bullet holes and blood splotches of the last minute. Marty walked over to a com station on the near wall. He picked up the antiquated mouthpiece and spoke into it.
"This is R-Squad, reporting in. The Power is on."
Two tries later, "We read you R-Squad. Good work. Head back to camp for debrief."
"Yes, Sir," Marty said crisply.
They began to make their way back up the ramp, toward the main hold.
"Could have been worse," Gill tried to console Jake. "You coulda lost your hand. Imagine where you'd be then."
Jake thought of someone he knew who had lost a bodypart, and didn't relish the thought. Oh, well. At least she wasn't in this hell-hole.
