Today marks the first significant snowfall of
November in Ottawa, and what better way to enjoy a cold winter’s evening than
by bundling up with a blanket and a mug of rich, creamy hot chocolate and
reading the latest installment in the Annotated Aliens versus Predator: The Story? Buckle up.
A
group of eight Worker Aliens spread hive webbing along the cavern walls,
enlarging the Master Hive. The stringy-black liquid sprayed out from their
backside spines, hardening as it hit the air.
God that bit is unintentionally creepy.
Suddenly,
KA-BLAM.
Man, I miss when I thought writing sound effects in
all caps was cool. KA-BLAM indeed.
The
Hive wall exploded, killing two of the Aliens and knocking the others across
the small cave. Immediately, two Weyland-Yutani Corporate soldiers rushed in
pulse rifles at ready.
“Knock,
knock,” one of them said. They shot the remaining six Aliens dead, and gave the
‘All Clear’ sign.
“Who’s there?”
“Genocide!”
“This is the worst joke.”
Knowing
that all was safe, Eisenberg and Rykov strolled in, the doctor kicking aside to
of the dead extra-terrestrials.
“Well,
that was fun,” he said. “Very entertaining, in my opinion. Don’t you think, general?”
“Hmm,
the blast killed too little, but it will do,” Rykov scoffed. The two soldiers
who had first entered the cave came back from their search.
Rykov was so emotionally numbed by his spinal
injury he couldn’t smile unless he knew he had caused the deaths of at least
five sentient beings that day.
“The
next few passages are clear,” one of them said. “If the Hive Team was right,
this tunnel should lead us to the Royal Chamber if we follow it.”
“Excellent.
Send the next three squads out,” the doctor ordered. “General, this will be a
night to remember.”
“I
should believe so.”
I like to think there would be better times and
places to break out the champagne, but then again I’m not raiding an Alien
world.
“Errraagghh!”
Rykov twitched and growled for a moment, getting Eisenberg’s undivided
attention.
“Is
there something wrong, general?” the doctor asked.
“This
medication you gave me, it’s crap!”
I’m really liking the idea that every authority
figure in my work of fiction is either drunk, buzzed or in a state of
withdrawal. It really explains a lot of the executive decisions at play.
“I’m
sorry, general, but I’m a doctor of exobiology, not medicine. I told you not to
expect the same effects as your normal painkillers made by the labs.”
“OK,
OK. Just try to find me an actual surviving surgeon, because this pain could
make me rip the arm off someone.”
Eisenberg’s
right forearm twitched. “Oh, well, I know you wouldn’t go that far, but I’ll
try to find some remaining doctors.”
As Insane Clown Posse once said, “There’s
foreshadowing up in this bitch.”
“Good.
Now, let’s see if our Predator ally has any more news about the rebellious
Marines,” Rykov started, switching on his headset. “Dark-Hunter, how are you
doing?”
“Not
good at all,” the bounty hunter said. “The Marine transport - it’s gone!”
“What?!”
Rykov asked.
A
couple kilometers away, near the ridge where the APC used to be parked,
Dark-Hunter and his men searched the clearing.
“Let
me put it this way,” Dark-Hunter explained in an ice-cold voice, as usual. “You
completely underestimated these Marines. I’d think you would have been smarter
than to let them be.”
“Then why did I even hire you?”
“Well,
you can’t expect too much from us, as we can’t from you,” said Eisenberg. “I
mean, we’ve barely learned about the other specie.”
“Speak
for yourself. My people have been hunting your for the past thousand years,”
Dark-Hunter objected. “Over and out.” He switched off his comlink and looked
around, finally deciding that there were no Marines around. “Something seems
seriously wrong here.”
“Also, awkwaarrrd.”
After
over two hours of walking, Harrison, Jimrakh and Swift-Death arrived outside the
main entrance into the Hive.
Segways might have helped.
The
main entrance was impassable for humans and Predators, a useful Alien defense
against intruders. It appeared that the closest entrance was a large hole,
blasted in the wall.
“Looks
like this is our only way in,” Harrison said, examining the passage behind the
hole.
“Then
let’s get on our way,” Swift-Death suggested, as he loaded a clip into his
Spear-Gun. He was just about to take a step into the cavern, when Jimrakh laid
a hand on the Predator’s shoulder.
“No.
Take a look inside, first,” the Alien objected. After five seconds of
searching, Harrison and Swift-Death saw a device, 15 metres away, with a
blinking green light.
“Hey,
that’s a Trap Bomb,” Harrison said.
Man, munitions naming practices have really lost
their edge by the 22nd century.
“How
does it get set off?” Swift-Death asked the human.
“Electromagnetic
readings. Anything that has to do with EM energy will set off an eight-second
timer. You’d never be able to run to the other side of the bomb in time.”
“That
means you can’t come in,” Swift-Death said.
“That
also means you can’t come in, too,” Jimrakh spoke. “Every one of us gives off
some amount of EM energy. Though a small amount, a human’s energy could set the
bomb off.”
At long last, we might have some tension!
“Then
what do we do?” questioned Harrison.
“I
pounce over to the bomb, and shut it off,” the Alien replied. “How can I
disable it?”
“There’s
a black cord right below the LED display. You cut it, the green light will turn
red and the bomb will shut down,” Harrison explained.
“Good.
Wish me luck,” Jimrakh said. He pounced 15 metres to land right in front of the
explosive. Immediately, the bomb’s timer started to tick down. He slashed the
black wire in half, with five seconds left.
Well, so much for that.
“Done!”
he shouted. “You’re going to be thanking me for the rest of your life since I
was able to pull that off.”
“Don’t
get your hopes up,” said Harrison. “Knowing the Company, they probably rigged a
few more of these babies. Plus, you have to do some smooth-talking to get us
past your Alien brothers. They won’t be so pleased with joining our crusade,
unlike you were.”
“Me?
I’m still reluctant as Hell in doing this.”
“Stop
squabbling,” Swift-Death growled. “There will be more explosives soon.”
“OK,
OK,” Harrison grumbled. “Four-Jaws.”
“I
take that as a compliment,” Jimrakh said.
Exchanges like this make me really, really wish I had gotten over my fear of
swearing earlier.
The
three continued further, and as Harrison expected, there were three more bombs.
All of them were disarmed without problem.
And then they got to the Empress before Eisenberg
and Rykov and had the bad guys arrested and all three species lived happily
ever afterSERIOUSLY WHERE’S THE SUSPENSE?!?
Suddenly,
they came into a huge chamber. Pillars of webbing stretched from floor to wall,
wall to ceiling, and ceiling to floor. An architect could call it beautiful.
Which is why no one lets H.R. Giger design
buildings.
“This
is where we make a compromise with my brethren,” Jimrakh declared.
“Where?
I don’t see shit,” Harrison complained. Suddenly, Jimrakh growled a word in
Alien, and suddenly…
So suddenly.
…the
chamber started to change. One by one, hive-like bodies detached them selves
from the walls and columns. Warrior Aliens dropped from their hidings spots
onto the floor, where Swift-Death and Harrison looked on in amazement.
“That
there,” Swift-Death pointed out to Harrison, “that was messed up.”
That coming from a creature that regular hunts,
kills and removes the skulls of various species.
Just
then, five Aliens advanced toward Harrison and Swift-Death. They opened their
mouths and prepared their inner set of jaws, but Jimrakh blocked them in due
time. The Alien spoke harshly at the Aliens in his language. He then shouted
the same words, so that every Alien could hear. The five potential attackers
closed their mouths, snarled, and slunk away.
“What
was that supposed to mean?” Swift-Death said.
“I
just told them that you are allied with me. In other words, my brothers won’t
be able to do shit to you.”
Wait, is Jimrakh actually extraterrestrial Shaft?
“He’s a complicated bug/Who no one understands
except his Empress./Jim Rakh!”
There
was a blaze of pulse rifle fire, and in two seconds, a hive wall was knocked
down. The seven Worker Aliens who were attending to the Empress got up and ran
toward the hole. Before they could reach it, five soldiers, including two
androids, ran up to the Empress and pointed their weapons at her. The drones
growled and backed down.
After
the commotion had settled, Rykov and Eisenberg entered the Royal Chamber. Both
looked in awe at the Empress hanging from the ceiling. At two metres taller and
three times more intelligent than any Queen, the Empress was truly the goddess
of Aliens.
“Beautiful,
isn’t she?” Eisenberg said in awe.
Eisenberg licked his lips. Rykov eyed him warily.
Pictured: Allan Eisenberg
“She
is large,” Rykov replied. “And being large gives one power.”
“It
isn’t just that. Her intelligence gives her almost mind-control over her
minions. Without it, the Alien ‘society’ would crumble.”
“They
have a society?”
“Never
mind that. If we get this Empress off planet, the Aliens won’t know what to do,
and they’ll kill themselves off.”
I just realized my explanation for the Empress’
importance is maybe the one instance in fiction—Hell, of known history and
sociology—where a hive mind enabled the individual thought and decision making
of all of its constituents. What the Hell?
“Why
aren’t there any eggs here?”
“Since
the Empress is in command of all the Aliens, she has the minor Queens do the
breeding,” Eisenberg explained. “Soldiers, cut her ‘ropes’ and put her in the
truck.”
“Yes
sir,” one soldier said. He pulled out a long rifle and shot a tranquilizer dart
out of it. It plucked the Empress in the neck without hitting any of her outer
chitin. She was knocked out in only a few moments.
“Excellent,”
the doctor said, as giddy as a schoolgirl.
Rykov, even more uneasy, took a couple steps away
from the scientist.
The
androids shot their pulse rifles again, cutting the rope-like webbing that held
the Empress to the ceiling. She fell five metres to the ground without waking
up. The androids, using their extreme strength, picked up the Empress and
lowered her onto the truck’s flatbed trailer.
“Shall
we be off?” Eisenberg asked Rykov.
“Make
it so,” the general replied. They hopped into the cabin of the truck, which
started up and drove out through the other entrance into the chamber.
If this scene has any redeeming qualities, it’s
that I now imagine Rykov is basically Russian Jean-Luc Picard.
Half
and hour later, Jimrakh, Harrison, Swift-Death and the four Aliens reached the
Royal Chamber, only to discover dead Workers, cut webbing and tire tracks in
the muck.
“We’re
too late,” Jimrakh groaned. “They have already taken the Empress.”
“That’s
quite obvious, unless you took us down the wrong tunnel,” Swift-Death growled.
“Well,
from this map Ivan gave me, they’re heading for the Auxiliary Landing Complex.
They’ll have to wait a while for their dropship to get there,” Harrison said,
looking at a map on his mini-computer. “We can cut through this thing Tomiko
calls the Artifact. Don’t know what it is, but the Company extraction vehicle
can’t go through it.”
“Then
come on!” Jimrakh shouted. He ran out the main entrance into the chamber, and
scuttled down a secluded tunnel.
“Yo,
Need for Speed, we don’t take Crack so wait up!” Harrison hollered down the
tunnel.
…I know I say this a lot but what the Hell was
wrong with me?
The
six ran after the Alien, who had a good head start on them. As they finished
running down the tunnel, they emerged into a huge cavern, three times as tall
as the Royal Chamber. It was unlike any cavern they had seen before. It was
perfectly rounded and symmetrical, and it appeared to be made out of green
biomechanical material, unlike the Hive webbing.
“What
the Hell is this?” Harrison asked. Jimrakh, who had also been standing, looking
in awe at the structure they were in, hurried toward the rest of the group.
“We
are in a Pilot ship!” he exclaimed.
“What?”
Swift-Death and Harrison questioned.
“The
Pilots! You know, who brought my species here. Amazing!”
“Completely impertinent to the rest of the plot but
still! Amazing!”
As
they ran down the huge cavern, Swift-Death paused, turned around, and headed
for another corridor that lead into the Pilot ship.
“Where
the Hell are you going?” Jimrakh asked.
“Something
else has come up. I must be going now,” Swift-Death explained. “So long.”
“But.
. . I don’t under. . . ah, he’s going to get himself killed,” Harrison said,
shrugging it off.
So, if we’re going with the space-It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia concept
I mentioned a while back, I think Jimrakh is Dennis, Harrison is Mac and
Swift-Death is Charlie.
As the
group continued down their chosen path, Swift-Death raced down the tunnel he
had picked.
“I can
sense you,” the Predator said. “You can’t hide.”
Ahhhh Christ, not this revenge thing again.
In
another part of the Hive, the extraction convoy was making its way though the
corridors. Just then, Rykov unlocked his door and jumped out of the truck.
“What
the?” Eisenberg exclaimed. “Stop the truck!” He followed Rykov to the back of
the trailer, where he unlocked a locker behind the tied-up Empress.
“What
are you doing?” Eisenberg asked.
“There
is something I must attend to. They are matters of my own,” Rykov said.
Seriously, did I give Rykov and Swift-Death a
telepathic connection or something?
“That’s
crazy. You have no idea how many other Aliens are in this Hive, waiting for
someone like you.”
“I’ll
be okay,” the general reassured. He opened the locker and lifted a collapsible
exo-suit out. He pressed a button on it, and the machine unfolded. The general
climbed inside and closed himself in. “Just wait up for me at the landing pad.
I will be finished soon.”
Eisenberg
stared as Rykov marched away in the exo-suit and walked into another tunnel. He
shook his head and walked back toward the cabin of the truck.
“Everyone
seems to want to get themselves killed, nowadays,” he complained.
…said the Alien fetishist. I know that really isn’t
a point against his argument, but I felt that needed to be brought up.
So the cards are all in place for the final act,
the lines have been drawn in the sand, and nobody is still making any sense. Sounds
like a good enough time to leave it until next month.
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