[Ain'tGotTime2Bleed]

Chapter 9: “I Prefer The Term Artificial Person.”

They had made their way to the entrance that they had created when all five xeno slayers had arrived, sunlight relentlessly bombarding their eyes causing them to squint and clench them closed. When they finally adjusted to the brightness, they could see the entirety of the clearing, the trees all around it, and a sea of black on the horizon; xenomorphs, unmoving, dead. The faint outline of the large, grey drop ship was visible a kilometre away. They stood in the hole in the side of the massive ship, gazing around at the outside world, at the trees and grass and natural light. It was, even with all the dead xenomorphs and the possibility of many more, a beautiful sight, such a drastic change from the pitch black, claustrophobic hallways of the infested Nostradamus 8. They stood, Malone with his pulse rifle and Leonard with his swords, just basking in the warmth of the sun.
It was then that they heard the roar; Shi’Vai’s victory cry.
“It killed the fucking queen!?” asked Leonard incredulously.
“Well, I’m not going to find out,” said Malone, straightening his stance and gripping his weapon tightly. “Let’s go.”
They jumped from the ship and hit the ground running, helmets bobbing up and down, equipment thrashing around on their straps, and yet they didn’t stop. The long grass was flattened as they ran, the trees whirring by. They were exhausted, completely worn out both emotionally and physically, so much so that Malone didn’t even have a cigar in his mouth.
They made good speed, pushing themselves to the limit. In several minutes, even weighed down by all their equipment, they made it to he piles of dead xenomorphs. They immediately slowed down, gingerly stepping over the bodies, scanning for survivors. They were confident that, if any xenomorphs were faking and attempted to assault them, the special turrets would take care of the problem. Their only concern was getting in the crossfire. So, as quickly and as carefully as they could, they made their way through the dead and broken bodies and charred ground until they reached the turrets. They both walked between the space separating two turrets to get to the untouched grass beyond, where the drop ship was parked. The door was open and the inside intact with no sign of a xenomorph presence. They stepped confidently inside and secured the door tightly, locks clamping into place.
The drop ship was almost exactly as they had left it. Nothing in the main seating bay had been moved or changed.
“We fucking made it,” said Leonard, laughing with relief. “We actually fucking made it!” Malone smiled in response, taking out a celebratory cigar and lighting it in his mouth, an expression of utter ecstasy spreading over his face as he inhaled that first whiff of smoke.
“You know, I managed to steal some champagne from a refrigerator back at headquarters,” said Malone. “Been storing it for my own personal use. But now seems like the perfect time to get piss fucking drunk.”
“Aye, sir!” yelled Leonard enthusiastically, smiling from ear to ear.
“I’ll go…” started Malone, before pausing and looking inquisitively at the ground behind where Leonard was standing, the ground which lead to the cockpit.
“What is it?” asked Leonard, turning around to follow the General’s gaze. What he saw was a thin trail of white fluid, random drips spattered about, yet ultimately leading towards the cockpit.
“Is that xeno-spit?” asked Leonard quietly, on edge as he turned to the General.
“Taste it,” ordered Malone just as quietly. Reluctantly, Leonard obliged. He took two fingers and put a little of the fluid on each, the liquid slowly dripping into the gap between his two fingers. He then placed them in his mouth and tasted it.
“Well, isn’t that a welcome surprise,” said Leonard/
“What is it?”
“Milk.”
“Milk?” asked Malone incredulously. “What the fuck brought milk onto…” he stopped suddenly, eyes widening in realization.
“What is it, sir?”
“There’s a mother fucking synthetic on board the ship,” said Malone.
“Holy shit,” replied Leonard. “Who do you think sent it? When do you think it got here? HOW do you think it got here?”
“Only one way to find out,” said Malone. “We follow the bread trail.” Leonard stood up and armed himself with one of his swords, before slowly walking towards the cockpit after the General. They made it to the door, and Malone silently motioned for Leonard to open it. As he moved forward to obey, the General took up an offensive position, gun pointed at the entrance.
The door hissed open as Leonard finished typing in the access code. They were greeted by a puddle of milk. But what really caught their attention was the pilot’s seat.
The android was sitting in the pilot’s seat, back turned to them, typing quickly and noisily into the onboard computer. Malone motioned for Leonard to enter with him. They walked carefully inside, making no noise whatsoever. The only sound came from the incessant typing of the android.
When they were within two feet of the pilot’s seat, Malone pointed his gun at the artificial person’s head, whilst Leonard brought his sword back, ready to swing a lethal blow.
“Who the fuck are you, what are you doing on this ship, and who sent you!?” asked Malone harshly. “Try ANYTHING, anything at all, and we’ll blow you synthetic brains out.”
“That wouldn’t be very nice,” said the android, not turning around, but stopping his typing. “After all these years I never thought it’d be YOU who killed me, General.”
“What the fuck do you mean, ‘all these years’?” asked Malone. The android slowly swivelled its chair until it was facing them. When they saw the face both men lowered their weapons but stayed on high alert, ready to attack should the robot try anything stupid.
“Julius?” asked Leonard incredulously. “You’re an android?”
“Combat synthetic version 1.0,” said Julius calmly. His chest was blown wide open, wires hanging down from his upper half, milk dripping constantly. “Weyland-Yutani saw great potential in the program you started, General, and wanted someone on the inside to study the Internecivus Raptus. They have learned copious amounts of information from me concerning their habits, lifecycle, hierarchy, biology and combat tactics. I even managed to bring them several dead bodies! It was far easier to send a combat synthetic in to study them in action than to risk lawsuits sending people in to capture one alive, what with deaths and all.”
“But you’ve killed more xenomorphs than me,” said Leonard. “If you’re here to study them, why kill so many?”
“Every mission we’ve been on has been recorded and sent back to Weyland-Yutani for study,” said Julius calmly.
“Fucking sneaky bastards,” said Malone, diligently smoking his cigar.
“However,” said Julius, “Their interests have recently changed to another species, as deadly or, dare I say it, deadlier than the xenomorphs.”
“Those monsters with the mandibles!” exclaimed Leonard.
“Ah, you saw them as well,” said Julius. “Weyland-Yutani came across records from hundreds of years ago of these creatures visiting earth. In 1987, a team of rescue specialists, perhaps the world’s best, were killed one by one. There were two survivors, each making claims of an alien life form.”
“It was them, wasn’t it?” asked Malone.
“It was the creatures that waylaid us and gave me this…unfortunate injury,” said Julius, motioning at the hole in his chest. “Then, in 1991, one of them came to Los Angeles, California, Earth. It killed numerous people, and yet still no one believed these aliens existed. In 2004, Mr. Charles Bishop Weyland, the founder of Weyland industries, found a pyramid buried far below some Antarctic ice. It housed xenomorphs, which turned out to be bred for these creatures’s hunting purposes. Suffice to say, all but one woman died on that voyage.”
“These things hunt xenomorphs for sport?” asked Leonard. “Holy Fuck!!!”
“Continuing on,” said Julius, eyeing Leonard cautiously. “Several weeks later, a small town in Colorado was invaded by xenomorphs. Once again, the four survivors made claims which almost exactly match those of the previously mentioned survivors. And, we have reason to believe these creatures have been hunting xenos on earth for thousands of years.”
“There was a massive one which killed a queen...” said Malone, letting the statement hang.
“Ah, yes, Dawkins and I encountered that charming fellow. Eight feet tall?” Malone nodded. “Yes, he seems to be their leader. Dawkins and I killed one of the three that attacked us, meaning there’s still two out there…”
“No,” interrupted Leonard. “There’s only one. Mort killed the other. We saw its body on the way out, Mort’s knife on the ground beside it, covered in green blood. Seems as though the eight foot guy killed Mort afterwards.”
“Mort was a good, tough soldier,” said Julius, his face expressionless and calculating. “Now, as you have probably already witness first hand, these creatures have weapons and technology far beyond human capabilities.”
“Evident in that hole in you chest,” said Malone.
“Precisely. Their shoulder weapons seem to be plasma based, easily cutting through my flesh and innards. I managed to take the weapon from the one Dawkins and I killed.”
“WHAT!?” asked Malone incredulously. “Where is it?”
“It is safe in this ship,” said Julius, still calm. “They don’t have tracking devices on it, so we’re safe…for now. Now, I have some information you might find helpful in your mission. The miners…”
“We’re not finishing out mission, we’ve lost two men already!” exclaimed Leonard.
“Yes, you are,” said Julius. “Colonial Marine code dictates all missions must be completed unless ordered otherwise, on penalty of death.”
“You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” said Leonard, throwing his arms up in the air and rolling his eyes. “Did you know anything about this, sir?”
“Yes,” replied Malone.
“You knew about this?” he asked again, incredulous.
“Oh, the General knows all about it,” said Julius. “In fact, he added that little snippet to the USCM code himself. Made the commitment more, shall we say, permanent.”
“Why, sir?” asked Leonard, turning to the General. “Why would you do that? Now we either risk our asses here, or get fucked back home! SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!!!!!”
“I added that to the code,” said Malone, “because cowards would do more harm than good when dealing with xenomorphs. I wanted only those willing to commit their lives to the cause. I didn’t want people joining just so they could brag to their buddies at home about fighting xenos, then pussying out when the going got tough. Surely you understand?”
“Yeah, I understand, but do you realize how fucked we are now? Now we have to get the cargo from the ship AND look back there for survivors!”
“We won’t be getting the cargo,” said Malone firmly.
“Actually, yes you will,” replied Julius calmly. “The orders were explicit; rescue survivors and get cargo. You will retrieve the valuable mineral ore, or you will be killed by a firing squad.”
“No, that is where you are wrong,” said Malone, just as calmly as Julius had. “I will incite the very first clause of our code, which states that one may abort any mission if the commanding officer deems the xenomorph infestation uncontrollable, which it undoubtedly is in this case. We’re going home.”
“Ah,” said Julius. “and that is where ‘you’ are wrong. If there is a human presence in a xenomorph infestation, investigation is mandatory. You may have wiggled you way out of retrieving the Nostradamus’s cargo, but there is no code to refute this.”
“How are we supposed to find any survivors, if there even are any, in this fucking planet? It’s huge!” asked Leonard.
“Weylnd-Yutani put their employee’s safety first and foremost,” said Julius, smiling. “After the tragic events on the mining vessel Nostromo, each employee was tagged with a tracker/vitals reader, with a range of one hundred kilometres. And, it just so happens that there is one miner with active signals, alive and ticking.”
“I just fucking love this mission,” said Leonard, putting his eyes in his palms.
“Hw far?” asked Malone resolutely.
“Seventy four point seven kilometres, approximately North twenty four degrees West,” said Julius.
“How the fuck did he get so far away from the ship?” asked Leonard.
“That doesn’t matter,” said Malone, sitting down in the co-pilot’s seat. “What does matter is getting this bastard of a mission over and done with. Now, we’re going back to the Marvel to arm ourselves to the fucking teeth, get some rest, and then some chow. I don’t know about you, Leonard, but I’m fucking ravenous. Julius, fly this thing.”
“Aye,” said the android. “What about the turrets?”
“Leave them, we’ll get more.”
“Aye.”
The drop ship engines roared as they took off, the ammo detaching as they left the turrets behind. What none of them noticed, however, was the four smashed and broken turrets, acid marks all around them, and large footsteps leading towards where the drop ship used to be.