One
Eight Hundred Hours
Planet Dengor, Military Base 8
The wind screeched in protest, clawing with sandy nails at the concrete tarmac at USMC
base 8. The ground around the concrete pad was pitted, bare rock, worn smooth by the incessant
howling wind. The only exception to the bare rock were a few rolling pebbles who hurriedly
attempted to escape the winds vile grasp. Fine sand swirled everywhere, resting wherever it
could find shelter from the biting wind. Yet whenever the wind would shift, once again the
grating tan particles would flee, seeking some other shelter. Nearly fifty meters above, a whaleshaped ship slowly swung in the sand-speckled black sky. The huge gray-brown behemoth
slowly swayed in the heavy winds, red and green lights blinking against the blinding sandstorm
as it sought to land on the ground far below. The strain on the ships engines as it bore its
considerable mass against the sharp wind caused the sand-choked vents to whine even above the
biting wind.
Inside the darkly tinted canopy of the dropship, the pilot and his copilot battled against
the shifting winds as they slowly brought the massive machine down with computerized aid.
Neither pilot let his gaze off the mass of gauges and readouts within the cockpit to look out
through the sand-buried canopy at the night sky beyond. Instead, each concentrated and adjusted
controls within their grasp as computer-enhanced readouts displayed on their helmets fed them
even more information. The dropships computer chatted to them nonchalantly about various
engine and air-fuel-sand mixtures as the two crewmen directed the ship down toward the
concrete pad. As the ship descended closer to the planets surface, the captain of the dropship
began an audible count.
"13 meters. Grant - activate the magnetic landing locks."
Click.
Activated, the copilot replied as the computer confirmed the magnetic locks reaching
full capacity.
The two pilots continued, running through a well-practiced landing procedure as the
computer continued to chattily update the two men on the ships status and compliance with their
orders.
Back in the cargo area just to the rear of the cockpit, six marines and two scientists
grasped their safety harnesses as the ship occasionally wobbled in the shifting wind. The
marines were calm; they had performed landings under the fire of combat, but the two scientists
were visibly nervous, their knuckles white as they grasped their harnesses. One of the two
looked a bit green from the ships slow undulations, and those near him eyed him carefully in
case he were to loose his lunch suddenly.
"12 meters!" the captain announced aloud in the cockpit. The computer confirmed the
approach audibly a moment later
"11," came after a seconds pause, this time the computers voice ringing out alone.
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Two
Fourteen hundred hours
APC Running Man in the dropship Crimson One
In the hold of the dropship, six marines were strapped into position within the APC.
Naylor had slid the command seat into the area with the others, putting him at the head of the
row. At the opposite end of the APC was a large screen edged with static. On its surface was the
glowering face of General McGarrett. On a screen beside the general was a tactical map, in
greens and reds, provided the only other light inside the APC. The whole ship rocked as it sped
out of the moon bases atmosphere.
Enjoy your nap, general? Silvio quietly asked, which brought snickers from the
marines. The generals face scowled, looking more and more like an angry pit bull each moment.
Silence! The general finally barked and the marines quickly hushed Now, I'm sure
that you don't want to screw things up on this mission, so I strongly suggest you pay attention. In
seven hours you will arrive at the moon we have designated P-133, the tactical map lit up
briefly as it displayed the flight trajectory from the base to the moon. A green arrow-shaped
cursor, representing the dropship slowly began to traverse the curved path from moon to moon.
The pilots have the coordinates for your drop site. Just before you hit the atmosphere, the
dropship will launch a probe to recon your objective area and relay it back to us. Once we've
analyzed the area, your team will be inserted to disperse the predators and tranquilize one for the
return jourey. Once you bag a predator, give the signal for the dropship to pick you back up.
The general glared, Make sure you have a live predator before you make the call, however.
As the ship heaved in the bounce from atmosphere to space, the general continued. The
APC is stocked with all the capture gear that professor Longman showed you, plus extra smart
guns, pulse rifles with the appropriate tranquilizer ammo. There's also regular pulse rounds and
grenades just in case of any extra trouble you have. You also have a plentiful supply of food,
drink and medical equipment. Any questions?"
Umm, yeah, Silvio stated dryly.
What is it, Silvio? Naylor prompted.
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Three
Twelve hundred hours
Moon P-133
Sand blew everywhere as the dropship's landing jets helped the ship touch down. Apart
from the howling of the wind, the only sounds around were the ship itself and the buzz of the
alien insects fleeing from the massive ship. The ship landed, the ramp lowered and the APC
slowly rolled out onto the ground.
Good luck marines. We want you back in one piece. Wilkins spoke into his comm.
Grant, who had been fiddling with some controls, turned slightly and glared out at the departing
APC before slipping out of the cockpit unnoticed.
Will do, Wilkins. Just keep that ship ready for take off as soon as we're back. Naylor
spoke back through the APCs comm.
The APC sprang from the belly of the dropship, sliding down the ramp before it jolted
from the impact with the sandy planets terrain. Suzie reversed slowly to bring the APCs front
in line with the distant predator building before letting rip with an unbelievable burnout and
finally sped off towards its mission. It bounced over several large bumps in the land as it closed
in on its target. The terrain was horrible, and the marines inside the APC bounced about like rag
dolls, held only in place by their safety harnesses.
The building eventually came into view. It was an odd, tent-like structure, partly
camouflaged against the terrain. Suzie was amazed. Though the team had fought predators
before, they had never done so on the predator's own turf. It was a new and bizarre experience to
be hunting predators on their own ground. Then, just a little too late Suzie noticed a very large
sand ramp just in front of the predator building. She knew it was too late to stop so she just sped
up.
Make sure you're all buckled up back there! She shouted.
A slight panic echoed through the back of the APC as Naylor yelled for an update and the
other marines moaned in panic. Then, the APC hit the ramp. The vehicle flew into the air and
towards the building. Everything seemed to slow down as the APC slowly arced up and twisted
at the building. From the outside, it looked like the APC was about to belly-flop the predators
structure. Inside, Suzie realized the front was not going back down in time, and tried to prepare
for the coming crash. The APC smashed into the tough hide of the building and went straight
through. The momentum forced the APC into a series of cartwheels before it landed on its front,
bounced, rolled and collapsed onto its roof.
Everything went quiet very quickly inside the APC. Though everything had been strapped
down or secured, with the first impact a host of objects had freed themselves and now collected
on the roof. The impact had shaken everyone into unconsciousness. After an unknown length of
time, Katie was the first to wake, and she looked round to notice that something wasn't quite
right with her surroundings. It was the blood rush to her head that finally tipped her off what was
happening. She held her harness tightly and unclipped it, then let her body slide down out of the
harness. On the way down she flipped over before letting go of her harness and landed on her
feet. The blood slowly drained out of her head and back into her feet, making her whole body
tingle. She stepped over all the weapons and broken instruments littering the floor as she made
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The door of the APC slid open quickly and bounced against its frame. In one quick
movement Naylor spun into the doorway, fired the SADAR and spun round to the other side,
pulling the door closed as he went.
Put your masks on! He yelled. All at once they removed their helmets, slipped the
bestial-looking things over their heads and then put their helmets back on.
Now! Naylor stated, his voice muffled by the breath mask. He kicked the door open
and was the first to jump out, followed by the others. The marines instantly assumed a covering
fire position behind the rubble from the broken wall, with Taki watching over the back of the
APC.
A few moments passed, then Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Naylor growled. The place
was bare, except for the crashed APC and the rubble it had made in the room.
There was a large crack from outside that almost sounded like the thunder from a cannon.
A bright flash illuminated the broken wall the APC had punched through, and a moment later, the
howl of the wind from outside was accompanied by a strange tapping sound. The wind blew
through the gaps in the walls, and dragged bloody red water with it as it went. It was starting to
rain.
Warily, Naylor broke the group into teams of two. Naylor partnered up with Suzie, while
Drafe and Mager were placed on another, and Katie and Silvio comprised the third. Naylor and
Drafe checked their weapons pulse rifles loaded with tranquilizers, while the others fanned out
to search the structure.
Damn, why didn't they issue us with motion trackers?' Flicked through Naylor's mind as
he edged across the wall to the doorframe. He looked in and flicked his hand to motion Suzie in.
Suzie crept in slowly while Naylor watched her back. Once she was in, he crept in backwards
behind her. Just as he was fully beyond the doorway, his gun flew out of his hands and impaled
itself to the wall on his right. Naylor staggered backwards and fell, rolling against Suzie's legs.
She wobbled slightly from the impact, but managed to keep her footing.
Suzie! Left corner!
Suzie spun and let rip - Buddaddadda gunfire riddled the wall but hit nothing. Suzie
swallowed, her eyes scanning for the flicker that would indicate the presence of her foe. She was
visibly nervous. The predators obviously knew where Suzie and Naylor were, but there was no
indication of where the predators were. Naylor reached down to his belt and pulled up his backup pistol, a 9mm slug gun with about twelve shots, and not enough stopping power to do more
than annoy a predator.
Naylor squatted against the back wall and was soon joined by Suzie. The two watched
for ripples in the light. Sweat began to trickle down his brow and the eye pieces on his gas mask
were beginning to steam up. This isn't going to be easy! he muttered to her.
Drafe's shoulder light threw a shaft of illumination through the dust filled room. He had
already pulled off his mask, and took a deep whiff of the musty air. As he turned, his light
scanned over everything, revealing several crushed consoles and wrecked furniture. It looked
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Four
Fifteen Thirty Hours
Planet Dengor
Professor Longman stepped into the room just as the general had lit up his tenth or so
cigar of the day. General. The professor emotionlessly asked.
What is it professor? the general replied with a growl as he flicked his lighter shut. As
Longman adjusted his glasses, the general let out a long puff of smoke.
Longman tried to smile as the smoke drifted towards him, and instead let out a small
cough. Well, our monitoring of the radio transmission suggests that the marines failed their
mission to retrieve a live predator, As he saw the general lean forward and glower, he added,
though we did learn several got away in the struggle, but it seems they are unwilling to make a
second attempt at capturing them.
The general sat back and stared at the table before him. Damn! he stated, searching in
his mind for what to do next.
What should we do, sir? Longman asked, desperately.
The generals eyes flicked up to look at Longman. "Activate the android," He leaned
back. "He may be able to coax them into going back."
"I...," Longman swallowed uncomfortably. "Well," he stated sheepishly, "He's already
been activated. He dumped the dropship's fuel, stranding the marines on the planet. They'll have
to deal with the predators - one way or another."
The disgust he was trying to hold back was obvious, but the general managed to ask,
Did the android succeed?
Yes sir! Longman stated after a brief pause, even through he knew the androids
success wasnt complete.
Well, the general stated, leaning back and heaving a foot up on the desk. He pulled the
cigar from his lips and let loose with another deep exhalation of smoke. Theyre stranded
then. He waved the professor off, concluding with Well, if he wont cooperate, Naylors men
are no use any more. You might as well release your so-called Hungry Hounds! They can deal
with the predators - and those marines.
Understood. Longman whispered with a smile, then left.
The general swiveled round in his chair and clicked on a large monitor in front of him.
The fuzzy picture was upside down, but Longman could see the marines exiting the predator's
structure. Not so fast my friends! Not so fast! It's not as if you'll be leaving anytime soon!
Professor Longman stepped out of the General's room and onto the lift. The lift went
even deeper than the marines had gone, and stopped with a lurch. Once out of the iron elevator,
Longman walked down unmarked concrete and steel corridors lit by bluish-green fluorescent
globes and finally came to rest at single metal door marked with a biohazard symbol. Longman
placed his palm on the reader to the one side of the door, and after a green band of light had
scanned his hand, the door slid open.
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Five
Sixteen Thirty Hours
Moon P-133
The red rain once again swept down outside on the soft sand, making the whole of it a
wet, crimson muddy mess. The dropship touched down in the thickening sludge as more and
more of the sand joined to form a sticky, consuming sludge. The dropships ramp lowered slowly
and Naylor made his way down first, closely followed by Katie. Mager and Suzie followed,
helping the wounded Silvio along. Once they were down, the dropships lights and other controls
began switching off, until the whole ship made no sound other than that of the rain beating
against its hull. With the ship off, Wilkins made his way out and to the building.
Huuuuuuggggsssssshhhhhhhh.
Wilkins cocked his head for a moment at the strange sound. When it did not repeat, he
shrugged, mumbling to himself it was the wind and red rain, and entered the building. Wilkins
stepped in and was greeted by a large, red puddle. Looking up to the roof, he suddenly
remembered that it was practically all missing. He had almost forgotten what a hell-hole this
place was.
As the marines checked the interior for any signs of intrusion, Wilkins wandered over to
the console that Grant had fiddled with earlier that day and switched on the radar. It gave a soft
hum as it came to life, and the pulse of the radar started to throb like an electronic heartbeat.
This should give us a nice early warning just in case any of those things did follow us.
Naylor, who had come up to Wilkins's side, nodded to the captain. He then turned and
watched as Mager and Suzie kicked over a damaged console and sat Silvio on top of it.
Naylor began to pace. So. What do we do now? Naylor panned the room and watched
them all look back at him. They were obviously expecting him to have the answer. Silvio gave a
grunt of derision, and then looked away from Naylor. Naylor turned back to Wilkins, and a
thought suddenly hit him. Hey, didnt you say Grant drained the fuel?
Wilkins stared in confusion at what Naylor had just said. Yeah, he did! Why?
Whatever he dumped it into, cant we retrieve it from that?
Wilkins shook his head. The fuel just dumped to the ground. The system he used was
intended to jettison fuel in flight in case of an impending crash.
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Six
Zero-Five Hundred Hours
Moon P-133
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Seven
Zero Eight Twenty Two Hours
Moon P-133
The marines were jumbled about the main room of the complex, their heads spinning
with the realization of the futility of their situation. Katie and Suzie sat back to back, talking
about old memories and the slow days back on earth. Silvio sat hunched in a corner, his good
fist wrapped under his chin, no smile crossing his face. Mager, for his part, sat in a corner,
gazing up at the rising sun in the crimson sky. Every few minutes, he idly thumped the back of
his head against the concrete wall behind him, as if to clear his mind of the reality of the groups
situation.
Off in his own corner, Naylor studied a host of maps he had sprawled over the floor. His
mind was in a whirl as he sought some way to make sense of their current situation and find
some loophole he had missed earlier. As for Wilkins, he sat just inside the metal door to the
outside, staring at the lifeless hulk of the dropship, contemplating his current condition.
Several hours had passed before Suzie looked up from her hands and stopped talking to
Katie. Her head was on fire from memories before reaching the alien moon, and she could feel
her sight fuzz with the old memories. She shook her head to clear her vision and then stopped to
look at the faces around her. Each of them looked as if they had been hollowed from the inside
out and smudged with a layer of red mud. She realized that to survive, they need a chance.
Guys, the APC may have survived the blast, she quipped.
Only Silvio bothered to look up. Yeah, and monkeys
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Eight
Eighteen Hundred Hours
Moon P-133
As Wilkins prepared the dropship by the bloody light of the alien planets moon, the other
marines went about preparing their weapons and examining their gear.
Naylor poked through each marines gear and double-checked their weapons. He tried to
pretend he didn't care that the others were watching him to make sure he didn't screw up. He also
tried to pretend he didn't care that he had to reacquaint himself to using a smart gun for the first
time in ages. All he really cared about, he told himself, was taking out as many of the aliens as
possible, and if that meant dying, he was ready for it.
Once he had finished checking all the gear and weapons, Naylor went over his own gear
and the smart gun. As Wilkins stopped loading fuel to watch, Naylor field-stripped the gun
within a matter of minutes, cleaned, oiled and inspected each part, and had it back together just
as quickly. With the gun reassembled, Naylor slipped into his armor, assembled the pneumatic
weapon mount to his armor, and strapped on the gun. Once he kicked the guns computer to life,
the weapon awoke with a loud-pitched whine and started tracking. The first thing the weapon
aimed itself at was Silvio, with the barrel pausing to align itself with Silvios lower extremities.
Everyone watched as Naylor practiced moving and aiming the bulky weapon. Though it
moved with the grace of a cat on the pneumatic mount attached to Naylors armor, every once in
a while his grip slipped or the weapon didnt seem to pivot as fast as Naylor would like. Again
and again, Naylor would start over, until the motion was as graceful as it was errorless.
As Naylor continued his drill, Wilkins stepped out from the cockpit of the dropship and
stood at the top of the gantry stairs. "Well..... I'm ready. I hope you lot are going to be ready for
your long walk."
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Nine
Zero Three Hundred Hours
Aboard the Dropship Crimson One on P-133
Wilkins sat in dead sleep in the dark cockpit of the dropship. His feet were propped up
on the dash, an emergency blanket draped over him for comfort. The dropships control panel
softly hummed, keeping watch on the area around the ship. Wilkins had spent the last seven
hours rigging up a primitive wind generator to keep the dropships batteries from draining as he
kept on minimal power to the ship. The wind howled against the glass on the dropships canopy,
and he was oblivious to his surroundings as he failed to hear the thump-thump of rain as it began
to fall on the dropship.
None of the sounds within or around the ship awoke Wilkins from his sleep as the effects
of the storm outside began to intensify. Rain began to beat like pounding fists on the ships hull,
and the wind howled even louder against the dropships structure. Wilkins even failed to notice
the sound of the exterior ramp opening, allowing the howling wind to race into the cargo bay of
the dropship. The wind drowned out the sound of heavy footsteps as something large and heavy
entered the cargo hold, which then paused long enough for the ramp to close. A crackling sound
filtered in from below, but it was too low against the howl of the wind for Wilkins to hear it. A
grating, clicking noise echoed from the area, and then a soft, metallic clang sounded on the
gantry steps as something slowly made its way toward the cockpit.
Wwhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnggggggggg.
The door to the cockpit whined open, but nothing appeared to step in. At this sound,
Wilkins's eyes opened slightly, and he bent his head in the direction of the opening door. When
he saw nothing but a faint shimmer in the door, his mind quickly awoke. Realizing the danger he
was in, he cast the emergency blanket off him as he heard a loud, high-pitched click resound in
the area of the shimmer. It sounded like metal being unsheathed. This was all the catalyst that
Wilkins' brain needed at that point, and he threw himself out of chair and into the narrow aisle
between the two seats. Just as he did, a single spear-like shaft impaled Wilkins's seat, the barbed
head penetrating the steel back of the seat and stopping within an inch or two of shattering
several gauges on the dropships control panel.
Without really thinking about how dangerous it was, Wilkins leapt from his crouched
position at the solidifying haze standing at the top step of the gantry. He slammed full-force into
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Ten
Zero Six Thirty Hours
Moon P 133, aboard the Dropship Crimson One
Alone......He had been sitting, staring at the door for hours. Wilkins had lost all track of
time as his eyes focused on the far dunes of muddy sand. A crimson blush had just begun to
form on the horizon as the moons sun slowly began to slip into the sky. His eyes were glazed
over with a thin film from his lack of sleep, but under the current conditions, sleeping was out of
the question. He had to stay awake and keep hoping. He had been so mindlessly intent on the
far dunes that he didnt hear the hull door slide open. The wind outside had gone quiet not too
long ago, so there was no loud howl as the door opened to alert him of the interlopers. When the
door slid shut with a bang a few moments later, however, he was instantly roused of his dazed
state. Below, in the main hold, he could hear noises, footsteps and some inconsistent mumbling.
The footsteps droned closer and closer as Wilkins heard them approach up the stairs.
Nervously, he slipped out of the command chair and pulled the fallen predators spear gun up.
He crouched at the top edge of the gantry that led up to the cockpit. The first sight any enemy
would have of him would be only once they came up into his sights. Wrapping his fingers
around the trigger to the alien weapon, he tensed and waited.
He nearly pulled the trigger as Naylors face appeared when he stepped up the gantry.
Wilkins whipped the weapon up and away from the marine to keep from shooting. Naylor was
caught slightly by surprise, and an annoyed look crossed his face as he realized that he could
have just been speared.
Well, Naylor stated, regaining his composure, Nice welcome. I'm glad to see you
again too, man."
Wilkins swallowed sheepishly and put the speargun back down by his command seat. He
stepped back from the gantry to let Naylor come up into the cockpit, and shakily rubbed his tired
eyes with the back of his hand. Naylor gave him a comforting pat on the back, and Wilkins
silently slipped back into the pilots command seat.
Hey, Naylor, came Magers somewhat urgent call from below. Theres a dead
predator in the hold. Looks like someone speared him.
As Mager had barked out his find, Naylor had leaned down to hear. After hearing it, he
looked back to Wilkins, who was shook nervously. Not a bad job, Naylor commented.
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Eleven
Twelve Hundred Hours
Dengor, Military Base 8 Conference Room
Longman sat in the quiet darkness of the conference room, sitting in the generals plush
chair. The janitorial staff had done a splendid job of cleaning the room, and had even mended
the furniture. The quiet, clean room helped him to take his mind off the loss of contact with the
aliens on P-133. As a lone recessed light shown down on his chair, he casually leaned to the side
to pet the alien hunched beside him. It crouched like a loyal pet at the scientist's side, unmoving
and silent apart from a low hissing noise it made, like steam seeping from a broken pipe.
Longmans hand absently stroked the smooth cranium of his pet, his mind beset by a thousand
thoughts. The power he wielded now was immense, but he knew there was much more to be
grabbed. But he needed time. Yet, at the same time, the wait was almost unbearable. Just a
little longer, he thought to himself. If the generals marines make it back, I can move a little
quicker. He tickled the alien under the jaw. How nice it will be for them to supply me with extra
transportation, he thought. As he continued to stroke the aliens jaw, he felt a sticky drool drip
onto his hand. Pulling it up to examine it, he frowned. Damn beast, he thought to himself, and
then looked down to the alien. It had moved its head slightly, and seemed to be eyeing him.
Longman hadnt commanded it to move, and he stared dumbfounded at the eyeless face
of the alien. As he looked on in astonishment, a sudden realization crept over him, and his mind
flashed with anger. His assistant!
Michaels, wake up, came Longmans annoyed voice. The young assistant, who
had fallen asleep at the controls, awoke with a start at Longmans prod. He slowly sat back up,
adjusting his glasses before realizing he had dozed off.
Im sorry Professor Longman, si- he cut off the last word before finishing, and
looked up at the unhappy Professor. Ive been up over thirty hours, I must have dozed off, he
apologized.
The skull has almost deteriorated, Longman stated, pointing to the glass case
containing a refreshed xenomorphs skull. Victor realized Longman must have replaced it
already. Do you know what would have happened if it did?
Y-you would have lost control of the xenomorphs, Michaels stated
apologetically. Im sorry Professor Longman, it wont happen again.
Longman watched the young assistant for several moments. Michaels was
obviously speaking the truth about having been up so long, and the Professor knew he had
overworked the young assistant. But he saw something else in the young mans eyes.
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Twelve
Sixteen Thirty Hours
Dropship Crimson One approaching Dengor
Naylor awoke with a jolt as he felt his body strike the floor. It took him a moment to
awaken and remember where he was. Gravity was back they were entering the gravity well of
Dengor. Carefully, Naylor made his way up to the cockpit. The other marines were awake and
watched Naylor stalk to the cockpit.
Wilkins! Naylor called as he ascended the gantry. Whats our status? He came into
the cockpit to see Wilkins already seated, fiddling with the controls and banging at the gauges.
Weve been had, Wilkins stated, motioning for Naylor to take the copilots seat. Naylor
did so and let his eyes rove over the control panel. Several alarms were already buzzing in the
cockpit, but nothing appeared wrong the ship was powered, and slowly descending.
Ive turned off the autopilot, but something else has taken control of the ship, Wilkins
explained.
Damn McGarrett, Naylor snarled.
Good news is they didnt cut the power to us, Wilkins stated, It looks like whatever
has control of us is bringing us in to the main docking platform.
Naylor blinked. Maybe they dont know-
Wilkins paused. Should I make contact?
Give it a try, Naylor motioned, pointing to the comm.
Wilkins thumbed the comm on, and set the channel to the control towers frequency.
Dengor Base this is Crimson one, Wilkins barked.
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Thirteen
Seventeen Thirty Hours
Dengor, Military Base 8, Sublevel 4, Board Room
At first, Longman didnt seem happy. He sat idly in the generals chair in the boardroom,
gazing at Captain Wilkins. Flanking Longman was two of his pets, hunched on all fours, tails
twitching angrily, with low hisses echoing from their black maws.
Finally, Longman spoke, diverting Wilkins's attention to the professors dour visage.
How unfortunate, Longman stated, yet rather ironic. The hunters once again the hunted.
Wilkins had given Longman the same story he had given Farrell. The base marine had
confirmed that Naylors marines hadnt been found aboard, and sounded almost disappointed not
to have found them. Bastard, Longman thought to himself.
Captain Wilkins, it's rather nice to see you again. Longman stated with a sardonic
smile. Im rather glad General McGarretts android didnt kill you. It took Wilkins a few
moments to realize he had met Longman before. The scientist had been one of the two who had
accompanied the marines on the trip here.
Im sorry, Professor Longman, Wilkins stated haltingly, barely having caught the name
when he was first brought in. But I need to talk to General McGarrett. At that, Longman
tensed, and Wilkins carefully looked about, Where is he?
Im afraid the General has had an accident, Longman stated. Wilkins shuddered as
the alien to one side of Longman flexed and hissed loudly. It faintly reminded Wilkins of a
laugh, which chilled him even more. Ive taken over now this base is under my absolute
control. Longman stated soothingly, stroking the smooth cranium of the alien that had flexed.
It quietly hunched back down, giving off a soft, steady hiss.
Wilkins fought the urge to reach for the pistol he had secreted under his suit. He had
hoped he would have been able to get close enough to McGarrett to take a shot, but there was no
chance of that now. He had hoped he might have the advantage when his guards had left their
rifles behind in the outer room at Longmans insistence with several aliens watching on to
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Fourteen
Eighteen Forty Five Hours
Dengor, Military Base 8, Sublevel 9, Section M
Farrell's mouth hung open in utter shock at the carnage around his feet. Naylor stood
neatly in the middle of the mess, gazing into what appeared to be a vacant room. The other
members of Naylors team held their rifles nervously, watching for the possibility of the
perpetrators of this foul crime to return at any moment. Wilkins was blanched, but he stood
watching for aliens at the edge of the carnage.
I-I cant believe theyre all dead, Farrell stated, slack-jawed. He felt a sudden sickness
descend on him and was forced to step into the side room Naylor had been looking. When
Farrell saw the sight inside, he began retching.
Naylor bent down to examine Johnsons mangled corpse. The mans eyes were
transfixed in horror, his mouth as wide as the wet wound to his throat.
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Fifteen
Nineteen Thirty Hours
Dengor, Military Base, Surface Level 1, Section A
Katie was in the lead once again, warily scanning the hall ahead as the others followed
with equally searching eyes. Farrell was only half a step behind Katie, with Silvio following
along a few feet behind and Wilkins covering the rear. Wilkins was almost shaking as he held
his pistol out with both hands. The four had run into two sets of drones on the hall leading
towards the ops center. Katie and Silvio had easily dispatched the first pair, but their gunfire had
brought two others, one of which had almost wrapped itself around Wilkins before they were
aware of the replacements. A lucky shot from Wilkins wild shooting had caught it under the
chin, sending it sprawling back where it had thrashed for a full minute on the floor, acid blood
gushing and spraying everything around it as it died. Farrell had picked off the last one while
Wilkins had stood by, horrified that he had barely escaped death.
When Katie and Farrell stopped at the primary security lock to the ops tower, Wilkins
nearly stumbled over Silvio.
Watch it, Silvio stated, catching Wilkins and straightening him back up. Seeing
Wilkins wild, frightened stare, he added, Youre creeping me out man.
Shut up, Farrell hissed as Katie bent down to examine the lock. He turned back to
Katie. Can you get it open?
If Longman hasnt changed the code, itll be a cinch, Katie replied. She punched in the
command code Callsign had given her and depressed the entry key.
Instead of green light and the welcome hiss of the door opening, Katie was greeted by a
flashing red light and a calm, feminine computer voice that rang out. Invalid Code has been
entered. Please place your palm on the ID reader for genetic identification.
Fuck you, Katie quipped, shouldering her pulse rifle. Even as a blue panel beside the
entry pad lit up with a palm-shaped glow, Katie pulled her bypass kit off her belt and yanked the
entry pad open, exposing the wiring behind it.
Warning, the calm, feminine computer voice spoke, Illegal access detected. Please
desist your current activity and wait. An aide is being dispatched.
I hope it isnt one of Longmans pets, Silvio whispered to Farrell.
Katie was busy attaching the leads of the bypass kit to the keypads wiring. The
computer seemed to stutter in disbelief at Katies audacity, and it repeated its warning. In the
meantime, Katie adjusted the settings on the bypass kit as it fought to discover the override code
to open the door.
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Sixteen
Nineteen Forty-Five Hours
Dengor, Military Base 8, Sublevel 9, Lab C
Colonel Norden, Naylor sneered, lowering his own gun as the older man held his own
pulse rifle level at Naylor. What are you doing at Dengor base?
Norden did not smile as he continued to hold his gun at Naylor. Still remember me, I
see? Norden snarled. Guard duty hasnt dimmed you wits in the slightest has it, Naylor?
Six months isnt nearly enough time to forget your ugly pug, Naylor stated. This was
the same colonel who had gotten two of his marines killed over six months ago in his last hive
raid. Naylor couldnt believe the man was here. For a moment he wondered if loss of blood or
shock was making him imagine the colonel here.
Thank you for dispatching Longman, Norden replied with a growl. I would have
wished to kill the runt myself, but it will give me much more pleasure to be rid of you.
Naylor remained calm, holding himself with dignity. You still havent told me what
youre doing here.
Norden laughed. Ever defiant, I see, he grimaced as he said this. All right, Naylor,
Ill tell you. Norden stepped slightly to one side, in the direction of the main airlock that led out
of the lab. I had you brought to Dengor so I could get rid of you.
What?!? Naylor almost yelled.
Norden smiled at Naylors reaction. Its a bit of a long story, but seeing as how theres
no one here to stop me now, I might as well tell you. He paused, as if suddenly reluctant to talk.
You see, Im a clone.
Naylors eyebrow arched in disbelief. He knew that cloning had long been banned by the
government, even though the companies had been secretly attempting to conduct research into
the subject for years. Naylor had even been sent on a military raid of ones company attempts to
create clones a few years ago.
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Seventeen
Twenty Hundred Hours
Above Planet Dengor aboard the dropship Crimson One
Naylor was about to reply when the report of a single pistol shot resounded from below.
Wilkins and Naylor glanced at each other for a moment, and then Naylor unbuckled himself and
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