Predator - Incursion (26 page)

Hashori was shaking slightly, and bleeding from a wound to her left shoulder. The silence stretched out, and Liliya decided to try again.

“I’ve come to—” she began.

Hashori stepped forward and kicked her in the stomach. The impact folded her in two and sent her sliding across the floor, hands clutched in to her guts.

“No talking!” the Yautja shouted, voice sharpened with anger—and something else, Liliya thought. Though she was not familiar with the Yautja tone and pronunciation, it was easy to hear the fury.

“After everything you’ve done, you come to us,” Hashori said, spitting, her voice a guttural drawl.

Liliya didn’t risk a reply.

“Whatever the reason, I don’t care. It means revenge can begin sooner than I hoped.” She reached down, clasped Liliya’s hair, and dragged her along the dark, humid corridor.

* * *

From a wide viewing window beside the docking airlock, Liliya watched her assault ship blast away from the Yautja vessel. As the distance between them grew, it quickly shrank to a tiny spot. Just before she was hauled out of sight a brief, bright flash burst from the Yautja craft, destroying the ship in a distant glare of a billion expanding parts.

Yautja Habitat designated UMF 12, beyond Outer Rim
August 2692
AD

It was their four weeks of hell.

For thirty days Lieutenant Johnny Mains and his four surviving VoidLarks fought, struggled, schemed, and hid to survive. They drew on everything they had ever learned, and learned plenty more. They relied on their wits and wisdom, their strength, fury, and fitness.

Most of all, they relied on each other.

At the end of that time, everything changed. The true indifference of the universe was impressed upon them, and the four weeks of hell they had just passed through felt like little more than a precursor of what was to come.

Day Eleven

Mains had expected that they would be hunted down and killed in the first few days.

After their initial arrival and contact with the Yautja, they moved quickly away from the site of the
Ochse
’s detonation and tried to find somewhere to hide. The plan was to attempt to board one of the Yautja ships, and perhaps even fly it out of there, but Snowdon had urged caution. She knew more about the Yautja than any of them, and that knowledge had been growing with observations they’d made since their contact with enemy ships prior to the crash-landing.

She believed that many of the ships inside the habitat weren’t yet ready for flight. That was why those docking arms were protruding from the habitat’s exterior. It also meant that to risk approaching and boarding a craft might be a folly.

So they found safety, and prepared.

“Really, boss, I’m ready to move.”

“You look like shit, Corporal.”

“Sweet-talker.” Cotronis smiled, but it was a weak action, a struggle. Mains was surprised she had even survived this long.

“We’ll wait another day,” Mains said. “We’ve got a good place here, and—”

“Johnny, I don’t want to die hiding.” She spoke quieter, hoping the others didn’t hear, but their suits would transmit her words to everyone. She seemed to have forgotten that.

Mains sighed. “Snowdon?”

“We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” she said. She was guarding one of the entrances to the small cave, with Faulkner at the other. Lieder was asleep. They slept one at a time, for two hours each. It was an exhausting rota, but Mains knew they couldn’t let down their guard even for a moment.

“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s get our stuff together. Then we’ll hustle.” Lieder stirred and stood. She hadn’t been asleep at all.

Leaving the shelter of the small cave made him feel surprisingly exposed. Even though the habitat was more sparsely populated than they had first believed, the cave had become a safe haven. They were as convinced as they could be that no Yautja knew they were there. Their combat suits had kept them warm and fed with oxygen, their waste recycled, and concentrated food extracts from survival belts had provided sustenance. They all craved something solid to eat, but that was simply habit. Their bodies were as fueled and strong as ever, and Mains knew that Cotronis was right.

The time had arrived.

They worked their way outward from deep within the habitat, Faulkner, Snowdon, and Cotronis using infrared, Mains and Lieder relying on normal sighting. Lieder and Faulkner took point, and they moved slowly, cautiously, suit computers checking their surroundings for movement and life readings.

Their progress was unhindered until they reached a network of rough tunnels and galleries that opened onto the habitat’s surface. Once through the atmos shield and outside again, the endless depths of space weighed heavily. With a docking arm less than three hundred yards away, Mains called a halt.

“They’re letting us move,” he said. “They must be. They
must
know we’re here.”

“I don’t think so,” Snowdon said. She clung to the idea that the Yautja were fiercely independent, habitual loners, sharks who only came together in small groups or clans to hunt or reproduce.

“I don’t like this,” Mains said.

“L-T, there’s a ship less than two hundred yards up that docking arm,” Lieder said. “Let me and Snowdon get to it, check it out. You, Faulkner, and Cotronis stay here, hunkered down. If I can fly the thing, we’ll let you know. You can be with us in minutes, then we’re fucking gone.” She paused and looked around. “If they’re watching us, it’s only the two of us they’ll have.”

“We should stay together,” Faulkner said.

“No, she’s right,” Cotronis said. “Johnny, we’ve got to take risks if we’re going to get off this chunk of rock.”

Mains glanced around as well, considering. Half a mile in the other direction was where the
Ochse
had landed, whatever damage it had wrought hidden around the curve of the habitat. In the other direction, the far end of the vessel was out of sight behind the curve of its thicker central section.

No movement.

They’d seen few signs of life since day one.

That troubled him. A lot.

“Okay,” he said, “fast as you can. No hanging around, and stay sharp.”

“You know it,” Lieder said, offering him a private smile.

She and Snowdon went. By the time they had climbed the docking arm and approached the lowest ship up, Mains and the others were crouched in a wrinkle in the habitat’s skin. Cotronis was slipping in and out of consciousness, the effort of moving having drained whatever reserves of energy she still maintained. Her sickness was progressing slowly but surely, and none of them had voiced the inevitable outcome. Not even her.

“Lieder?” Mains asked. He could hear her and Snowdon’s heavy breathing, but neither of them responded to his call. Maybe they hadn’t heard. Maybe—

“Fucking hell,” Snowdon breathed. Her voice crackled through Mains’s earpiece.

“What is it?” Cotronis asked, suddenly alert.

“Faulkner, keep scanning our surroundings,” Mains said, then he crawled up and forward until he could see the nearby docking arm. “Lieder?”

“We’re not getting away on this ship,” she said, voice calm and flat. “We’re not getting any closer to this dock.”

“What have you found?”

“Yautja,” she said. “Ten, maybe twelve of them.”

“Get out of there!” Mains said. “Back here, quickly as you can, and if they spot you we’ll lay down a covering fire until—”

“No need, L-T,” Snowdon said. “They’re all dead.”

“What? Dead how?” Faulkner asked.

“Badly,” Lieder said. “Really, really badly.”

Day Thirteen

Mains wanted to keep moving, not seek cover in the same place for too long. He thought that remaining still would bring on apathy and carelessness. It was his fault they had ventured into the Yautja home. He bore the responsibility, and took the blame.

They scoped out the habitat for a day first, posting three of their shoulder drones in hidden locations around the place and then retreating to a safe distance. There was no sign that it was still being used. No indication that anyone or anything had been inside for quite some time. It seemed safe, or as safe as anywhere could be in this place.

Built into the inner surface of the habitat’s vast, tubular interior, it was sheltered from the massive open space by several folds of rock. The building itself was oddly regular in relation to its surroundings, though there appeared to be few aesthetic touches. A squarish block, several smaller domed structures connected around it, and a taller section atop where a ship might once have been docked. There was no ship now.

Mains hoped the home belonged to one of the Yautja they’d seen flying from the habitat. Or better still, one of those they’d taken out before crash landing.

A day after commencing reconnaissance, he declared it safe to enter.

Lieder and Snowdon went first. Mains and Faulkner followed, Cotronis bringing up the rear. By the time Mains was inside the main space, Lieder and Snowdon were already standing with their weapons lowered, breaths held, staring aghast at the wide, tall wall that might have been transported directly from hell.

“Do a sweep,” Mains whispered, unable to tear his gaze away.

“Done,” Lieder said. “We’re alone. Except…”

Except they weren’t alone at all. Mains was aware that Yautja often carried trophies of some of their kills, wearing them as medals or badges of honor, but he’d never expected this. Such pride, such care and creativity. Such horror.

The entire wall was taken up with pieces of dead things. There were talons, hands and jaws, leathery wings and razor claws, skulls and spines. Teeth of many sizes and designs speckled the whole display, and here and there clawed sculptures protruded from the wall as if to reach out for the viewer.

It was the human skulls that Mains found most horrifying. There were eight of them, perhaps ten, all thoroughly cleaned and scoured of flesh and hair, naked smashed bone paying testimony to their owners’ terrible last moments. Some were holed and almost recognizable, others burnt and scorched. A couple seemed virtually whole.

“I want to go home,” Lieder said. No one laughed. Everyone agreed.

“Let’s get outta here,” Cotronis said, and Mains did not object. He remained in the room while the others filed back out, trying to imagine the absent Yautja owner sitting or standing here looking at the same view. What would it think?

He didn’t want to know.

Day Sixteen

“Faulkner, Lieder, covering fire!” Mains bellowed, cursing their luck, cursing the Yautja and their position and his inability to protect these people who depended on him. Especially Lieder. Whatever the two of them had was as close to love as he had ever felt.

“L-T, this way!” Snowdon said. She had automatically taken point, one arm around Cotronis’s waist as she dragged the ailing Corporal along with her, the other leveling her com-rifle at the shadows as they ran toward the shadows that might be hiding anything.

Mains followed, grabbing Cotronis from the other side and helping Snowdon. The Corporal was out of it. Her head bobbed, and accessing her life signs on his suit’s master terminal, he saw that her heartbeat was slow, blood pressure low. Her body was shutting down. It had been her screams that had brought this Yautja down upon them.

Yet they would leave no one behind.

“First live one we’ve seen in sixteen days,” Snowdon said.

“Yeah, and it’s really pissed off,” Lieder added, her voice accompanied by the hiss and roar of their weapons. Ammo was running dangerously low, and they had already agreed that they’d use only laser bursts unless a target was a sure and certain hit. Charge packs in all of their weapons were still at decent levels, but nano-munitions and plasma pods were in dwindling supply.

They were heading across a wide area close to the habitat’s surface, the ceiling low and glimmering with countless crystals forming part of the structure. They’d tried to avoid the exposure of the surface, or the habitat’s cavernous interior, instead finding caves and fissures to hide in and bide their time. Bad luck had brought a Yautja their way.

Lieder and Snowdon were a hundred yards behind them, covering their retreat until they could find a suitable place for a stand. The Yautja was using blaster and laser, eschewing its more traditional weaponry to get closer to its prey. It also wasn’t cloaking, which Mains found strange.

Perhaps it was injured. Since finding that group of dead Yautja three days before, they’d realized that there was a whole new factor to their being here.

They just didn’t know what it was.

Mains believed it must have been an internal struggle. Perhaps a civil war. Whatever the reasons, it was bad news for them—and likely worse for the places where the departing ships had been heading.

“Another one!” Faulkner said. “Lieder, sweep left!”

“I see it.”

Mains watched the confrontation, trying not to let it distract from where he was.

“And another,” Lieder said.

“Okay, pull back to us,” he said. “Three against two is uneven, pull back, reform on me.”