Alien: Out the Shadows

“We’ll stay in contact all the time,” Hoop said.

“Great, that’ll help.” Lachance smiled and nodded.

As the three of them pulled on the atmosphere suits, the Marion shuddered one more time.

“Samson is docking,” Baxter said.

“Keep everything locked,” Hoop said. “Everything. Docking arm, airlock, inner vestibule.”

“Tight as a shark’s arse,” Lachance said.

We should be assessing damage, Hoop thought. Making sure the distress signal has transmitted, getting down to med bay, doing any emergency repairs that might give us more time.

But the Samson held dangers that were still very much a threat.

That was priority one.

* * *

Though he was now in command, Hoop couldn’t help viewing things through the eyes of chief engineer. Lights flickered on and off, indicating damaged ducting and cabling on several of the electrical loops. Suit sensors showed that atmosphere was relatively stable, though he had already told Sneddon and Welford that they were to keep their helmets locked on. Damage to the Marion might well be an ongoing process.

They eschewed the elevator to climb down two levels via the large central staircase. The ship still juddered, and now and then a deeper, heavier thud rattled in from somewhere far away. Hoop didn’t have a clue what it might be. The huge engines were isolated for now, never in use while they were in orbit. The life support generators were situated far toward the rear of the ship, close to the recreation rooms. All he could think was that the superstructure had been weakened so much in the crash that damage was spreading. Cracks forming. Airtight compartments being compromised and venting explosively to space.

If that was the case, they needn’t worry about their decaying orbit.

“Samson’s initiating the automatic docking sequence,” Baxter said through their suits’ comm link.

“Can you view on board?” Hoop asked.

“Negative. I’m still trying to get contact back online. Samson has gone quiet.”

“Keep us informed,” Hoop said. “We’ll be there soon.”

“What do we do when we get there?” Welford asked from behind him.

“Make sure everything’s locked up tight,” Sneddon said.

“Right,” Hoop agreed. “Sneddon, did you recognize those things we saw on the Delilah?” He said no more, and his companions’ breathing rattled in his headset.

“No,” Sneddon said. Her voice was low, quiet. “I’ve never seen or heard of anything like them.”

“It’s like they were hatching from inside the miners’ chests.”

“I’ve read everything I can about alien life-forms,” Sneddon said. “The first was discovered more than eighty years ago, and since then everything discovered through official missions has been reported, categorized wherever possible, captured, and analyzed. Nothing like this. Just… nothing. The closest analogy I can offer is a parasitic insect.”

“So if they hatched from the miners, what laid the eggs?” Welford asked. But Sneddon didn’t answer, and it was a question that didn’t bear thinking about right then.

“Whatever it was, we can’t let them on board,” Hoop said, more determined than ever. “They’re not that big— we lose one on the Marion, and we’ll never find it again.”

“Until it gets hungry,” Welford said.

“Is that what they were doing?” Hoop asked. “Eating?”

“Not sure,” Sneddon said.

They moved on silently, as if wrestling with thoughts about those strange, horrific alien creatures. Finally Hoop broke the silence.

“Well, Karen, if we get out of this, you’ll have something to report,” he said.

“I’ve already started making notes.” Sneddon’s voice sounded suddenly distant and strange, and Hoop thought there might be something wrong with his suit’s intercom.

“You’re just spooky,” Welford said, and the science officer chuckled.

“Come on,” Hoop said. “We’re getting close to the docking level. Keep your eyes open.” Another thud shook through the ship. If it really was an explosive decompression—one in a series—then keeping their eyes open would merely enable them to witness their doom as a bulkhead exploded, they were sucked out into space, and the force of the vented air shoved them away from the Marion.

He’d read about astronauts being blasted into space. Given a shove, they’d keep moving away from their ship, drifting until their air ran out and they suffocated. But worse were the cases of people who, for some reason—a badly connected tether, a stumble—drifted only slowly, so slowly, away from their craft, unable to return, dying while home was still within sight.

Sometimes a spacesuit’s air could last for up to two days.

They reached the end of the entry corridor leading down into the docking level. A bulkhead door had closed, and Hoop took a moment to check sensors. The atmosphere beyond seemed normal, so he input the override code and the locking mechanism whispered open.

A soft hiss, and the door slid into the wall.