“What if the meteors weren’t meteors?” West asked. “What if they were more like this? What if two kinds of aliens crashed on Earth?”

  “That can’t be,” Joseph replied. “We never saw these things down there and I never heard of anyone else seeing them either.”

  “Maybe they just haven’t come out of hiding yet.”

  The statement sent a tense silence across the comm. Nobody wanted to think that was true. The trife were bad enough.

  “Captain Grant, how do you want us to proceed?” Joseph asked. “The object appears to be empty.”

  “It does,” Grant replied. “But how was it changing vectors and velocity? I want to get a better look at the interior. The object appears anchored to Pioneer, it should be safe to breach at zero-g.”

  “Yes, sir.” Joseph cleared the video feed from his helmet. “Fatcat, standby. You’re not going in there alone. I’m coming down.”

  “Copy that, Prime,” Morales replied.

  Joseph walked to the edge of the gap and looked down. He wasn’t sure what the chasm was for. It looked almost like the builders had run short of hull, so they cut some of it out. But that couldn’t be true. It didn’t matter. It was here, and it had given the alien object somewhere to land and anchor itself down out of sight.

  Joseph stepped off the edge, using his hand controls to fire vectoring jets, pushing him downward until his feet hit the hull and the magboots locked in place. Then he walked over to where Morales waited, ready for anything.

  He pulled up beside the other Guardian, looking into the object. He switched his helmet filter to infrared, and then to an AI-assisted motion view that compared each successive frame by micropixel to account for any changes, no matter how small. Like Morales had said, there was nothing.

  “Pioneer Actual, we’re in position,” Joseph said.

  “Copy that, Prime,” Siraj replied. “We’re watching.”

  “Are you ready, Fatcat?” Joseph asked.

  “Ready,” Morales replied.

  “Here we go.” Joseph deactivated his magboots and pushed off lightly, floating forward over the lip of the opening in the object. Morales followed right behind him, staying close.

  As they drifted into the alien structure Joseph activated his upper jets to shove himself down, boots touching the hard surface of the object. He tried attaching his magboots to it, finding the effort ineffective. The object looked like it was made of rock, which it probably was.

  He swung to the left, vectoring jets allowing him to turn more easily and regain forward momentum. His helmet lights stretched across the blackness, but so much of the light was refracted, it only covered a couple of meters before fading out. There had to be something in the vacuum, some kind of invisible particle blocking the light. Still, the entire vessel seemed empty. It reminded Joseph of the Trojan Horse, not that they had encountered an entire army of squids. And not that he was about to complain about that.

  It was more like a scouting party or a forward unit sent to test their defenses.

  A shiver ran down his spine at the thought. “Fatcat, stay close,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. Morales used his jets to catch up, coming up beside him again.

  They went side-by-side, deeper into the darkness. Joseph continued flipping through the filters in his helmet, but there seemed no way to penetrate the void. He looked back for the entrance to the object and couldn’t see it.

  “Queen, is the object still open?” he asked.

  “Affirmative, Prime,” West replied.

  “We can’t see much of anything in here.” He turned his eyes to the front again. Shouldn’t they have reached the front of the object by now? He jabbed his rifle forward, searching for the wall.

  Something grabbed it, trying to pull it out of his hands.

  “Shit!” he shouted, firing a few rounds. The recoil pushed him backward, the muzzle flash unable to make a dent in the dark. He didn’t see anything, even after he flipped the helmet’s filter to motion. The bullets had struck the wall, and there wasn’t anything in front of him.

  “Prime,” Siraj said over the comm. “What happened? Report.”

  “Actual, it felt like something grabbed my rifle. Filters aren’t reading anything. It has to be the darkness messing with my head. Fatcat, do you see anything?”

  “Negative, Prime,” Morales replied. “I’m....ahhhh!”

  Joseph pivoted with his jets, finding Morales, his body spasming. There was no sign of anything touching or attacking him, but he was screaming and convulsing as he slowly floated upward, out of control.

  “Morales!” Joseph shouted, using his jets to climb toward him. “Actual, Morales is in trouble. We need medical standing by at the nearest airlock. Queen, Tran, I need you down here asap.”

  “Copy that, Prime,” Siraj said.

  “Copy…” Queen trailed off. “Uh, Prime, we have a problem. The opening in the object that was there a second ago? It’s gone.”

  31

  Cross

  Pioneer. Exterior. 11.12.2052. 0115 hours.

  “Say again, Queen,” Joseph said, still rising toward Morales. He caught the shuddering Guardian, wrapping his arm around his chest.

  “Prime, I said the object’s opening is…” West’s voice faded out. Joseph could see that the network connection in his helmet’s overlay had dropped.

  He and Morales were alone, without Pioneer’s network to relay comms from helmet to helmet; they couldn’t talk to one another. Damn the lousy design. But who would have thought they would ever be in a situation like this?

  Joseph held Morales, pulling his body around so they were face to face. The Guardian’s eyes were rolled back in his head, and his nose was bleeding, his mouth moving in a silent scream. What the hell was going on? He waved his hand in front of Morales’ face, trying to get his attention. Nothing.

  Part of him wanted to panic, and he forcefully shoved the thought away. His rarely used callsign was Arctic for a reason. He needed to stay calm and get the two of them out of here. He couldn’t do that if his head wasn’t clear.

  First, he needed to get Morales calm. The flailing and convulsing wasn’t helping anything. He wished he had one of those needles Okoye had used on Levi so he could put Morales to sleep. But he had the next best thing, as long as he was careful.

  He reached up, finding one of the clasps for Morales’ helmet and getting his finger tucked beneath it, ready to snap it open. As soon as he did, the seal would break and air would begin leaking out of Morales’ space suit. That wasn’t enough, because the air would keep flowing as long as the helmet was on, the suit’s computer compensating for the leak by pushing more oxygen through the system. He needed to get the whole bucket off, and he needed to do it fast enough that he didn’t use up all of the suit’s air in the process. Then, once Morales passed out from the asphyxiation, he needed to get the helmet back on before he either suffered irreversible brain damage or died.

  He got his other hand on one of the clasps, checking the position of the remaining two. Then he flipped his fingers up, breaking the seals. The sudden flow of oxygen from the base of the helmet was enough to begin pushing them upward again at an angle. They started to tumble end over end through the vacuum.

  Joseph slid his hands forward, getting his fingers on the clasps. Morales spasmed again, his arm shoving back and knocking Joseph’s hand away. The change in force started them rotating as they spun, slowing the entire operation.

  It took precious seconds for Joseph to get his finger back on the clasp, fully breaking the seals and then turning the helmet slightly to disconnect it from its locking ring. He lifted it just enough for the air supply from the suit to shut off. Morales’ face changed, the scream of pain changing to a desperate effort to breathe, mouth opening and closing in a silent gasp. The convulsion slowed to a stop, his body beginning to relax as the seconds passed.

  Joseph kept count in his head, ready to put the helmet back on as soon as Morales was out. It took about forty seconds, and then the Guardian’s head lolled slightly, eyes closing, body still. He pulled the helmet back down into the lock, turning it into place and quickly snapping the clasps closed. Morales was static in his grip, no longer struggling against whatever had hold of him.

  Joseph replaced his rifle with Morales’, using the tether holding it to the other man’s powerpack to keep him close. Then he took a few seconds to recompose himself, turning his head in an effort to get his bearings. He couldn’t. His lights couldn’t penetrate the darkness, leaving him floating in a literal void. His stomach complained at the idea, and his mind threatened panic again.

  “I can get out of this,” he said, to keep himself calm. “Stay calm and think.” He knew he was inside a fixed object. That meant there were walls, and if he reached one of them he could trace his way along it to search for the door. The trick was somehow managing to level off and stay straight when he had zero sense of direction and no point of reference. He was essentially blind.

  Fortunately, both his and Morales’ space suits had an auto-leveling function, and he used them to kill their spin and rotation, the vectoring jets firing to bring them to a static stop. Morales floated less than a meter away from him, held captive by his rifle tether.

  “Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere,” Joseph said.

  It occurred to him then that he should remain in place and wait for the other Guardians to get them out. They could see the object to shoot it, and assuming they could blast through it, it would only be a matter of time before they were rescued. He needed to wait for his Guardians to come through. He trusted they would.

  Assuming they had enough ordnance to break through the object’s hide. It appeared to be a rock, but it was like no rock he had ever seen before, and who knew how hard the material was or how much abuse it could take. What if they couldn’t make a hole to get Morales and him out?

  He checked his diagnostics in the corner of his helmet. His suit had four hours of oxygen remaining. Morales would have less. Three hours felt like a good conservative estimate. Did it make sense to waste that air waiting for a rescue that might not have a chance of success? The Guardians would give a hundred percent, but even that wasn’t always good enough.

  It was a tough call to make. He didn’t have the first guess how to get out. He couldn’t see a damn thing. Smart money was on staying put, but he’d never been one to remain idle when his people were in trouble, and Morales was definitely hurting. Besides, something had tugged on his rifle. Something had closed the door. Something had hurt his Marine. He wasn’t alone in here, and whatever was with him had every advantage.

  Sitting duck. That’s what he was. In the belly of the beast.

  Less emotion, more logic. Whatever was in here, it hadn’t attacked him yet. That was good. He couldn’t really fight it if it did. That was bad. His best bet was to escape as quickly as possible and hope the entity or whatever it was had satisfied itself with Morales.

  It was a macabre thought, but it also made the most logical sense to him. Why else would it leave him alone?

  Unless it was toying with him.

  He flipped the helmet filter to motion tracking. He didn’t know if the system would be effective through this much darkness. He had to try.

  He raised his rifle and fired a single round, re-engaging the auto-leveling as soon as he did to keep the recoil from pushing him back. At the same time, he watched the blue streak through his helmet, the filter tracking the trajectory. It froze after a couple of seconds, the round lost in the black, or maybe hitting a wall. He had gotten an extra three meters beyond his visual range with the shot. It was better than nothing, but not by much.

  If he moved to a wall, there was only a twenty-five percent chance he would wind up at the same place the Guardians would likely try to breach. Taking all of the factors into account, he decided it was worth the risk.

  He fired the vectoring jets, tugging Morales along behind him as he floated forward. It was impossible to tell if he was moving in a perfectly straight line, but he figured if he felt like he was shifting he could auto-level again and start over. After hours sweeping Pioneer’s hull, his powerpack was still at fifty percent. He was pretty sure his air would run out before his battery.

  A minute passed. Another. He drifted across the object’s interior, stopping twice to correct before moving again. It was tedious, and he kept hoping for a sign the Guardians were trying to get in. A vibration, a sudden piercing light, he wasn’t picky. He didn’t think he was in immediate danger, but an undercurrent of fear coursed through him, and he didn’t like it.

  Joseph continued floating for another five minutes. He hit the wall without warning, the darkness refusing to subside even as he collided with the barrier and bounced off. He triggered the auto-level and then quickly reached up, grabbing the tether and holding it back, trying to keep Morales from hitting the wall. He pulled the other man in close, getting a better grip and leveling again.

  A deep rumble echoed inside his helmet. A sound that wasn’t coming from him or his comms. It expanded into a second tone, like a deep-throated shout. He recognized the sound. It was a variation of the noise that had come through Pioneer’s comm when they tried to hail the object.

  The volume increased, the small speakers beginning to crackle. The noise penetrated Joseph’s skull, making him feel like his head was literally shaking. An electric pain began to course down his body, and he clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. This was it. The attack that had crippled Morales.

  He refused to give in. He fought to keep his eye motions clean as he used a series of squints and blinks to navigate through the helmet’s menu to the systems reset. He triggered it, a large warning filling his entire viewport, advising him that resetting the suit in the current environment could have catastrophic consequences.

  So would doing nothing.

  The sound continued to pour through the speakers. His ears felt wet, as did his nose. The pain was excruciating, but he refused to spasm and convulse. Mind over matter. He wasn’t letting the damned thing win.

  He acknowledged the reset. The suit shut down. The air went with it. So did the vectoring jets. So did the lights, the comms and the speakers.

  The universe fell silent and dark. The pain subsided. For a moment, Joseph felt a sense of peace unlike anything he had experienced before. The deprivation of everything.

  When the suit came back online, would the sound return? He had to assume it would. He would need to take quick breaths and recycle the system to rid himself of the attack once more.

  Or would his attacker decide on a different tactic? Could it?

  He reached out, getting his hand on the wall. It wasn’t flat and smooth. Even through his thick gloves he could feel uneven roughness like stone. He used it to pull himself and Morales closer. His system finished booting, the air beginning to flow back in, everything else coming online after that, one subroutine at a time. He breathed deeply, beginning to tug himself along the wall. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he hoped he would find it.

  The comms and speakers came back online.

  The attack returned with them, first with the rumble, then by the scream and the pain. Joseph repeated the process, shutting his systems down to relieve the agony. The sound vanished, but an echo of it remained, reverberating through Joseph’s mind. Maybe it was the pain, maybe it was the darkness, maybe it was something else, but he would swear he heard human words inside it.

  I hunger.

  32

  Cross

  Alien Object. Interior. 11.12.2052. 0200 hours.

  Joseph continued to cycle his suit as he crawled along the inside wall of the alien object. He wasn’t willing to let go of the wall to make the travel easier, needing the feel of something solid beneath his hands to keep himself sane in the darkness.

  The pattern was always the same. Reboot. Screaming. Pain. Recycle. He had done it fifteen times already, in between adjusting Morales’ rifle so he could keep both hands free. He wasn’t afraid of a physical attack, not anymore. Whatever was making the noise it didn’t seem interested in confronting him that way.

  It had been thirty minutes since the door had closed him in. Thirty minutes of searching for a means to get out. Thirty minutes of waiting for the Guardians to blow a piece of the alien rock to hell. The reboots were taking their toll, leaving him gulping down air for the thirty seconds he could stand it before restarting again. Coupled with his original exhaustion, he was running on sheer willpower and refusal to quit.

  Morales still floated behind him, unconscious for the moment. He expected the Guardian to come to at any second, and if he was exposed to the noise again, he’d wind up in the same place he was before. Joseph couldn’t tell the other man to reboot his system and he didn’t know if Morales would figure it out on his own.

  The upside—the consistency to the attack had caused his fear of it to fade. And while he had done his best not to let that fear affect his actions or his thinking, it had been a presence in the back of his mind, whittling at everything. Not anymore. He was focused on what he needed to do.

  Find a way out.

  If there was one.

  But what if there wasn’t?

  He couldn’t entertain that thought. He also couldn’t worry about Morales’ air supply, which continued to dwindle. At least his use was slowed by the resets. His four hours would likely be five or six if this continued, though he was pretty sure he would pass out from sheer exhaustion by then. He was already hearing things in the strange groaning screams. How long before he started to hallucinate?

  He kept going, pushing ahead. He recited the Rifleman’s Creed over and over to keep himself rooted, forcing the words to come out in full and in order.