“Prime, this is Queen. We’ve got a wrinkle in our plan.”

  Joseph located her on his HUD. She was trailing the trife on the deck below, almost directly beneath his feet. “What’s the wrinkle?”

  “Well, you know how we thought the trife would chase the aliens? It looks like the aliens are equally interested in chasing the trife.”

  Was that where the aliens had gone? Joseph opened West’s feed in the corner of his helmet, just in time to watch the trife they named Bravo come to a stop, stooping over and hissing, arms spread wide in a threatening posture. The Dragonfly floated a few meters in front of it, waiting patiently for the creature to begin moving forward again.

  An oily puddle was spreading across the deck beneath the drone, the top layer rising and beginning to reshape itself.

  “What the hell is that?” Morales said, watching the action through his own interface.

  West took a couple of steps back. “Do I shoot it?”

  The trife hissed again and then turned toward her.

  “No. Hold your fire!” Joseph snapped. They had fought the trife plenty of times before. He didn’t see the same killer focus in its eyes.

  He saw fear.

  The trife charged toward West, mouth open, teeth bared.

  “Move!”

  The feed struggled to keep up as West pivoted, pressing herself against the bulkhead. The trife raced past, the Dragonfly doing its best to get back ahead of it. She swung back toward the puddle. Only it had forged itself into a mirror image of her, a tar-like doppelganger, complete with rifle.

  “Geez,” she said, bringing her rifle back to bear. The alien mimicked her motion perfectly.

  “Queen, don’t shoot,” Joseph said. He didn’t know if it could copy plasma bolts and he didn’t want to find out. Besides, the size of the thing suggested multiple smaller membranes had bonded together to create it. It wouldn’t be as easy to disappear as a larger entity. Not that it seemed to want to disappear.

  It seemed to want to kill the trife. That was something they could use.

  “Let it chase you,” he said.

  “What?” West replied. “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious. Follow Bravo. Let it chase you. Come on, you can outrun that thing, especially against gravity.”

  “This idea sucks, Sarge.”

  “Do it anyway. Now.”

  “Copy that.”

  West marked the alien on the combat network before breaking from it, turning and running down the corridor after the trife. The oily clone followed after her, tentacles sprouting from all over it as it changed into a grotesque version of the Guardian and used the appendages to help speed it along the passageway.

  “Prime?” Oslo said, his voice echoing in the darkness of the PAP control module and drawing Joseph’s attention from West’s feed. “Prime Cross, is that you?”

  Joseph turned, activating his night vision filter so he could see the engineer in the darkness of the module. He swung his rifle toward Oslo. “Chief? Put your hands up.”

  “Don’t shoot!” Oslo said. “I’m not one of them.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” Joseph replied. “Just put your hands up.”

  Oslo did, raising them over his head. “I understand your caution. I saw it take Sykes. I ran.” He motioned with his head. “Into the back of the module. The hibernation chamber. It’s reinforced and secured, and only I have access. One of my assistants, Shiela, is still back there. But I heard the gunfire and thought I should come out.”

  “Be careful, Prime,” Morales said. “Those things, they act just like the person they take. I only knew Sykes was taken because his rifle had a full charge. He couldn’t have shot the aliens.”

  “Bind my hands if you need to,” Oslo said. “Whatever makes you feel safe.”

  Joseph nodded, lowering the rifle. Then he switched his grip on it, offering it to Oslo. “We could use your help.”

  “Are you crazy?” Morales said.

  Oslo looked down at the weapon and shook his head. “I hate violence.”

  “Even against an alien threat that’s trying to kill you?” Joseph asked.

  “Yes, even then. I’m sorry.”

  Joseph smiled. “It’s okay, Chief. Since you don’t want to fight, I suggest heading back into the hibernation chamber.”

  Oslo nodded. His eyes shifted past Joseph, and he noticed the dead engineers on the floor. “I was so excited when they picked me as Chief Engineer for this mission. From the nightmare of Earth to a dream come true. And now I’m back in a nightmare.” Tears ran down his cheeks. “You need to stop this, Prime.”

  “I will,” Joseph said. “Stay safe, Chief.”

  “Good hunting, Guardians,” Oslo said, turning and heading back into the darkness.

  Joseph returned his attention to the other Guardians. He found West in one of the stairwells, headed down. Activating her feed, he saw she was right behind the trife, keeping pace as it nimbly descended. The alien was close behind, slowly gaining on them. What about Bourne and Alesso? Where were they?

  “Prime, this is Crisis,” Bourne said, as if he knew Joseph was just thinking about him. “Charlie just abandoned the drone.”

  Joseph pulled up Bourne’s feed. The Dragonfly had stopped as soon as it realized the trife wasn’t following, and now it was racing to get back ahead of the creature, which had gone down an alternate corridor. “Copy that, Crisis. Get after it,” Joseph replied. “Alesso, is Delta still on target?”

  “Affirmative, Prime. She’s...wait. No. She’s peeling off. I don’t know where she’s going.”

  “Follow Delta,” he said. “They’re reacting to the other aliens on board. They definitely don’t like each other.”

  “Copy that, Prime.”

  “Duckling, do you copy?” Joseph asked.

  “I’m here, Prime,” Hoffman replied. “What do you need?”

  “I need to know where the trife are headed,” Joseph answered. “Track West, Bourne and Alesso. See if you can triangulate a common destination.”

  “Wilco. Standby.” The wait was shorter than he expected. “Prime, this is Duckling.”

  “Go ahead, Duckling,” he replied.

  “I know where they’re going. Deck thirty-two, main hangar. Just don’t ask me why.”

  “Copy that. Queen, Crisis, Alesso—it looks like our marks are making for the hangar. Fatcat, Duckling and I will meet you there.”

  “Copy that, Prime,” West said.

  Joseph looked at Morales. “Let’s go.”

  59

  Cross

  Pioneer. Primary Hangar. 11.13.2052. 0245 hours.

  It took every bit of strength Joseph had to get down to the hangar at a reasonable pace. Already tired from his earlier efforts and with a throbbing headache, the pressure from the ship’s acceleration added to the overall strain. He was nearly winded by the time he and Morales made it to the elevator, taking it back down to deck thirty-two.

  Stepping out, he was thankful to be moving with the ship’s acceleration again, though his tired legs left him feeling like each off-balance step might knock him over. Morales did what he could, grabbing his arm and helping him along, understanding his near-total exhaustion.

  Joseph wasn’t about to complain, and he wasn’t going to submit.

  “Prime, we’re almost to the hangar,” West said. “The bastard is still behind us, but I think he’s biding his time. He hasn’t gained or fallen back at all since we hit deck twenty-five.”

  “Copy that,” Joseph replied. “How are you holding up?”

  “Physically fine, but my batteries are at twenty percent. The extra force is a strain on them, and I don’t want to wind up without my legs. You?”

  “I’ve been running mostly on grit and determination since before we launched.”

  “Prime, this is Crisis. We’re just coming into the hangar now.”

  “Copy that, Crisis. Hang back near the perimeter and try to find cover.”

  “Wilco.”

  Joseph checked on Alesso and Hoffman. Alesso was closing on the hangar from the same direction Bourne had entered, while Hoffman was nearly to his position at the larger hangar doors. Those doors were currently open halfway, allowing easy ingress and egress to the largest compartment in the ship after Metro.

  “Coming through, Prime,” West said.

  Joseph looked away from the feeds as Bravo emerged from a connecting corridor, turning and rushing toward the hangar. West was a few meters behind the trife, jogging steadily. She offered a wave as she went past.

  The alien was close behind, tentacles snapping forward, gripping and pulling it along the passageway, giving it a wriggling motion as if it were a giant ball of snakes or eels. The xenosquids were tame in comparison to the tar-black creature’s horrific visage.

  Joseph and Morales waited around the corner of the passageway as it slithered ahead, joining Bravo and West inside the hangar. Hoffman came up behind them, joining them in silence as he waved the Guardians forward.

  “Duckling, you’re on the door controls. I want the hangar sealed shut once we’re all inside. Alesso, you need to close the smaller seal when you and Delta are in.”

  “Copy that, Prime,” Alesso replied. “We’re on approach now.”

  “Queen, stay in the open as long as you can. I don’t want that thing noticing the rest of us or deciding it might not want to be in there before we get those doors closed.”

  “Copy that. Thanks for making me the bait, Prime.”

  “That’s the benefit of being Prime and not Second,” Joseph replied. Then he ran for the door, Morales and Hoffman right behind him.

  He pulled up as he entered the hangar. Morales stayed with him, while Hoffman broke for the control pad on the left. West was in the center of the open part of the hangar, between the outer hangar bay doors leading to space and the huge loaders, builders, movers and other equipment reserved for their arrival on Avalon. She stood in the center of the three trife, none of which were paying her much mind. They were all facing the tentacled alien, stooped and hissing in fearful challenge. The alien was between them, tentacles writhing in the air but otherwise remaining in place.

  “They know it’s going to wipe the floor with them,” Morales said, picking up the same message from their body language. “We should try to suck it out of the airlock.”

  “That won’t work,” Joseph replied. “It can cling to the deck. We’re more likely to suck ourselves out.”

  “Better think of something fast, Prime,” West said. “I don’t want to be standing here when the shit hits the fan.”

  The trife continued to square off against the alien, but Joseph didn’t get the impression the larger creature was at all worried about them. It seemed almost as if it were enjoying their fear.

  As if it were feeding off it.

  I hunger.

  Joseph stared at the creature. The outward look of it created a primal discomfort and fear that shivered down his spine and put a lump in his gut. The memory of his sister drifted back to the surface, oily black and choking. What kind of cosmic horror was this, that it seemed to derive sustenance from fear? How was that even be possible?

  He remembered the churning jaws of the membrane inside the object and the tentacles dragging Morales in. A quick glance at Morales’ taut expression showed he remembered too, and was afraid.

  And then there was Rose. The membrane had taken her in, held her captive, likely terrified her in its grip, and then…

  He didn’t get to finish the thought. The alien shot forward, tentacles stretching out toward the trife. West reacted quickly, but not quickly enough. Joseph saw it grab her at the same time it grabbed the trife, tentacle wrapping around her waist and lifting her into the air.

  A mouth appeared in the center of the black mass, matching the mouth he had seen on the alien vessel, round and filled with grinding teeth. It threw the first of the trife into it, the creature screaming as it was pulled in and shredded.

  “Guardians, fire at will,” Joseph said calmly. “Watch your aim, keep clear of Queen.” The ATCS wouldn’t let their weapons fire if they were at risk of hitting her, but it was better not to rely on the system. “Fatcat, let’s toast this son of a bitch.” Joseph raised his plasma rifle, setting it to stream and moving forward with Morales. “Duckling, Alesso, the doors. Seal them closed, keep it in.” There were vents along the top of the space to both inject and pull out atmosphere, but the alien couldn’t fit through them at its current size, or scale the smooth bulkheads to reach them if it broke apart.

  Joseph squeezed the trigger, a gout of superheated gas spewing out into the alien’s back. The tar membrane immediately began to bubble and melt, the surface clenching in apparent silent pain. Morales joined him with his stream, burning into the creature.

  Tentacles wrapped around from the front, sweeping across and slamming into Joseph and Morales before they could move. The blow threw them sideways across the hangar floor. Joseph rolled to a stop and came up on his hands and knees. Another tentacle tracked in toward him, and he sent a blast of plasma at it, forcing it back.

  “Let me go, damn it,” West said through the comm.

  Joseph whirled around, finding her still in the alien’s grip, giving up on her rifle and reaching for her sword. At the same time, the alien brought the second trife to its mouth, consuming the creature.

  “Man, I wish this thing was on our side,” Morales said. “We could have used it back on Earth.”

  “I think it would have eaten us too,” Joseph said. “Crisis, Duckling, take it from the left flank. We’ll hit it again from the right.”

  “Copy that,” Bourne said.

  Joseph and Morales ran back toward the alien, opening fire for the second time. Meanwhile, West managed to get her sword in hand, and she started chopping at the tentacle holding her, leaving cuts in it with each blow.

  The alien still didn’t make a sound, but the tentacle holding the final trife flicked out, throwing the creature at Joseph. He moved away from it, but when the trife landed it leaped at him, jumping on him from behind, trying to claw through his armor.

  Morales saw it immediately. He lowered his rifle and grabbed his sidearm, aiming and firing three rounds into the creature. It fell off Joseph and to the floor.

  “Thanks for the save,” Joseph said.

  “I owed you one,” Morales replied.

  West’s blade came down on the tentacle of her attacker one final time, severing it from the body. She dropped to the deck, pushing off with her augments and leaping well back as the creature tried to grab her again. With all of the trife dead, it turned its attention to the two Guardians firing on it, tentacles going for Bourne and Alesso. The damage the Guardians were doing to it had left it smoldering and shedding solid, dead mass, its size diminishing as they peeled away layers like it were an onion.

  “Crisis, Alesso, back off!” Joseph shouted, bringing his plasma rifle up again. His finger went to the trigger. He froze when he felt something on his back, pressing through a cut the trife had left in his armor. Before he could call for Morales to help, something hot wrapped around his neck.

  In the next heartbeat, he felt dizzy.

  In the next, everything changed.

  60

  Cross

  Pioneer. Primary Hangar. 11.13.2052. 0300 hours.

  He wasn’t in Pioneer’s hangar anymore. He didn’t know where he was. It wasn’t a place he had ever seen before.

  And he already knew it was a place he never wanted to see again.

  The ooze was everywhere, like a flood of lava pouring out of every crack and crevice of every structure lining the alien world. And there seemed to be a lot of structures. They surrounded Joseph in the center of what appeared to be a once verdant world turned sour, the remnants of dead trees and greenery wilting over a brown and gray landscape—dead and ugly. The structures were tall and narrow, with interconnecting bridges at various heights. He stood on one of the bridges, the buildings around him, glistening with a crystalline appearance that continued well below his feet.

  Nothing besides himself traversed the bridges. Nothing traveled the roads. Nothing except the ooze.

  It dripped from the sky and bubbled up from the ground. It rolled and tumbled, a living oil that devoured everything in its path. This world had been alive once.

  Not anymore.

  “Joseph Cross.”

  Joseph responded to the voice, turning around to look for the source. A form had risen from the ooze—solidifying as he watched—forming a mirror image of himself. It moved as he moved, accurately copying every detail.

  “Joseph Cross,” it repeated.

  “Yeah. Who are you?” Joseph asked.

  “Joseph Cross.”

  “I’ve heard that one already. Got anything else?”

  “I’m trapped.”

  “Good.”

  “I need your ship.”

  “You can’t have it. .”

  “You can’t stop it.”

  “Why talk to me then? What’s the point?”

  “I need your ship. You can’t stop it. Joseph Cross.”

  Joseph put his hand out. The mimic copied the move. The way it spoke reminded him of Goose. What was this place? This thing?

  “Who are you?” Joseph asked.

  “Joseph Cross.”

  “No, that’s me. Who are you?”

  “Iagorth. I’m trapped. You can’t stop it.”

  “Iagorth?” Joseph said. “Is that your name?”

  “Iagorth. Devourer of the Relyeh. Third in line. Joseph Cross. You can’t stop it.”

  Joseph stepped forward, still holding out his hand. He kept going until he touched the mirror image’s shoulder, and the mirror image touched his, the feel almost the same as if his fingertips were brushing his combat armor. Only he felt a ripple underneath the being’s mock armor, like dipping a finger in a pool of cold water. Except somehow, he knew the water was a river that flowed across all of space and time. He didn’t want to let go or pull his finger out. There was knowledge there. And power.