NationStates Jolt Archive

"Captain, we are approximately ten minutes from our scheduled transition out of folded space," announced R-Trefan. "If I may be so bold, you might join us on the bridge."

"Oh, I suppose so," replied Captain Jameson over the intercom. "Lemme find some pants, then."

"Naturally, Captain."

The duty crew looked amused. There was no secret of the romance between the captain and the tactical officer, and no need for secrecy thanks to changes to Space Command policy for long trips with the FTL drive. But the captain was rather...lax about protocol to begin with, and it was a good bet he might have said that even if he weren't in Lieutenant Caldwell's quarters when R-Trefan called. Much to the horror of Space Command, the crew loved him for it.

The Perseus had been running long-range exploration for over six years, and were finally coming home. They were the first ship to utilise the Sunset-based shielding systems, and it had already saved their lives once when they jumped a little too close to a star with dangerous sunspot activity. The active radiation surging from the stellar event would have cooked one of the first generation vessels within minutes, especially at the range they came in.

"What do you think, Cobb?" asked Ensign Andrews, sitting in the navigator's chair next to R-Trefan. "Gonna sign on for another jaunt after this? Or you gonna settle on Jewel? I hear the Emperor set a ratio of three women for every man, to keep the gene pool healthy."

"You're a dirty little boy," Lieutenant Cobb declared, grinning at Andrews' suggestion. "And I don't know. A nice, quiet desk job sounds pretty good at Space Command. And I hear they're building a new space station for the NDA; I might like to get in on that."

"The Emperor Treznor has set no such policy," R-Trefan admonished. "But he has colonised the planet illegally, in spite of confirmation of a sentient species already in possession of the world you named Jewel. I would advise against joining any settlements there."

"I hear they're barely sentient," Andrews retorted. "And they're a nuisance. Always stealing things from the colony."

"That would suggest the colony is creating irreperable damage to the creatures' nascient culture. Clearly, our government needs to bring political pressure to bear, perhaps at the next meeting of the Triumvirate Council."

"Easy for you to say," Andrews said hotly. "You machines can live anywhere you can run a generator. We don't have that luxury. And how do you know those rats aren't in decline? Maybe we're seeing the end of their culture, instead of the beginning?"

"There is no data to support your hypothesis. And given the circumstances, I suspect you're unfortunately correct. The indigenous lifeforms on that world are unlikely to survive --"

The argument was cut short abruptly as the ship lurched violently, followed by the piercing shriek of emergency alarms.

"Damage report!" snapped Commander Taylor, calling up the viewscreen on the command chair. "What happened?"

"We have dropped out of folded space, Commander," announced R-Trefan. "I don't know why. We're lucky that whatever pulled us out didn't destroy us at the same time."

"Tactical! What's out there?"

"It's hard to say, Sir. Passive systems are fuzzy. Active radar is pinging all sorts of weird returns. It's like we're stuck in a cloud of static."

"Raise our shields, Ensign."

"Sir, I can't. Whatever's interfering with our sensors is doing the same with our shield array. The system keeps giving me errors."

"Navigation? Where the hell are we?"

"Commander, we appear to be very close to home. I'd say we're less than a lightyear from Earth. We haven't reached the Oort Cloud yet; I don't see anything out there at this time."

The hatch leading from crew quarters opened, and Captain Jameson stormed in. "What the hell happened?"

Taylor leapt to his feet. "Captain on the bridge!"

"Stow that, Jerry. What's going on?"

Taylor filled him in briefly. Jameson nodded as he took his chair, absently doing up the last of the buttons on his shirt. "All right, go to full alert. Helm, how's she running?"

"I've got full maneuverability, Sir."

"All right, hold here. Mister Trefan, can you get us back into transit?"

"The distance is problematic, Captain. We may be too close. Also, we don't know what dragged us out of transit in the first place."

"See what you can do. I don't relish another year on this boat trying to get home. Comms, get on the horn and advise Space Command of our situation. Dump our logs up to this moment and advise them we're still looking at our options. Helm, all ahead slow."

"Aye, Sir. All ahead slow."

Just then, the proximity alarm went off.

Millions of voices organised into one. A unity that no sentient creature could truly understand or possibly hope to comprehend acted with the swiftness that dazzled. Where chaotic individuality could reign, all free will was expunged ruthlessely and efficiently. There were no free thoughts, hopes or dreams, aspirations or failures and anything in between.

The hive was all.

Yet, even as these voices slept, their energies turned from the waking world, and into one of travel and bone-weary journeying, they whispered. In their dreams, they tossed and turned, and these meanderings were grouped together and transmitted as one, massive slumbering dream. It was this that radiated out form the massive, hulking forms of the Bioships, it was this that passed through the normal bounds of space-time and dissapated within the strange alternate dimensions of the void.

And it was this wave that had disrupted the folding travel of the Terran vessel as it found itself grinding to a quite unexplained halt.

They floated within a loose group of seven craft. The largest were bulbous affairs, their iron-hard chitin providing an effective barrier against the ice-cold touch of deep space. They drifted onwards between sleekened craft. Pointed fronts trailing whipped tentacles that writhed slightly with the spark of life that energised gently through its massive frame.

Yet deep inside these living ships, little stirred. Vats of gene-spliced goo bubbled quietly inside massive containers, unwatched and unrequiring of attention. The occasional small, mindless flying insect hopped from one muscular extrusion to another, exposed shaft of bone. The chambers were dark affairs, with only the constant exertion of the massive mothership breaking the complete silence of the interior.

Elsewhere, nightmares slept, and dreamt of their own accord.

Thousands of Termagaunts lay frozen within vast spawning pools. Held within the rich nutrional slime that covered each completely, they lay with their eyes closed tightly, their arms huddled close within their compact bodies. They occasionally flicked a limb out in reaction, but nothing more than a random neuron firing betrayed any sense of wakefullness.

Yet these creatures were inconsequental next to their larger cousins. Massive, multi-limbed Hormagaunts snarled from within their frozen pods. Sickle-bladed arms stretched out in blood-curling challenge, even as they were frozen for their vast intergalactic movement. Even as they were forced by the hive mind to succumb to rest, they bellowed and cried their bloodlust. Such creatures lived only to murder, to rend and destroy. Even in rest they found no peace.

And dominating that chamber, within a central dias shaped much like a grotesque egg, sat the Hive Tyrant. Bound within its translucent walls, it slept. Vast, pulsating tubules drifting down from the ceiling and connecting snugly with vast ports on its purple flesh. Its chest rose and fell, massive lungs taking in breath after breath of refreshing oxygen, whilst greenish fluid pumped in from extended tubules.

Throughout each Bioship, within the hundreds of chambers, totalling their thousands and millions, the creatures of Hive Fleet Sicarius lay frozen in rage. Remembering only their dullest, last waking moments before being interred in prisons of nutritional ice and replenishing slime. They waited, gaining strength and lust for battle, but unable to act on their most bestial impulses.

Elsewhere, the Treznor vessel, unable to navigate itself with proficieny as the dream waves of the Hive fleet permeated its being, drifted too closely in. Its own proximity alarms warning it of impending disaster, so did a chain of events begin on the closest Hive ship. A chain of events that would ultimately lead to a new, and terrible cruelty being unleashed even as Earth itself became the target for a handful of vessels from the same fleet that stirred now.

Eyes flashed open. Orbs of the purest black that showed no pitty, nor promise of mercy. They instantly focused, and the creature rose up. Tearing the replenishment tubes from its thorax, it pushed through the thick barrier of the support nest, extending its limbs as if to stretch fatigue from its joints. Stepping down form the dias of bone, and sinew, it looked through the cavernous chamber before, housing many thousands of sleeping nightmares.

The Hive Tyrant rose its head backwards, and let out a terrible cry.

"Tactical! Dammit, what's out there?" Jameson snapped irritably. He could perhaps be forgiven, considering the circumstances. Even the solar flare hadn't rattled him like this.

"Sir, I can't tell. Radar is snowing like crazy, I can't verify anything. Mass detectors are registering something big out there. No, wait, several things."

"How big?"

"They're bigger than we are, Sir."

"What are they doing?"

"They're just sitting there, for now. I think we could throw some light on them, though. Maybe get a visual."

"Then do it!"

Ensign Baylor leaned forward in her seat and brought up the digital feed for the Perseus' telescopes. She adjusted them for close range sighting and toggled the floodlamps, directing them both with the brush of her fingertip against a pressure-sensitive pad. A moment later she gasped.

"Well? What it is it?"

"Sir, I...they're definitely alien. I count six...seven...eight vessels out there. I'm not seeing anything that could be a docking port or entry hatch, and I'm not sure if anything corresponds to a weapon. If I had to guess, I'd say they look kind of...organic."

"Put it up on the overhead, Ensign. Let's all see it."

Baylor obeyed silently. The forward viewscreen lit up, showing digital images of very alien asymmetrical ships floating quietly in the depths of space. Three of the vessels were significantly larger than the other five, although all of them sported tentacle-like extensions and amorphous bubbles like boils up and down the hulls. The bridge was silent as everyone took in the images.

Jameson cleared his throat. "First contact. It looks like we'll be getting a page of history for ourselves. Comms, initiate First Contact protocols. Make sure Space Command is getting a feed of this."

"Aye, Sir."

"Tactical, are they doing anything? I can't tell if they're alive."

"Sir, I'm registering some mild heat sources on infrared. Nothing I'd describe as activity, but I really can't tell. For all I know, this could mean they're running around like crazy, or maybe they're still waking up."

Jameson nodded and waited as the Perseus sent out simple analog radio waves, codified long ago by Terran Space Agencies designed to initiate contact with alien intelligences. After that, all any of them could do was wait.

Razor sharp claws flashed murderous intent within the gleaming, flickering light of the brooding chamber. Chitinious plates of exotic substance hardened as the foul legged creature emerged from the bubbling pool. It stood on two, powerful legs, lean and poised. Four arms extended, shaking the slow-dripping secretions of slime from joints and folds in its leathery, bumped flesh. Springing forward in short, powerful bounds it screamed. A high pitched wail that seemed to permeate the air itself and radiate the molecules with undiluted terror. It swung impossibly sharpened, scythed limbs, cutting through the dense fog that hugged and rolled with the organic flooring of the Bioship.

The ground shook as a great shadow cast itself over the emerging and enraged Hormagaunt. Standing fully three times taller than its smaller sibling, the Hive Tyrant roared in answer. A guttural snarl, based and animalistic it reeked of power and authority. Extending its upper arms, it swung its own massive scythes downwards, impaling the oozing, slimed flooring just in front of the hissing gaunt.

The new arrival snarled, yet not as loudly as before. Realising its inability to best the opponent before it, and with an almost visible frustration, it lowered its chitinious limbs, admitting defeat. Pleased with the subservance, the Massive, hulked form of the monstrious Tyrant stepped to the side, allowing the Hormagaunt through, to nestle and squabble with a brood of its likewise cousins.

The gene pools bubbled furiously now as they awoke. Deep inside the murky purple waters, strands of genetic material were spliced together with blinding speed and dedication. Small, nimble creatures shaped like Terran beatles yet adorned with bright oranges and yellows swam through the thick slime. Sporting dozens of tiny, almost invisible yet fully functional limbs, it manipulated the genetic material before it, snipping, uniting and altering as the Hive Mind directed, as it commanded.

Slowly floating from deep, murky depths, foetal creatues drifted upwards, where Hardened, iron-like chitin should adorn, pink fleshy plates pulsed, not yet ready to adopt the considerable burden of providing protection. Black, dead orbs were sealed closed behind two sets of lids, the final layer a light blue that gave an odd, enlarged look to the head.

As it broke the surface of the pool, a flurry of activity followed. A termagaunt, yet mutated beyond such a basic genus, flapped itself into position on leathery, pockmarked wings. Where the original creature boasted six powerful limbs, these "Gargoyles" made use of only four, leaving their rear-most hind legs to atrophy to nothing more than jerking stumps.

Taking a hold with its two free claws, it hauled the curled Tyranid from the serenity of the waters. With obvious physical exertion it struggled, unable to lift the considerable blulk alone. Within a second, a further three gargoyles answered the order of the Hive, working in tandem to bring the shuddering biomass to the side of the genepool.

Dropping it a little from the ground, they each returned to task, leaving the shivering, pink creature to be. It remained motionless save for the occasional flicker of a limb in non-sentient madness, or muffled grunt. Yet change overtook even as silence reigned. Pink, fleshly masses hardened to a dark brown. The solid, steel-like armour plating forming as the moist air of the Bioship spurned on the bony, chitinious potrusions to complete their evolution.

At once, eyelids receded. Black, emotionless pits regarded the chamber floor, before hissing its compliance as the Hive Mind asserted dominance. Struggling to force its newly-matured limbs into action, it staggered upright, even as bones began to lengthen, and skin age in a remarkable and brutally terrifying mastery of bio-engineering.

The creature stretched back on two limbs, as the Hormagaunt had before. Yet where the Hormagaunt had been slight of size, and speedworthy, this creature was massive. Where the Hive Tyrant boasted a massive height advantage, here the Tyrant struggled to match size with this abomination. Four gargantuant limbs, rippled with powerful bicep muscles, and sharpened, hardened carapace pushed themselves outwards with little effort. Each limb terminated not as a claw, or digit, but a sweeping, curved scythe. It was clear this creature existed not for subtle manipulation, but murderous decapitation.

At either side of its gaping, toothy maw, snapped chitinious pincers that extended for some two feet in front of its grotesque head. Snapping together loudly, it extended a thick tongue, whose surface was divided equally into rows of serrated spikes that seemed to quiver as the creature took each breath. With a final spurt, the bones hardened into their new elongated positions. Iron-hard carapace formed fully, and ready to fufill its ambition supplied duly by She-Who-Was-Many, it shuffled forwards, towards the bustling throng of creatures grouped into their respective gene types.



Within the savagely cold touch of the void, activity beckoned. Powerful searchlights illuminated the curious masses before the Treznor craft. Revealing crimson red and pink mottling, of organic boils and slickened, supple tentacles that waved in a non-existant wind. Even as those onboard took their first look at the relayed images, the Bioships stirred.

Instinctively, and with the spurring on of the Hive Mind, the Bioship closest to the searchlights and their powerful gaze began to shift, bringing itself ponderously about so that its pointed prow faced the Terran vessel. It took several minutes as it lazily completed the turn, closing the distance between the pair markedly.

Slowly but surely, two other vessels, of the smaller scout variety began to move off, they approached from opposite sides, coming about behind the Treznor vessel, out of range of any proximity alert for now, but subtly , as to make sure the powerful searchlights could not illuminate and give away their approach. Aboard the lighted, and viewed Bioship, of which was now the centre of attention for the hardy human crew, activity pushed into frenzied overdrive as the full, wakeful attention of the Hive Mind came to bear. Now, they moved into terrifiying action.

Pushing off, the organic monster began to close the distance between the two vessels. Raising its prow slightly, it slowly cleared the top of the visitor, so as to pass over the roof of its hull, seperating only by the barest of twenty, to thirty feet. Onboard proximity alarms would undoubtedly reign as confusion and fear rifled. Yet now was too late, for events were already in an unescapable series.

With a furious, swift movement that belied their size, a tentacle anchored to the rear of the Bioship struck a section of the Treznor hull. Serrated, bladed edges tore through the metal, though it were strong enough to withstand micro-meteor impacts and the searing temperatures of deep space, it would very possibly have groaned at an atmosphere been supplied to allow it. Buckling and heaving under the strike, the plating broke, as the alien swipe penetrated into internal section.

Even as the first blow was landed, the Perseus began to move away. Frantically, her drive systems lunged the craft forward, looking to put distance between themselves and this totally unprovoked attack. Yet as though such an action was expected, the Bioship countered. With a flash of purple, four sheathed tentacles sprung downards, anchoring themselves to various points of the superstructure. Held fast yet at near full acceleration, the Perseus toiled, as though a frantic fly trapped in the moist, silk strands of a spider's web.

A loud, piercing wail signalled the loss of pressure as precious oxygen departed with haste, a luxery the crew of the impaled starship could only lay envious to. Hauling back the breached section, the hole widened exponentially, until a great gaping wound lay atop. The massive tentacle-structures took a final, angry swipe at the battered surface, before ceasing their attack, yet continuing to hold fast.

With almost fluid action, the Hive ship descended slightly, until the seperating distance was scarcely twenty feet. The Tentacles pulled themselves taut as they assisted the Bioship in closing the pair. From a fleshy point between chitinious armour plates, a tube writhed. A thick, muscled thing that slowly snaked downwards from the alien aggressor, and obscenely made way to the Perseus.

With a slickened oozing, the end of the tube widened to sufficient size to cover the breach. Globules of purple liquid broke free and floated into the immaterium as the seal was achieved with a loud squish only audible once pressure was restored. Flexing, the link secured itself, floating gently in the total stillness, yet for all the peace it claimed, it was truly a horrific sight.

Yet horror was a word that had until now not deserved mentioning. For onboard the vast organic vessel, untold minions stirred. Congregating at the fleshy port which remained tightly sealed, they chittered, and roared, and hissed. Sorrounded by a heaving mass of vacant orbs, shining claws and murderous intent, the Hive Tyrant allowed satisfaction to course through the Hive Mind. Prey-that-fought would be shown no mercy. They would be added to the perfection of the Hive, and utterly expunged. Of their homeworld, more would be learned, and hopefully the path to it unravelled.

With a swish, the portal opened. The pulsing boarding tube visible some distance down, the glinting metal and plastic of the Perseus visible to the creatures that posessed sufficient eyesight. Yet for those that could not, their olfactory senses tingled. The unmistakable taint of flesh, of blood and sweat permeated the air, and the hissed in excitement. They would carve bloody agony through all who resisted. And even those who gave themselves willingly would find no peace. With a cry of encouragment, the Brood surged forward. The sheathed tube struggling to maintain contact with the Perseus as the sheer volume of traffic through threatened to become too much.

Yet it persevered, and soon enough the smooth flooring of the Treznor vessel reflected the stuff of nightmares. Snarling, multi-limbed terrors that existed for the murderous end to man, and his achievements. Disgusting, slime-ridden creatures that swished their spiked tails from side to side in mundane fashion even as a small number battled amongst themselves to at the forefront of the slaughter. Hormagaunts raged, the Hive Mind struggling even in its near infinite-power to restrain the bloodlust of these creatures. But patience held, and as one, the sickle-armed brood launched themselves at the pressure doors, eager for the sweet taste of the flesh that awaited them oh so close by...

On the bridge of the Perseus, emergency klaxons screamed as the small vessel shuddered, then shuddered again.

"Get us out of here! Move!" Captain Jameson shouted, still attempting to climb back into his chair. "Engineering! Damage report!"

"Captain, we're stuck! There's nothing for us to move against! Whatever those things are out there, they're not metallic!"

"Full power! All reserves to the engines. Let's see if we can shake things up for whatever's got us. Engineering! Where the hell are you?"

The electromagnetic array began to glow as all over the ship, fusion generators went to full capacity and fed their output to the coils. A massive electromagnetic field sprung up around the ship, ripping electrons out of their preferred orbits and forcing them to align with its field. A faint bubble appeared around the Perseus as free hydrogen, ionised by the field and drawn to its influence, raced around the ship. Unfortunately, it was not enough for the ship to overcome inertia, and it remained motionless with the tentacled attacker still latched on.

"Captain, I'm getting damage reports from all over the ship. Science Lab Three is breached, and we lost everybody in that section. Emergency bulkheads have sealed it off, but we're still showing activity. Something is moving in there."

"Shit." Jameson pulled himself into his chair and thumbed the internal comms. "This is the captain. We have been boarded by alien forces. This is not a drill. All crew to their environmental suits and arm yourselves to repel boarders." He closed the connection. "Comms, send out a mayday. There's no way we're getting out of this alive without help. Tactical, I want firing solutions on the nearest vessels. We may not be built for battle, but we're still soldiers, dammit. Everybody suit up."

Elsewhere in the Perseus, Science Lab Three was rapidly filling up with nightmarish creatures. The door separating them from the rest of the ship resisted for only a moment, then crumpled and was tossed aside. The mosters spilled out into the corridor, claws and mandibles snapping silently in the vacuum. Bodies of hapless crewmen caught in explosive decompression were discovered and torn apart before being consumed. Then they came to the emergency bulkheads protecting the neighbouring sections of the ship.

The Perseus was not a large ship by typical standards. Barely sixty meters from bow to stern, she was meant for exploration rather than battle. The corridors were just wide enough to allow two humans to walk abreast, hindering some of the larger monstrosities from easy movement. But there weren't many sections to cover, and damned few places for the crew to hide. The halls rang with the noise of impact as the creatures tried to batter their way through.

It was only a matter of time.

The pressure doors were fully half a metre thick. Constructed with the finest and strongest alloys known to the human sphere of experience, and charged with the near-impossible. To protect and cradle the all-to-fragile organic life that nestled within the hull of the Perseus from the freezing grasp of the intergalactic void, the deathly silent chill of deep space. A merciless, swift death to any and all who would traverse her vastness without complex protections and aides.

Yet now, they were all that seperated the crew of the Treznor vessel from a close incarnation of Hell itself. The entire corridor behind the obstruction seemed to heave, and writhe. Yet the internal specifications remained the same. Only the creatures that filled it modified themselves, constantly thrashing and twisting to find yet more space to scream their bloodlust.

Finally unwilling to restrain their snarling rage any longer, the Hive Mind relented their grip on the Hormagaunts at the fore of the brood. Finally able to manifest their hellish impulses, four of the sickle-armed creatures leapt into the air. Chitinious scythes brought down with the full alien muscle power at their display tore into the pressure door. The metal sheered loudly, yet it stood tall. Purple, leathery flesh became a blur as the monstrous shredders began to lose all method to their madness. Hacking madly, their toothy maws opened fully, screaming murderous rage at their failure to break through.

The Hive Tyrant growled with impatience. This did not please She-Who-Was-Many. Time was of the essence. Pray-that-fought would look at this time to regroup, to prepare a resistance. Resisting was futile, yet it would force the Hive to expend resources better saved into subjugation. With the merest thought, the Hormogaunts backed away reluctantly, feeling the whip of the group consciousness lash at their bloodlust. Chittering Termagaunts slowly began to back away even as the decking started to vibrate. A great, heaving presence that lazily but implicably move forwards.

The massive form of the Carnifex squeezed through the throng of baying creatures. The smallish corridors slowing its progress as it moved with a passing interest in avoiding others of its kind. A Termagaunt recieved no such concern as it was neatly stood upon. Its Iron-hard carapce breaking apart and it's innards being expelled as it was crushed like an over-ripe fruit. The Hive Mind did not mourn the loss, mearly noting the requirements and making the vast, geno-organs of the reproductive chambers aware.

As the tank-like creature closed on the target of the hive, a high pitched scream began to radiate. From the opened mouth of the Carnifex, a crackle of lightning eminated, striking one of four massive, muscled scythe-like claws and rebounding in a strange, disturbing pattern. As it shuffled on, more of these strikes became commonplace, until a veritable electrical storm engulfed the front of the creature. The smell of burnt flesh radiating as a Hormagaunt chose to ignore the subtle warnings of the Hive Mind, and challenge this emination. It slumped to the floor, no longer in possession of a head. The other creatures watching hissed their acceptance, backing away.

With a hellacious fury, the lightning left its generation point, held within a ball of plasma vomited forth from the very throat of the Carnifex. Biologically generated, and held within magnetic fields of non-technological manufacture until the point of detonation.

The brood struggled to push backwards, afraid of the impact radius this weapon held. The Hive Tyrant rose upwards, casting the might of the Hive Mind into the smaller, less receptive Termagaunts and Hormagaunts. With encouragement, they ceased backing away, ending the worrying crush on those that took up the rear with hesitation.

However, again the Hormagaunts suffered for their vicious single-mindedness. As the plasma bolt struck the pressure door, a great thermal backlash washed over the foul abominations. They screeched as their flesh was boiled from bone and chitin instantly. Wheeling around, they made to retreat, already dead as their charred remains fell to the decking, still twitching their sweeping claws in their death throes.

The doors let out a terrific bang as the plasma ate into the alloy. With a pallid cloud of smoke obscuring their target, the Hive Tyrant waited. A surge of excitement passed over the collective creatures as they awaited the result of their unorthadox attack. As the thick smoke cleared, the doors were seen to remain standing. Yet radiating from their centre, great cracked rents journeyed. Massive breaches in the previously smoothened sheet where the destructive energy of the bio-plasma could simply not be absorbed. With a bone-chilling call to arms, the Tyrant roared the brood forward.

The door was smashed asunder as the pressure of sweeping claw, and chitinious tail proved too much for even its sturdy construction. The first sections of wreckage had not even laid to cool on the decking before the first of the remaining Hormagaunts pushed through. Relaxing the strict indoctrines of the Hive Mind, they felt mental leashes lengthend, and they bounded to full pace, the sickly sweet aroma of human flesh, blood and sweat radiated through their olfactory centres.

The smell of fear.

Now, aboard the Bioships, a vast shudder of anticipation filtered through. Those remaining roared their delight as news of their success rippled through neural networks and psionic amplifiers. At the Tyranid end of the boarding sheath, fresh nightmares gathered, their chitinious hides still hardening after their emerging from the geno-vats. They waited for a thought, a single command to join the hunt, the slaughter.

For those abord the Perseus, time was now all that remained on their side, and it was a fickle co-operative.

Jameson watched the display as the bulkheads bulged inward with each attack from the monsters. Whether deliberately or through coincidence, they had already knocked out the cameras in Lab Three's Section, so all they could do was wait. The crew were armed and ready, and the few heavy weapons they had were set up to cover the door.

It was obvious to him that they weren't going to stop these things, whatever they were. "Comms, any response to our mayday?"

The ensign nodded slowly. "Space Command has acknowledge our mayday, and they're calling for additional help. The problem is that we don't know exactly where we are, and neither do they. Until someone figures it out, they can't get to us."

Jameson turned to R-Trefan. "Is there any way we can help them? Any way to send them a signal they can follow?"

The sentient robot centered its green eyes on the captain. "Quantum Entanglement communications don't work that way. Although the transmission is instantaneous, it links to a specific quantum signature. Neither we nor anyone else we know of can pinpoint the source of transmission. That's why it's useless as a broadcast mechanism. All other means of communication are subject to the limitations of Newtonian physics. Depending on our physical proximity to Sol, any beacon we transmit may take hours, or even days to reach Saturn."

Ensign Haber gestured to his console. "We've been sending out a radio mayday for five minutes. That means anybody who jumps in within a five light-minute radius will be able to hear us. They can pinpoint us that way."

"That assumes the alien craft aren't disrupting our radio communications band in addition to our radar. I would be singularly surprised if the interference didn't travel up and down the spectrum."

Jameson growled. "Do you have anything positive to contribute, Mister Trefan?"

R-Trefan gave the mechanical equivalent to a shrug. "I am merely answering your questions, Captain. For a positive input, I would recommend utilising the floodlights. The aliens are disrupting radio frequencies, but not light frequencies. I suggest sweeping the lights in an irregular pattern to demonstrate active intelligence. Any vessels who jump within range, as Ensign Haber suggested, might pick it up."

"Do it!" Jameson snapped. "And gods help us, let them see it."

On the display, the door buckled under the onslaught of plasma fire and glowed white hot. It was amazing that it didn't simply melt away. Then something slammed into it again, and it fell. Only the fact that the decks had been depressurised to avoid collateral damage prevented everyone from being blown off their feet. But the nightmares were loose in the ship.

At the other end of the corridor, the crew flinched. It was a human reaction, and perhaps forgivable. Then one of them fired a UV gun, the powerful electrical discharge immediately following the ultraviolet laser intended to burn a hole through atmosphere. It scored a hit on the monstrosity standing in front.

Then the rest of them opened fire with coil rifles and UV guns alike. Two heavy weapons let loose from the front, tearing into the abominations they faced. The fight was on.

A veritable wave of electrical death swept through the airless corridor. Ultraviolet lasers mingled with rippling waves of electromagnetic energy as the full, if limited arsenal of Treznor weapons were brought to bare on these horrific monstrosities. With a baying shrill Alien chitin, and iron-sinew met pure, technological ability and offence. Only time would tell who would prove triumphant, and for how long their vanquisher would remain merciful.

The Carnifex took a step back even as the full energy impact of the weaponry ahead struck home. Impossibly solid, chitinious flesh boiled slowly as its ambient temperature was forced upwards by hundreds of degrees. Yet even as this full, electrical onslought ploughed into the giant, multi-limbed horror, it began to regain balance. Unbelievably, it stalked forwards, battling against this wave of electricity. It's flesh dribbled downards, collecting in liquified patches on the floor, slowly congealing away from heat sources. Yet still the Hive Mind spurred it onwards.

From through it's massive legs, and around it's spiked hips, chittering Termagaunts forced their way through. The narrow dimensions of the corridor slowing their approach, but not their eagerness to carry swift death to the pray-that-fought. Razor-sharp claws glinted a dozen times over as the speedy creatures hopped on four swift, yet small limbs, almost snaking on their belly forwards. Their mouths tipped backwards as oozing, sliming tongues writhed out into the vacuum.

At once a number were smashed backwards. Struck full on by Coil rifles and various other offensive weapons. They screamed rage even as limbs were shredded and amputated, and craniums split and scattered about the decking like confetti. THe quivering mounds of purple cognitive matter which passed as brains began to gather digustingly in mounds below their feet, seeping pinkish, watery goo. Iron-hard Chitin was torn apart and vapourised as the defenders stood with a resolute determination. For every Termagaunt that approached their lines, four were cut down with ruthless accuracy.

Yet, their numbers did not dwindle, and the gap between the Treznor and the Tyranids narrowed.

From the seething, organic mass bounded new nightmares. Almost taking to the walls with hooked talons on their feet, Hormogaunts roared their murderous intent, though their was no way any could hear them. Four sickle-armed Scythes flashed with monomolecular edged terror, as their muscled, orange-tinted limbs pumped with subtle grace and strength. They easily outpaced the considerably speedy Termgaunts, even crushing a few on route. Their horse-like lower limbs pushing through the skulls of their unfortunate bretheren in their bloodlusted desperation to wreak murder.

The Hive Tyrant now came closer to the frontline. Sorrounding him, three powerful creatures. Sporting four arms each, they were nearly as impressive in stature as their supposed "leader", they they differed. Hard, bone-like cages protected their carapace. Almost like an additional set of living armour, that sorrounded their chitinious heads, and thorax. Each sorted a shield of alien bone and muscle. Grafted straight into two of their limbs, this strange, quivering barrer provided excellent protection against ranged weaponry. It became obvious the function of these three "warrior" brood.

They were to protect their King.

THe brood parted, as the Hive Tyrant and his entourage pushed forwards. To the Treznor, it would seem as though the brood hesitated momentarily. And they used this time wisely. A further curtain of fire was laid down, and dozens more of the foul creatures were sent to whatever pit of hell spawned their nighmarish forms. Only the Hormogaunts, whose frenzied state bordered on the utterly pyschotic continued to move, and even then they were greatly slowed, struggling against the implaccable will of the Hive Mind.

And then, it appeared.

It's massive, bony head rearing back, revealing three sets of serrated fangs. Each inset from the other, leading into a cavernous mouth of the darkest, most despairing night. Rippled muscular tissue covered it's exposed flesh, of which spiked potrusions and cutting blades were aplenty. Massive plates of chitinious iron-like armour covered its form. Fusing together into an organic, flowing barrier against those who would harm it. It exuded an aura of sheer alien terror. Nothing like it had been seen within the borders of Sol. Like its lesser, yet still hideous cousins, the Hive Tyrant embodied the will of the Hive Mind. A creature of impossible genetic variance and manufacture. Possessing a cold, far-reaching intelligence that regarded the divine works of man, and his brilliance as nothing but resource and prey.

Two, small black orbs stared out from it's head. Yet there was no warmth in those bottomless pits. No hint of mercy, nor understanding for the carnage it wrought. Only an unwaivering, ancient will of a race that had stripped galaxies dry. That had extinguished some of the greatest acts of nature that this universe would ever see only to drive it onwards to rape the cosmos further. It seemed to mirror the doom of all within it's foreign eyes. With an almost feigned movement, it brought upards a pulsing, obscene barrel. The entire construct resembled a rifle of sorts, yet of a size that would make it as big as a fully grown man. Its entire length was dotted with boils and lumps that seemed to weep fluid, and vibrate. Along the top, a row of serrated spines ran, quivering though no air passed through them. It terminated in a cruel, sparred opening.

With a recoil, the Bio-cannon fired.

A massive, irregular spinter was blown outwards. It resembled a frozen stalactite, pointed and cruel, it travelled through the air at ridiculous speed. Though where a stalactite was benign, and gentle, this projectile was without such a divine purpose. It struck a man standing in awe of what appeared nearby, square in the chest. It did not shatter, instead it drove through the fleshw with ease, splintering the bones of his ribcage without a care. Before it had been embedded to hilt it splintered. Shards of organic engineering breaking off and surging through his body.

In a flurry of crimson he literally exploded outwards. The velocity of the expelled fragments tearing the unfortunate crewmen limb from limb. Even as the bloodied mess of the corpose fell to the ground, others shrieked. Shards of the projectile found them too, cutting into their flesh and bone with agonising frequency. A number sorrounding the first casualty at close quarters fell to the ground as their internal organs found entry to the outside world. As the radius expanded slightly, others were not torn apart so, but dropped to their knees as the most virulent, and devestating alien parasites and viruses the Tyranids could muster were injected into their bodies. So alien, so different, so deadly their immune systems overrun with impossible speed, their cells began to break down before they had slumped face down, their breathing becoming shallowed until it ceased with the liquidation of their lungs.

And now, the Hive Tyrant roared the brood on, as the Alien throng crashed into the Treznor front line, a hail of heavy weapons fire and coil rifles tearing into, but not ceasing their advance.

"What the hell is that?" someone shrieked over the radio.

Jameson winced as he heard it, then forced himself to sit up straight and watch the viewscreen helplessly. He watched the...thing open fire on his men, watched the bolt tear through his people, and watched his crew rout. They were good people, professionals. They were military trained and had been operating as a team for several years. But they had never encountered anything like this, and none of them had ever seen real combat before. The creatures had brought up monstrosities that seemed to shrug off their strongest attacks, and now this.

He cursed their weakness, while at the same time realising he would have done the same in their place. They died by the numbers as the aliens pounced on their fleeing bodies and consumed them. Then the cameras started going dead.

"Go to Section Five," he ordered quietly.

Another contingent of the crew waited restlessly at the end of the hallway, weapons poised. Jameson imagined they were hyperventilating, imagining the fate that lumbered toward them. But no one broke, even when they heard the screams.

The bulkheads began to warp and bulge, and the metal began to glow, first red, then brightening to white. Again, it burst open and the terror was unleashed upon a new section of the ship.

The results were horrifyingly similar. Jameson clenched his fist and tried not to gnaw on it. They had to try something different, but what?

Slowly, the massive creature took a heaving step forward. Set deep within a hardened, multi-faceted cranium, six tiny orbs regarded the seething life before. Not of ordered natural selection, of a million years of carefully honed evolution, but biology gone mad. Insane meshing of armour and bone, of serrated claws that hacked, and slashed at the very life chosen to rule over the Galaxy in place of a higher power. Yet these abominations, from the mind of a madman lost long ago to insanity did not regard the Milky Way as home. They travelled across that great impenetrable barrier, that near-impassable ocean of darkness that save for a lone rogue star or dozen, seperated each cluster of existance from the other.

And like the sleeper-ships of humanity passed, yet on a far grander scale, the Great Devourer passed onwards. From baked rock, and lifeless husk, of a billion worlds stripped of their beauty, wonder and excitement and left forever as a sterile asteroid, to new feeding grounds. Here a trillion upon trillion souls teemed. They cried over lost companions, and laughed over dinner with those still on that mortal coil. They grew enraged at percieved injustice, and personal loss. A multitude of emotions boiled forth from their complex emotional centres.

Yet their feelings were utterly irrelevent to the Hive Mind.

It marshalled it's forces with an ease that would make a mere military General envious in the extreme, if he could overcome the utter horror of what he witnessed long enough to make a sufficient note of how it was achieved. Relative peace descended for scant moments over the teeming hords. Chittering Termagaunts bustled between themselves, struggling to hold their ground against larger, less welcoming creatures. Ahead, vicious Hormagaunts skulked downwards, their chitinious bellies almost brushing against the decking as powerful hind legs held them from collapsing. Cruel barbed sickle-edged claws sweeped in murderously short arc, they screeched with barely-repressed fury.

Almost at precise intervals, rising upwards to tower above Genestealer, and Gaunt, impressive Tyranid Warriors bellowed above the horde. Though gutteral snarls seemingly devoid of intelligence or understanding, what was conveyed was done so through the power of the mind. Complex orders were constructed and transmitted within the blink of an eye, for dissemination and understanding to the weaker, less receptive creatures. Four arms stretched outwards. Two on one side merged with the pulsing barrel of a slick, elongated cannon. Great sliding rivers of green ichor leached slowly down it's armoured hide, collecting in congealing pools on the cold deck plating. Sharp spines riveted upwards the length of its impressive barrel. To complement, the remaining two free arms terminated in sharp, fatal spines that seemed sharper than any point could physically be without simply collapsing under the laws of physics so recognised by all, yet irrelevent to the assembled creatures.

Already, the fury of the Hive Mind had been unleashed. In ways horrific and devastating, the crew of the Treznor Starship had glimpsed firsthand what lay in weight beyond their own Galaxy. Treasures sutble and gross, and nightmares given form. From where upon one might wish to stay forever in such glory, were they driven away or slain by the great balancer-- The great Devourer-- Whom would stop at nothing, give no respite and accept no conditions of surrender beyond absolute destruction and absorbtion. So it was the way in a universe where only those strongest could hope to stand against the immortal march of Time.

With a terrible sheering sound thankfully silenced through the lack of atmosphere, another bulkhead collapsed, no longer able to stand against the fury of the Hive Mind, and it's assembled minions. Before the debris, freed by the lack of atmosphere, had a chance to leap into the fore, the corridor ahead was obscured by a rolling wave of artificial death. Dozens of glowing pulses leapt from the readied weapons of the prey-that-fought. Before any retaliation could be formulated, A second attack was instigated. Hormagaunts cried furiously as they found their sinewed legs torn from their bodies and sent skittering across the decking. Even dealt this surely fatal blow, They continued to drag themselves towards the waiting Treznor. Utilising their scythed claws, They made impressive speed by scaling the floor as if a near-vertical cliff. Finally, a third volley ensured mass decapitation, which seemed to finally halt their psychotic advance.

And now, swift reply. From the dripping barrels of the massive bio-weapons held aloft by the dominating Hive Tyrant, and it's close cluster of Warriors, unholy projectiles pushed through the vacuum. Needle-sharp shards of splintered crystal impacted into the mass of Humans, and though the Hive Mind had no access to the internal communications net of the Treznor, the sudden drop in physic energy heralded grim success. From deep within their assembled lines, crimson clouds settled. Goblets of flesh torn free from bone created a disgusting rain of sorts that dropped back on to the defenders, whom in turn cried in agony as various acids ate through pressure suit, clothing, and muscle.

Now, the distances were closed, and all semblence of tactical awareness failed. Now each Human abandoned his training, now so distant and superficial. Each fired almost madly, their fingers aching as they kept an almost permanent pressure on the trigger. Weapons struggled to keep up with the demand to unload death upon the invading Aliens, and many more were felled. Iron-hard armour split open, revealing soft, fleshy organs that flopped to the floor, and sprawled outwards, being noticed by the soon-to-be-dead Tyranid once it became wrapped between its forelegs and thusly, a burden.

Yet still, they came.

Without warning, a vicious beam of energy tore into the ranks of the Treznor, from one of their own devices. The weapon fired in a seemingly random fashion, almost cleaving the unfortunate individual crouching but a few short yards to the right. He clawed at the absent air even as he fell to his knees, dead before his chest impacted against the cold metal. Likewise, his slayer stood not longer, the ruinous pressure helmet revealing the cause of the friendly fire incident. His face a ruin of bone, soft tissue and the remains of terrible Alien intrusion.

Elsewhere, the tide rampaged without check. Forcing their way beyond the aft bulklheads that protected the precious power generation systems from the savage caress of alien claw, they found themselves face to face with to the Great Devourer, an "Alien" environment. The air was almost swimming with the thrum of massive energies. Dominating the chamber, a massive metallic sphere sat. Sorrounding, and happily ignorant to the imminent threat, cumbersome injector ports enfused the construction with Hydrogen, generating the electromagnetic power required to ensure the Starship could continue to function, in that respect alone.

With a cold efficiency, the half dozen supervising technicians were slaughtered. Their torn and shredded bodies impaled upon various conduits, and safety railings. A gentle pitter-patter upon the decking echoed through the Engineering chamber as the very ichor of life, dark red, found a way through flesh now hoisted many feet in the air, to the ground, to run freely in great rivers. Now, the scuttling horde pressed on, to the sphere. Almost forming a giant hand, with it's anticipating fingers spread to catch, Termagaunts scuttled forwards. Their claw-edged limbs digging against the metal and hauling themselves upwards. Soon the object of attack could scarcely be seen beneath chitin, fang and leathery flesh.

With a bone-wrenching howl, the lighting overhead began to flicker, screeching now audible signalled the rapid torturing of metal upon metal. With a gentle rumble, a console detonated violently, shredding a Termagaunt with shattered plexiglass as it discharged its delicate electronic components into the air. Shortly another, and another followed suit. Until the Engineering Bay was littered with random explosions and showers of sparks. As though to finalise an impressive pyrotechnic display, as the sphere's smooth surface was cracked open, a bolt of bright blue discharged, comfortably punching through the chitinious armour of a salivating Tyranid before continuing into the roofing, and seperating a conduit from it's moorings.

With a final splutter, the lighting died. And with it, the assembled monsters took upon themselves even more malice, hidden mostly from the burning eye of visibility, now they skulked, and chittered, and howled underneath a cloak of near-invisibility. Throughout the Treznor craft, lighting flickered and died. In the time before emergency nodes could compensate, the Humans holding the forward corridor were overwhelmed and butchered. Slowly but surely, the Hive Mind was prevailing against prey-that-fought...

Surely, it was but a matter of time.

Abruptly, the lights failed all over the ship. So did the artificial gravity. Jameson swallowed heavily as he fought to control the gorge rising from his stomach. He hated weightlessness. "They got Engineering."

"Aye, Sir," Taylor replied. He gripped his console desperately, fighting the sensation of free-fall in spite of the harness strapping him to his chair. Then the lights flickered and resumed operation, but gravity didn't return. "Backup power nodes are online. I'm getting more reports. The aliens have spread all over the ship. They should reach the bridge in ten minutes."

"We can't stop them, can we?" asked Andrews.

Every eye looked toward the Captain, who stared down at his lap. He looked defeated, mirroring what they felt themselves. Internally, he berated himself for his weakness. These men and women look up to you! They depend on you for their hope and lives! Still, he couldn't do it. He couldn't give them what he didn't have.

"I may have a solution," announced R-Trefan. He became the immediate center of attention. "I have heard from R-Basil. He is still functioning, although disabled. The creatures took no interest of him once his motor functions were destroyed. The moment he ceased to fire on them, they treated him as though he did not exist, whereas they consumed all other crewmembers. He believes it is because he is not organic, and therefore not a viable food source."

"So now we're snacks for space monsters?" Cobb cried out hysterically. "I suppose we're the appetisers, and Earth is the main course!"

"That's enough, Cobb!" Jameson snapped. "What's your idea, Trefan?"

"It is possible that the aliens communicate through unorthodox methods. Clearly, they are able to coordinate in total vacuum where sound cannot carry. I have not been able to discern anything from their body language, so I must assume they are talking through radio waves."

"I already sent out the universal greeting," protested Lieutenant Zarinski, seated at the communications console. "They ignored it."

"That is one possible explanation. It is also possible that either they weren't listening on the frequencies we used, or that we were unable to recognise their response."

"We saw their response. They attacked us," Taylor argued.

"We do not have sufficient data to confirm that hypothesis. They may have attacked because we failed to respond correctly. It is possible that we may be able to halt their attack if we can communicate with them in a manner they recognise."

"That's crazy!" Andrews blurted out. "They've already taken over most of the ship! They ate most of the crew, our friends! How can you stand there and be so cold? They're monsters, dammit!"

"Do it, Trefan," Jameson ordered quietly. "Whatever it takes."

"Captain!"

"Those are my orders, Mr. Andrews. I know our people are dying out there. There isn't even enough of them left to bury. But I have to think of the ones still alive, including you. If there's any chance R-Trefan can stop them and save us, we should do it."

"If only there were a way to blow up the ship," Taylor muttered.

"If we could, I would," Jameson snarled. "But we don't. The most we have are a few blasting caps in the armoury, nothing that will slow them down. So we'll take what we've got. R-Trefan, do whatever it takes with whatever you need."

"At once, Captain." The robot turned and moved toward the emergency exit with the smooth precision of a machine, internal gyroscopes keeping it centered toward its goal. There was a hiss as the door opened manually, and then R-Trefan disappeared down the ladder. The door closed again and sealed behind it.

"Do you think it'll work?" asked Baylor in a whisper.

"Gods help us if it doesn't," replied Jameson.

R-Trefan climbs out of a small ventilation shaft and begins to pick his way through the wreckage near the science lab where the aliens forced their way in. He notes with surprise that the area is remarkably clear of bodies, both friendly and hostile.

Could it be that they eat their dead?

He found himself curiously tempted to label the aliens as "monsters." He resists the temptation, berating himself for allowing his pathways to become corrupted by organic sentiments. There are machines who felt that the capacity for fantastic leaps of logic within organic minds stemmed from their emotional responses, but he is not among them. Cold, hard machine logic was the path to purity, and he is irrationally proud of his ability to follow that path. Pride, like all other emotions, are mere aberrations in his programming that he is gradually learning to phase out.

The entire section of the ship is exposed to vacuum, and artificial gravity and light are gone. He must make his way with care to avoid bouncing off the walls. The green lights of his eyes cast an eerie glow over the irregular shapes of shattered and deformed bulkheads. A part of his mind surveys the damage and concludes that even in the unlikely event of rescue, this ship will never fly again.

The Zoanthrope tilted bulging head upwards, so that the pulsating veins which delivered nutrients to its impossibly bloated cranium were clearly visible as they writhed beneath slippery, leathery flesh. From beneath the chitinous helmet which covered the previously mentioned head blue membranes stretched; interlacing with the protrusions of dark bone which erupted as spines forming a line upon the chitin receding backwards. It closed the distance between itself and the Zero-One robot-though such a designation was unknown to the creature even if it cared.

Suspended beneath the enlarged skull, the atrophied body of the Tyranid hung. Feeble limbs scarcely a foot in length curled uselessly within recesses between the hardened and tapering ribs of bone; legs of even smaller stature were forced into the body between a considerably elongated tail, divided into segments each sporting a cruel, chitinous blade. With obvious ill-ease, the creature extended one such wasted limb until the tiny appendage, sporting three sickle-edged claws, was at the limit of its reach.

There it hung among the devastation as both a willing partner, and apparent victim.

Further forward its brethren found no such willingness to linger, breaching yet another sturdy pressure door with a combination of sinew-enhanced, bony scythe and virulent bio-acid. The smaller, four-armed Hormagaunts crushed their own number in willingness to bring death to prey-that-fought. Alongside the larger Carnifiexes, acting as living battering rams of chitin and iron-hard hide, howled their fury via enlarged and mandible-ringed maws though there was now no atmosphere to facilitate the terrible roar.

Barely visible amongst the melee of powerful limbs and stabbing claws, the Hive Tyrant observed his brood efficiently. There was little to test his extraordinary abilities in terms of logistical organisation, beyond ensuring the lesser creatures retained the clarity of vision required of them. As the embodiment of the Hive Mind he felt the sting of the Treznor weapons as a dozen Termagaunts were rendered into cooling piles of blackened flesh, draped with organs formerly contained within their bodies.

A surge of impetus coursed through the Tyranids, as they pressed onward towards the bridge of the ship, where undoubtedly those most worthy of assimilation into the Hive Fleet’s bubbling biovats would be found and consumed. Time was a concept none of the brood truly understood; there was only slaughter and death, assimilation and rebirth. For the Humans yet remaining it was a concept all the more precious for its scarcity. For them, time had about run out.

R-Trefan raised his mechanical hand cautiously in imitation of the alien before him. A moment passed, and neither of them moved. Finally, he moved forward cautiously until his arm was in easy reach of the monstrosity that seemed to beckon to him. He guessed it was inviting him to engage in physical contact, but was not forcing the issue. This suggested to his logical mind that it was interested in communicating rather than wanton destruction like its brethren.

Captain Jameson worried nervously at a sharp edge on his command chair. It was a stupid thing to do while encased in an emergency environmental suit, but he was beyond rationality at the moment. The danger that he might accidentally rip open the glove of his left hand and expose him to the danger of radiation or vacuum was inconsequential to the fate of his ship and crew. The cabin was operating on emergency power only; the aliens had hit the main generator for the section, and there wasn't enough power in the batteries to run sensors, cameras or controls. All any of them could do was sit and wait for the monsters (his mind had no qualms about applying the label) to break through the last bulkheads and kill them for whatever alien purpose they had in mind. Eventually he stopped running his finger over the chair and checked his gun. The capacitor was still at full charge, just like it had been five minutes ago. He thought briefly of using it on himself, but checked that thought. He was still a soldier, and if he had failed in all else, he still had a duty to sell his life as dearly as he could.

He looked up to see the helm officer staring down the barrel of her own gun. Clearly, she had been thinking the same thing.

"Kochanski!" he snapped. She jumped slightly, startled at the sudden interruption of her thoughts. It was only good fortune that she didn't pull the trigger at the same time. "Put that damned thing away and finish tearing down that console."

The barricade was a bright idea the XO had come up with to keep people occupied. Everyone was labouring under microgravity to remove any panels, consoles or furniture they could take apart to weld against the main door and delay the aliens a little bit longer. The only thing not being taken apart was Jameson's chair. He felt (correctly) that he needed to be there in a familiar place, strapped down where he wouldn't go floating around. Particularly not when the firing started. He wasn't good enough of a shot to trust himself in weightless conditions with inertia working against him with the recoil of every bullet.

"Sir, aye-aye Sir!" The Ensign put the gun away and finished what she had started.

"Sir," said the XO quietly over the command push. "We're picking up increased vibrations through the walls. They're almost here."

Jameson nodded, forgetting the XO couldn't see it. "Very good. Well, let's get into position."

"Aye-aye."

Almost imperceptibly, the creature drifted forward until the serrated claws came close enough to clamp downward upon the outstretched metallic limb of the construct. For precious moments nothing occurred, the two extremes of life; machine and the organic locked together in an emotionless embrace, before finally activity beckoned to break the impasse forcefully. Seemingly motivated by a force beyond simple sinew and flesh the enfeebled grip of the Zoanthrope began to tighten, so uncomfortably that a Human might have begun to shout, to demand loosening and to begin to pull upon the claustrophobic embrace.

The vacuum around them made the process silent, but the metal of R-Trefan’s outstretched limb failed under the deadly force the vibrations shuddered throughout his body. A tremendous pressure applied by the pathetic, fleshy arm of the creature which was surely impossible given the difficulty it displayed in simply initiating the physical contact. Lines of warping began to appear as the wrist assembly of the automaton was compacted visibly; metal being twisted into new and useless forms by the raw aggression emanating from the palpable aura surrounding the Tyranid.

From it, visions once more leapt—of a world overwhelmed to the brink of suicide. Of entire families dying by their own hand lest they face the sweeping tide of sickle-clawed monstrosities who craved to rend apart their flesh, and feast upon the innards so callously tossed into the air and stamped upon until their colours leached into the soon to be raped bedrock. Mighty tanks of artificial construction blasting agonising waves of energetic death into the scuttling limbs and rippling armour plates of the alien menace, vaporising entire swathes in scintillating purification—all for nought as those culled were replaced by more emerging from the ground itself; merging with their older cousins and swarming over the machines of war until they were dark grey islands upon a sea of multi-fanged horror.

As fragile eggshells, not mighty engines of siege were these tanks seized upon and destroyed. Gibbering monstrosities whose expansive maws were ringed by sets of mandibles fully two feet long and bristling with gleaming, malicious intent buried their craniums into the thick armour of their targets and easily sheared through, delighting in the terrified screams of realisation from the paralysed crew within. Their turrets continued to fire aimlessly as those operating were ensnared by wildly whipping tentacles and then impaled upon spines of the hardest chitin, smaller creatures gathering around the dripping crimson to feast and roar their imminent victory.

Of continents once green and lush, stripped of every relevant microbe and rendered into airless, blasted rock—devoid even of the most bothersome insects that leached upon the flesh of organic life. The deep oceans where fantastical aquatic life hid within the burrowing trenches of the darkest reaches were drained as simply as a thirsting animal might drink deeply of a small puddle and absorb every last trace of moisture. Even the wind which whipped furiously as nature fought valiantly, if pointlessly against the aggressors was channelled into the bloated behemoths orbiting lazily above so that it might fill their cavernous lungs and give them breath to cross the interstellar void anew.

All this horror was R-Trefan’s to experience, with only his logic to buffer him against visions that no Human could tolerate. Still, he did not understand what he witnessed. Pressure from the Zoanthrope’s relentless grip had effectively amputated the offered limb of the Zero-One citizen, now only the vestigial command lines and motor pathways ensuring the hand remained attached. With the advanced abilities of the non-organic however, the palpable aura of something altogether more sinister was evident—an intense field of energy which could be the only reason for the tremendous displayed strength of the Tyranid when one observed its feeble and atrophied limbs.

Its small maw opened slightly, warped mandibles snapping silently at either side of its toothy expression. Few had ever experienced what was now transpiring, and tragically for those elect, none had endured to bring such knowledge to the living and perhaps learn of this menace that stalked the stars.

Captain Jameson scarcely had the time to transfer his gaze from precariously sharp edge of his chair to the pressure door as the latter breached with an inaudible thud—the detritus propelled chaotically through the cabin by the collective scrabbling of multi-jointed limbs preying upon its clearly massacred outer surface. Leaping into the fray first the hissing Hormagaunts, altogether more sinister as the lack of oxygen brought their silently screaming expressions into sharp focus. Each possessing four limbs which ended not in a dexterous hand, but a murderous scythe of the sharpest bone that shot forwards and back as the metallic blades of a thresher might turn.

Already darting beneath their feet smaller, nimbler Termagaunts jogged; compact in size yet no less motivated by the will of the Hive Mind to act. They lacked the lethal reach of their larger cousins in terms of possessing only serrated claw and tooth by which to deliver death, but compensated through strength of numbers. From beyond the doorway the Hive Tyrant readied to make himself seen—as the progress of the brood demanded.

The ill-fated explorers of Treznor now stood upon the precipice of their greatest discovery, and ultimate end.

R-Trefan flashed his eye lights in a vain attempt to communicate. It gradually dawned on him that the alien had less interest in comprehension as making itself understood. Had he organic nerve impulses he would have fainted in agony as the metal superstructure of his arm was demolished. Fortunately, he suffered no such weaknesses. He acknowledged the reports of damage from the extremity and shut off power to the area. The reports stopped, and it was as if that section of the limb ceased to exist.

He did not struggle. The creature was clearly making a point with the images it had projected. Something in that point connected with the attempted torture of his arm.

Can it be that these creatures operate on a hierarchical structure of dominance, in which the strong thrive and the weak submit? It seeks to establish itself as the dominant member of this discussion. That then suggests a response. If I fail to establish a superior position then I must submit to its will. If I can demonstrate my superior strength, then perhaps I can force it to provide me with better information.

He spent a few microseconds to crosscheck his logic and decided that it was the best hypothesis to test with the data he had available. He then reached out with his free hand, grasped the appendage crushing his trapped limb, and applied pressure until he registered that the creature's exoskeleton had snapped. He waited to see what response this would provoke.

Jameson ducked frantically as pieces of the door came flying in his direction. His movements were hampered in part by his weightlessness, but largely due to the fact that he was safely strapped into the chair. There was simply no way for him to get out of the way quickly. Debris impacted against his chest and limbs, but avoided his head. The suit maintained integrity, the resilient nanoweave from Tsaraine holding fast. Unfortunately, the impact knocked the gun from his hand, and it floated away with the rest of the junk in the room.

He had little time to react as the monsters leapt into the breach and were greeted with a concentration of small arms fire. The bridge crew obeyed their training: they fought even while their minds rebelled against the living embodiment of death that even now snapped teeth and claws at them. If it had been possible to hear anything the noise would have been deafening; as it was the ballet of destruction was carried out in an eerie silence.

Jameson fumbled with the harness restraining him. The quick-release catch had been damaged and refused to open. The gloves on his hands hampered his ability to manipulate the buckles. After a moment of frantic scrabbling, he gave up and stared about wildly, a quiet whimper escaping his lips. Kochanski had been knocked out early in the fight by flying debris and lay mostly hidden beneath the remains of the helm console. The rest of the crew had spread out to avoid presenting an easy target and were throwing everything they had at the monsters.

Jameson saw quickly that it wasn't going to be enough.

Mandibles snapped in silent viciousness as the Zoanthrope yelled its impudent rage; the broken limb retracting back towards the moist folds of leathery flesh from whence it came slowly, though R-Trefan had made no conscious effort to disengage his grip. Indeed it was perplexing in the extreme at just how the Tyranid had expedited his fingers into relinquishing hold, splayed apart as they were now and stubborn in their refusal to yield to what should have been his supreme will and command.

Cocking its tremendous head slightly, the creature seemed to drift forwards slightly as it closed the gap between to nothingness. With a single muted rasp, the Zoanthrope let fly with more than an obvious aura of energetic assistance—manifesting its latent abilities directly rather than indulge further in what was essentially irrelevant dialogue.

R-Trefan was quickly aware that he no longer held control over his orientation, a bright flash temporarily rendering his optical systems unable to process and leaving his inertia sensors to scream wild warning as his mass was very quickly accelerated towards the rear of the corridor. His limbs were forced forwards by the raw energy displayed; the already crippled appendage previously crushed finally severing in the chaos and drifting separately on an equally unassailable whim.

The automaton crashed into the bulkhead with tremendous force, the metal crumpling violently as the superior construction of the Zero-One creation held true. Free from any alien influence as well as above the inability of gravity to force a final, unceremonious fall from grace the temporarily limp electronic intellect began to float upwards. The Zoanthrope listed forwards, though it maintained a generous distance this time and seemed in no urgent hurry to close quarters.

Upon the bridge of the Treznor vessel, the lethal ballet had drawn to an inevitable, but no less terrifying conclusion. Human corpse drifted, entwined with the equally unmoving carcass of Hormagaunt or Termagaunt slain in the final act of murder—reinforced and so vital pressure suits torn asunder and exposing the now ruptured and decomposing flesh to the harshness of vacuum. About the lower command deck, only two chests continued to rise and fall with the welcome exertion of life; Captain Jameson and that of his helmsman, Mary Kochanski.

Forcing the brood apart, the Hive Tyrant negotiated the cramp confines of the doorway, revelling in the high ceiling of the bridge which allowed it to stretch to full and nightmarish height. Immediately it stomped harshly downwards, utilising a combination of its four wavering limbs to tear through the handrail surrounding the command area and present its rippling form before the pressurised form of the Captain. Clamouring for room about the sides of the imposing creature, Hormagaunts screeched their delight though the airless void did not bode well for any to hear without the Hive Mind to transmit.

The Tyrant seemed to rear upwards, and instantly the overly eager Tyranids about it skulked backwards, admonished for crowding. Refocusing attention on the very much Human Jameson, the monstrosity appropriated his being with two heavy but dexterous hands and hauled him into the air.

The Tyrant brought Jameson closer, until its serrated mouth—clamping silently whilst slavering and barbed mandibles snapped together in rhythm— was but a scant few inches from the perspiration-drenched visor of the Captain’s helmet. The Tyranid overseer seemed to consider him curiously, as though perhaps attempting to relate their roles as leaders of many. Having evidently considered as much as was willing, it thrust downwards, slamming Jameson against the decking and angling his head so that he might be forced to look upon the prone form of Kochanski.

The Tyrant cocked its head to the side, and from behind a single Hormagaunt stalked forwards. From its gaping maw saliva of dark red hue trickled from around splintered fang and sponging jaw tissue, dripping downwards only as far as the bizarre chin before the lack of gravity forced the liquid into bizarre clumps that drifted as horrifying bubbles.

Lacking any variety of hand by which to adjust the position of the now stirring helmsman, the Hormagaunt simply impaled the young women with a short stab of one of its four sickle-edged scythes, the crimson already adorning it scarcely having had a chance to dry before being coated anew with the slick stuff of life.

Jameson winced as the scream echoed through the inter-suit communicator. Kochanski burst into activity and consciousness; limbs flailing in agony as the blare of the pressure alarm within her suit threatened to drown out her pained gasps. The Hormagaunt leaned closely to where its limb punctured so and extended its coarse, slathering tongue. With a single fluid motion, it deposited the secretion upon the tear and after a few seconds separated from the Tyranid creature the saliva began to harden visibly; knitting together the sheared strands and affecting a bizarre repair. Hauling Kochanski upwards, the creature repeated the same process upon the frontal wound.

The Captain was now granted the dubious pleasure of clarity in relation to his helmsman’s tortured screams. He winced as she struggled for breath, one lung deflated and her body fighting the intense physiological and psychological shock of an ordeal not yet over. For Jameson, his own fear was beyond measuring—awaiting the final decision of the Hive Tyrant as to precisely how long he would live to beg a release from it.

R-Trefan experienced a moment of confusion as his systems gradually came online. His internal clock told him that a scant few minutes had passed since his systems had become overloaded by…whatever it was the alien had done to him. Given the intangible nature of the creature’s abilities and the vague aura as it demonstrated its control over the physical world, R-Trefan deduced that it had mastered a form of energy manipulation, possibly an organic version of an EM or possibly even a gravitic generator. Perhaps a combination of both. He needed more data before he could draw a solid conclusion. Given the disruption to his systems, he rather favoured the possibility of electromagnetic manipulation. He regretted the lack of proper instruments with which to study the phenomenon and record vital data.

He currently had no means to control his flight through the corridor, but gradually he floated close enough to a twisted bulkhead that he could extend a leg and exert force against it, changing his vector toward the ceiling where he could arrest his motion and take a more active role in his own navigation.

His green eye lights swept the corridor until they came to rest once more on the alien creature. Once again he experienced a flutter of confusion in his mind. What do I do now?

Jameson shuddered as he witnessed the depravation committed to his helmsman. She could have avoided this, but I didn’t let her. She could have died cleanly, quickly at her own hands. Instead, I condemned her to this monster.

What does it want from me? He stared at the slavering maw of the giant monstrosity, then at its alien eyes. He was helpless, unable to move, unable to stop the whimper that escaped his own lips. He looked back at Kochanski. Why did they seal her suit? She’ll die anyway!

Having decided that the Human had enjoyed sufficient time for an internal monologue the Hive Tyrant rose upwards slightly, regarding the Hormagaunt ahead with impenetrable, black orbs. At the same time the lesser Tyranid seemed to acquiesce, hauling the screaming Kochanski upwards to match the rapidly rising body of Jameson. The survivors now saw face-to-face, scarcely a few inches from each other in a bizarre and twisted final rite before chitinous claws burst through the ailing suits of both and tore apart all therein; flesh, bone and soul.

Freed from the stifling chains of the Hive Mind, the assorted lesser Tyranid creatures leapt upon the still impaled, now limp forms of the Treznor command crew. Hormagaunts swung their blade-tipped limbs maniacally, hacking entire chunks of depressurised flesh free so that their razor-sharp maws might feast on the cooling remains and drink deeply of the crimson leaching forth. Smaller Termagaunts fought amongst themselves to reach the hovering body of Jameson, still carried by the tremendously powerful scythes of the Hive Tyrant until the titanic creature grew bored of such an act and dispensed the corpse.

R-Trefan waited with the patience of a machine for the alien to make the next move. It failed to do so. Gradually, R-Trefan became aware that even the faint vibrations travelling through the bulkheads had ceased. The ship was now truly dead.

Is there anything left for me to do? Is there any point to continuing? He didn’t know. It struck me with a powerful blow. Perhaps I must return it in kind. The logic was sketchy; R-Trefan didn’t like the results of his proofs. However, he could find no other reasonable options. With the ship dead all he could do was wait for rescue, should it ever come. Self-preservation seemed appropriate, to relay the information he and his mechanical brethren had gathered thus far. But the creature before him waited for some sort of response, and he could think of nothing else to do.

He launched himself from his position against the wall straight for the alien. His good hand swept up and caught it under the chin. The energy of the impact deflected his flight, and the creature rose abruptly to strike the ceiling bulkhead. There it drifted silently in the vacuum, unmoving. Worried that he had misjudged his blow, R-Trefan focused his eyes until he saw evidence of continued life. Veins still pulsed, and organs throbbed underneath the alien exterior. The question was, what to do next?

R-Trefan made a quick decision. He gathered up the silent form and found a place to hide himself and his captive until reinforcements from Sol could arrive. He found himself hoping it would be a Zero-One military intercept. The hope was irrational, but for once he was willing to allow himself that small lapse. His only concern was that the creature would die before they arrived. He was not at all confident he could maintain its life functions; he didn’t know how they worked to begin with.