Subject: +quot;Purely Alien+quot; by Rob Darwin Keywords: TNG, horror flix, Sigourney +quo

From: cosc15u0@rosie.uh.edu (92S07173) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: "Purely Alien" by Rob Darwin Keywords: TNG, horror flix, Sigourney "Cueball" Weaver Message-ID: <14MAY199201052881@rosie.uh.edu> Date: 14 May 92 06:05:00 GMT Organization: University of Houston Star Trek: The Next Generation "Purely Alien" by Rob Darwin Copyright 1992 * Prologue * Commander Dallas Ripley regarded the Vossan system with his customary mix of disinterest and disdain. Like most of the places the _Tromonos_ was sent, it fit the literal definition of space backwater. Located far from the populated centers of the Federation, it was also roughly equidistant from Federation borders with any potentially hostile civilizations as well. To Ripley, it was the epitome of the no-risk, no-reward assignments that had been his steady diet since graduating towards the bottom of his academy class. Now in middle age, his chances of achieving captaincy of any mainline ship grew dimmer with every day he remained captain of this miserable mapping and survey vessel. He snorted to himself as he remembered the orders, filtered through some automated bureaucrat in Starfleet's science division. "Proceed to Vossan system at best speed. Investigate electromagnetic phenomena in sixth planetary cluster and report." He'd been on missions like this...invariably some inorganic noisemaker, some weird distortion of a planet's field caused by extreme gravitational positioning. The science types (and how he ESPECIALLY detested them, his substitute for a REAL Starfleet crew) would hem, haw, ooh, ah, make a few important looking notations and promptly scuttle off to write an obscure article for some equally obscure scientific journal while he was left to report another dry hole. At least in transit he could imagine himself on some mission of real importance, matching wits with a crafty Romulan and... "Sir?", came his navigators voice, startling him from his reverie. He glanced up, and the officer continued. "Sir, we're entering the planetary cluster. Estimate arrival time to standard orbit in 40 minutes." "Thank you, lieutenant. Notify Science Survey Team One to be on standby in case we find something." He managed to keep his voice from betraying his opinions on the abject uncertainty of that occurring. "Put the planet on screen. Science, any readings on the electromagnetic disturbances yet?" He turned to look at his science officer, Vanessa Kiel, a young lady whose skills, like most of his crew, were just slightly below par. She was glancing over her panel with a puzzled expression. "Sir, we're reading it now. This is...apparently the survey probe wasn't very specific when it reported these readings. This..." Her voice trailed off as she bent over a particular readout. Ripley pursed his lips. "It's what?", he snapped. "Commander, the signal is within the radio spectrum. It is constant, both in terms of interval and transmission strength. It is also emanating from the surface of the planet, rather than the atmosphere or magnetic field. In short, sir, it seems to be a beacon." She gazed steadily at his disbelieving expression. "Are you suggesting that we're encountering intelligence of some sort?", he challenged. She held his stare unwaveringly, and replied, "That seems to be the only likely explanation." She paused. "Request permission to join the survey team." He considered for a moment, then, "Granted. Join them in transporter room two in twenty minutes." As the turbolift doors closed behind her, Ripley stared at the advancing shape of the planet. It seemed so cold and lifeless, no different than anywhere else...he turned to the ensign who had taken Kiel's place. "Put the signal on speaker," he ordered. The pinging noise sounded almost at once. A short wait, then again it came. "The signal sounds at twelve-second intervals, sir", the ensign piped. Unhearing, he turned back to the viewscreen, his heart beginning to pound. Maybe this would be his big chance. Maybe here there would be something to finally make his superiors take notice and get him off this miserable ship. He thumbed his chair intercom. "This is Commander Ripley. Science Survey One, report to transporter room two immediately. Signal response positive, we'll beam you to the site. Ripley out." He allowed himself a half-smile. Handle this one right, and maybe those Romulans had something to worry about after all. * Chapter One * Science Officer Kiel was in a hurry, relatively speaking. The planet they were about to descend to was far from class M: the atmosphere was poisonous, the temperatures extreme, all factors which necessitated heavy protective equipment. Her legs were short to begin with, and with all this extra weight, her hurry was like most people's stroll. The suits were climate-controlled, but her anticipation made it cling to her with sweat. Finally! A chance to make the kind of discovery you dreamed about during all those endless hours of study and laboratory work; a chance to become the one all the textbooks would write about. She pulled absently at the suit as the doors to transporter room two swished aside. The low murmur of conversation stopped as she entered. Science Survey One was a standard Starfleet scientific away team. There was a geologist, a xenobiologist, an astrophysicist, a medical officer, and the inevitable security officer. She would head the group, since all of them were ensigns, and as science officer she was senior at any rate. She decided to begin her briefing, since there were a few minutes left before they were due in orbit. "We've detected a signal of constant strength and interval coming from the surface of the planet. The transmission is emanating from a large, metallic object, possibly...", she paused, "...possibly a spaceship of some kind." The murmuring resumed. Xenobiologist Phelps asked, "Have the signals been run through the linguistics programs for any sort of meaning?" "No, and they should be. Thank you, ensign." Kiel tapped the wall communicator. "Kiel to bridge. Have science station run a linguistics check on the signals." Ripley's voice came crackling back through. "Will do, lieutenant. We're just entering standard orbit, so you can beam down as soon as your team is assembled." "Aye, sir. Kiel out." She nodded at the survey team. "You heard the captain...let's get on those pads!" The transporter shimmer barely cut through the howling wind. Kiel clicked on her suit's communicator. "Survey team, recon formation. We'll have to get closer to see the ship." All around them, dusty particles were swirling, blocking vision farther than three meters or so. The geologist's voice came through the speaker. "My tricorder indicates the ship is less than 500 meters straight ahead." Kiel moved, and the survey team followed silently, each checking their own instruments. "I'm getting low level life signs, possibly some form of dormancy or hibernation," said Phelps. There was no answer, because at that moment, the wind died down for a moment, and it was as if a veil was drawn away, because the ship was suddenly there, in front of them. Kiel could only gape. The ship was huge, easily the size of a frigate-class vessel, but the design...the astrophysicist's voice confirmed her impression. "Lieutenant, this vessel's configuration matches nothing I've ever seen, Federation, Klingon, Romulan...no non-allied race...this ship is...well, it's alien." That final word rang in their ears. Alien! New! ************************************************** Back aboard the _Tromonos_, the young science officer studied his panel with concern. The linguistics program had failed to determine any sort of language pattern, but had advised a mathematic analysis. Sometimes, numerical universals could communicate when no other property was constant enough...at least, with Earth's earliest attempts at extra-terrestrial communications, simple equations whose meanings were apparently friendly and inviting were included with our deepest space probes. Luckily for Earth, the first race to encounter these probes were Vulcans, a race he thought wholly suited to numerical conversation. The results began to come through. He skimmed the report, which detailed the paths of computation, which formulae were derived and applied...then the conclusions froze him. "Captain?" he said cautiously, "Sir, the computer has reached some conclusions about the nature of the transmission. There is some possibility that it is just a beacon of some kind, perhaps activated in distress. There is also the possibility it serves as some kind of navigational marker, acting as a reference point for calculations of relative distance and..." Ripley couldn't listen to more of this. "And what, ensign?" he said in an acid tone. "Do you have conclusions, or just a number of indeterminate options? Or has the computer generated a multiple choice quiz for us? Can I choose all of the above? Always, sometimes, never?" The ensign's face turned red, but he controlled his voice. "Commander, both of those solutions carried a statistical probability below 3 percent. The most likely conclusion, according to the computer, is that this signal is meant to be some kind of warning." Ripley felt heat rising from his collar as his face matched the ensign's. "Thank you, ensign." He felt the bridge crews' eyes on him as he considered. "Communications, warn the survey team that the planet may contain hostile or dangerous actors." The stakes were higher now. Losing an away team was as sure to end a career as discovering new life forms was to revitalize it. His comm officer's next words didn't make things any easier. "Sir, I'm not able to make contact with the away team. I'm getting some sort of structural interference...too much for the signal." Dallas shook his head. This was getting out of hand quickly. Best to regroup and try again with more preparation...he wished they'd taken time for a full sensor array before beaming down. "Notify transporter room to beam them up as soon as we reacquire their signal. Let's play it safe this time." As the comm officer did so, he turned back to the screen. Inanimate objects didn't have personalities, but the planet which had seemed to carry so much hope now seemed almost oppressive. He drummed his fingers impatiently...that away team had better not screw this one up... ************************************************** "We're nearly on top of it, Lieutenant!" Phelps' voice rose in his excitement. The readings had grown steadily stronger as they'd progressed down this latest corridor. The ship had proven easy enough to enter, since deposits of dust and silt had built the ground up to the entranceways at several points. This vessel had been there a long time, long enough to settle and age, but still life signs flashed from the special tricorder the xenobiologist carried. It had taken them fifteen minutes or so to get used to the twisting pathways, curiously circular in shape and dusty where holes in the hull let the elements in. As they rounded the next bend, a jagged hole in the roof and floor let some light and wind in. Phelps stopped. "Here," he said, with finality. "They're here, whatever they are. Readings indicate about a twenty meter drop to the floor below, and a large concentration of individual readings." She shined her light into the hole. "I can't see anything from here. Permission to go below, lieutenant?" Kiel hesitated long enough for the security officer to chime in. "We don't know what's down there. I don't think it's wise for just one of us to go." Phelps glared at him. "We only have one grapple and harness, and I am the most qualified for first contact." Kiel burned at the last, but she knew it was true. She cursed her aversion to the life sciences as she granted Phelps' request. The wind caused the rope to sway, so Phelps' attention was focused on the surface below him. He nudged himself out a little wider, and his tricorder found an unoccupied spot. "Lower me slowly", he called. Grunting, he began to time his swings. As the ground became visible, he swung a little harder, and his feet touched solid ground. "All clear. Give me a few meters of line for mobility." He felt the tugging of the line subside, then began to shine his light around as he checked his tricorder. A layer of dust covered the entire surface, but the life signs were still there. He tracked across to where a reading should have been. Leaning over, he pulled out a small fan. As it whirred, the dust flew off in layers, revealing an object that looked like nothing so much as an egg. Gray and leathery, it caused his tricorder to reel off an array of visual data. He moved the fan around, and two, three, four more ovals became visible. "Sir!" he called, forgetting himself. "It's...it's a hatchery! There must be hundreds here!" Kiel leaned over the hole. "Don't disturb them. Let's just take a sample and get back to the ship." She felt out of control...maybe if she studied these remarkable objects, she could make some observations that would ascribe her a clear role in the find. She wasn't going to lose this chance now... Phelps laid down his tricorder and extracted his sample box from his pack. Designed for small geological or botanical samples, its secure, aerated seal allowed for easy transport back to the lab. He slid the lid back, then chose a pair of tongs he used for delicate specimens. The egg gave a little, but he was able to lift it without trouble. He was bracing himself with his left hand, but as he leaned toward the box, the dust under his hand shifted, and it flew out from under him. Panicking, he caught himself on his elbow. It jarred him painfully, but the egg was unhurt. He pulled his hand back quickly and saw that he'd disturbed one of the other eggs. It seemed unhurt, so he concentrated on lowering the egg into the cannister. He extracted the tongs and closed the lid, feeling the box shift a bit...must have just been the weight of the egg. He glanced over at the tricorder and saw readings flickering across its screen. His eyes widened as he peered at them. "Lieutenant, life form readings are intensifying...bring me up!" He grabbed the tricorder, and as he did, something behind him moved. He whirled to face it as the rope tightened behind him, and caught only a blur of motion. Something thumped against his facemask. "Kiel", he yelped, "there's something...aAhhhHggGhhh!" The facemask bulged in, and his scream was cut off as the nightmare violated his throat. The rope kicked and jerked as Kiel watched it being winched in. Nothing prepared her, though, for what she was hearing...slurping, sucking noises, hisses and low growls--or maybe whimpers. Phelps was still convulsing as his body appeared. The blood drained from Kiel's face as she saw the yellowish horror attached to the ensign's face. "Get it off!", she shrieked. The burly security man leaned over and tugged, but the harder he pulled, the more tightly it contracted in his hand. "Lieutenant, we've got to get him back to the ship! I can't use a weapon at this range, and it's killing him! Someone grab his legs!" The geologist leaned over and grabbed them as they hurried toward the entrance they'd used. Kiel fought panic...this wasn't what was supposed to happen! She should have gone...and yet, looking at Phelps...she felt the blood leave her head and fought dizziness. That could have been her! It could have been any of them... * Chapter Two * Ripley looked across the small conference table grimly. Less than two hours had passed since they had entered standard orbit around this planet, and already a crisis had begun that would determine the course of his career. His executive officer was there, along with the members of his away team...well, all but one. Phelps was still in quarantine in sickbay. They'd tried to remove the creature from his face, but doing so, they were sure, would kill him, and the creature seemed to be deliberately keeping him alive. A parasite, the doctor had said, as the biologists nodded grimly. Some parasite- seeing it clinging to the ensign's face had made him shudder with disgust. This thing was alien, all right...but not novel, not exciting- just foreign and malevolent. He turned his attention to his officers. "Has anyone examined the other specimen Phelps brought back yet?", he queried. Kiel spoke up. "Sir, I've done some preliminary scanning, and the cannister seems to contain another of the parasites. Apparently motion awakens the eggs from dormancy, and they immediately begin searching for a host." The last words trailed off as she realized their impact. Ripley continued with difficulty. "Are there any indications as to whether the creature is intelligent?" "No, sir. Higher brain function is largely absent. This is a creature of reflex, a creature designed for one purpose only...to join with a host.", Kiel answered. "But why? What is it doing? Is it...feeding?", he demanded. "No, sir, at least not according to what the medscanners can tell us. It seems to be modifying some of his internal organs and depositing some tissue in his tracheal region...." Dallas cut her off. "Tissue? What is it DOING to him?" Whatever speculation she might have had was cut off by the communicator sounding from the wall. Ripley walked over to it and signalled his reception. It was sickbay. "Sir, you'd better get down here. The parasite de-attached itself from Phelps, and he's CONSCIOUS, sir!" "We'll be right down," Ripley answered, and shut off the comm. He turned to his XO. "Set course for Starbase Three. Whatever this thing is, we're not going to deal with it alone. And let Starfleet in on what we're dealing with." He walked out quickly, before the scientists could protest. Cut your losses, that's what his father had always said. Cut your losses, before you lose it all. ************************************************** Sickbay was carefully controlled chaos. Teams of scientists milled around the observation window that looked into the quarantine chamber where Phelps sat on the end of his medical table, looking groggily around. The masked and gloved doctor inside waved a diagnostic wand over him. "Medscanner says you're in good shape...pulse a little low, respiration a little labored, blood oxygen level out of balance..." The physician stopped. "Wait a minute...I'm getting disparate readings now...a seperate lifeform inside Phelps." Phelps' eyes bulged in horror. "Wha...inside me? That thing...it...it...impregnated me?" The doctor stared at his scanner. "No...not exactly, Phelps. It seems to have-- invaded you...your body and this other reading are almost totally seperate...in fact, it may...PHELPS!!!" The last was screamed, because Phelps suddenly doubled over in pain. Ripley watched in horror as the doctor rolled Phelps onto his back, legs and arms flailing. The doctor glanced up urgently. "I need some help in here, fast!" Two other scientists hit the door release panel before Dallas could react and bolted inside. They grabbed Phelps' hands and legs and held him while the other continued to scan. "Readings are stronger, stronger...now off the scale. Oh nooo...IT'S COMING OUT!!!" And his chest just burst. Blood and gore splattered across the little room as Phelps' screams died into a gurgling sound. A yellow-gray head raised itself from the carnage. Its head darted left and right as the doctor stood frozen. For an instant, it stared right at Ripley, and it tiny teeth were bared in a grimace of death. Then with unbelievable speed, it skittered across the floor, through the opened door, and through the legs of a scientist blocking the door. He lept away, and the doors swished shut as the creature escaped into the hallway. ************************************************** Syl Danning returned to her quarters, exhausted. She'd been on duty for twenty hours...the last two of those spent scouring the populated area of the ship, part of a shipwide search that had turned up nothing. Only a few wings were left to be covered, including this one, but they were still looking. They'd probably disturb her sleep...or maybe not, as tired as she was. She smiled to herself as she slipped off the grate to the ventilation shaft. Inside, on the ledge, she kept her forbidden treats from the last shore leave...Denebian chocolates, Rezenthian liqueur candies; she had it all with her. She chose a chocolate, and sighed blissfully as it dissolved in her mouth while she reached behind her neck to unfasten the catch holding her uniform up. It parted, and she slipped the suit off, letting it fall to the floor. Her skin prickled as the cool air hit it. She always felt like her body expanded for a few minutes after being confined to that thing all day. She walked over and took another chocolate. A smile spread across her face as she rubbed her sore shoulders...then something caught her eye. Had she forgotten to pick up her things the shift before? It looked like a stocking... The last few seconds of her life went by in slow motion. She leaned down slowly, eyes resolving the image of the stocking as she went...but no, it wasn't a stocking. It was grainier, and the shape...what WAS that shape? She squatted down next to it and picked it up gingerly. Her eyes widened as she realized it was skin...a skin that had been shed...an alien skin...her legs felt like rubber as she began to rise...then something caught her in the chest and knocked her backwards. It came from under her bed...its teeth flashed...she tried to scream, but nothing would come out...it was on top on her...it HURTS....it HURRRRRRRTS... ************************************************** Only minutes later, Ripley stood in Danning's room, barely in control of himself. Danning's half-naked, mutilated body had already been removed, but the room smelled of death and her blood splattered the walls. "The creature hid under her bed, sir" the security chief was explaining. "She wasn't in bad shape, but the creature handled her easily." Dallas shook his head. "And you say it escaped into the ventilation shafts?" "Yes sir", came the reply, "and you know as well I do, on this old tub that means it could be anywhere. It can come out in any room, it can get access to the maintenance shafts...it could even get into the sealed-off sections of the ship. Sir, it's going to be near impossible to track this thing from our end...and to it, we're sitting ducks." ************************************************** Several hours after the engineer spoke those words, Starbase Three received a transmission. "Starfleet Survey Vessel _Tromonos_ here. Proceeding at maximum warp. Internal situation critical. Crew is under attack from alien with unknown properties and weaknesses. We are attempting to create a secure area where the remaining crew will be safe until we reach stardock. Please notify next of kin of the following crew..." and a list finished the automated transmission. It was the last they'd hear. A starship is an enormously complicated machine, probably the single most complex creation mankind has managed, rivalled only by certain terraforming systems. Regardless of that comparison, it is a system that requires a combination of constant computerized monitoring and human adjustment. Without either of the two, a dangerous imbalance will quickly result, and so, seventeen hours after the _Tromonos_ sent its last signal, when a minor disequilibrium developed in the matter-antimatter mixture, the engineering computers quietly shut down the entire warp drive systems after repeated inquiries for assistance went unanswered. When noone responded to its alarm signal, it began to sound a distress call, first to the bridge, and when that remained unanswered, to the nearest Starbase, Starbase Three. It was a curiously unremarkable eulogy for the crew of the _Tromonos_.