Aliens, p.1
Aliens, page 1
Contents
Cover
The Complete Alien™ Library from Titan Books
Title Page
Leave us a Review
Copyright
Dedication
Part one
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
Part Two
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
Part Three
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
THE COMPLETE ALIENTM LIBRARY FROM TITAN BOOKS
The Official Movie Novelizations by Alan Dean Foster
Alien, Aliens™, Alien 3, Alien: Covenant,
Alien: Covenant Origins
Alien: Resurrection by A.C. Crispin
Alien 3: The Unproduced Screenplay by William Gibson & Pat Cadigan
Alien
Out of the Shadows by Tim Lebbon
Sea of Sorrows by James A. Moore
River of Pain by Christopher Golden
The Cold Forge by Alex White
Isolation by Keith R.A. DeCandido
Prototype by Tim Waggoner
Into Charybdis by Alex White
Colony War by David Barnett
Inferno’s Fall by Philippa Ballantine
Enemy of My Enemy by Mary SanGiovanni
The Complete Alien Collection
The Shadow Archive
Symphony of Death
The Rage War by Tim Lebbon
Predator™: Incursion, Alien: Invasion
Alien vs. Predator™: Armageddon
Aliens
Bug Hunt edited by Jonathan Maberry
Phalanx by Scott Sigler
Infiltrator by Weston Ochse
Vasquez by V. Castro
Bishop by T. R. Napper
The Complete Aliens Omnibus
Volumes 1–7
Aliens vs. Predators
Ultimate Prey edited by Jonathan Maberry & Bryan Thomas Schmidt
Rift War by Weston Ochse & Yvonne Navarro
The Complete Aliens vs. Predator Omnibus by Steve Perry & S.D. Perry
Predator
If It Bleeds edited by Bryan Thomas Schmidt
The Predator by Christopher Golden & Mark Morris
The Predator: Hunters and Hunted by James A. Moore
Stalking Shadows by James A. Moore & Mark Morris
Eyes of the Demon edited by Bryan Thomas Schmidt
The Complete Predator Omnibus by Nathan Archer & Sandy Scofield
Non-Fiction
AVP: Alien vs. Predator by Alec Gillis & Tom Woodruff, Jr.
Aliens vs. Predator Requiem:
Inside The Monster Shop by Alec Gillis & Tom Woodruff, Jr.
Alien: The Illustrated Story by Archie Goodwin & Walter Simonson
The Art of Alien: Isolation by Andy McVittie
Alien: The Archive
Alien: The Weyland-Yutani Report by S.D. Perry
Aliens: The Set Photography by Simon Ward
Alien: The Coloring Book
The Art and Making of Alien: Covenant by Simon Ward
Alien Covenant: David’s Drawings by Dane Hallett & Matt Hatton
The Predator: The Art and Making of the Film by James Nolan
The Making of Alien by J.W. Rinzler
Alien: The Blueprints by Graham Langridge
Alien: 40 Years 40 Artists
Alien: The Official Cookbook by Chris-Rachael Oseland
Aliens: Artbook by Printed In Blood
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ALIENS™: BISHOP
Print edition ISBN: 9781803364513
E-book edition ISBN: 9781803364667
Published by Titan Books
A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd
144 Southwark St, London SE1 0UP
First edition: December 2023
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.
© 2023 20th Century Studios.
T. R. Napper asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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To my uncle Wayne, who wouldn’t shut the hell up about this new movie called Aliens, while I was still too young to see it.
And to my sons, who are too young to read this novel right now. Can’t wait until you do, boys.
PART ONE
All warfare is based on deception.
Sun Tzu
The Art of War
PRIVATE KARRI LEE
1
When Captain Marcel Apone walked out onto the deck, and stood tall, hands behind his back, everyone shut the fuck up. Simple as that. The horsing around, the slaps on the shoulder, the ball-breaking—all of that stopped.
Karri stood to one side of the company, not part of the camaraderie. They’d gathered in the hangar: dully gleaming steel walls and chains, bright yellow-painted ladders and safety markings, iron-gray shipping containers, fat missiles tipped with high explosives. Faint smell of grease, the sound of voices echoing. Marines, muscled, young, mean. Sheen of sweat on the skin—most had been working out since leaving hypersleep. Getting the blood pumping, brains working, looking for an endorphin high after weeks of lying still.
A Colonial Marines company. Pretty meagre group of grunts, for that description. Karri wasn’t sure what had happened to them, but as she cast her eye over the assembled, they looked to be at platoon strength—no more.
Karri didn’t know whether to sit, stand, or sprawl like the rest of them. She stood. A couple of the marines glanced over at her, but didn’t pay her much heed. Didn’t care about the new girl until she fucked up or proved herself. That’s what her fireteam partner, Corporal Sara Ransome, had said to her. The one person who had bothered to look her in the eye and give her more than a single word. Tall, over six feet, no-nonsense, looking down at Karri.
“They’re waiting for you, to screw up, or to do something right. If it’s the former, they’ll make your life hell until you request a transfer. If it’s the latter, they’ll bleed for you. Simple as that.”
The bullshit stopped when Apone walked in and the marines stood, hands behind their backs. The company—the “Hardboiled”—had a fierce reputation. Word was they’d seen some serious action, but when the big dog walked into the room, they jumped to attention.
Apone ran an iron assessing eye over the assembled. Up behind him the synthetic Haruki, Sergeant Hettrick, and the Weyland-Yutani worm, Walter Schwartz, all took up positions. Schwartz had already been there, loitering in the shadows, when Karri had joined a few weeks back. She hadn’t yet heard the man speak, but saw him whispering enough times to Apone, or Hettrick. Sometimes just lingering, watching the marines go about their business.
Creep.
There was silence while they waited, save the low hum of the ship in the background. Then Apone spoke, simply.
“The USCSS Patna has been found.”
The marines looked at each other. One of them clenched a fist, a nonverbal yes, but they all kept listening.
“Michael Bishop’s research vessel and the last known location of the synthetic, Science Officer Lance Bishop. The ship is drifting in space. We’ve found it, and we’ve scanned it. Life support is still functioning, but every other system is down.” He took a breath. “Over the past two months, you have all received information packets regarding the colony of LV-four-two-six—also known as Hadley’s Hope—and the more limited data from the prison planet Fiorina One-Six-One. I suggest you reacquaint yourselves with that information. I will not allow what happened to Bravo Team on Hadley’s Hope to happen to the marines I’m looking at right now.”
The troops were silent and they were listening, all eyes on the captain. Each turning the story over in their minds. Karri had read it all, three times, trying to prep herself for what was to come. To be just as keyed in as any other grunt in that hangar. But it was more than just her desperate need to make the grade. The story was so fantastical. Military reports weren’t meant to be compelling, but she found herself going back over them, picturing events in her mind’s eye. Trying to imagine the enemy.
Space monsters. Karri had loved to read, as a child. The rare times she wasn’t scrounging for food, or training in the dojang, she’d be reading. More often than not by candlelight—what with the rolling blackouts that left the city in a fearful darkness—she’d read and read and read.
If Karri was being honest, she’d prefer that the space monsters stayed in those books, rather than clawing their way into her reality, but this was the reality. A platoon of the Colonial Marines went into Hadley’s Hope, and only two came out—Corporal Dwayne Hicks, and a combat support synthetic named Bishop. A couple of civilians as well, and that was it.
In the silence of the hangar, as Apone looked at the marines and they looked back, the hardest truth remained unspoken. It hovered there, in that space between them. Apone’s big brother had been one of those cut down. A tough gunnery sergeant, the other marines said, who feared nothing and who fucked up less.
“Our enemy may sound like a horror story, invented by a sick and fevered mind,” Captain Apone said. “The face-hugger. The chestburster. The Xenomorph. The Queen. The acid blood. The terrifying speed. The armored mesoskeleton—but we know for a fact it is real, all real. Sergeant Hettrick will explain how we have adapted our equipment to deal with this new enemy.” The sergeant, behind him, smiled and nodded. Apone continued, “But the most important thing is not our equipment. It’s knowledge. This is what Sun Tzu teaches, in The Art of War. If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.
“These Xenomorphs had the element of surprise on our brothers and sisters in the Second Battalion Bravo Team. They will not have it on us. We have foreknowledge; they are beasts working on a base instinct. We have advanced firepower and the will to use it. They have nothing but the shadows and their animal hate. I tell you this, marines, I promise you this—” Captain Apone held up a finger, and that was the most expressive Karri had ever seen him “—we will exterminate these monsters with extreme prejudice.”
The marines said “yeah,” and “hu-aaah,” and their eyes shone, and Karri could see how hard they wanted it. The echoes died down.
“One of ours might be there, on that ship,” Apone continued. “Might be alive. But dead or alive, the Marines leave no one behind.”
The response to this was less enthused. Bishop was just a synthetic, after all. A couple of the marines nodded, but that was it. Karri’s eyes flicked over at the other synthetic, Haruki. Short, slight, Japanese features. As usual, he gave nothing away. She’d come to expect as much emotion from a marine android as you would from a concrete wall. Before she’d joined, Karri had never met a synthetic. Only big companies, the military, and the rich owned them, and Karri was none of those. Until recently, anyway.
Sergeant Hettrick walked to the front. He smiled too much for her liking. Joked too much, and was way too close to the other marines. Leaders should be distant, someone to look to for leadership in a firefight, not for a laugh over a beer. But maybe he could do both. She’d see. Hettrick had short red hair, combed in a neat and oiled part. The top two buttons of his fatigues were open. He held his chin a little too high.
“You have your standard combat armor,” Hettrick said. “Wear it. Be ready to strip it off with the quick release latches should you be sprayed with Xenomorph blood. You will have a few seconds before the acid eats through. You will all wear ballistic masks.” He held one up; it looked like a hockey mask. Black, gleaming dully, holes only for the eyes. “This will stop the so-called ‘face-hugger’ from strapping itself to your mouth—like my ex-wife at an open bar.” He smiled after he said that, but no one laughed. He continued as though they found him funny. “Like your armor, the mask has quick release catches.”
“I can’t see shit in one of those things, Sergeant,” Cortazar said. Big guy, mean, like most smart-gunners. Only thing he’d said to Karri since she joined the squad was “fucking move” when she’d been standing at her locker and he wanted to get past.
“We got you covered,” Hettrick said, smiling.
The sergeant clicked his fingers and held out the mask. The synthetic, Haruki, quickly came forward, taking the mask from the sergeant’s hand and replacing it with a large black shield. Hettrick didn’t acknowledge the synth.
“The fireteam partner of each smart-gunner will carry one of these.” Hettrick placed it on the ground. It was nearly chest high, slightly curved inward. Like a large, black riot shield police forces would use back in Australia. They’d line the shields up like a wall, and fire tear gas from behind it. Then the wall would split open and they’d charge through in their gas masks and use their clubs to beat down hungry protestors, begging for food. Karri shook her head to clear the images. Involuntarily touched the silver ring on her index finger.
Hettrick rapped the shield with his knuckles. “Teflon coated. This will stop the initial acid spray, and will be more resilient than marine armor. The bug likes to get in close, and our smart guns like to make a mess. This is the solution.”
Karri didn’t think it would solve the problem, but she shut up and listened.
“I needed one of these for my ex-wife, too,” Hettrick said, and smiled, waiting for a response.
Karri rolled her eyes.
“Your ex-wife was a bug?” Corporal Ransome said. “I was wondering what would be desperate enough.” There were some guffaws at that, and Hettrick smiled along with them. Then he pointed to a steel table nearby, covered with dark, shimmering clothing.
“Kevlar riot vests. They’re light, wearable under your armor. Will provide some protection against Xenomorph claw and tail attack.”
Karri had seen those before, as well. Same place she’d seen the shields.
“Every squad will have two additional incinerator units, operated by Corporals Ransome and Colby,” Hettrick said. “The bugs don’t like the heat. Now listen—we know how to kill these things, that’s the easy part. What’s harder is living long enough to tell the tale. We play it careful, like the captain said.
“Second squad will enter the Patna via the hangar bay, mounted up in an APC,” he continued. “First squad will hold in reserve on the Il Conde. Once the hangar is clear, we will disembark. You have magnetic boots and breathing apparatus. If we engage the enemy in the loading dock, there is a chance the acid blood will breach the hull and cause atmospheric leakage. Be ready with your boots.” Hettrick looked over them.
“And be ready to kick some ass.” The marines finally smiled at something he’d said, and one slapped another on the shoulder. “Now, get fed and get prepped. Three hours before we head in. Dismissed.”
The company broke up, boots heavy on the steel mesh floor. Flinty-eyed, Apone watched them go. She felt his gaze fall on her and linger. Karri turned and followed the others out.
2
Mealtime was her favorite part of the day. Each time a reminder of why she joined the Corps. The marines sitting at the long white mess table grumbled about the food, the mission, the pay, the usual.
For Karri, everything was a luxury. Her clean, new, tough-fibered uniform. The comfort of her bunk. The basketball court on the next deck, the credits that went into her account week in and week out, that she could in turn transfer to her mother. But the food—the food was plentiful, and nutritious, and not a mirage. Not a bartering tool. No one demanding anything of her in exchange for a hunk of stale bread.
