Another drop of sweat dripped from Ralph’s forehead, clung to his glasses, and finally fell to his beard before smacking the dirt. The sun beat down upon him mercilessly, giving him the impression of being a hapless Thanksgiving turkey caught in the oven. Stopping to take a breath, his eyes wandered over to his stomach. Yeah, he grinned, And I’m just as plump . . . gotta work out on the treadmill when I get back to the ship . . .
He snapped his head up as Pieper walked by, inadvertantly spattering her with his sweat. She didn’t seem to notice; Ralph was very thankful for that. She was so beautiful, even after being baked in the sun for an hour, and covered in dirt to boot. A moment of grief filled the private as he daydreamed what could’ve been - - if she wasn’t engaged, of course. Silently, Ralph cursed that damned billionaire on Azwin IX. Why had he gotten to her first? Life just wasn’t fair, plain and simple.
Picking up his pack and falling in behind his comrades, Ralph reflected on how much he hated that rich men got all the girls. Middle-class wannabees like him couldn’t even get a date most of the time, this day and age. Why was life so unfair? Why was a good girl like Pieper already engaged to some snobby, affluent prettyboy? Why was he stuck on a planet in the middle of nowhere? He knew the answer to all of these: shit happens. Especially to Ralph "Smartie" Stuart.
Ralph looked at his surroundings. The planet’s terrain had changed considerably during the last mile - - now, small hillocks of dirt domainated the area, as opposed to the endless flats. Off in the distance, the sun grew a blood red as it sunk below the mountains on the horizon; they had only become visible in the last ten minutes or so. The haze here was so bad, visibility was limited to only about a mile or two.
Which brought up a new question: where did this transmission come from? A camp, perhaps? That was his guess. He still couldn’t figure out why humans were here. Were they the "oddities"? Or had the Weyland-Yutani Company actually sent them on a rescue mission? Or, at least, something with the cover of a rescue mission. Ralph had always heard quiet whispers about the Company’s "business dealings", which usually involved double crossings, blackmail, and sending men to their deaths, all for the almighty dollar.
Today, he prayed to God that those rumors weren’t true.
"Sir!" Ralph watched as Giger, who was heading up the group, slid down a large hill just ahead to the group and towards Cominsky. The monumentous mound of rubble obscured any idea of what was ahead, and a cloud of dust followed the slender man as he saluted his superior. "I think," he huffed, catching his breath, "I think there’s something that you need to see, Sargeant."
Cominsky raised an eyebrow questioningly, and everyone’s fatigue was renewed by the unexpected surprise. Every last member of the platoon charged up the hillside, boots clomping the dirt and kicking bits of gravel into the stagnant air, scrambling to peek over the other side to see Stan Giger’s discovery . . .
Ralph managed to climb the hill last, his small form easily pushed out of the way by some of the stronger soldiers. Wiping the streaks of eye-stinging sweat off the lenses of his glasses, he replaced his spectacles and took in the sight in the valley below.
It was a ship. A huge damn ship, a hybrid oval/tube in shape and at least three miles wide, resting at the bottom of the steep-sided, crater-like valley that loomed on the other side of the hill. From this vantage point, Ralph estimated that he was several hundred feet above her, and every last detail could be devoured by his eyes. She appeared to be in bad order - - several of her sensor towers were snapped off like twigs, and her hull was badly dented and cracked. Nobody spoke as they took in the awe-inspiring sight - - this craft was never meant to enter an atmosphere. It was intended for deep space travel, and just to see it there, dwarfing the enormous valley walls, made everyone’s mouth drop.
There was only one possible explanation for it all: there had been an accident, and she had crashed. From the looks of it, it had happened not too long ago, for deep furrows were cut into the ground behind her, marking her crash landing and the path she had slidden on. Silence reigned for several moments as the marines continued to assess the scene . . .
"What is that?" Pieper asked.
"What does it look like?" Giger retorted, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting up. "It’s a ship."
"I know that. But . . . why is it here?"
"It crashed," someone replied quietly. She was awesome, sitting there in the heat of the sun like some immense beached whale.
"Well, are we gonna stare at it or go to it?" Ragsdale asked, starting to slide down the hillside. Though Cominsky knew he should’ve objected to the private advancing without his permission, he was too engrossed in the fallen ship to care. At any rate, the platoon followed, and the details became ever-clearer as they catiously eased their way towards the fallen starship. It appeared as though an encampment had been set up on the nearest side of the vessel, the sun glaring off the shiny white tents and directly into the marines’ eyes. It appeared uninhabited. I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Obi-Wan, Ralph thought.
"Well, whadda ya know," Cominsky said, walking towards the ship. The ground had just started to even out, now.
"What?" Ralph asked.
"Looks like our derelict is part of the family."
"Huh?"
"Take a look for yourself," he replied, pointing to a spot on the hull with his rifle. Ralph craned his neck upwards, feeling his aching spine pop a little as his eyes settled on the giant logo plastered to the side of the craft: "WY". Weyland-Yutani.
"Well I’ll be . . ."
"The United States Colony Craft Ravenno," Cominsky boomed, reading the nameplate. "Only been out of the shipyards since early last year. I remember seeing a newsvid about her." He stopped. "She didn’t look this big, though."
"So here’s the thousand-dollar question, Sarge," Giger said. "Were we sent here on a rescue operation?" He took another whiff of his cigarette, then tossed it onto the ground.
"I dunno. But all this seems a bit too coincidental for me. Oddities? I think not," decided Cominsky. He started off again in the direction of the camp. "C’mon guys . . . we’ve got some investigatin’ to do."
What happened here? Ralph thought as he followed his squad into the deserted camp. The tents, upon closer inspection, had been ripped to shreds; several autoguns lined the perimeter, their power sources burned out and clips emptied. Their munitions clips clicked harmlessly as the squad walked by. No bodies could be readily seen, though pools of blood did stain the ground here and there. Overall, the camp was fairly small - - maybe thirty shelters in all, each lined up to form easily accessable aisles between them. Billows of oily smoke curled up to the sky in various places, cloaking the entire area in a dim smog . . . could this be the haze they had seen at the dropship?
"Looks like somebody had a firefight," Ragsdale said, looking at several spent shells on the ground. He picked one of them up, examining it carefully. "M230 Baton rounds. These things suck. Only thing they’re good against is rioters and crowds . . . obviously innefective against whoever attacked this camp."
"Or whatever," Pieper replied. "I don’t like it here . . . what if they come back?" She glanced up ahead, and saw a torn doll lying in the dust just outside one of the tents, its face cracked. "I knew this place gave me the creeps for a reason."
Cominsky glanced around nervously. "We’ve got to find out what happened here," he murmured, barely audible. "We’re setting up camp here for the night."
"What?" Giger exclaimed, making his way towards the front of the group. "Sarge, this is just plain stupid! What if whoever attacked this place comes back - -"
"Then we’ll find out what happened," snapped the Sergeant. "And, just for that comment, you’ve got first watch tonight, Stan. You need to learn to hold your tongue." He raised his voice. "Egstad, Wood, you two also have first watch. Everyone else, I want these autoguns checked, reloaded, and their power supplies replenished. Try to get some of these tents fixed, too." He paused, listening to the deathly silence that filled the camp. "Whatever the Hell did this . . . it's probably comin’ back."
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