Infestation-Part Two

View Part One

Day Two

A loud blaring resounded throughout Wilson’s cabin. He awoke with a start, slamming his head on the ceiling. Cursing, Wilson remembered where he was and turned off the alarm on his desk. Rubbing his head, he got out of bed. He doubted that pounding his brain into a wall would help him negotiate with Administrator Hackken later that morning. Oh well, can’t be helped. He dressed and headed to the barracks showers. Refreshed, Wilson headed to the armory to get his squad ready to head out to relieve Almuda. His men were waiting for him.

“Morning, Sergeant,” said Hotchkins. “Have a rough night? You always beat us here.”

“Hit my head,” grunted Wilson. He wasn’t going to mention the discovery of two new hostile intelligent races. His troops were already too inclined to daydream and talk instead of watching the perimeter. “All right, suit up.”

Corporal Almuda walked in while Wilson’s team was being outfitted in their power armor. He waited by the exit until they were all suited. Wilson walked over to see what he wanted. Almuda gave a smart salute.

“Anything to report?” asked Wilson.

“Nothing found on patrol, Sir! However, the SCV that was supposed to report back last night did not return. We tried to radio him, but the dust limits the range. Not sure if he found something or not.”

“Bah,” said Wilson. “The civilians never learn how to pilot those SCVs correctly. He probably got it stuck in a ditch or drove it off a cliff, happens every once in a while. I can guarantee that it’s not because he found something. Our prospectors are never late for getting back to their beds.” Wilson waved to his squad. “Head out to the perimeter. We’d better look for him after I talk with Hackken.”

Despite his dismissal of the missing man, Wilson was concerned. Jesting aside, the prospector teams rarely got into trouble. The moon held no life other than the mining colonies, and there hadn’t been a work related accident for several months. After the dreams he had last night, Wilson wasn’t going to take any chances.
As his squad walked out, Wilson moved his helmet close to Almuda. “Would you mind staying suited up for a few hours? I think this may be more than just an idiot civilian driver.”

“Not a problem, Sir,” said Almuda. “Would you like us to secure the perimeter while you take your men to investigate?”

“Yes, don’t want to leave the main facility undefended. Dismissed!”

Almuda saluted and went off to round up his squad. Wilson sighed. He’d been dreading his conversation with Hackken about security supplies all morning. No matter what reasoning he managed to come up with, Hackken always found a way to point out that additional expenditures were unnecessary and prohibitive for the colony’s profit margin. Wilson wondered if the revelation of a new threat to all of mankind would change the man’s mind. He entered the command center and knocked on the door to Hackken’s office.

“Enter,” emanated a soft voice from within.

Wilson opened the door, entering a small room dominated by a large metal desk with several carefully stacked piles of paper. A computer monitor faced Hackken himself, a small balding man with a soft voice. Wilson figured Hackken spoke softly as a tactic. It forced others to lean forward and strain to catch every word. It worked well. It was hard to be outraged at the arguments Hackken fashioned when you weren’t exactly certain what he had claimed. Asking him to repeat himself only resulted in him speaking even more quietly. Abusing the man was not an option, since the colony was at the Kel-Morian Combine’s disposal, not the other way around.

“I was expecting you, Sergeant Wilson,” whispered Hackken in a gravelly voice. “What expensive supplies do you need today?”

For once, Wilson figured he had a way to put Hackken on the back foot. “Actually, I came to talk to you about the recent security channel traffic and how prepared our operation is to deal with an emerging threat. Did you notice the reports on Chau Sara and Mar Sara?”

“Yes, I’ve kept up to date on the news. Seems rather far away from here, if you’re thinking of asking for a fleet to defend us,” said Hackken calmly. However, Wilson noticed Hackken’s skin begin to pale. That was a first; even after pirate attacks the man had been utterly unflappable when Wilson demanded more security equipment.

“I’d just like the fuel for our Vultures restored. Without them our patrol routes just can’t cover as much ground. We might miss something important. Like… say… a Protoss ship or one of those ferocious critters.”

“There’s no need for daily Vulture patrols. Your men can cover our small perimeter well enough. They’re certainly receiving enough pay to be responsible for keeping their eyes open.”

“True. I’m sure we can rely on a few men on foot to make sure that we locate any aliens who try and land on this moon. After all, the colony on Mar Sara certainly managed to find them before it was too late. Perhaps we’ll be just as lucky,” said Wilson ironically.

“What reason could these beasts possibly have for trying to land on this isolated moon?” Hackken asked, his voice still steady. However, his brow began to sweat profusely and his skin was nearly white. Wilson was impressed that the man was able to keep his voice neutral.

“Who knows what goes on in their minds? Do they even have thoughts? Maybe they just want us all dead,” said Wilson bluntly.

“Well...” Hackken’s throat bulged as he swallowed nervously. He stared at the computer monitor for a few seconds, as if he was seeing the image of the creature lunging at his face again. “It will be difficult but I think I can get you the fuel for your Vultures.”

“I’m glad we could reach an agreement,” said Wilson with a smile. He turned and left Hackken’s office, heading to regroup with his men. Inside, Wilson was the most frightened he had been in his entire life. He knew Hackken’s position as administrator gave him access to far more information than a security chief. Hackken had never so much as agreed to give him a single extra Gauss rifle cartridge before. How serious was this threat? He had hoped that Hackken would say no, proving he had nothing to worry about. Instead, Hackken had only increased Wilson’s suspicions that a terrible threat was facing man. Oh well, for today it was time to focus on finding that missing prospector.

“Any good news, Sergeant?” asked Hotckins, an eager expression on his face.

“Well, we got the Vulture fuel back,” said Wilson. His squad perked up immediately, hoping to save the long trudge to the north perimeter. “However, I want to make this patrol on foot to save the remaining fuel until the next shipment comes.”

“C’mon, Sergeant,” grumbled Mulheeny. “We’ve been walking all damn month.”

“Then one more day won’t kill you. Let’s get moving.”

Wilson set an aggressive pace northward over the empty brown terrain toward the hilly area that the SCV pilot had been exploring. He was normally content to travel at the sedate pace preferred by his troops, but today he was trying to exhaust himself. Maybe then he wouldn’t think about claws tearing through his flesh or assaults from space blowing him to ashes.

“Where do you think the SCV got lost?” asked Diego.

“There are a few deep valleys in the hills he was exploring. I suspect that he may have fallen in one by accident. It’s happened before when one forgot to turn off his thrusters,” explained Wilson. Space Construction Vehicles were suits similar to combat armor, protecting the men inside while they used the built-in cutting tools for various purposes, varying from mining to repairing damaged buildings. Unlike combat armor, they were equipped with rear mounted thrusters that enabled them to move rapidly over rocky terrain. The thrusters also allowed the suits to be used in constructing spaceships, orbital platforms, and other jobs that regular manpower would be unable to accomplish. Unfortunately, this also made the suits a bit difficult to maneuver.

“Well, at this point the guy is probably running out of water. Assuming he isn’t dead,” said Mulheeny.

“Always an optimist,” muttered Diego.

“Just a realist. I’m always proven right when the sun sets.”



Wilson’s team was panting too hard to continue arguing once they began ascending the hills. The rocky terrain of the area had been a long standing problem for security patrols. Vultures couldn’t access the area and it was rife with potential ambush positions. Additionally, communications were frequently blocked by the interference in the area, leaving any man who entered it entirely isolated from his fellows. Administrator Hackken had approved the prospector’s exploratary mission over Wilson’s objections. Now it was Wilson who had to find him. Wasn’t life fair.

“I’m getting a faint communications reading over in that valley to the west,” said Diego. “Pretty garbled, but it might be a distress call.”

“Alright. Hotchkins with me. Mulheeny and Diego stay back and keep us covered.” Occasionally pirates were known to use distress signals to lure targets in for an easy kill. Wilson readied his rifle and moved forward cautiously. He descended the steep slope, scanning the top of the surrounding hills for any sign of movement.

“There’s something metal over there to the right,” said Hotchkins, pointing at a vague glint behind a large outcropping of rock.


“I see it. Cover me,” said Wilson. Edging forward, finger on the trigger of his rifle, he went behind the clump of rock. One of the gray metal arms of a SCV was lying on the ground, with a liquid stain spread upon the rock at one end. As Wilson moved closer, he saw that the fluid was the dark, coppery red of blood. Judging by the size of the pool, it was unlikely that the pilot had survived the amputation.

“Guess we can confirm that the prospector is dead,” said Wilson. He glanced about to see where the rest of the vehicle was. “But what could have ripped the arm off his suit? I don’t think that could have happened by accident. Anyone see where the rest of him is?”

“Negative,” said Mulheeny.

“Nothing, Sarge…” commed Diego. “Wait, I think I see some metal about ten meters to your left.”

Wilson turned. The vehicle’s main body was a bit hard to make out because it was on a darker patch of rock, but he could see one of the thruster packs clearly projecting from the rear of the machine to distinguish it. “I see it. Hotchkins, with me.”

The two men moved cautiously toward the derelict suit, rifles raised for any potential threats. Wilson activated his suit’s exterior lamp to get a better view of the area. The man-shaped metal shell of a Space Construction Vehicle, missing an arm, leaped clearly into his view. It had tipped forward, presumably as the panicked, dying operator had fallen forward while firing thrusters to try to escape whatever had happened to him. Wilson inspected the site where the arm had been wrenched away. There was a long white scoring mark along the shoulder plate of the armor, as if a razor had etched a line in the paint. He bent forward to get a better view of the area.

“Look out behind you, Sergeant!” yelled Hotchkins.

“Wha-“ said Wilson sharply, spinning about. A huge cloud of dirt was flying in the air, smacking into his faceplate. Wilson fell back on to his backside in surprise, causing the green blur lunging toward him to fly overhead. “What the hell is that!”

Hotchkins opened up with his rifle, spraying several bursts of fire over Wilson’s supine body at the creature that had tried to tackle him. Wilson scuttled backwards toward Hotchkins, stunned to discover that the beast he was seeing was the same as the one from Raynor’s video. Those things are here?

Mulheeny and Diego opened up from their position at the ridge, pounding several rounds into the animal’s limbs, causing spurts of gore. The creature made a primal roar of anger and turned toward the two. It prepared to lunge forward. Wilson sprayed a magazine into the beast’s core. It wheezed and fell on to its side.

“Are you all right, Sergeant?” asked Hotchkins.

“Never mind me. Are there any other targets?” said Wilson.

“Nothing I can see,” said Mulheeny. “But that thing just popped out of the ground. There could be hundreds of them here for all we know.”

Diego and Mulheeny trudged down from their position at the ridge to have a look at the creature they had helped kill. It was breathing heavily and blood flowed from its limbs and the major wounds Wilson had inflicted on its core body. The red eyes on the beast still seemed to glare with hatred.

“What is it?” asked Diego.

Wilson decided that pretending he didn’t have an idea wouldn’t do his troops any good. “Beasts like this were sighted on the Mar Sara colony yesterday. Apparently there are thousands of them attacking all the settlements on the planet’s surface. No one knows where they came from.”

“They take a lot of punishment, whatever they are,” said Hotchkins. “I hit it with a few rounds at close range and they didn’t even penetrate its skin.”

“It looks like the outer skin is rather thick,” mused Diego. “Like armor. You can see where the ammunition was deflected. They left these light grey indentations on the shell, meaning they just took off the thin outer layer of skin but couldn’t penetrate whatever the skeleton is made of.”

“Sorry to interrupt the biology lesson, but why is it still alive?” asked Mulheeny gruffly. “You hit the thing a bunch of times in its torso, but it’s still breathing.”

Wilson listened more closely to the creature’s breathing pattern. Rather than weakening, it seemed to be becoming more regular and vigorous. Wilson glanced over the rest of its body. Its fangs were beginning to move again in a rhythmic fashion, the profuse bleeding of the creature’s chest wounds had slowed to a trickle, and the claws on its long arms were beginning to twitch. Perhaps most frighteningly, its eyes continued to stare hungrily at the men surrounding it.

“I don’t think it’s dying, Sergeant,” said Diego. “Maybe we should shoot it again.”

“I think you’re right,” said Wilson. As he raised his weapon toward the beast’s head, one of its arms swung out and slammed against Mulheeny’s right leg. Wilson fired off three quick bursts into the head, blowing it off the creature. Its body finally fell lifeless to the ground. Mulheeny had fallen on to his side, cursing. The leg plate of his armor had a large dent from the leg’s impact.

“How the hell did that thing survive all that?” asked Hotchkins, eyes widened in shock. “It was getting better right as we watched it!”

“I have no idea,” said Wilson. “Guess we better shoot them a few extra times in the head to make sure they’re dead. Did the critter hurt you Mulheeny?”

“No, I’m fine. Just startled me.” Mulheeny arose slowly, then bent his knees up and down a few times. He examined the dent in his armor. “Damn, those critters are strong,” said Mulheeny in an appreciative tone. “Almost went right through my leg plate.”

“I think we need to get back to headquarters,” said Wilson. “Let’s get out of this rock formation so we can get a clear signal.”

“Should we do anything about the pilot’s body?” asked Diego.

“I’ll tell Hackken the location,” said Wilson. “If he wants to get the suit back and repair it, he’ll send a team over. I don’t really want to haul him all the way back home. If we run into more of these things while carrying a body we might end up needing a whole cemetery instead of one casket. Keep your eyes open for any disturbed patches of dirt, maybe we can see them when they’re still underground and be ready.”

They hustled out of the valley and headed to the south. Wilson tried sending a message to Hackken once they were clear of the rocky terrain but was still getting too much interference. He gave up and set a brisk pace back toward the mining colony. A few areas of disturbed looking soil were warily eyed by the squad, but nothing lunged out to try and devour the marines.

When they were in sight of the colony, Wilson knew something bad had happened. The two Goliath walkers were in sight on perimeter guard, moving their exterior searchlights back and forth. Three of the marines on watch duty were patrolling the perimeter, searching for anything moving about in the dawn light. Wilson decided he should try radioing Almuda to make sure that his squad wasn’t shot by the wary guards.

“Corporal Almuda, this is Sergeant Wilson. Please respond. Over.”

“Sergeant! This is Almuda. We got attacked while you were out. I ordered the Goliath pilots to get suited up to give us some more firepower to hold the perimeter.”

“Roger. I’m moving in from the north, so don’t fire.” Wilson waved his men to advance. He observed four bloodied carcasses on the western side of the colony that resembled the creature he had shot earlier. They had a green carapace anyway, the rest of the bodies were a bit too mangled to tell what they were. Wilson opened a radio channel to his squad, “Stand watch at the perimeter while I see what’s going on here.”

“What happened, Almuda?” asked Wilson while he approached the corporal.

“About one hour after you left one of my men sighted something approaching the western perimeter. I went over to take a look through my targeting scope and saw a few creatures hopping around in the distance. They didn’t seem like they were likely to be harmful so I told him to let me know if they got any closer. About ten minutes later all four of them charged his position. I ordered my men to provide suppressing fire, but they were really tough to take down.” Almuda sighed and lowered his gaze. “By the time we managed to kill all of them, they’d torn Private Higgins to shreds.”

“It’s not your fault. I ran into one of them on my patrol. They seem to be able to recover from wounds quickly, and they certainly move a lot faster than you’d think. You made a good call in getting the Goliaths ready as well. We may need them if we get more than a handful coming at us.”

“Anything else you need me to do, Sir?”

“I’m going to go have a talk with Hackken. Just hold here till I get back.”

“Sir!” acknowledged Almuda with a salute.

View Part Three