Sanchez stood patiently behind his desk as he waited for the last of the department heads to file into his office. With eight people in the room, it was crowded, and everyone shifted uncomfortably. Not only because the room was too small, but because they were not used to all being in such close proximity with one another, and they had organised into a definite military and civilian split, right down the middle. Sloan and his lackey second-in-command Palmer were the last to arrive, bringing the total to ten, and hung back near the far wall.

  “Close the door,” ordered Sanchez, and Palmer did so, even though Sloan was closer. “I’m sorry for bringing you all in here like this but we don’t have time. Thirty minutes ago, orbital got a hit on what appears to be a cloaked ship headed this way. It appears to be using the storm to cover its approach, meaning we’ve got about forty-five minutes before it reaches Rayleigh’s Rest.” He took his keys from his pocket and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out the lone file folder, and laid it flat on the desk.

  “Now, everything I am about to tell you is considered “code black” by the NSA and USCM brass, and will probably mean I’ll face a court martial when I get back to Gateway, but given the current circumstances, I don’t really give a damn. The approaching vessel appears to be…” he hesitated, unconsciously rubbing at his forearm, “of yautja design.”

  “Excuse me, sir, a what design?” asked Second Lieutenant Pryce.

  “Yautja,” he confirmed, sounding out the pronunciation. “A technologically advanced humanoid species.”

  Everyone exchanged concerned looks. Everyone had at least heard of the Arcturians. They had been discovered almost immediately after humanity became interstellar. But the notion that there was another sapient race out there that no one had ever heard of immediately set everyone on edge.

  “These hundred and fifty pages here,” he gestured to the file on the desk, “probably represents the most comprehensive set of records on them in all of human-controlled space, and I’m not even supposed to have it. I’ve called in a lot of favours over the years to piece this together. Fact is, we know almost nothing about them. Encounters are very rare. Some of these records go back to the late twentieth century. Everything further back than that is all just folklore and myth. Stories about ghosts or demons. What we do know is that they are strong, they are hostile, and they are extremely dangerous.”

  He waited a beat, allowing the words to settle.

  “Could I see the file please, Colonel?” asked a quiet voice from the crowd.

  He shot a look at the speaker, annoyed at the interruption. The unassuming face seemed unperturbed. Watson, was it? He struggled to remember. Assistant Head of Administration, he had had limited dealings with the man.

  “Of course,” he said and handed him the file. Watson took it without a word and began to flick through it. “I’ll see that you all get copies”.

  Heller brought him back to his train of thought. “The men are ready to go sir. Any intruders we will handle them. “Yautja” or otherwise.”

  “No, Sergeant. I’m ordering a general stand down.” A murmur went through the crowd as they exchanged confused glances.

  “Sir? We’re ready to fight. We’re trained for this,” protested the sergeant.

  “I know, and that is exactly what it wants. Based on all available records these things have…a code. You might even call it “honour”. It wants a fight. Sport, the “thrill of the hunt”. Something that can offer it a challenge. We’re not going to make it that easy. I’m putting the entire base on lockdown. I’m ordering all Marines to return any weaponry to the armoury, immediately. All firearms, knives, toenail clippers, I don’t care. Anything that could be interpreted as a weapon is not to be carried at any time. All non-essential civilian personnel are confined to quarters. All storm shutters and external doors are to remain sealed, and no one is to go outside unless absolutely necessary. If anyone does encounter the hostile, they are to kneel or lie down, and avoid eye contact. Do not do anything that could be interpreted as aggressive or defiant.”

  “Sir,” his other second lieutenant, Gutierrez, interjected, “how many of these “yautja” are we estimating to be on board the vessel?”

  “These things don’t play well with others. Every documented encounter involves a single hunter and the estimated size of the approaching vessel is concordant with that.”

  “I’m sorry, Colonel,” this was from Nguyen, the head of civilian admin. A small middle-aged woman who was aggressively shaking her head. “But that is unacceptable. You have almost ninety Colonial Marines on station. It is your job to protect the men and women of this outpost, and you’re telling me you cannot handle one lone intruder?”

  “Ms Nguyen,” he said calmly, “this is not a band of pirates, or terrorists, or some lunatic off their meds. It’s a yautja. If we engage with force, it will turn this whole place into an abattoir. I do not want that any more than you do. The best thing we can do right now, is be boring. Without a challenge, it’ll leave. We just need to wait it out.”

  “What kind of injuries can we expect?” That was from Doctor McTaggart. As Chief Medical Officer she was a civilian, but she was as no-nonsense as any military doctor.

  “None,” answered Sanchez. “As I said, if we don’t present a threat, it will leave us alone”.

  “But if we do present a threat?” she pressed.

  “Then what’s left will be in pieces,” he said dismissively. She stared hard, unamused with his answer, and he relented. “They use plasma based projectile weapons, so you can expect burns, missing limbs and the like. They also like to get up close and personal with blades and other melee weapons, or their bare hands, and they do not have trimmed fingernails. Again, missing limbs, lacerations, puncture wounds, broken bones. What they do to their kills is worse. Much worse.”

  “I can’t believe Wey-Yu haven’t tried to capture one. This sounds right up their alley,” said Pryce.

  “It’s been tried. More than once,” said Sanchez. “The earliest attempts go back to the late nineteen-nineties, even before Wey-Yu’s day. Over the centuries there’s been a handful of attempts to capture one, alive or dead. No one’s ever came close. Usually, it just ends in a bloodbath.”

  He glanced at his watch. This had taken longer than expected.

  “We only have about twenty minutes left on safe window of operation. Sergeant, I want all weapons stowed. Lieutenants Pryce and Gutierrez, brief your squads on the protocol. Under no circumstances are they to engage the intruder. Ms Nguyen, please do the same with the civilian staff, and please order the kitchen closed. We’ll have to make do with canned food for the time being. I don’t want anyone carrying anything sharper than a wooden spoon.

  “Sloan?” The merc had been quiet throughout the whole briefing. He had almost forgotten about him. “You do the same. Brief your men; no weapons are to be carried under any circumstance. Am I clear?”

  Sloan merely nodded.

  “If there are no further questions then I will thank you for your time,” he said to the civilian staff before turning to his officers. “You have your orders, dismissed”.

  They quietly filed out of the room and Sanchez let out a long, slow breath as the first, ominous pitter-patter of hail began to tap against the window. That could have gone better, he thought. They didn’t understand. A yautja? Here? The damage it could do did not bear thinking about. No, he had done the right thing. Without any “sport” on offer, it would leave. He looked up when he noticed one individual had not left, and stood looking at him with that same blandly friendly expression.

  “Yes, Mister Watson?”

  “Your file, sir,” he said politely, seemingly oblivious as he handed back the file. Sanchez accepted it, but Watson still stood with that same expectant expression.

  “Was there something else?” he asked, no longer trying to hide his irritation.

  “Sir, the available data suggests that a yautja would match its offensive capability to that of its opponent in order to make the encounter more challenging. I am considerably stronger than a human of equivalent size. If I were to challenge it, I may be able to best the creature in unarmed combat.”

  Sanchez raised an eyebrow. A synthetic, suddenly it all made sense. Watson was about the same height and build as he was, which was to say unremarkable. A yautja would be more than double his bodyweight, and probably have about a half-metre in height advantage.

  “It would tear you in half,” he said, shaking his head.

  “There was one other thing, Colonel. During the brief I read through the file, and over the past two hundred and fifty-one years, eighty-seven percent of all documented encounters have occurred on a planet, moon, or planetoid. Of those, ninety-eight percent have occurred in tropical or sub-tropical latitudes, with the singular exception being a suspected crash landing in-”

  “Your point, Mister Watson.”

  “Sir, all of the available data shows that yautja hunt almost exclusively in extremely hot climates. The average daytime temperature of LV-784 at our latitude is approximately nine degrees Celsius, and below zero degrees at night. It does not fit the profile. Therefore, I conclude it must have other reasons for choosing this site. Do you know of any other reason why it would be here?”

  *

  Sloan kept quiet as he marched down the corridor back towards Delta. Palmer did not say anything. He knew better. Sloan waited until he knew they were well out of earshot before speaking.

  “Get the men ready.” he ordered, keeping his voice low.

  “Yes sir, I’ll ensure all firepower is secured by-”

  “No, I said get them ready. Did you not see? The old man is scared. Gotta hand it to him, he hid it well, but he wasn’t fooling me. I could see it in his eyes. Whatever this thing is, it’s got him pissing his pants.” He stopped as a hurried civilian passed them coming the other direction. “The Company have been after one of these things for a long time. This could be a golden opportunity. With the lockdown in effect and every jarhead prick between here and Thedus disarmed, there’s no one to get in our way.”

  *

  Van Der Beek stood quietly at the back of the dimly lit room. Sloan had ordered an assembly, and he was wondering what had him so agitated. A dozen men waited impatiently in the cramped confines of the briefing room, exchanging coarse jokes and insults, and although there were chairs, no one sat down. Gossip and rumours were running wild, and it seemed this had everyone on edge. His eyes locked on to Sloan as he strode into the room, followed diligently by Palmer, and lastly by Doctor Yau. That caught his attention. He could not think why the doc would be attending a security briefing. Sloan slapped a file down on the table.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Settle down, ladies, and pay attention,” growled Sloan. “You all know something is up, so here are the facts. An hour ago, orbital detected an intruder vessel of non-human origin and identified it as yautja design. Seems the Arcturians are not the only sapient life out here, and it just completely slipped their minds to tell the rest of us.”

  A ripple went through the crowd.

  “I’ve been told they are humanoid, and aggressive, and this one looks to be flying solo. The old man has ordered a station wide general lockdown. The way he explained it, it sounds like these things supposedly like a challenge, a fair fight, and won’t attack any target that it doesn’t perceive as a threat, so he’s ordered all USCM personnel disarmed. If we encounter it, we’re supposed to kneel or bow or offer it “tea and crumpets”,” he said mockingly.

  There were a few snorts and half-hearted laughs from the men, but Van Der Beek stayed quiet. Another known sapient race, and no one had ever heard of it. He didn’t like it, and the old man was no idiot or coward. If this thing had him concerned, then there was something to be concerned about.

  “Now the higher ups at the company have been after one of these things for a long, long time. Over a century, if you can believe that. So, we’re gonna give’em one. Gentlemen, what we have here is a golden opportunity. With the base on lockdown and the jarheads out of the way, we run this place. There’s twenty of us, and one of it, and when I look out at your faces, I see the meanest, toughest bunch of badass sons of bitches this side of Gateway.”

  That got a cheer from the men, but Van Der Beek was liking this less by the second.

  “If we capture this thing, dead or alive, the company is going to be grateful. Very grateful. So, we’re going to show this thing it picked the wrong planet for its summer holiday, and we’ll all be set up for life.”

  Another enthusiastic cheer from the men. They smelled money, and so were not keen on asking too many questions. Yeah, this job didn’t attract the best and brightest, Van Der Beek thought to himself.

  “North side of the base, there’s an old storage hangar. Decommissioned. It’s out of the way, and there’s nothing critical in there. If we can lure it in there, we can trap it. If it’s still alive, so much the better. Dead? Fine by me.”

  “Do we have a plan, boss?” asked one of the men.

  “This thing wants a fight; we’ll give it one. Everyone outside of Delta isn’t carrying anything more formidable than a spoon, so if we give it an armed target, it should zero in on them fairly quickly.

  “Take a civilian? Arm them up?” suggested a voice from the crowd.

  “No, that’ll cause too much trouble. We start disappearing base personnel, it’ll attract outside authorities.” He thought for a moment. “Parker, get one of the test subjects from downstairs. No one will miss them.”

  Parker grinned. “Know just the one, boss.”

  Doctor Yau, who had said nothing the entire time, piped up. “I’m sorry, Director Sloan, but I can’t allow that.” The room fell silent as Sloan raised an incredulous eyebrow.

  “I can’t?” He turned and shared an amused smile with the men.

  “No. Those patients are my responsibility. I will not allow them to be used as bait in some half-baked hunting trip.”

  “Patients?” Sloan laughed. “Don’t get self-righteous with me, you fucking ghoul. We both know exactly what they are. Now it’s either one of them, or one of your staff. I’ll let you decide.”

  The doctor shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet Sloan’s hard stare. “Fine. Just make sure they have not been recently implanted.”

  “Glad we’re all in agreement then,” he said sarcastically, and turned to face the room. “Carter, you’re leading the capture team. Kozlowski, Steinberg, Litvinenko, Miller, Rico, Christie and Lenny go with him. You’re cleared to take all of the equipment and firepower you want. We’re not clear on this thing’s capability so I want you overprepared. Van Der Beek, Morse, Parker and Weaver; keep an eye on things here. Delta operations are to continue as normal. Palmer, you can fill in McKenna and the rest at shift change.”

  “Sir, what about the Marines? Shouldn’t we send a team to secure the armoury?” The Irish accent gave it away, that was Lenny. The kid was smart, he mused.

  To his surprise, Sloan did not shoot him down.

  “Negative on that. Breaking the station lockdown, even firing weapons on station, the old man will be all fire and brimstone, but Wey-Yu will back us up. If we go after their armoury, that makes us mutineers. The station is under maritime law, and they still have hanging for that. Nah, Sanchez won’t do anything anyway. He’s too scared of this thing to arm up, and the jarheads won’t disobey orders. By the time they realise something’s up, it’ll all be over. You all have your assignments, get to it.”

  An enthusiastic “Oorah” went through the crowd. Van Der Beek said nothing.

  *

  The “click-clack” of the pulse rifle’s loader was music to Carter’s ears as he cocked it. It had been a while since he, or any of the Delta Sec team, had had to suit up in full armour, and it felt good. The air buzzed with electricity as the eight-man team locked and loaded. A few passed around a container of illicit capsules, He didn’t partake himself, but turned a blind eye. If it helped them get their game face on, he didn’t care what they took.

  Parker walked in dragging one of Yau’s test subjects, and Carter shook his head in disgust. It was a woman, and a small one at that. He estimated she must have been about five-foot-four, and barely more than a buck wet.

  “You fucking idiot,” he swore.

  “What?” Parker shrugged.

  “The boss said this thing wants a formidable opponent, and you bring that. Some of the male subjects are over six foot. You didn’t think one of them would be better?”

  “She’s mean as all hell, and she bites,” Parker protested half-heartedly, and Angel gave a toothy grin.

  “Whatever. Just get back to work,” Carter dismissed him and looked Angel up and down.

  “See anything you like?” she said in a mock seductive tone.

  Maybe it’ll view her as a snack, he thought.

  “Put this on.”

  *

  The hangar was spacious, with high ceilings and open spaces. Large shipping containers and other heavy equipment conveniently formed a ring around the main door. The only way in or out. It would have to come through the main door, and they would be able to trap it in the nets. The nets had originally been meant to hold “adult specimens” that were contained in the lower levels of Delta. Carter wasn’t sure what they were adult specimens of, but judging by how the white coats talked about them, he was sure they could hold anything.

  “Spread out,” he ordered. “Leave the door open a bit. We want it to take the bait. As soon as it moves on the woman, close the door behind it and be ready with the nets and shock sticks. If containment fails, light it up. Yau and his science pukes can pick through what’s left. Kozlowski, Steinberg, the net. Set up on top of those containers. Litvinenko, Rico, the second net behind the loader. We come at it from both sides. Miller, Christie, back up. Lenny, you’re on the door, and kill the goddamn lights first.”

  “Aww man, why do I get the door?” complained Lenny.

  “You wanna be the bait?” Carter shot him a hard look, and the young man looked away. Carter spat and walked up to Angel, whom they had dressed up in ill-fitting Colonial Marines garb. It didn’t look particularly convincing, but this “yautja”, whatever it was, was a goddamn alien. Somehow, he didn’t think it would notice. It would do. She looked up and gave him a humourless smile, and he slammed a pulse rifle into her chest.

  “Take this.”

  She accepted it hesitatingly, suspicious of the proffered weapon, before her eyes narrowed and she slowly turned the muzzle to face him. A loud click echoed as she pulled the trigger. He angrily backhanded her across the face, leaving her with a bloody lip.

  “No bullets. You thinking I’m fucking stupid, bitch?”

  Angel smiled thinly. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  She wasn’t bad-looking. Young, slim, with typical Hispanic features. She was nothing spectacular, but he wouldn’t kick her out of bed either. But that smile. He had been around some dead-eyed stone-cold sons of bitches in his career, and he had seen some shit. Done some of it, too. But that smile. It unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

  “Just stand here, and shut up. You play nice, you might even survive this. You try anything else, well, there ain’t many good-lookin’ women in this shithole, and my boys might not be so charming and gentlemanly as I am.”

  “And here I was expecting flowers,” she snorted.

  He resisted the urge to hit her again. It was a waste of time. He shook his head and walked away, climbing the ladder to the top of a containment unit, giving him a good view of the layout. The woman stood in the centre of the open area, a few metres from the slightly open door. Yeah, if she was a Marine, he was fucking Santa Claus. But with the base on lockdown this was the only open external door, and she was armed. If this thing was as bristling for a fight as Sloan had made out, it would soon find them. With a loud clank, the lights went out. The only illumination now came from the floodlights outside. He lay flat on the roof of the container, and settled in. Nothing to do now but wait.

  *

  The wind outside had picked up again, battering the thin walls of the storage hangar as stray flakes of black snow, illuminated by the grey light, drifted through the open doors. Carter exhaled slowly and watched his breath hang in the air. The cold had begun to seep into his body. Their armour afforded them decent protection, but it was mostly intended for indoor use. With the door open and no heating, it was barely above freezing. But still, he did not move. He had been in worse conditions than this. Whether that be a cold prison cell or the sweltering killing fields of a backwater civil war. His career as a soldier-for-hire had taken him across the world, and now halfway across human space, and eventually landed him here. The pay was sweet, and the irony of playing prison guard was not lost on him, but after two years in this dump, he was at his wits’ end. He needed some action, or he was going to go even crazier than he already was. So, when Sloan had told them about this “yautja”, he could barely hold it together. He had set up and executed dozens of ambushes, probably over a hundred by now, including live capture. Although those had been people, usually enemy VIPs for hostages or ransom, this was no different.

  A loud bang made his heart skip a beat. Carter rolled and immediately locked on to roughly where he thought the sound had originated. Something heavy had just slammed into the roof, and the sound was followed by a sequence of heavy footfalls making their way towards the front of the building.

  It was here.

  He gestured for the team to focus on the door, and his heart began to pound in his chest as he pulled the butt of the rifle into his shoulder. Fuck live capture, he was going to blow that thing away as soon as it stepped through the door. Whatever was on the roof sounded like it weighed a thousand pounds, and suddenly the nets did not seem sufficient. The woman would probably die. He was a good shot, but if she got in the way, then too bad. Yau would not be happy, but fuck him. Silence fell as the footsteps stopped. He did not take his eyes off the door for a moment. A minute passed, then two. Nothing.

  He snapped his fingers and pointed Litvinenko and Rico towards the door, ordering them to investigate. The two exchanged a nervous glance but obeyed, and slowly approached the open door. The woman had taken the opportunity to slip behind some storage units, but it didn’t matter. The two men stepped out into the storm, and a tense second passed, then another. Silence, except for the wind and the quiet, steady drum of hailstones. He was about to climb down himself when the two men stepped back through the open door, shaking their heads. The door was the only way in. Had they been too obvious? Had it sensed a trap? With the lights out and their positioning, they were pretty concealed, and they had all limited themselves to hand signals. It couldn’t know they were there, could it?

  Litvinenko brushed at his chest plate as three red dots, arranged in a triangle, moved up his body, settling dead centre on his torso. “What the hell?” was all he had time to say before the hangar erupted in a deafening crack, a flash of blue flame, and his chest exploded in a shower of blood.

  *

  “All teams report all weapons are stowed. All departments are operating on a skeleton staff only, and they’ve all been briefed on what to do should they encounter the hostile,” confirmed Heller.

  Sanchez breathed a sigh of relief and sat back in his chair. That had taken less time than expected. The sound of the wind outside grew louder. The storm had arrived, which meant it had too. There was nothing more to be done, they just had to wait it out.

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” he nodded.

  The big man opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated.

  “We’re alone, Sergeant. Speak your mind.”

  “Sir, you seem to know a lot about these things. Is there something I should know?”

  This time it was his turn to hesitate. “I...”

  “Command to Colonel Sanchez, come in please,” his intercom buzzed, cutting him off.

  “Sanchez, go ahead.”

  “Sir, we’re getting reports of gunfire.”

  What the hell. “Where?” he demanded.

  “North side of the base, sir. In or near Hangar 7,” confirmed the voice on the comm.

  “There’s nothing there, sir,” advised Heller, shaking his head. “Hangar 7 was locked two years ago. No one’s been in or out since. It’s only used for storing decommissioned equipment.”

  “Copy that,” Sanchez spoke into the comm. “I’ll check it out.” There had to be a mistake somewhere. The lockdown had everyone nervous, jumping at shadows. Especially the civilians. It was probably nothing.

  “I volunteer to lead the team,” said Heller as he straightened and stood at attention.

  “Very well, Sergeant. Take a squad with you, check it out, and report back. Remember, no weapons.”

  The sergeant saluted, did an about face and left. It was probably nothing. Maybe some unsecured equipment had blown over, or hailstones hitting a roof, and one of the civvies had called it in. The armoury was secure, and civilians did not have access to firearms. That only left Sloan and his men. He didn’t think they be dumb enough to try and countermand his authority, but the thought made him uncomfortable. He could not dismiss it entirely. He decided he would wait to hear back from Heller. With luck, it would turn out to be nothing.