Chapter 12 - Unholy Revivals
Janek was a captain through and through. At times he felt as
though the pulse in his veins matched the ambient rumbling of his mighty ship.
His breath and the fluctuation of his ship’s engines were so often as one while
the Prometheus moved through space. Even the tiniest of details did not slip
the seasoned captain’s senses. As such, when one small monitor crackled out of
blackness and into focus, Janek spotted it among the spanless array of screens,
buttons, displays and the like. He moved closer to the image, which showed a
combination of rocks and industrial metal – the loading ramp just outside! His
heart skipped a beat when he pieced together what the source of the feed was; it
was one of the in-helmet cameras of an environmental suit. In the lower right
corner of the screen was the name FIFIELD, S.
“Bridge to Hangar- this is the Captain!”
“Yes, Captain,” Wallace returned as he carefully set himself
down from a scaffolding.
“Fifield just popped up on the monitor.”
Vladimir and Sheppard, who were working in the Hangar with
Wallace stopped what they were doing when they heard the name of the Geologist,
who couldn’t have been there. His body had been found mutilated and burned in
the Temple along with Millburn. His helmet had been fused to his face. He had
died – horribly.
“What? Where?” Wallace tried not to sound frightened.
“According to what I’m lookin’ at, he’s right outside the
goddam ship.”
“Boys, we have a man outside. Let’s get this ramp open!”
Wallace and Vladimir dropped what they were doing and moved
to the lift controls for the Hangar bay door. Vladimir readied a pistol, which
was in keeping with his way; there were those who shot first and asked questions
later, and then there were those who merely shot and asked no questions. Sheppard
remained a few meters behind them as the door began its descent. The eerie
light of LV-223 poured into the Hangar. As the hydraulic-powered door thudded
onto the ground, all three men saw it; the twisted, lifeless thing laying just
at the foot of the ramp. This thing couldn’t possibly be what Captain Janek
said it was. Wallace and Vladimir approached it and then looked to one another
in total perplexment. There was no way they were going to touch this desiccated
mound of nothing, let alone take it on board. The instant Wallace and Vladimir
turned their backs on the so-called remains of Fifield, both men noticed the
look of panic on the face of Sheppard.
“Wait a minute!” Janek’s voice spoke with something akin to
authority that could not be described as demanding. The sound of his voice
reflected the same trepidation that appeared in Sheppard; who was now backpedaling
with both eyes wide in terror.
A sound came from behind Wallace that sounded like a tree
creaking in the wind, and then… a thin, nasal croaking. When Wallace turned
around, his bowels nearly voided themselves inside of his environmental suit.
The thing that looked like a pile of refuse a mere seconds ago had somehow
unfolded itself upright to nearly seven feet. Wallace’s eyes read the name
FIFIELD, S in disbelief upon the towering monster’s suit. The head of the thing
had become bulbous and elongated like some sort of mutated insect. Dull, Human teeth
remained inside of the uneven, gaped maw; but they had become glassy and
blackened. The deep-blue left eye of the Scotsman remained in perfect
condition, while the right eye took on the appearance of an oversized, diseased
egg; swollen and featureless. The area where Fifield’s nose had been was now
smoothed over by translucent gray-green skin. A blackened mucus dribbled from
his decayed maw.
“Fi…field?”
It was all Wallace could offer before one of the elongated
limbs swung with inhuman speed; crushing through the thick exterior of his
helmet and caving in the left side of his skull. Wallace was dead before Vladimir
could let loose his first shot.
“Come on! We’re going down!” Janek stood and barked at
Chance and Ravel.
Sheppard had turned and began running for the Buggy he had
been working on. After shooting the Fifield creature with four more successive rounds
from his pistol, Vladimir realized that his weapon had barely knocked the
creature back with the force of impact. He dropped his weapon and began his hopeless
retreat. The Fifield creature leapt through the air in Vladimir’s direction. As
the mercenary began climbing up the side ladder of the larger of the two buggies,
the creature grabbed him by his lower leg and ripped him back down to the
ground. The monster raised both arms in a roar of triumph, and then promptly
smashed them down onto the torso and head of its second victim. Sheppard
managed to get inside of the buggy in which Vladimir had been trying to enter. Just
as he heard the engines of the buggy turn over, Sheppard saw three additional figures
in environmental suits enter the Hangar; each of them held one of the
industrial flamethrowers. Within moments, three ferocious torrents of flame
engulfed Fifield; who flailed and flipped for a few moments before fixing its
eyes onto its assailants again. They released a second volley of fire… the
buggy began to roll into motion. And just before the flame-bathed, seven foot
monstrosity could offer one final desperate attack, the wheels of the vehicle
under Sheppard’s operation ran it down; crushing it utterly and completely.
Dr. Elizabeth Shaw stumbles and staggers down the corridor;
her thin, cheap medical gown is plastered to her with sweat and blood. She is emotionally
destroyed, physically ravaged, and feeling the effects of her double dose of
painkiller. When Shaw had last traveled this hallway in her adrenaline-fueled
state, her reliable memory allowed her to navigate her way to Vickers’ quarters
by instinct alone. But now, she hadn’t the foggiest idea where she was going –
she simply walked on. Her head swam, and for a moment she thought the sound of
soft violin music and several voices was merely as a result of the drugs… but
no, as Shaw sluggishly approached an open door on her left side, the sounds
increased in volume. Some of the voices even became recognizable to Shaw’s
ears; the voices of one of Vickers’ hired goons, the android David, and…
another voice that Shaw told herself she could not possibly be deciphering
correctly. As she approached the door, her guesses at the owners of the
low-spoken voices had been correct. To her disbelief, there in the
seat of a wheelchair sat the brittle, spotted form of none other than Peter Weyland.
David was knelt at the feet of his maker, washing his feet from a rectangular
metal basin. Shaw fell unto her side in exhausted horror; no one came to her
aid, no one even really appeared to care that she was there to learn the big
secret – Peter Weyland had been alive the whole time. But why?
“You… you’ve been on the ship all this time. Why?” Shaw
offered as she lay plastered to the floor; noticing now that her legs were
partially drenched in her urine.
“Well, I only have a few days of life left in me. I didn’t
want to waste them until I knew you could deliver what you promised…” a pained
smile formed on the aged, cracked face, “… to meet my maker.”
David pulled his master’s feet from the basin and dried them
with a thick, white towel.
“There we are, sir. Nice and clean,” it said without looking
up.
Weyland seemed neither thankful nor comforted by the nurturings
of his pet android; the son he had built from scratch. Shaw and David managed
to meet each other’s gaze.
“Haven’t you told him? They’re… all gone!”
“But they’re not all gone, Dr. Shaw…” David snapped back with the usual robotic kindness. “One
of them is still alive. We are on our way to see him now.”
“What?!”
Weyland had just finished putting a fresh pair of gray slippers
onto his deathly-looking feet. He waved one hand at Jackson standing in front
of him.
“Turn me around!”
The mercenary slowly spun Weyland around in the wheelchair
to face his unexpected guest again.
“You… you convinced me that…” Weyland shuddered as he
delivered his words with what conviction his body could manage. “If these
things made us, then surely that can save us. My stick, please!”
Without fail, David produced a silver and brown cane
instantaneously, and handed it to his maker. Weyland snatched the cane thanklessly,
and then slowly pushed himself onto his feet unsteadily. As a child, Elizabeth
Shaw had built a small house out of wooden toothpicks and playing cards with
her father. The shell of a man before her now reminded her of that house; laughably
unreinforced, a thing that could be toppled and crippled by a gust of wind.
“They will save me, anyway…” Weyland concluded
pompously.
Shaw had finally found the strength to pull herself to her
feet again. She refused to be towered over by the shell of a man. She shook her
head and glowered at Weyland.
“Save you from what?”
A brief lifting and falling of the old man’s chest and
shoulder – laughter.
“Death, of course.”
Shaw shook her head again. She stepped forward a few paces.
“You don’t understand! You… don’t know! This place… it isn’t
what we thought it was. They aren’t what we thought they were! I was wrong! We
were SO wrong! Charlie… Dr. Holloway is dead. We must leave!” Shaw pleaded with
Weyland; knowing the moment the words came out how futile they were.
“And what would Charlie do now? We’re so close to answering
the most meaningful questions ever asked by mankind. How can you leave without knowing
what they are? Or have you lost your faith, Shaw?”
Tears filled Shaw’s eyes. She hung her head in sorrow and
shame. She and Dr. Holloway had brought Weyland and his corporate lapdogs this
far; they had sold their souls as well as the soul of their scientific efforts.
They could have told Weyland Corporation long ago to take their money and shove
it… they could have gone about their collective research in purity and in
poverty. But just as it was with the despicable Peter Weyland, the disgusting
husk of a man barely able to stand, Elizabeth Shaw and Charles Holloway chose
the road of Greed. They had taken the money, and they had become corporate stooges
themselves. Whatever scientific discoveries that had been waiting on LV-223 belonged
to Weyland, and would go directly to Peter Weyland himself. This whole mission,
this damnable death world, the Engineers, the company’s entire squandered fortune,
the lives spent along the way – it had all been in the name of Peter Weyland
achieving immortality. Shaw felt as though she might vomit, but she merely
shook her head in shameful acceptance, if not shameful agreement. There was
nowhere left for her to go. Everyone Shaw ever loved in this life was dead, it
was doubtful she would ever leave LV-223. Once Weyland had what he wanted, what
then would he do with Shaw? He would no longer need her… and it was clear that
she fit the bill of an extreme ‘loose end.’ Worse still was the thought of what
Weyland would do if he didn’t get what he wanted. Shaw imagined easily
enough the remainder of the mercenaries turning their weapons on her with a
look of inhuman glee… or perhaps it would be the android David with his hands
at Shaw’s throat; those synthetic, condescending eyes staring into Shaw’s while
her life slipped away. There was no turning away for Elizabeth Shaw now. She
would see this horrible mission through – she would try to speak to the
surviving Engineer. She had to know why this ancient race sought to wipe out
Humanity… and if Shaw wasn’t able to learn that, at the very least she could
implore this living god NOT to grant Peter Weyland the immortality he sought.
Elizabeth Shaw decided that her life was no longer important, and was even less
desirable to carry on any further. The important thing was ensuring that Peter
Weyland came to the grave with her… and if at all possible, his synthetic pet
as well.
“Okay…” Shaw said through her sorrow.
Elizabeth Shaw cried out in agony as she zipped herself into
her thermal undersuit. Someone rang the bell to her quarters.
“Come in…” Shaw called out through the horrible pain in her
abdomen.
Captain Janek entered; lacking the smoothness and charisma
that usually came with one of his arrivals.
“Doc, what the Hell are you doin’?!” He began with stern, animated anger. “You know what this is place is? Those, uh… Engineers? This ain’t their
home! It’s a military installation! They put it out here in the middle of
nowhere because they’re not stupid enough to make weapons of mass destruction
on their own doorstep. That’s what all that shit is… oozing out of those vases.
They made it… it got out… it turned on them… THE END. It’s time for us to go
home.”
Shaw stared at Janek. No matter what anyone thought of the
man, he was truly a man of conviction; a man worthy of respect.
“One of them is still alive. Don’t you want to know what
they have to say?”
Janek’s shook his head slightly for a moment.
“I don’t care…” He replied.
"Right… all you do is fly the ship.”
“That’s right.”
Shaw took a deep breath.
“Well, you must care about something, Captain,” she offered
finally, “otherwise, why are you here?”
It was Janek’s turn to pause in contemplation.
“How about this…” he began, “no matter what happens down
there… I can’t bring none of that shit home with us. Can’t let it happen. And I’ll
do whatever I have to… to see that it doesn’t.”
Shaw smiled warmly and touched Janek on the arm in a display
of tenderness.
“Make sure you do, Captain…”
Peter Weyland and David were alone making their final
preparations before suiting up when Meredith Vickers entered. Weyland was
clearly not pleased to see his biological daughter.
“You came after all…” the old man finally managed.
“I thought you wanted me to,” Vickers responded with deliberate
stupidity.
“After all your vigorous attempts to stop me, I’m just
surprised to see you. All right, David… leave us now.”
David bowed slightly and then made his exit. Father and
daughter stared upon one another in uncomfortable silence. Even as they stood
face to face in this small room, there was a universe and more between Vickers
and Weyland. The beautiful blonde gave a wry half-smile before speaking again.
“If you’re really going down there, you’re going to die,”
Vickers said matter-of-factly.
Weyland’s eyes scanned the floor as he fidgeted with his
outfit.
“You have a negative way of looking at things. Exactly why
you should have stayed at home.”
Vickers shook her head; restraining the urge to twist her smile into something more resentful and scream in the old man's face.
“Did you really think I was going to sit in a board room,
arguing over who was in charge while you go look for… for some miracle on some
god-forsaken rock in the middle of space?”
Vickers approached her father, knelt beside him and spoke to
him in a whisper.
“A king has his reign… and then he dies. It is inevitable.”
She pulled away and stood again before her father; the single
person she despised most in all of creation. Her words seemed to strike something
in Weyland. But he did not take the argumentative bait; he did not have the
time or the energy to waste on her. As far as Peter Weyland was concerned, this
would be the last time he would speak to Meredith – regardless of the outcome
of meeting the last Engineer.
“Anything else?”
Vickers smiled emptily.
“No, father.”
