The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1 by Duncan Hamilton (read more books .txt) 📕

was a thick cloud of dust hovering over the aliens’ position, and there was no more shooting. Dead or not, this was their chance.

Samson broke cover and sprinted to the next concealment. He dived flat and brought his rifle to bear, but there was nothing left to shoot at. The aliens had been blasted to bits, leaving a gruesome scene of blood-soaked ground and body parts littered about.

‘All clear,’ Samson shouted, then stood and walked over to the carnage. The view was hideous, but he was curious to see what was there.

Like their bodies, their weapons looked to be destroyed beyond use. Still, he was sure the Navy’s tech people could learn something from them, so they’d collect them before they left. The other thing Samson noticed was that the blood was red. That meant the aliens were broadly similar to humans, in terms of biological function. And, assuming he was correct, it also meant they’d be competing for worlds with similar atmospheres—which tended to be pretty rare. Another reason for conflict.

Price came over to join him, followed moments later by Smith and his two men.

Smith chuckled. ‘You made a right dog’s dinner outta that lot,’ he said.

Samson felt his stomach turn over. Equating the scene with food of any type was off-putting.

‘How much will your lot want for study?’ Smith said.

‘Probably all of it, but if they want that mess they can come and collect it themselves. We’ll take the weapons and whatever we can from the ship, load it on to the Maggie, and sit tight. If that big alien ship turns up, I’m not hanging around.’

‘You’d be doing it on your own if you were,’ Smith said.

‘Any word of the others?’

‘Nah, that interference is still messing with the comms. I suppose we should go and check on them.’

Samson nodded reluctantly. He was desperate to see the inside of that ship. They set off to where Smith had picked up the scout ship on his scanner. If the reading was correct, it was just behind the crest of the next rise. Samson didn’t like being out of contact with the other group, but reckoned they couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble so close. He pressed on hard, pulling ahead of the group. They hadn’t even started on his mission proper yet, and he was starting to grow impatient.

He reached the crest, and was astonished to see two more aliens running toward him, only metres away. They spotted him and raised their weapons, but Samson already had his to his shoulder. He fired three times, having the initiative by only a few fractions of a second. His volley hit one of the aliens, splattering ragged holes tinged with red into the white clothing it was wearing.

In its death throes, it spun around and fired off several rounds, forcing its comrade to dive for cover. The track of the fire was moving away from Samson, so he didn’t waste a second. As he dashed forward, crossing the distance between them, he noticed the aliens weren’t wearing helmets. The air was a bit thin for humans, but it seemed to be all right for them. The alien was up on its hands and knees by the time Samson was close enough. Presented with the opportunity, Samson kicked it in the head, sending it sprawling onto its back. He stopped and levelled his rifle at its head.

‘I have them,’ Samson said into his intercom before he remembered what Smith had said about the interference. He shrugged to himself as he laboured to catch his breath. He made an upward gesture with the barrel of his rifle and the alien seemed to understand what he was getting at. It slowly stood up, and laced its fingers on top of its smooth lavender head. Samson counted five digits, including an opposable thumb on each hand. It seemed some designs were the best no matter where you were in the galaxy, just like the red blood. He could hear Price and the others coming up behind him.

‘Well, would you look at that,’ Smith said. ‘Ugly bastard.’

Samson kept his rifle trained on the alien, and walked closer to it, its eyes locked on him all the while. There was a large welt developing on its face where Samson had kicked it.

‘Careful, sir,’ Price said.

Samson nodded, but didn’t stop. There was a large bag on the ground beside the alien. It was made of a cloth of some type, and there were a number of bulky objects contained within. Samson’s heart was in his throat as he wondered if the alien was going to react, try to attack him. He couldn’t see any weapons, either on the ground or on its clothing. It looked like they might have caught them off guard and that this one was not armed. With a warship blasting everything that moved out of space, it was reasonable for them to have assumed that they’d have free run of the planet. Sadly for them, that was wrong.

The alien peeled back its lips, revealing a series of pointed white teeth behind its pinkish-lavender flesh. It hissed at him like a cat, and Samson did his best not to jump in surprise. He didn’t want it to think he was in any way afraid of it. The problem of how he was going to communicate with his new prisoner occurred to him. Language was obviously going to be a barrier, judging by how Captain Wright’s efforts had worked out. Nonetheless, there was one thing Samson knew he could do to make it abundantly clear where the power balance between them lay.

Samson clubbed the stock of his rifle into the side of the alien’s head, sending it sprawling back to the dirt. The alien struggled to its hands and knees, then looked back to him and hissed again, but with far less vigour.

‘Greetings from the human race,’ Samson said. ‘I hope you like prison food.’

37

The newly arrived alien ship was only a short distance