He hit the bow deck running, the alien right after him, making a continuing, thundering noise as if it were a T-Rex in pursuit of its next meal.
Hopper burst out of the passageway leading to the bow deck, the alien in pursuit. Please be there, Raikes, please be there, he thought desperately. He could sense that, impossibly, the creature was gaining on him. A shot exploded just to his right, and then to his left, each accompanied by a high-pitched whine. It’s shooting some kind of ray blaster at me. Unbelievable.
He’d been able to avoid it because of the twists and turns of the corridor, but now he had the straightaway of the bow deck in front of him and the alien would have a clear shot. There was nowhere to hide, no way of avoiding it, and as he heard the shrill sound of the blaster powering up again, he braced his shoulder blades, certain he was going to be cut down any second.
That was when he heard a loud clang from behind him. He turned, his feet still moving, so he almost tripped himself.
Nagata had come out of absolutely nowhere; maybe from the shadows, it seemed, like a freaking ninja. Hopper wasn’t sure if that was an apt comparison or borderline racist, but he didn’t care at that moment. All he knew was that Nagata was holding a sledgehammer that he’d acquired from God-knew-where and had just knocked the blaster clear off the alien’s shoulder. The alien spun to face him and Nagata, with a furious yell, swung the sledgehammer and brought it crashing up against the alien’s faceplate. Half of it shattered and the alien let out an infuriated roar, grabbing at Nagata. The Japanese officer spun out of the way like a dancer and whipped the hammer around once more. This time it took the alien in the back of the helmet, staggering it. Nagata ducked, spun, ducked again, and swung low, striking the area of the knee where some of the armor had been shot off. This caused more consternation and fury for the alien, who seemed to be flummoxed over the fact that it couldn’t get its hands on the swiftly moving officer.
The human is formidable for one of its species, but it repeats its moves in a pattern that can be analyzed. It should attack with its weapon from over there… now.
The alien’s fist lashed out, seemingly in anticipation of where Nagata was going to move, and caught him squarely on the side of the head. Had it been a human fist that had made contact, Nagata might have been able to shake it off. As it was, it was like being struck by a boulder. Nagata went down wordlessly.
The alien took a step toward him, looking ready to crush Nagata’s head beneath its foot.
“Hey! Big ugly!”
Whether the creature understood what he was saying was anyone’s guess. Nevertheless, it slowly turned toward Hopper, who was standing at the far end of the bow deck with his hands cocked in boxing form.
“Come on!” he shouted. “You and me! Man to… whatever the hell you are!”
The visible half of the alien’s face stared at Hopper impassively, although Hopper realized that it could have been smiling or frowning or laughing uproariously and he still wouldn’t have been able to tell.
The ranking creature demands personal combat. Perhaps they actually have some manner of honor system. How very surprising. That being the case, the warrior has no choice but to respect that request, even though it will mean the certain death of the ranking human. Which may well be a waste since the human could have been of further use to scientists. He will endeavor to leave as much of the corpse as possible intact for subsequent examination.
The alien advanced on Hopper. It brought its hands up slowly, mimicking Hopper’s defensive posture. Hopper circled it, feinting, punching, trying to get into or at least near the part of the faceplate that would give him access to the creature’s face. The armor could certainly withstand anything that he landed, but if he could get at the exposed area, he had confidence that his right jab would be able to do some serious damage. Maybe even take the bastard down.
The alien watched him carefully and, whenever Hopper tried to land a blow, the alien brushed aside his attempts, as if Hopper were a first grader challenging a high school senior. But that didn’t deter Hopper as he dodged and weaved, staying just out of reach of the alien’s return punches. “Yeah! Yeah, not so easy? Not so easy one-on-one! Not like when you’re using your popguns to kill my brother,” Hopper’s voice was going up in pitch, his building anger beginning to blind him, make him faster, make him sloppy. “All you had to do was talk to us, man! We would’ve welcomed you! We were thrilled to see you! But no, you had to be a bunch of murdering alien douche bags—!”
An armored fist suddenly struck him square in the chest, knocking the breath out of him. He swung wildly, missed, and before he could recover, the alien punched him in the face, knocking him backwards and nearly tearing his head off.
Nagata had apparently recovered enough to shout, “Get the hell out of there!”
Hopper, dazed, reached back for the deck rail, swung a leg over. The alien stopped where it was, cocking its head, clearly puzzled by the move. It probably thought that Hopper was willing to commit suicide rather than continue what was clearly a hopeless fight.
Slowly Hopper raised the walkie-talkie to his face. He could feel his lip starting to swell, which irritated the hell out of him since it had only just recovered from getting punched by Nagata. “I sure hope you’re there, Raikes,” he muttered.
Raikes’s voice came over the speaker, “Always am, sir. Fast as she goes, on manual.”
The alien slowly advanced on Hopper, who continued to lean against the rail. Below him the ocean was surging against the ship. In the distance the sun was drifting down toward the horizon line. It was probably going to be the longest night that anyone on the John Paul Jones had suffered through. He wondered briefly if he would be alive to take part in it.
With a slow, steady tread, as if waiting for some last-second offensive move, the alien came toward him, ready for anything.
The human flips over the railing and is gone.
He is startled. It seems that the human has gone to a good deal of work, displayed a sizable amount of bravado, only to throw itself to certain doom.
Perhaps it is some sort of human ritual for a person of rank to commit suicide in front of its enemy, thus acknowledging that it is supremely overmatched. There is still much to be learned about human culture before it is wiped out. Every little bit helps.
Or… is it possible that humans are capable of surviving in water? Perhaps some of the higher-ranking ones are partly aquatic? It is certainly something that needs to be discerned.
He walks over to the rail to make sure. He bends over it and looks down.
There, in the murk, is the human. It is not in the water. Instead it is hanging about forty feet above the water, clutching on to some sort of metal projection from the ship’s hull.
No point in leaving it dangling there.
He brings his second phase blaster online, but just as it snaps out into position and starts to power up, he hears something behind him clicking into place.
He turns.
Not fast enough.