Roy and his squad had already emptied an entire magazine, yet their efforts were utterly futile.
While they scattered for cover, crouching in the shadows to reload, the massive hand—armed with its devastating weaponry—claimed another victim.
A second searing beam of blinding light flashed past, and yet another Marine was vaporized.
Roy suddenly realized that radio communication had become a fantasy; the transmitter had been tucked in Hogue's canvas pack—Hogue, who only moments ago had been burned to death. Roy turned, spotting the fallen RPC rocket launcher abandoned by the first casualty. He lunged for it at once.
The machine gunner cast him a doubtful glance but nonetheless laid down covering fire.
Firing a rocket in such confined quarters bordered on suicide—its secondary explosion could easily kill the operator. But Roy had no other choice: their retreat was cut off, and they had no honorable pretext for withdrawing without a fight.
The rocket was loaded. Roy scanned the surroundings, aligned the crosshairs, and fired at the joint between the creature's upper and lower body.
The blast tore the metal monster in two. It toppled, its furious energy extinguished, while the secondary explosion hurled Roy off his feet.
He blacked out—only for a few seconds—then jolted awake. The roar of the explosion had deafened him; the machine gunner was shaking him desperately. From the man's lips, Roy could barely decipher the words: "It's still alive!"
Following the gunner's pointing finger, Roy saw—indeed—the scattered remains of the creature were stirring, trembling. Those artificial fragments strained toward the intruders' hiding place, even as other parts continued to fire wildly, spraying beams that carved glowing scars across the chamber ceiling.
The gunner hoisted Roy up and dragged him toward what seemed to be the entrance through which they had arrived. Though his hearing had not returned, Roy felt the deck violently shuddering. Turning back, he saw a second monster approaching. He had no idea how the first one had managed to reach them in silence—but now was hardly the time for such questions.
Roy staggered behind the gunner. The enormous creature halted before the mangled remains of the first; the debris still smoldered.
"…Remember—once we see a way out, we charge," Roy heard the gunner say through a haze. They felt as though they had wandered the deck of the warship for an eternity before finally stopping to breathe. The gunner must have clamped his hands over his ears when Roy fired the rocket, for he was now sharply alert, eyes scanning every angle, ears straining for any sign of the enemy.
"I'm at my limit," Roy murmured wearily. "Every route is blocked."
"They'll slaughter us to the last man, Lieutenant," the gunner replied.
Roy shook his head, just as confused. "Maybe they're herding us somewhere. But I can't be sure."
They pushed onward. Roy's hearing slowly returned, though his ears rang painfully. "Maybe they don't intend to kill us all, because—"
The gunner suddenly shouted—a curse. Roy looked down. The very floor beneath them rippled like a river… and swallowed them whole.
Grover gripped his automatic rifle. "Did you record all that on the visual log, Dr. Long?"
Long rubbed his forehead. "Yes… though the images keep distorting. It's giving me vertigo…"
"Feels almost like… seasickness…" Private Edward added.
Grover himself felt queasy. He ordered the team to halt and sent Edward to scout the next compartment. Ever since the alien vessel had descended upon Earth, Grover had become the most indispensable man on the planet. At any cost, he had to keep Dr. Long safe. Now, because of one rash command, he could no longer raise Roy's squad—or the teams waiting outside—via radio.
Edward soon returned, pale as bone.
"Prepare yourselves," he said, swallowing hard. "I found Murphy. But it's difficult to describe… his condition."
One by one they followed him into the next chamber.
Inside, a violent mechanical process roared to life. Long steadied himself on the hatch frame, forcing his eyes to take it all in.
In a massive, translucent tank of viscous nutrient fluid, Private Murphy had been dismembered—his body suspended in pieces. Each fragment was connected to an assortment of life-support apparatuses.
Arms floating here, a severed head there, a pair of unseeing eyes stretched wide. A detached hand drifted gently, brushing against other remnants of Murphy's body. Glowing filaments of bright green energy pulsed through the fluid, along with amoeboid spheres that clung to each organ, pumping oxygen in and siphoning waste away.
Grover turned to his soldiers. "Stay alert. Whatever killed Murphy is still here."
The stunned Marines snapped back into focus, ready to obey.
One sergeant rushed forward, scooping up a severed foot from the fluid. "We can't just leave Murphy like this!"
Though hardened by war, the soldiers still clung fiercely to honor—the old Prussian camaraderie was as vital to them as air and bread. To abandon a comrade was as unbearable as losing a limb.
But Long seized the reckless sergeant with startling strength. "Don't touch him! Do you even know what that solution is? Want to end up preserved in it yourself? No? Then use this sample tool—carefully!"
Grover forced himself to look away from the ghastly sight. Measuring the ship's interior, he confirmed his suspicion: the vessel was shifting its structure as they moved. There was no way back.
He ordered an immediate withdrawal. Even Edward was no longer wearing his usual smug expression—a detail Grover found oddly satisfying.
Moments later the squad crossed into darkness. A soldier tapped Grover's shoulder. "Sir—behind us…"
Like demons unleashed from hell, a pack of armored metal beasts surged forward, ready to crush them into paste.
A Marine screamed and was instantly blown apart—his flesh and bones vaporized by the creatures' beams.
The squad unleashed everything they had—an anti-tank recoilless rifle, a light machine gun loaded with Teflon semi-armor-piercing rounds. Still, a second soldier was incinerated in seconds.
They were luckier than Roy's team, though—the gunner and rocket operator had already taken aim at the lead creature's weapon and found its vulnerable joint. The monster was blasted skyward.
A second explosion sent the guardian creature staggering. "Grover! This way!" Edward shouted from a nearby hatch. The survivors rushed through it, hauling Dr. Long—still recording—between them, as flames and shattered metal rained behind them.
"We can hold them back for a while," Edward said, slamming a fresh magazine into his familiar MAC-35.
"Anything that approaches that doorway—destroy it!" Grover barked before turning to inspect the rest of the chamber.
The room was small—barely eight paces across—and had no other exits. In comparison with the titanic vessel, it was in significant.
Dr. Long was shaken but still in control of himself. He forced his trembling hands to keep filming.
Then the floor began to move again. Grover pushed Long toward the safest part of the formation.
"Who touched a switch?" Edward cried, face draining white once more.
"Form a defensive ring," Grover ordered. "Dr. Long—into the center!"
The soldiers surrounded the doctor, weapons pointed outward. The floor heaved beneath them, lifting like an elevator. Just as they were about to be crushed against the ceiling, its surface rippled—and they passed through.
They emerged into a vast, brilliantly lit hall, and a familiar voice greeted them.
"Hey, took you long enough."
Roy. The lieutenant leaned against a massive pillar. It was the largest chamber any of them had ever seen, bright as daylight.
After exchanging updates, Grover asked, "So then—why were we brought here?"
Dr. Long pointed toward a structure resembling a command bridge beneath a great transparent dome, towering above the stern. Though sizable, its stations appeared designed for beings roughly human in stature.
"I'd wager that's the ship's neural core, Captain—the place where the commander once issued orders."
"Then that's our best target. We have to take the chance," Grover decided. "But you stay here with the others, Doctor. Roy will scout ahead."
Edward rolled his eyes theatrically at Roy.
Across eons, Zor's command center remained unchanged. Stasis modules, consoles, and other devices were clearly meant for beings not unlike humans. To Long, it felt dreamlike. Many instruments were unidentifiable, yet their arrangement—terminals, displays—seemed oddly familiar.
Roy, Grover, and the others were mesmerized. None noticed what Long himself was doing—until static crackled sharply.
"Long, you fool! Step aside!"
Before Grover could pull him away, Long had already found the machine's controls. The waveforms on the screen writhed—and a face emerged through the interference.
Grover's grip loosened. "My God… a human!"
"Perhaps not human—but certainly akin," Long said calmly.
Zor's large almond-shaped eyes seemed to peer into the hall, as though he saw every man present. He spoke in a melodious tongue unlike anything heard on Earth.
"It's a greeting," Long interpreted softly.
"A record… like the metal plaques sailors once used for navigation," Roy muttered.
The alien's voice carried an otherworldly resonance. The screen shifted again, now showing an Invid shock trooper—the monstrous machine tearing through its enemies in savage assault.
"A war machine. Disgusting," Long added.
While the others stared, Roy whispered to Grover, "Captain… I think we'd better leave."
"Leave? The ship reshapes itself at will—how?"
"Look!" Edward pointed. The floor rippled again, rising. The soldiers aimed at it instinctively; only Long kept one eye on the screen.
A familiar device surfaced before them. "Isn't that the probe bot that malfunctioned near the hatch?" a gunner asked.
Edward narrowed his eyes. "Yeah… but how did it get here?"
"And it seems functional again," Grover noted. "Maybe we can use it to navigate."
Long approached the bot, opened its rear panel—and yelped as though stung.
The soldiers surrounded it, ready to blast it apart. "Its circuits are… rearranging," Long said, fascinated. "It's reconfiguring itself."
Indeed, the wires and chips slid and shifted as though rebuilding a city in time-lapse. To Roy, the movements were strangely reminiscent of blooming flowers or children's puzzle games—though the comparison made no sense.
"Perhaps it's meant to guide us out," Grover suggested.
"Then how do you explain the attacks?" Edward countered.
Long shrugged. "Who knows the extent of the damage to this ship's command systems? The assault may have been triggered by malfunction. And the message we saw was a warning—an act of goodwill."
"So what does it all mean, Doctor?" Roy asked.
Long met his gaze. "It means Earth should expect more visitors from the stars. That's my interpretation, at least."
"Enough. Prepare to move," Grover ordered. "If the robot can get us out, we follow it. We've no other choice."
They redistributed ammunition, loaded the last two rockets, and took their final instructions. Meanwhile, Long settled once more before the console.
His intuition had been correct: this was the nerve center of the warship. The alien energy pulsing through the wreck—through the console itself—was unlike anything he could have imagined. Perhaps he could glean some fragment of data, some revelation.
Suddenly Long cried out. The lights flickered; energy surged through alien conduits like blood through veins. Blinding pulses enveloped the console. Long clung to it, convulsing helplessly as the light bored into him—filling him with a cryptic, ineffable force.
"Don't touch him!" Grover barked as Roy rushed to help. Edward had already retreated to a safe distance, checking his rifle's full-auto setting, ready to empty the entire magazine into the console if required.
Before he could fire, the light vanished. Long collapsed to the deck.
"Captain—the robot!" the gunner shouted as the floor beneath the machine shimmered.
No time remained. Roy hoisted Long over his shoulder, praying he wouldn't suffer radiation or infection. The team clustered around the robot—and sank through the floor.
The world twisted around them—air, light, space shifting in impossible ways. Long stirred on Roy's back, and Roy tightened his grip.
A soldier shouted, "Somebody tell me this isn't real!"
The ship had either transformed again—or they had been transported elsewhere. They stared in awe at the colossal remains of a giant.
There was a story here—an epic untold. The giant's armor was remarkably intact, preserved by some alien method. Fifty feet tall, strapped with belts and gear, he resembled a human in every way except size.
His mouth hung open in what must have been unbearable agony. A charred hole gaped through the back of his uniform—large as a card table—its edges blown apart.
"They fought a hell of a battle," one soldier murmured, unfazed.
Long stirred again. Roy set him down carefully. "Feeling better, Doctor?"
Roy froze.
Dr. Long's eyes were entirely black—no iris, no sclera—only two endless voids. His expression brimmed with fervor, as though the world around him had unfolded in magnificent revelation.
"Yes… yes," Long whispered, nodding slowly. "I understand."