Below is the prologue of Alien – Sea of Sorrows, the 2nd in Titan’s Alien trilogy. Written by James Moore, Sea of Sorrows takes us into the future:
“As a deputy commissioner for the ICC, Alan Decker’s job is to make sure the settlements on LV178 follow all the rules, keeping the colonists safe. But the planet known as New Galveston holds secrets, lurking deep beneath the toxic sands dubbed the Sea of Sorrows. The Weyland-Yutani Corporation has secrets of its own, as Decker discovers when he is forced to join a team of mercenaries sent to investigate an ancient excavation. Somewhere in that long-forgotten dig lies the thing the company wants most in the universe—a living Xenomorph. Decker doesn’t understand why they need him, until his own past comes back to haunt him. Centuries ago, his ancestor fought the Aliens, launching a bloody vendetta that was never satisfied. That was when the creatures swore revenge on the Destroyer… Ellen Ripley.”
Sea of Sorrows is due out late July and can be purchased from Amazon. Thanks to Titan for providing this exclusive preview and whilst you’re waiting for the novel, be sure to check out our interview with James Moore.
He knew what they were.
The shapes looked wrong in his mind, all swollen out of proportion and twisted by sensory input that made almost no sense, but he recognized the outdated EVA suits for what they were.
See how they run.
They scatter as we approach, hidden within their artificial skins.
The tunnels are dark to them, they cannot see as well as they should. They cannot feel the air currents or taste the fear of their prey. They cannot understand the simplest things, like how important it is to find the right ones for furthering the race.
They flee, with no concern for anything but individual survival. There is no sense of community for them. They are weak. They are easily moved in the right directions.
Its breaths come in a constant, panting wheeze. Its heartbeat is a wild flutter of desperation and the need for survival. There is fear, yes, but strength as well, and a powerful sense of aggression.
The sensations came into his head unbidden, unwanted.
He tried to open his eyes. The lids refused him. He tried to shake his head but nothing happened.
He felt the body under him struggling, felt his own repulsion at the way it moved and smelled and felt beneath his hard shell and he knew that was wrong. There was nothing about the sensations that made sense.
They weren’t his.
It tries to escape. It pushes another of its own kind out of the way, knocks it down and crawls over it, dust falling from its body as it shakes free of the collapsing barriers. It is strong. It is fast. It wants to live.
It will live.
It screams as it is taken down, pinned to the ground. Struggles, beating its hands against the hard flesh until it becomes necessary to bare teeth in warning… and then it struggles all the more. Beneath the shell of hard synthetics there is another face that shows wild eyes and a mouth stretched open silently. If it could break the hide with its hands it would be a threat. Instead it can merely scream again as the teeth bite and peel back the soft skin of the closest limb.
The blood is hot and stinks of weakness, but it will suffice. It will serve the need it must. We break the shell around the soft face and it gasps, unable to breathe the atmosphere.
The life-giver moves closer, ready to plant the seed. Strong fingers clutch the soft face that chokes and exhales in desperation.
Alan Decker woke with a jerk, and stared at his distorted reflection as it gazed back with wild eyes.
There was a translucent glass surface inches from his face. There were lights flashing, and his breath blasted against the confining surface.
Waking inside of a hypersleep chamber should have been familiar, given how many times he’d traveled between worlds. But the dreams—damn them—the dreams made him panic. He couldn’t control the feelings. They were simply too vivid, too primal.
It was getting so he couldn’t remember what life had been like before.
His hands pushed at the interior, fumbling for the manual release that would free him. He could still feel the tunnels, the weight of what seemed like a mountain above him, pressing down as he stalked the—
No. Not me. I didn’t stalk anyone. I don’t hunt for…
He thrust the thought aside. The damned dreams were so real, so pervasive that sometimes he could understand why the shrinks had such a field day with him back on Earth.