by Steve Perry
There was some sort of commotion within.
A seepage of mist.
“Somethin’ sure as hell stinks in there,” said Daniels. He made a face. “Literally.”
“Yeah.” Sanchez glanced uneasily toward the security forces, hunkered behind their vehicles.
“Look, you better get your butt in there and see what the hell is going on,” said Daniels. “I’ll keep the army guessing.”
Another clatter. The sounds of blasting from within.
“Yeah. Right. Thanks.”
Sanchez patted his fellow on the arm and then made a quick dash for the opening of the building.
No one shot at him.
As he entered, he immediately felt a raw blast of intuition.
Something was very wrong.
He saw, first, Machiko Noguchi, standing tall but with a somewhat cowed expression on her face. The face dangling below her—Attila’s—appeared equally upset.
He turned in the direction of what they were facing, and saw the problem immediately.
“Jesus!” he said.
Though there was absolutely nothing holy about what he was looking at.
“Exactly,” spat Machiko.
A trapdoor had opened in her chest, and her heart had fallen through.
“We’ve got more than we bargained for, I think,” said Attila. “I just hope your boys are as good as you say.”
What they had witnessed growing in that bubbling nutrient tank only hinted at the true monstrosities that glowered over them now, outfitted fully for killing and destruction.
They were the Buggers.
Bigger than normal bugs, they towered over the Predators, armored and outfitted with cyborg exoskeletons and extensions, with several arms, all holding weapons of various kinds, from blasters to spears and knives.
Nor were they all identical.
Some leaned more toward Queenhood, drool dripping down from their razor-sharp fangs, claws curiously tangled with weapons in awkward grips.
Some looked almost exactly like normal Hard Meat, from claws to shells to fang-ended head-tubings. However, metallic extensions wrapped around these: focusing oculars.
These Bugs could see.
All, however, moved stiffly, without the fluidity of their counterparts.
These were not tested models, Machiko realized.
These were creatures that had just been put on duty today, and hastily at that.
This was their first testing.
And that was their one hope.
With this realization Machiko called out to Bakuub.
The Predator immediately began to strike back toward them.
Machiko communicated her perceptions quickly to Attila.
“Tell him. Tell him there’s hope—but his people must fight quickly and agilely.”
Attila did so immediately and fluidly, also adding his own particular strategic insights.
The Predator traipsed back to his crew, speaking rapidly and gesturing.
The group split up.
“Thank you, Evanston,” cried out Machiko Noguchi. “We don’t have to go in there to destroy them now!”
She lifted her blaster and fired at the closest one.
It was a good shot.
She hadn’t fired to kill. She had a good angle on what appeared to be an opening: an uncovered portion of the frontmost monster’s leg.
The blast caught the thing in the knee joint. It emitted a high-pitched squawking and tumbled in the path of the others in a squabble of limbs and armor.
Like formation fighters, the Predators split and began to attack.
The monsters seemed taken by surprise at the fall of the foremost. Nonetheless, they aimed their guns and began to fire as well.
A Predator was caught full in the chest and bashed across a table like a toy, crashing out of sight. However, a moment later it popped back up like a burned jack-in-the-box and charged again, firing at its adversary.
The Buggers were more impressive physically than kinetically; however, they were not without power and cunning in battle. Nonetheless, there was a feeling of inexperience and confusion to their monstrous visages, a tentativeness to the movements.
And why not? They were, after all, fresh out of the vat, so to speak, armed with artificial memory and directed from afar.
The Hunter in Machiko sensed this.
She intuited that the Predators sensed this as well. She could see hand motions and clipped commands. Clumps of them broke apart, re-formed differently.
The fallen Bugger rolled away, and the others hurled past, eager to tear apart their prey. They were met with cross blasts from unexpected angles. For a moment their ranks held, but then, when two of their number literally blew up under the blaster onslaught, they retreated. These close quarters were not what they were programmed to fight in. And whoever was commanding them wasn’t doing the proper job.
Nonetheless, it was a bloody, nasty melee.
Inexperienced though they might be, the Buggers were still fighting machines, and they fought with a fearsome coldness that held the worst and the deadliest of both races.
Nonetheless, the Predators were fighting machines as well, and fighting machines that now, in a contest not just for honor but for survival, fought with a single will and absolutely incandescent genius.
Machiko had never seen the like.
Nor, apparently, had Ned Sanchez.
He stood there, gawking.
“Get down,” order Machiko, taking her own advice and parking herself behind a high-backed lab table.
“Shouldn’t we help?”
“We’ll just get ourselves killed now.”
Anyway, Sanchez would. She’d run with a pack before and could probably meld her instincts into the group mix. Sanchez couldn’t; he would probably get caught in the buzz saw of action and get ripped to pieces.
He got down as well, though he peered out at the action with great interest.
“My God, I’ve never seen anything like this. Talk about berserkers.”
The Predators were fighting with a grace and precision that bordered on ballet. They somehow knew just the right moments to dodge, just the right moments to fire, just the right moments to advance.
They were defeating the enemy, an enemy programmed only for victory.
“Evanston bungled this project,” said Machiko. “He didn’t realize how stupid the bugs are, and that’s programmed into these creatures as well.”
“What—you’re saying they were no threat?” said Sanchez. “That we’re doing this for nothing?”
“Oh, no. He could certainly make refinements, I’m sure. Nonetheless, fearsome and nasty as they are, they don’t have the thousands of years of practice that the yautja have.”
“Would someone please tell me what’s happening?” said Attila.
“We’re winning,” said Machiko. “As far as I can tell.”
From the looks of things, there were five of the twenty hybrids down, and only a couple of Predators. The Buggers were backing up toward the exit they had come from.
This retreat could not have come from their genetic programming. Retreat was a human notion. Evanston must be backing them away, hoping to re-form.
And then something odd happened.
* * *
“Dammit!” said Evanston.
Sweat was dripping from his brow.
Frantically, he engaged override programs for the team of xenos he’d sent in to kill the marauders. They had to retreat, re-form, and then attack again.
They would defeat these bastards. They had to. The computer had predicted a 95 percent probability of victory for just these conditions. He was going to have to run strategy variations and then—
A blue arc of electricity snapped from the panel.
Static power frizzled through his hair, making it stand on end.
The screens blacked out for a moment, then zapped back to normal.
What they showed on the screen, though, wasn’t normal.
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His creations were moving of their own volition.
Those that remained operational were not merely retreating, but scattering in all directions at a speed that he had not anticipated.
Evanston hit the control override button.
There was no response.
The control signals had shorted out. This was all happening too soon. There had been inadequate preparation time, dammit!
The things were free!
He snapped on the troop-radio comm-link.
“Zorski.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Red alert. There’s a problem here at central. I’ve lost control of the creatures.”
“Which creatures, sir. The bugs? These Hunter things? You want to settle down and stop shouting?”
“No, Zorski. The goddamn project I’ve lost control of the project.”
“That’s just peachy keen.”
“We’ve no choice. We’re going to have to abort. Destroy everything. Get away from the lab. I’ll give you thirty seconds, then I’m going to blow the whole thing,” said Evanston.
“Yes, sir,” said Zorski.
Livermore Evanston knew exactly what his creatures would do.
Rampage and destroy.
Indiscriminately.
At this point Livermore Evanston realized he had little reason to feel as confident as he had about the future of this project.
He’d have to scrap it and start over.
Fortunately, he’d be able to eliminate a number of his problems with it.
His fierce little smile returned as he groped for the keyboards and began to tap in the code for the program he would need.
28
At the top of the Buggers’ shoulders sprouted the metallic squibs and squiggles that constituted the upward portion of their cyborg attachments.
A shiver of sparks and power spouted from these, like fairy dust spraying over their heads. They spasmed for a moment—and then they bolted.
“Dammit!” cried Sanchez. “One of those big bastards is heading this way.”
Machiko had noticed, and she was up and ready.
Because the retreat had been so regulated before, despite their quick reflexes, the change in the Buggers surprised the Hunters. Several of the Buggers simply whipped through one flank, managing to injure one of the smaller warriors in the process. They were moving with a speed that Machiko had never before witnessed in another species. There was a frenzy, an insanity to their movements that was unnatural.
She could feel it in the air.
“They’re nuts!” said Sanchez. He readied his gun to fire, drawing bead.
“He’s lost control,” said Machiko. Totally lost control!”
She suddenly realized something else.
“No,” she said. “Don’t—”
“What?”
Before he could fire, Machiko jumped on him. She pushed his blaster rifle away, pushed him down behind a lab cabinet.
“What the hell—”
“Let it pass,” she said. “It’s not after you. It just wants to get out of here.”
Even as she spoke, the creature hurled itself past, all aclatter, toward the door.
Machiko looked up.
All the Buggers were thundering away, not interested, it would seem, in fighting the yautja—except if one got in the way. In that case it was the Predator who was in trouble.
The Predators seemed as surprised as Machiko, and for the most part allowed the Buggers to race out into the night.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” said Machiko.
“Why?”
“What—do you think it’s a trap?” said Attila.
“That’s a definite possibility—what I think, though, is that Evanston has lost control and he’s panicking right now—and he’s going to just cut his losses and try to cut us in the process.”
“How?”
“Blow this whole place up.” She didn’t wait to explain more. “Attila, I want you to tell the Hunters in no uncertain terms to get out of here. Right away.”
Attila did not quibble.
Machiko lifted his head, and in a loud, commanding voice he made the announcement in the Predator language.
The Hunters turned to Bakuub for confirmation.
Bakuub made a definite gesture.
Out of here!
Machiko and Sanchez ran.
They ran through the door, out to where Daniels was stationed.
“What the devil is going on? Those monsters—” said the man, still behind cover. “Look!”
He pointed.
The Buggers had run straight for the security troops.
They were tearing them apart wildly, savagely, pausing in their flight to rend and mutilate. Splatters and mists of blood rose, and blasters churned with bright fire, limning the beasts in mad berserker carnage.
The Hunters started to stream out of the place.
Trust me,” said Sanchez, grabbing Daniels by the arm. “We’ve got to make a run for it. Now.”
Daniels nodded. Unquestioningly, he followed as Machiko raced ahead, guiding them to the safe side of the insanity.
She could feel the urgency boring down upon her.
Got to get away from here.
Away.
Her breath was strained and heavy in her lungs. She could feel the deadliness in the atmosphere—
* * *
Livermore Evanston groped, found the button.
Pressed it.
Spoke the voice commands, modulated on his tones alone.
Better luck next time, he thought.
* * *
The biofactory exploded.
The blast emerged from the very center, like a vortex of pure energy, ripping apart every board and girder in its flash-quick pathway.
The force of the explosion slapped across Machiko’s back like a hard hand, picking her up and throwing her a full two meters, trying to pluck Attila’s head from her grasp.
She held on.
She held on and hit the ground, rolling and clinging to her consciousness.
Around her she could see, peripherally, the equally devastating effect that it had on the others. Several Predators who had not quite gotten out of the building were just pieces of flesh and bone and armor now, spread in clumps of gore. The others had been tossed a greater distance than Machiko had, some into unconsciousness.
Most, however, survived.
Most got to their feet immediately.
She could see them now, taking stock of things as a great wave of fire ripped and tore through what little remained of the factory.
The force of the blast had knocked over the security soldiers. Some were running for their lives now. Some were being wasted by the hybrids, who were buzzing through them like bloody chain saws, senseless slaughtering.
“Attila?” she called.
“Still here. Getting used to this.”
“Sanchez? Daniels?”
“’Fraid Dick got himself pretty well konked out. But I’m still here,” Sanchez said.
“He’ll be all right. Leave him for now. Probably he’ll be safer there.”
She could see Bakuub rallying his troops.
“They sure haven’t quit. They’re going after the hybrids.”
“More power to them.”
Even as he spoke, blaster fire began again, faded in the light from the fire.
“What do we do?”
“We take advantage of the chaos,” said Machiko, “and we find the people who are responsible for this carnage. That might be the only way to stop it.”
She pulled on his sleeve and then headed for the control headquarters, leaving behind the screams and the heat.
29
They found Chet Zorski in the main headquarters.
She’d had security guards around the building, but it took only a show of the firepower of Machiko’s team and an explanation of what they were about (“We’ve got to stop these monsters—help us and we all might survive”) for the
security force to capitulate.
As for Zorski, she folded like a bad poker hand.
“It’s out of control.” She addressed Machiko calmly, but with her eyes wide with fear as she left her office. “We need your help to stop it. Have you got command of the Predators?”
“No, but we can work with them.”
“We can establish some kind of truce and understanding?”
“Yes. But they’ll want those superbug creatures destroyed.”
“It’s a bargain. They’ve gone nuts. I told Evanston it was too soon to use them.”
“Where is Evanston?”
“He’s got a control bunker. Down in the basement.”
“Take us there.”
“That’s a bit difficult. He’s got it pretty well sealed off. I don’t think he’s liking what he’s seeing on his monitors.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“You bet I’ve seen it. Between the bugs and the genetic progeny that we concocted, this settlement is going to get sliced up pretty badly.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way. Let me talk to him,” said Machiko. “That is, if there’s still a communication line down to him.”
“Oh, yes, there certainly is. And it’s glowing cherry-red now, believe me.”
The group was quickly conducted into the room.
The monitors hanging from the wall depicted different scenes from the settlement, all showings similar theme:
Violence.
Explosions against the night sky limned the struggle of man versus alien… versus beast.
The technicians all stayed in their seats, their hands on their heads without that gesture of surrender being requested. They, like most of the people there (with the exception of the mercenaries) looked as though they’d never had any experience with this kind of thing, much less the proper training. They were just colonists. Soft, noted Machiko, like most colonists.
Well, with what was coming out from under galactic stones lately, they were all going to have to get hard, fast.
That, of course, was why Evanston—and doubtless the Company he was associated with—wanted creatures like those they were breeding.
Humanity, in its present stage, just didn’t have the hard edge to spearhead deep into the heart of the stars.
Now, though, they were discovering that it took a lot more than a genetic mix to deal with the Unknown.
The Unknown was buried deep in the heart of that very mix.