Selected Stories: Volume 1

by Kevin J. Anderson

  His fellow recruits sat together, growling as they watched footage of the carnivorous slug creatures massacring Earth Navy ships. Some of the pale recruits whimpered in terror and recorded desperate messages for their sweethearts, but Paulson was simply too weary, wrung-out, and broken. He didn’t know how he would get through another day.

  If he ever did face a mass of Sluggos, he would be too bruised, battered, and weary even to lift a sidearm.

  The next day was worse, and so was the day after that. The training officer was trying to toughen them up. The recruits practiced in the shooting range, trying to bull’s-eye holographic Sluggos and receiving points for each kill. Paulson proved to be a poor marksman in every respect, although his score improved when they gave him scattershot guns. Paulson fired so many pellets in so many directions that he couldn’t help but hit some of the aliens.

  “You’re lucky,” the training officer said. “If the Sluggos attack, there’ll be so many of them even you’ll be able to cause some damage.”

  Paulson shuddered. Yes, that made him feel very lucky indeed.

  Some of the recruits called the storm tank fun—the psychopathic recruits, as far as Paulson was concerned. The training tank simulated a storm-swept sea, cold churning waves complete with whitecaps. The recruits were thrown into the tank and told to struggle their way to a rescue buoy. Once they reached the buoy, they had to key in a safety code and solve some sort of puzzle before they could be retrieved from the freezing water and blowing winds.

  Paulson could barely keep himself above the surface, flailing his hands, going under, inhaling water and then coughing it up. Simulated rain splashed his face so he couldn’t see, but he felt stinging ice crystals. He shivered uncontrollably. He kicked his feet and tried to swim, but his sodden uniform was heavy and dragged him down. He could make out the other sailors reaching the rescue buoy, completing their tasks, and being yanked out by hover slings. Paulson couldn’t do it, though. He went under, struggled back to the surface for a deep breath, and saw that he was drifting farther from the buoy. Even if he made it, he certainly couldn’t remember the safety code. At the moment, he couldn’t even remember his name.

  He drowned during the exercise, one of three failures in the group.

  But they revived him, and Paulson rolled over onto his hands and knees, retching onto the deck. He was still wet, freezing, miserable. All his muscles ached. His mouth tasted like vomit and seawater.

  The training officer stood there, arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head. “Even a turd knows how to float. You’re dumber than a turd. A complete and utter disgrace.”

  Paulson wasn’t going to argue. He sucked a lungful of air and croaked, “I wouldn’t want to do anything halfway, Sarge. Glad I’m not only a partial disgrace.”

  The training officer was not amused. On his pad he called up Paulson’s records, then frowned to spot a fresh set of urgent high-priority orders.

  “I’m just not cut out to be a seaman, sir,” Paulson said.

  The training officer roared, “Don’t call me ‘sir’! You don’t deserve to call me ‘sir,’ turd!”

  “Sorry,” Paulson said. “It’s all so confusing.”

  The training officer turned the pad around, showing Paulson’s brain scan and a high-priority request from Admiral Bruce Haldane himself. “You see that, turd? You’re a match—for better or worse, though I don’t know why the admiral would accept someone like you. I can’t force this decision on you, but I can offer to transfer you.”

  “I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t, turd. You don’t need to know. But here’s something you actually can do—I suggest you take it.”

  WHEN HE MET ADMIRAL HALDANE, Paulson recognized the man who had delivered the speech honoring the sacrifice of those who had lost their lives on the Far Horizon. In earlier media glimpses, Paulson had also seen images of Admiral Haldane’s previous incarnation. This new version seemed younger, taller, less salty, but the hard expression was the same, as was the swagger of his movements … and of course the nameplate on his chest beneath all the medals.

  Haldane did not seem to be impressed. “You’re the volunteer.”

  “Seaman-recruit Paulson Kenz, sir.” He saluted, then hesitated, considered his words, and realized that ‘sir’ was indeed appropriate in this circumstance.

  “You realize what you’re being asked to do, seaman?”

  “No, sir. No one’s briefed me at all.”

  Haldane shot a glare at his chief of staff, a female officer who stood looking as prim as a mannequin in a department store window. “Sorry, Admiral, he must have slipped through the cracks. Seaman Kenz, you are being offered a chance to be Admiral Haldane’s next alternate-in-waiting. We would like to install an interchange conduit at the base of your skull, which is linked to an identical one in the admiral’s head.”

  Haldane turned, showed Paulson the implanted disc at the base of his skull.

  “The admiral has a great deal of direct experience and innate knowledge about our enemy, about the tactics used by and against them. Such knowledge cannot be lost, nor can it be replaced. Therefore, the Earth Planetary Navy has developed extraordinary measures to preserve that brain trust—and you will help us do it.”

  “You mean, I’m going to become cannon fodder?” Paulson said.

  “That is an inaccurate term,” Haldane said. “The Sluggos don’t use cannons.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Paulson asked. “If you get in trouble, then I’ll die, right?”

  “That’s a big ‘if,’ seaman. Until recently, I lived my entire life without dying, and I’ve learned a great deal with each successive engagement against the enemy. I believe we come closer to finding the key to their ultimate defeat with each encounter.”

  “In the meantime,” Tenn interrupted, “you will be excused from any dangerous duty, any further training, any military drills. You’ll have a comfortable existence. You’ll be given quarters, food, and very few responsibilities. It’s a cushy job, Seaman Kenz. You wait to be called up and hope you won’t be. If you agree to be the admiral’s alternate-in-waiting, then that will be your only duty for the duration of your contracted service.”

  Haldane seemed annoyed at the situation. “In other words, you just sit around and read or play games, although you’re expected to keep yourself in shape.” He raised his arms, flexed his muscles. “The previous owner of this body did a good job, and we’ll count on the same from you. Are you willing to take the gamble? You’re my escape hatch so I can live to fight another day.” He paused, added a greater threat to his tone. “Your other alternative is to go back to boot camp and be put on the next ship, where you’ll face an engagement of the Sluggos. In person.”

  Paulson swallowed hard. He’d seen the images of the Far Horizon massacre, listened to the howling crew, saw the chomping teeth of the Sluggos. He had watched how the aliens moved in eerie concert, forming a gigantic organism that was far more ferocious than the sum of its parts.

  The decision wasn’t hard for him.

  “I accept, sir. It’s a gamble, but it’s really my only option. If I get out there facing those things as me, I know I won’t survive.” Paulson fingered the back of his head, felt the smooth hardness of his skull. He supposed the surgery was going to hurt. “I’ll take my chances with you.”

  V

  It came from beneath the sea.

  The next time the mass of Sluggos appeared, they did not prey upon navy ships patrolling the open seas; rather, the new conglomerate monster rose up out of Pearl Harbor and attacked land for the first time.

  Tour boats and naval patrol ships spotted the incoming surge, but no one understood what was happening at first. Hundreds of thousands of Sluggos swam in individually like the world’s entire population of eels meeting in Hawaii for a convention. The arm-length creatures glided in under the surface, choking the channels, filling the harbor.

  Tourist boats
were buffeted by the swarms of soft shapes with sharp teeth. Naval destroyers, missile cruisers, fast frigates, and even a huge old battleship were brought to bear. General Quarters sounded and the crew raced to their stations. The dockyards were put on high alert.

  The squirming wormlike things choked the harbor, but that was just a start. The Sluggo bodies coalesced, braiding together, building up like pieces in a gigantic wriggly mosaic sculpture—until a huge and hideous monster rose out of the sea.

  Rushing down to the harbor from his satellite headquarters office, Admiral Haldane screamed for fishing boats and salvage cutters to string nets that would stop the numerous individual Sluggos from joining one another, but it was too late. The things became a gigantic mound of squirming flesh, as if a mad artist had made a nightmare sculpture out of living maggots. The Sluggo mass extruded pseudopods and began smashing any vessel in the harbor.

  Admiral Haldane had been sent to Oahu, not for a tropical vacation but to organize the EPN Pacific Fleet’s plan to dispatch numerous search-and-destroy subs that would find the Sluggos. Unfortunately, the alien monsters decided to be found right there on the Earth Navy’s doorstep.

  Pearl Harbor was full of navy ships, tourist boats, and cargo barges hauling goods in lightweight crates for launch at the Honolulu Spaceport. Like a child playing with toys in a bathtub, the conglomerate Sluggo monster crawled over vessels and pushed them under the water, crushing their hulls and sinking them. Other pseudopods snatched desirable equipment and whisked it away beneath the surface.

  Admiral Haldane dispatched fighter jets loaded with missiles. As the giant monster hulked its way on top of the floating museum battleships and onto shore, the roaring jets launched missiles that blasted the huge monster, dispersing it into countless squirming Sluggos that sprayed in all directions. But the monstrous mass shuffled and reorganized itself somewhere else, heading toward the rocket launch area of the spaceport.

  Haldane didn’t like this one bit. “Let’s try napalm. We must have some left over.”

  Tenn called up summaries on her datapad. “None of the new formula is weaponized yet, sir, but there may be some old leftovers in storage.”

  “Never let anything go to waste,” Haldane said. “We might as well use it up.”

  “There’s plenty of fuel spilled on the water from all those damaged ships, sir. Igniting that could be effective as well.”

  “Good idea. Let’s do both.”

  The EPN battleships launched huge sprays of missiles, and the sky became a messy finger-painting of smoke, mostly from damaged structures, exploding naval ships, even one crashed jet when the Sluggo-beast had thrashed an unexpectedly whip-thin and long tentacle into the air to snatch and crush the plane, before hurling it onto the deck of a snorkeling cruise boat just being loaded with a senior citizens’ tour group.

  The Sluggos moved like an enormous blob, rising up to capsize cutters. Large-caliber artillery guns hammered away at the mass, destroying thousands of individual Sluggos, but the overall monster did not seem affected.

  “Open the weapons lockers,” Haldane yelled. “Distribute weapons to anyone who won’t turn and run. Rifles, shrapnel pulsers, peashooters—I don’t care.”

  “We may have a shortage of peashooters sir,” Tenn said.

  “That was a joke, Lieutenant.”

  “Very funny, sir.”

  Haldane thought this might be a war of attrition: humanity just needed to kill off enough of the individual Sluggos, which were easily destroyed. But the supply of squirming aliens seemed inexhaustible.

  Out in the harbor, a group of sailors were making a last stand with rifles and hand grenades. No one could understand how all those little maggot things could work together to create a single massive and apparently intelligent organism. They kept tearing apart ships, stealing components. Haldane knew the aliens had built starships that had carried them to Earth from some other solar system.

  But how did these silly little worms know what to do when they were linked together? A million humans certainly couldn’t cooperate like that. Often it was hard to get three people to agree.

  More light bombers roared overhead, dropping explosives, including cannisters of old napalm. The intensely hot flames from the jellied gasoline crisped the outer layers of squirming worms. They blackened and fell away, but new Sluggos boiled up to take their places. More and more Sluggos streamed into the harbor from the open sea, adding themselves to the monster’s bulky conglomerate body. Even after so many individual aliens were destroyed, the overall bulk swelled.

  The pseudopods extended outward, moving the mass away from the naval ships to the reserved spaceport area. The Sluggos snatched tall gantries and pulled rocket shuttles and girder structures down off the launch pads. The squirming creatures dragged those components into the water of the harbor.

  Haldane shouted orders because he was expected to, but no one could hear him in the deafening noise. The oddest part was that the giant alien monster moved in silence. It simply created havoc without adding any extraterrestrial commentary.

  Haldane considered calling in a nuclear strike. Oahu was beautiful, but there were other islands in the Pacific. And if it took such an extreme measure to get rid of the Sluggos once and for all, despite the loss of the entire population, including himself …

  He had grown fond of his new body from Aaron Shelty and didn’t want to use the escape hatch too soon, especially now that he had seen the alternative-in-waiting, the scrawny slip of a man named Paulson Kenz. But Haldane couldn’t think of himself at a time like this.

  The tentacles broke the keel of an aircraft carrier that had entered the harbor, and that was enough to force Haldane’s decision. He was really getting upset now. Yes, he had to call in a nuclear strike for the good of humanity.

  Before he could issue the order, though, a slimy tentacle burst out of the water right at the shore’s edge and swept all of them aside, including Admiral Haldane. He found himself flying through the air, flailing. Another series of explosions roared nearby.

  He shouldn’t have waited! He grabbed for the back of his head, trying to find the transfer pendant. Others were sailing through the air near him, screaming, bloody, broken.

  There! He found the pendant. Emergency transfer with the volunteer—

  But then Haldane slammed into the side of a boat house, splintering the shingles. The pain was brief, the unconsciousness swift.

  This time, he doubted he would live to fight another day.…

  HE AWOKE in the medevac hovercopter along with a dozen other broken and bleeding casualties. Haldane felt as if someone had made kindling of his ribs and spine. A corpsman hunched over him, poking and prodding until he got the proper response to his question of “Does that hurt?” Other doctors tended the wounded.

  “I see by your insignia that you’re an admiral,” said the corpsman.

  “I am, dammit!” As much blood came out as words. He could tell this was bad. He tried to lift his hands, but his arms were strapped down. “Help me. I’m Admiral Bruce Haldane. I need to activate my exchange pendant.”

  “Sorry, sir, I can’t let you move. There could be internal damage.”

  Haldane was appalled. The corpsman didn’t understand what was going on here. “I don’t care about my injuries! Before I die, I need to transfer.” He began coughing again and felt the warm blood on his lips.

  “Good news for you, then, sir—you’re not going to die. Just rest easy. You suffered some broken ribs, a shattered clavicle, probably a severe concussion. But our deep scans show no obvious internal bleeding. We just want to be careful.”

  “So I’m going to … recover?” Haldane said. That shouldn’t have been disappointing.

  “Looks like it. We’ll patch you up.” The corpsman looked shell-shocked; his expression was gray. “You’re one of the lucky ones. Over fifty percent fatality rate from the monster attack. They’ll be a long time counting up the casualties. I think …” He shook his head. “… I think
Pearl Harbor is gone. Half of Honolulu is gone. Fires are raging. The Sluggos sank most of our fleet, destroyed the spaceport, then they withdrew.”

  “Is there any good news?” Haldane asked.

  “I just told it to you. The Sluggos departed, slithering back into the ocean. That’s the best news you’ll hear.”

  “Oh.”

  “That, and the fact that you’re going to live. Should be enough good news for the day, right, sir?”

  The corpsman shot him full of sedative. As he sank down, Admiral Haldane knew he would be a long-time healing, which was upsetting. Thankfully he could keep this body, even though it was going to hurt like hell when he woke up. At least he wouldn’t be a 90-pound weakling.

  VI

  Even with the tension that was always in the back of Paulson’s mind, his daily duties here—as in, no useful duties whatsoever, only busy work so the EPN could feel confident in their investment—certainly beat basic training. Instead of being aboard a ship hunting for voracious alien monsters, his duty station was a giant rec room.

  The surgery to install the transfer pendant was as unpleasant as he’d feared: having a hole drilled in the back of his head, a sensor plug and transmitter installed with a million self-seeking wires plunging into his brain, where it found the core of personality and memories. The exchange conduit would tear out, record, and transmit everything that was Paulson Kenz, then re-upload the very being of Admiral Bruce Haldane—in the event that circumstances warranted it. Paulson kept his fingers crossed and hoped.

  Paulson had healed up after the quick coagulant slather, and the pain meds had been nice until they ran out (budget cuts, with all the best stuff reserved for any EPN soldiers wounded in combat).

  There were fifteen other volunteers inside the guarded recreation hall. They were forced to remain in the La Diego base, but it wasn’t so bad. All fifteen of them had the exchange conduit installed in their heads, tethered to other command officers or political leaders who were deemed too valuable to lose.