The Complete Aliens Omnibus

by David Bischoff

  “It is possible, sir,” said Gill, “that their tunnel-building abilities are genetic, as is the case with the ants you have studied.”

  “Yes,” Stan said. “Can you see what they’re doing, Ari?” He lifted the cybernetic ant on his fingertip and moved his hand toward the screen. “These are like big cousins of yours, aren’t they?”

  Ari raised his head, but it was impossible to tell whether or not he was thinking anything.

  Down in the tunnel, Norbert was reporting that the passageway was widening as they moved closer to the hive. Soon other branchings appeared as the aliens moved; as if by instinct, making their way through the increasingly complex maze without hesitation.

  “Norbert, you’ve been laying down an electronic trail, haven’t you?” Stan asked.

  “Yes, Doctor. Ever since we were on the outside of this tunnel. But I’m not completely sure the job is getting done.”

  “I hope it is. It could come in handy. Don’t you think so, Julie?”

  “Sure, Stan,” Julie concurred. “But I don’t understand why you’re sending Norbert in there. We’ve already got what we came for.”

  “You mean the harvester full of royal jelly? Yes, that was the purpose of our mission, and we have accomplished it. But we still have some time on our hands until Captain Hoban gets back into communication. So why not choose this moment for the advancement of science? It will profit all of mankind to know what the inside of a hive really looks like.”

  “That’s true enough, Stan,” Julie said. “I didn’t know you cared that much about science, though.”

  “Julie, there’s a lot I care for that I don’t put into words. You ought to know that.”

  “I guess I do, Stan. You’re not really interested in getting rich from this mission, are you?”

  “Not as interested as you, my dear. But that is because I may not have much tiempo para gastarlo, as the Spanish say. But doing this is better than staying home trying to argue the doctors into giving me a better prognosis. At least here I can be with you, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

  Stan coughed, self-conscious for a moment, then glanced again at the screen. “Norbert is getting deeper into the hive and we still haven’t heard from Captain Hoban. I think this might be a good moment for me to take a brief nap.” Without further ado, he got up and went to the cot in the lander’s rearmost living area.

  Julie and Gill watched for a while in silence as Norbert, on the screen, continued to penetrate deeper into the hive. At last Julie said, “What did it mean, that thing he said in Spanish?”

  ”Tiempo para gastarlo,” said Gill. “It means time to enjoy it.”

  Julie shook her head. “Stan’s got a lot of knowledge.”

  “Yes,” Gill said. “But perhaps not much time.”

  * * *

  There were four crew members with Red Badger as he set up his next plan. Walter Glint was there, of course, and Connie Mindanao, limping from a beamer scorch in the side, and Andy Groggins and Min Dwin, both unwounded. That was a pretty good force to match against the five or six loyal men Captain Hoban probably had available.

  That was the good news. On the bad side, they had been forced back to a rear area of the ship. It would be difficult to mount an attack through the corridors, with Hoban and his officers now armed and ready for them. And probably the rest of the crew would come in on Hoban’s side, now that the first attempt at a takeover had failed. Things might have been different if Hoban hadn’t responded so quickly. Badger, who had thought the captain to be a burned-out case, had to reevaluate the situation now.

  Red was annoyed that his first plan hadn’t succeeded. His people hadn’t moved fast enough, and Hoban had been unexpectedly decisive. Now the best move was to get off the Dolomite and plan to contact Potter on the Lancet. Trouble was, getting off the ship wasn’t going to be quite as simple as he’d like it to be.

  There was just one lander left, the backup, now that Myakovsky and his people had gone to the surface of AR-32. It was sure to be guarded. Captain Hoban would have radioed the crew guarding the rear facilities, putting them on the alert. How many were there? Two or three, including the sergeant of the guards? Badger knew they’d have to get around or through them somehow.

  “When we reach the storage bay, no firing until I say so,” Badger told the others. “I’ve got a little plan that just might work.”

  “Whatever you say, Red,” said Glint.

  Badger led them down the gleaming aluminum corridor, over deep-piled carpeting that seemed to soak up sound, past flickering lighting fixtures. The everpresent hum of the ship’s machinery sounded in the walls like somnolent wasps. The only thing that told of the recent action was a faint smell of propellant and burned insulation in the otherwise antiseptic air, that and the labored sound of Connie Mindanao’s breathing as she waited for the antipain shot to take effect.

  At last they reached the transverse corridor that led to the pod bay. A faint hum warned Badger that all was not well here. He looked carefully and noted the violet-edged nimbus that extended from the walls.

  “They’ve turned on the beam restraints,” Badger said.

  Glint came up from the rear and examined the situation. “They sure did, Red, but they don’t have them on full.”

  Badger looked again. “You’re right, Walt. They must not be running full power through the ship’s net. Probably because of the damage we caused in the control room. Those beams should be visible to a distance of six inches from the side of the wall.”

  Min Dwin looked the situation over and reported, “Their circle of interdiction will extend beyond their visible range.”

  “Sure it will,” Badger said. “But there’ll still be a hole we can get through.”

  The entrance to the corridor was like a tall O. The violet flame burned on all sides of it, surrounding it entirely, but leaving the middle of the hole open.

  “We’ll have to dive through,” Glint said. “Make sure not to touch the sides or the bottom.”

  “Shouldn’t be too difficult,” Badger said.

  “Maybe not for you,” Connie Mindanao said. “But I’ve been wounded. How am I going to take a good jump through?”

  A cruel little light glittered in Red Badger’s eyes. “We’ll take care of it for you, won’t we, Glint? Grab her other arm.”

  Although she protested, the two big crewmen grabbed Connie. They swung her back and forth and, on the command from Badger, threw her headfirst through the corridor. Connie gave a shriek of protest as her foot trailed in the violet glow, but landed safe on the far side.

  “Now the rest of us,” Badger said. “The lander is just around the next bend. We’re almost there!”

  52

  “Do you ever get sick of us so-called real people?” Julie asked suddenly.

  Gill looked up, startled. He had been intent on the screen, watching as Norbert followed the group of aliens through the tunnels. Gill wanted to be ready to report to Dr. Myakovsky when the doctor awoke from his nap. But Julie’s question seemed worthy of serious thought and he gave it, though not taking his eyes off the screen that showed Norbert’s progress.

  “I’m afraid,” Gill said at last, “that I do not understand the question. It implies a precondition: that there is something in human behavior that I might get sick of. To what are you referring, Julie?”

  “Wow!” Julie laughed. “I didn’t expect to get that much out of you. But it isn’t an answer.”

  “I am asking you to define your question, Miss Lish.”

  “You know very well what I mean,” Julie said.

  Gill found himself caught up and bewildered by the complexities of human thinking. It seemed to him that Julie was saying one thing and meaning another. The technical semanticists who had programmed his response bank had not given sufficient attention to the problem of ambiguity. Perhaps they couldn’t solve it.

  Gill and Julie looked at each other for a few moments in silence. Then Gill spoke. “You a
re referring, perhaps, to the fact that human actions are not always logical in terms of advantage? That they sometimes appear to be downright self-defeating?”

  “Okay, that’s one way of saying it,” Julie said. “What do you think of that?”

  Again Gill paused before answering. “I can only believe that illogic is essential to being human, since it is the one thing we synthetics are not capable of.”

  “You can’t go against logic and programming, is that it?”

  “It is, Miss Lish.”

  Julie didn’t answer at once. Presently she reached out and took Gill’s hand. Startled, the synthetic man let it go limp. Julie held it like she had never seen a hand before. She studied it, turning it slowly this way and that.

  “What an amazing piece of construction this is.” She marveled. “How perfectly the skin has been rendered and textured. It’s hard to believe that anything as cunning as this could belong to someone not human.”

  “Yet so it is,” Gill said.

  “Is it? Or are you just being modest? A very human trait, I assure you.”

  “I don’t know,” Gill muttered. “One thing I do know is, Dr. Myakovsky loves you very much.”

  “Yes,” Julie said, “I think he does. It’s why he’s here, isn’t it?”

  “I believe it is, Miss Lish.”

  “But why then am I here?”

  “I do not know,” Gill said. He hesitated. “It is a difficult way to get rich.”

  “Do you know of any easy ways?” Julie asked. “Do you know any better ways to pass your time on Earth than doing what I’m doing now?”

  Gill shook his head. “I know nothing about these things.”

  Julie frowned and let his hand drop. “I like you, Gill, though you’re very naive about some things. Look, Norbert seems to have reached the queen’s chamber.”

  “You’re right,” Gill said. “I’ll go wake up Dr. Myakovsky.”

  * * *

  “I appear to be in an anteroom deep in the middle of the hive,” Norbert reported. “I can see the queen’s chamber just beyond. These surfaces and angles resemble nothing in my memory bank, Doctor. They seem to have been constructed according to a completely alien system. But that would stand to reason, wouldn’t it?”

  “You’re doing fine,” Stan said over the radio. “I just woke up and I’m pleased to see your progress. None of the aliens has sensed yet that you’re not one of them?”

  “No, Doctor. Though their examinations grow more stringent the deeper we go into the hive.”

  “I think we have them foxed,” Stan said, sounding very pleased with himself. “This anteroom you’re in appears to be an interesting place. Can you fix the focus? I can’t make out what’s on the walls.”

  “They are large containers,” Norbert said. “They appear to be made from a waxy substance similar in molecular makeup to royal jelly. They appear to be filling those containers with jelly.”

  “Might they be storing water?” Stan asked.

  “I don’t believe so,” Norbert said. “The containers seem to be holding liquids of slightly different colors and densities. The aliens grow quite excited when they go near these containers. They have to be urged by what I take to be the guards to move on. I think that these containers hold royal jelly deposited by certain especially potent queens or queen types. These may be more efficacious than the common run of the jelly, and be prized by the queen accordingly.”

  “With your equipment,” Stan asked, “can you ascertain which is the purest?”

  “There’s no difficulty in that, Doctor.”

  “Then draw me off a sample. This sounds like the pure royal jelly I need.”

  After a moment Norbert said, “It is done.”

  “Good,” Stan returned. “We’ll meet up soon. Bring the sample with you. What are they doing with Mac?”

  “The alien holding him has brought him into the queen’s chamber. He is offering him to the queen.”

  “That is the queen ahead? The image is not distinct.”

  “There is a diffracting vapor in this room, Doctor. It is difficult to make out anything clearly. Take it easy, Mac!”

  Stan said, “Why did you speak to the dog?”

  “To get him to be quiet, sir. We don’t want to mar matters as he is presented to the queen. She is receiving him now. Although I am not expert in alien physiognomy, I’d say she finds pleasure in the gift. She’s holding him up to her olfactory receptors—”

  “You should have killed him first,” Julie interrupted.

  “I was not instructed to do so,” Norbert said. “No matter. He is beyond pain now. Doctor, one of the guards is coming over to me. It is to be another inspection.”

  “Well, you’ve passed them before.”

  “Yes, sir. But there are three guards interested in me this time. It must be because I came so close to the queen. Or maybe it was when I took the sample. I am stepping up my production of pheromones.”

  “Good idea,” said Stan. “Is it helping any?”

  “It doesn’t seem to be doing much good. They are making odd head movements. I do not know what it means.”

  “What the hell has gone wrong?” Stan asked urgently. “What are they doing now?”

  “They seem suspicious. They have seized me. What do you want me to do, Doctor?”

  “Damn it,” Stan spat. “I should have gotten you out of there before this! Norbert! Break free and get out!”

  “Yes, sir,” Norbert said. The big robot whirled, tearing himself free from the aliens’ hooked claws. Then, dropping to all fours, he began scuttling down the corridor.

  A reverse sensor in the back of Norbert’s head clicked on and showed the view: the long winding tunnel curving behind, the three aliens scurrying on all fours after him.

  Norbert was running full out. Stan had never seen him go so fast before. A thrill of pride went through him as he witnessed his creation in action. With speed like that, surely…

  Stan could tell from the jarring movement of his sensor lens when the alien guard landed on Norbert’s back. Stan winced as though the blow had landed on him. How could the guard be that fast? he wondered.

  To Norbert he said, “Fight him off! Get out of there!”

  “I’m trying, Dr. Myakovsky. But there are three of them—”

  Abruptly the screen went blank.

  Stan cried, “Norbert! Can you hear me? Come in!”

  “Nothing,” Gill said. He touched a dial, shook his head. “He’s off the air.”

  “He’s dead!” Julie cried.

  “I didn’t want this to happen,” Stan screamed. “Not Norbert! Not Norbert!”

  Julie said urgently, “Stan, get a hold of yourself.”

  Stan shuddered and let out a deep breath. He seemed calmer. “Can you get Captain Hoban?” he asked.

  “Not yet, sir,” Gill said.

  Julie had stepped out of the control area for a moment. Now she was back, and her hair was flowing around her head like a network of electrical sparks had gotten into it.

  “Stan,” she said. “I just checked the short-range weather forecaster in the rear cabin. It’s going haywire!”

  “Just what we need,” Stan groaned.

  53

  “There’s the Bay port, just ahead,” Andy Groggins said. He had run ahead of Badger and the rest of the party. He had a slug-thrower with telescopic wire stuck under his arm. Strapped to his waist was a Gauss needler. He’d tied a bit of cloth around his forehead to keep sweat out of his eyes.

  “We’ll just ease our way in it,” Red Badger said. His synthide shirt was torn, revealing his hairy freckled chest and prominent paunch. His small eyes gleamed as he pressed forward. He had a Krag beamer under his arm, its selector pointing to rapid intermittent.

  The corridor widened at this point. There were separate passageways leading to “stores” in one direction and to “power” in the other.

  As they came out into the wide opened area between corridors, a voice called out,
“Freeze, you!”

  Badger stood motionless. The others, coming along behind him, managed to slink into the shadows. But Red Badger felt very exposed. He didn’t let his apprehension show, however.

  He took two casual steps forward and said, “It’s all right, the captain sent us.”

  “He didn’t tell me nothin’ about that,” the voice said.

  Badger had it located now. It was coming from a paint locker on the far side of the corridor. The guard who was stationed here must have taken refuge when the trouble began elsewhere in the ship. But where was his partner?

  “I don’t blame you for being cautious,” Badger said. “But I’m telling you it’s all right. We’re here to relieve you.”

  As he talked he peered ahead, trying to figure out how long it would take him to blast through the paint locker and kill the man inside. Too long, he decided. The guard could get him in a single well-placed burst first.

  “Stop right there and drop your weapons,” the guard called out.

  “You’re making a mistake,” Badger said, and kept on coming. “Captain Hoban told us to secure this area as quickly as possible. Damn it, man, this is serious!”

  “Stop right now, or—”

  At that moment there was a double burst of slugthrower fire as Glint and Connie opened up almost simultaneously from opposite sides of the corridor. They held down their fire while the paint locker rattled up and down and bounced against the corridor wall, finally letting up only after blowing the door off the hinges and seeing the single guard inside fall out onto the deck.

  “Let’s go,” Badger said, leading the way to the pod. “We’re getting out of here.”

  54

  “It’s Badger and his men,” one of the engineers remarked, reading the terse information that flowed to the TV screen from all parts of the ship. “He’s killed the guard.”

  “Damn it!” Captain Hoban said. “Can you see what they’re doing now?”

  “They’ve just entered the pod.”

  “Seal the ports!” Hoban ordered.

  “Too late. They’ve already opened them.”