STAR HOUNDS -- OMNIBUS

by David Bischoff

  Gemma seemed concerned. “Something’s not right,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” Chivon asked.

  “Well … that’s where he should be,” Gemma replied, pointing at the empty tank.

  Chivon took a backward step. “Maybe he went to the toilet. We really shouldn’t—”

  “He could be out talking with Mish, though it seems—”

  That was when the creature attacked.

  It swooped out of a corner, bellowing—a horrible, bloated parody of the alien that Chivon had seen before, its eyes red and huge and glittering in the lowlight.

  “Shontill!” Gemma cried, startled. “What’s—”

  Her sentence changed to a yelp as Shontill’s tentacle whipped around and struck her, sending Gemma thudding against the wall. Chivon leaped back, fighting panic. Something was definitely wrong here, but what could she do? The answer came to her immediately: Get out of here!

  The alien was making a terrible shrieking noise, as though in pain. Or was that its language?

  Gemma was a heap on the floor, attempting to stand up. Shontill seemed to be undergoing contortions, as though fighting its raging condition.

  “Nooooo,” it croaked. “Noooooooo!”

  Seeing the alien’s condition, Chivon restrained her urge to flee. She grabbed Gemma from behind and hauled her up, dragging her back toward the entrance. They had made it halfway when, with a roar, Shontill started to follow in a loping crawl.

  “Gemma, come on, you’ve got to help!” grunted Chivon.

  Gemma managed to get her feet under her, though she didn’t seem to know which way to go. Leading her, Chivon urged, “Hurry! Hurry!”

  The mindless rage overcame the alien again. It was a big thing, and it banged against the side of the portal as it emerged into the brighter light. Its gray-green hide was now a rainbow of slick running stuff from open sores. Drool splashed from an open mouth holding sharp and ragged teeth. Its alien eyes started from its head, and its veined nostrils flared.

  They got to the door. Chivon pushed Gemma through.

  Just as she was about to step through herself, something grabbed hold of her wrist and spun her about. She found herself inches from Shontill’s horrible countenance. Using reserves she hadn’t tapped in years, she flung herself back, pulling a tentacle along with her.

  “Close the door!” she screamed.

  Gemma, still dim-eyed, but active now, was already at the side of the door, palm against the code sequencer.

  Click.

  The door rolled closed quickly, crashing against the ropy tentacle, wedging it in the opening.

  The alien howled with pain, and the limb lost its grasp on Chivon’s arm.

  “Call for help!” Gemma cried weakly.

  Pulling out her communicator, Chivon saw twin streams of blood running down her cheeks from her scalp. “Security. Emergency in section ten. Hurry!”

  The tentacle writhed and whipped about as Shontill madly pounded against the partially open door.

  The robots were there within one minute.

  Shontill’s tentacle had transformed into something more handlike, but it was still stuck in the door. Greenish blood was oozing along the doorjamb. The door bowed under the powerful creature’s blows. Its howls had become terrifying shrieks.

  “Right!” said General Montgomery. “What’s the trouble?”

  “Can’t you see?” Chivon cried, pointing at the mess. “That alien has gone berserk!”

  There were two other robots, and two more were running down the hall toward them, holding stun guns. The robot called Montgomery assayed the situation quickly, then stepped over to the wall beside the door. “Prepare weapons!” he ordered. “Midshipman Naquist, if you would open the door.”

  “Don’t hurt him,” Naquist demanded, wiping the blood from her eyes.

  “Some hurt will be necessary, I think. We just won’t kill him,” responded the robot.

  “Good enough,” said the midshipman, immediately coding open the door.

  Shontill stumbled out, enraged, and immediately met with a net of crisscrossing beams.

  The alien charged on, swiping one of his assailants against the side of the head, sending it crashing into pieces against the wall.

  The alien turned as the stun beams continued to hit it, finally causing it to tumble unconscious towards the floor. He landed with a horrific thud. Shontill’s form lay in a tangled mess upon the hard deck. The ordeal was finally over.

  “I think,” said Gemma, “we’d better get Dr. Mish down here.”

  Chapter Eight

  Calling Dr. Michael Mish was not necessary. He arrived soon after the maddened alien had been stunned into submission.

  The white-haired Mish shook his head and clucked over the sprawled body. “Oh, dear, I have been much too preoccupied,” he said, making a cursory scan with his sensor board. “I really should have seen this coming.”

  “Hey, what about me? I’m kind of smashed up too!” Gemma said, clearly annoyed.

  “Come along to my lab and we’ll give you a patch-up as well,” said Mish. He turned to the robots. “Now, gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to go back and fetch a gurney to help me carry this heavy beast back ….”

  Chivon shook her head clear of the heavy mist of shock that seemed to fill it. “What could have happened?”

  “We forgot to take into account, I suspect, the differences of psychological patterns in Shontill. He always has been, after all, quite despondent because of his need to find his lost race. Perhaps his physiological transitions were somehow disrupted when he came so close when we found that Frin’ral wreck. And now he’s had to wait longer. And also, perhaps he didn’t tell us somethings about his nature. I should have monitored him more closely, but I have been so busy ….”

  The alien made a moaning sound and trembled slightly. Gills to the side of his neck flapped out and were sucked in.

  “Looks like you caught him in the midst of some kind of transformation. What were you doing down there, anyway?”

  “Just stopped in to visit,” Gemma said defensively. “I thought it would be a good idea if Chivon had a word or two with the big guy.”

  “It’s just as well,” came a voice from behind them.

  “No one was hurt seriously, and now we can do something for Shontill.”

  Chivon turned and saw Captain Northern approaching them.

  “I’ve been watching,” he said by way of explanation. “Couldn’t get down here immediately, so I turned on the monitors. Are you two all right?”

  “It was rather frightening,” Chivon said in a monotone, fighting the urge to fling herself into his arms.

  The robots returned with the gurney.

  “Take good care of him,” Northern said as the robots hauled the alien up atop the cart.

  “Him?” said Gemma. “What about me?”

  “I told you, I’d take care of you,” said Dr. Mish, peering up from his ministrations to Shontill. “Sick bay is after all adjacent to my lab.”

  “You can be part of Mish’s infamous experiments, “Northern said brightly.

  “Just looking for attention,” Gemma said.

  “We’ll check around later,” said Northern. “I really want to know what caused this.” He turned to Chivon. “Let’s go get something for those nerves. I assume you still favor sparkle-whiskey.”

  Chivon nodded.

  “I happen to have a very nice brand I’ve been saving just for you. Let’s go have a drop.”

  “I really shouldn’t. I don’t have my biomonitor here.”

  “What do you think I use? You’ll be okay. A small glass won’t hurt.”

  “I’m just worried about damage … and bad habits, I guess.”

  “Darling, as a new and possibly permanent passenger aboard the Starbow,
I should tell you that there are a lot greater dangers than alcohol in store for you here.”

  Later in the day Dr. Mish alerted the captain that Shontill had pulled through his biological troubles, was fully conscious, and was ready to speak.

  Because the rest of the crew was concerned about the alien, Northern authorized that certain of the higher-ranked members be present.

  Laura Shemzak did not particularly care to be there. But her voice demanded that she go.

  Actually, she was shocked that Northern believed her story about her concern for the well-being of the alien, She did not get along well with Shontill. However, she had reminded him of her interest in getting into Omega Space—a matter in which Shontill played an important part. Therefore, she was concerned about everything that happened to the creature.

  Apparently, Northern was preoccupied enough to accept the reason, she thought—most likely because of the drinks he’d been having with that bitch Chivon Lasster.

  Poor Shontill was strapped inside a colloidal tank by carbon fiber restraints and specially designed neoprene clamps. Bubbles gently coursed up his hide. His huge eyes were only half open, but fairly alert. Certainly they had none of the madness that Lasster and Naquist had seen; only a resigned sadness that touched something deep in Laura.

  Boy, I know how you feel, buddy, she thought. What a rotten universe!

  “How’s he doing, Doctor?” asked Northern as the others formed an uncomfortable group, keeping their distance from the imprisoned alien.

  “Life signs back to acceptability and exhibiting general docility, Captain.”

  “Any idea about what set him off?” asked Arkm Thur.

  “A combination of two things, apparently. First, our guest is going through some sort of metabolic and structural change, which seems in keeping with his genetic code. A Frin’ral rite of passage, it seems, that could be aided by the presence of others of his race. I haven’t quite figured it out yet, but it’s not necessarily sexual, although it could have something to do with Frin’ral bonding patterns.

  “The second reason has more to do with us. Apparently, Shontill is having the Frin’ral equivalent of a nervous breakdown. He is despondent about our lack of action, our detours from the attempt to find his people.”

  “But doesn’t he understand that it’s all a part of the master plan?” asked Gemma Naquist.

  Her head was bandaged, which was unnecessary, Laura thought, since any wounds could easily be covered by dermaplast: Gemma probably wore the bandage to be dramatic, Laura decided, knowing she would have done the same thing.

  “Apparently, his change is fouling up his reasoning ability.”

  Shontill opened his mouth and uttered a few alien words that sounded like a broken garbage converter.

  “I say he’s in heat or something,” Laura said.

  “You have him under sedation?” asked the captain.

  “The safest I can devise for his alien physiology,” returned Mish.

  Northern stepped forward, closer to the beast. “Shontill, this is Captain Northern. Can you hear me?”

  The eyes turned Northern’s way, brighter.

  “That’s right. The chap that saved your ass. Is there anything we can do, Shontill?”

  This time the alien managed to speak in their language. “We must … find my … people soon. “The eyes seemed infinitely sad. “Soon … or … you must … destroy me!”

  “Shontill, if you could explain what’s happening to you, I might be able to help,” said Mish, clearly alarmed.

  “The Time … it is the Time of the Turn …. I have dreaded this. The Time ….”

  “What’s he saying?” said Gemma. “Something about the Time? But what does that mean, Shontill? Truly, we want to help!”

  Suddenly, the alien’s pupils dilated.

  The beepers on Mish’s machinery began to scream insistently.

  His body began to shiver violently. His powerful limbs strained against the lashings that held him.

  “He’s going nuts again, Doctor,” said Gemma, flinching away, the memory of the alien’s previous violence clearly playing across her features. “Do something.”

  “The miniature tractor beams,” Northern said, pointing toward a collection of equipment in the corner.

  “Hurry.”

  Several attendant robots snapped to duty, scurrying over toward the machines Northern indicated.

  But Laura could see that it would be too late—much too late. Already the restraints were snapping—the nutrient fluid splashed over the top of the tank from the creature’s frenetic activity.

  “Stand back!” someone yelled, but Laura had already hustled back a few strides into safety, unable to keep her eyes off of Shontill and his mad efforts to break his bonds.

  The thick-muscled tentacles broke free and burst up into the air, splattering fluid against the wall. They came down hard on the rim of the tank, breaking the metal edging, shattering the mottled plastiglass. The greenish fluid sprang out with a gushy roar, slapping against the floor like a bloody hand.

  “Ignore previous command,” said Dr. Mish to his robots. “Restrain him!”

  The robots obeyed instantly, turning away from their task at the confused tangle of equipment and running toward the escaping alien. Eyes red and wild, trailing tubes and straps from his limbs, Shontill stepped from the ruin of his previous confinement and onto the lab floor, still rolling with spreading fluid. There was nothing but raw animal fury and blood lust in his expression; his great jaws snapped, showing teeth white, large, sharp.

  Laura got the impression of hate and hunger.

  Seek safety! commanded the voice, but the order wasn’t necessary. Already the cyborg pilot hurled herself behind one of the bolted-down lab tables, on the whim of intuition and the sheer instinct for survival.

  Hesitantly, she peered up past the laminated top.

  Screeching like hell poured into flesh, the alien flailed about, its claws flashing in the strip lighting.

  The human observers, like Laura, had spread out, seeking shelter. The robots, however, closed in.

  “Now, now, Shontill,” said King Arthur. “Steady on, old boy. We’re not going to hurt you.” The Celtic robot grabbed hold of a limb. With an ear-piercing scream, Shontill tried to shake Arthur off, but the robot clung tenaciously. “Come on lads, I need—”

  Shontill brought the other clawed limb around hard and quick, knocking King Arthur’s head half off his torso.

  Sparks fountained. The robot spasmed, stiffened, and fell.

  “Yikes!” said Laura.

  The other robots pounced on the berserk alien, two going for the legs, two for the limbs. For a moment it looked as though the alien was going to topple, and Northern and Arkm Thur were ready to restrain him. But then, with a burst of frenzied might, Shontill flung and kicked one robot after another off him and crashing into tables, and walls, and lab equipment. Only two automatons were able to rise up again from their sprawls. But the alien was already heading for the door.

  “Get the catch-field on!” Northern cried to First Mate Thur, who was closest to the door, and Thur shot forward.

  Dumb, thought Laura. Let the sucker out if he wants to get out. Otherwise he’ll tear us up!

  Thur fumbled at the doorside controls, but Shontill was there only an instant later. One backhanded swipe caught the first mate hard in the chest and sent him head over heels, smashing into a table full of flasks and beakers.

  With a maniacal squeal, the alien charged out to the hallway.

  Northern was at the Com controls in a flash. “Run away alien, Deck Three. Stun weapons only!” He shot Mish a look. “Is Thur okay?”

  Dr. Mish looked up from the fallen officer. “He’s unconscious and he’s got some cuts and a possible break, but he’ll be all right.”

  “Good. Take care of him
.” He looked around. “The rest of you, stay put. Except for Laura.”

  “Why me?”

  “Cause you’re the best, lady. Now let’s get out there and strap on some guns. We’ve got a serious problem here and no time to argue!”

  He reached over and pulled her up. Suddenly she was running along behind him.

  Northern had another thought. “Gemma, have them close off the whole deck. I don’t want Shontill running around where he doesn’t belong. He’s possibly trying to head down to the portal to give it a try.”

  “I’m not sure he’s that rational,” said Mish.

  “I’m not taking any chances. We don’t know what we’ve got on our hands here.”

  Laura shook her head, wishing her voice would tell her not to go. But the voice didn’t seem to care. “I tell you what we’ve got. We’ve got a crazy bloodthirsty alien that should have been kept tranquilized from day one.”

  “I didn’t ask you!” snarled Northern, eyes icy.” Now get your ass in gear and your Feddy training going!”

  Surprising herself, Laura found herself saying “Yes sir” quite seriously, and falling in behind her captain.

  Laura checked her charge, thumbed off the safety of the pistol, and adjusted its power settings to High Stun.

  She looked back out the weapons room to where the moist, sloppy trail led. “Not going to be a difficult alien to follow,” she said.

  Northern didn’t comment. He was already out the door, loping down the corridor.

  Laura followed, her adrenaline—and the Zernin, no doubt—charging her up to optimum performance.

  Several hallway turns down, they met with a patrol of armed robots so active you could almost hear their scanners buzzing.

  “Thataway,” growled Northern.

  You all go first! Laura was about to say, but Northern had already struck out in the lead, and she automatically fell in behind him, her gun at the ready.

  It was like following a sweaty snail: gobs and drops and streaks of fluid marked the gray floors with green.