The Complete Aliens Omnibus, Volume 3

by Sandy Schofield

Bergren looked down at the knife, then back at Choi as his eyes glazed over and he toppled into the alien sector. Behind him the airlock slid closed with a resounding clang that reverberated down the dark corridors.

  “No!” Choi shouted.

  But his words only echoed through the hot, dark corridors. He was alone where no man dared to be alone. Behind him he heard a rustling noise that quickly grew to fill the small stone cavern.

  Don’t think. Ignore the pain. Just react.

  He pushed Bergren’s body aside and stretched up for the button on the airlock, pounding it hard over and over again.

  Nothing. It was closed and it wasn’t going to open. He could tell.

  He turned, pushed himself up with his arms, got his good leg underneath his butt, and stood. Insistently he punched the open button, but the door wasn’t moving. He tried to yank it open with brute strength, but it didn’t even budge. He was trapped.

  He almost toppled over as he reached down and pulled his knife out of Bergren’s chest, wiping the blood on Bergren’s shirt. “At least you went with me,” he said.

  He stood and leaned lightly against the airlock door. “Boone,” he said intently to the air around him. “I ain’t going down without a fight. You’re going to be proud of me.” He pulled another knife out of his other boot and stood facing the darkness.

  There was a rustling in the shadows and the smell grew stronger.

  Choi shouted into the dark caverns, “Come and get me, you Bitch!”

  And almost before he had time to blink, she did.

  * * *

  The Professor nodded and turned from the wall of monitors to face Larson. “Too bad about your man Bergren, but this only proves he was careless and soft. Have your men retrieve his body. I can use it.”

  Larson nodded, still staring at the screen and the body of his second in command.

  “Also,” Kleist said, “you can expect trouble from Sergeant Green.”

  Larson forced himself to look at the Professor. “Not if he doesn’t find out.”

  “Oh, he’ll know,” the Professor said. “And please make sure that he does. Do you understand?”

  Larson just nodded, glancing back to the picture of Bergren’s body. The alien had killed the struggling Choi by breaking his back like a dry stick. Blood rolled out of Choi’s mouth as the alien pulled him out of the range of the camera and toward the center of the hive.

  “Any movement from our shuttle pilot and her boyfriend?”

  “She was asleep, last time I checked,” Larson said. “I have someone monitoring her round-the-clock. Hank’s on duty. They have a date for dinner after he gets off.”

  The Professor turned back to face the screen and sat unmoving, thinking. Every detail seemed to be in place. It would be another thirty hours before he knew if his latest experiment was going to succeed. So many failures, so many close calls. But he had a feeling this would be the one and thirty hours from now he would know.

  “It seems,” the Professor said, “that I have a little time to kill. Where is our Mr. Cray?”

  Larson leaned over the edge of the desk and punched up a view in the center screen, then nodded toward it “In his quarters, just sitting on his bed. From what I can tell he hasn’t moved in two hours. That guy’s a strange bird.”

  The Professor studied the solid frame of his guest. For being one of the best spies, he certainly didn’t look much like one, whatever a spy was supposed to look like. Maybe it would be interesting to bait the guy a little, give him just a little rope. See how good he really was.

  “Have Grace bring our guest to the labs. I might as well show him around.” The Professor stood and took his lab coat off its hook beside the door. He put the coat on and was about to leave when a soft bell chimed. Larson punched a key on the control board on the Professor’s desk and listened for a moment, then clicked it off and looked up at the Professor. “Just our shuttle pilot. She’s awake and headed for the lounge.”

  The Professor nodded. “I’m not sure exactly why I don’t like that woman, but I just don’t. I can sense the trouble she’s going to bring.”

  I’ll watch her,” Larson said.

  “Of that I have no doubt,” the Professor said.

  As the door clicked closed behind Kleist, Larson dropped into the Professor’s big padded chair. With a quick series of keystrokes he cleared the images of Bergren from the center screens.

  Then, on three screens and from three different angles, he followed Joyce Palmer into the main lounge.

  He loved to watch her.

  In just the last day he knew most of her habits, where the scar on her right leg was, and what she did in the bathroom when she brushed her teeth. Someday he might even catch her alone and if the Professor gave him permission she’d find out she had a really true admirer.

  * * *

  The cool, clear taste of Mountain Crystal cut the fog from Joyce’s mind and she nodded to the bartender, indicating her drink. “Nice, Jonathan. Real nice.”

  He smiled back at her, patted the bar lightly twice, and moved off to help the waitress at the end of the counter. Joyce took another sip, letting the cold, clear liquid fill her mouth as she settled into the high-backed bar stool. Being with Hank had been wonderful, almost better than it should have been, but she couldn’t—or maybe it was “shouldn’t”—let herself care too much for him. She would be leaving within the week, maybe within the day, to go back to Earth and her children, never to see him again. Getting too attached would be just plain stupid.

  Good sex. That was all it could be.

  Ever.

  Of course, she didn’t want to believe that deep down. There was just something between her and Hank that she hadn’t felt in years, and it felt good. Really good.

  She took another sip of the Mountain Crystal and tried to force her thoughts from Hank. She glanced around the bar, noting that there were only a dozen people in the room, most sitting together in one corner laughing and talking. This place was officially called the East Lounge, but many called it the “Jungle” because of all the plants. Vines ran along dividers between the cloth booths and the wooden tables in the middle of the room were separated by small trees in pots and large fernlike bushes. The carpet was a deep brown, the walls oak and the ceiling low. The lighting was spotlights, mostly aimed at the plants. The place always felt warm, almost cozy, and it was one of her favorite places on the base.

  She studied the large group, wondering if there was anyone there she knew. And that thought reminded her that besides Hank she had other friends here on the base who would be mad at her if she didn’t say hello real soon. She’d already left a message for Jerry, her and her husband’s best friend. She hadn’t heard back from him yet, which wasn’t like him. Maybe she would give him a quick call while waiting for Hank to get off duty and have him join her and Hank for dinner. She was sure Hank wouldn’t mind. He could have her alone later in the evening all he wanted.

  “Jonathan,” she said, waving her drink at the tall, slim bartender who stood talking with three men in white lab coats near the end of the bar. He wore tight black slacks and an open-necked shirt and was without a doubt the best-looking bartender she had ever seen.

  He smiled and motioned that he would be right there. She took a long, slow drink and almost before she had the glass back on the bar Jonathan had another in front of her.

  “That was fast,” she said.

  He laughed softly, his voice deep and rich. “That’s what they pay me for.”

  “Jonathan,” she said, “have you seen Jerry around lately? I left him a message right after I arrived, but haven’t heard from him yet. That’s not like him at all.”

  The bright, happy look on Jonathan’s face slipped into a frown and his gaze dropped to something under the bar near his feet. He half choked on something, then said, “Guess you didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?” It felt like the bottom of her stomach had dropped out.

  Jonathan hesitated, not looking at he
r. Then he glanced up and blurted, “Jerry was killed in an airlock accident two months ago.”

  Hank’s words about people disappearing, people getting killed for no reason, filled her mind like an echo chamber.

  But not Jerry. Jonathan had it wrong.

  She glanced up at the sad look on Jonathan’s face.

  He reached out but didn’t touch her. “I’m sorry, Joyce.”

  Her mind wouldn’t let Jonathan’s words in. That couldn’t happen to Jerry. He’d never die in an airlock accident. Never. He was too damn good a spacer for that She started to get angry and was about to yell at Jonathan for pulling such a nasty trick, when she looked into his eyes and saw it was the truth.

  Jerry was dead.

  The realization overwhelmed her and she fought to keep control. She felt dizzy and the room blurred.

  She must have been staring at her drink, not moving, because the next thing she knew Jonathan had a hand on hers and was squeezing it.

  “I thought you would have heard.”

  She shook her head slowly, fighting to keep the tears from her eyes. God damn it all to hell, not Jerry.

  Jerry was always there. Always. For the kids’ birthday parties, sometimes to just baby-sit for them.

  “Just a second,” Jonathan said. “I’ll get you a napkin.”

  She remained motionless, the cold glass of Crystal gripped tightly in her hand, fighting back any sign of tears and remembering Jerry. Remembering his bright, smiling face, his quick sense of humor, his stupid dirty jokes that still made her laugh.

  She remembered all the nights she, Danny, and Jerry had drunk and laughed together, most of them ending with Jerry passed out on the couch. She remembered all the missions they had been on together during the invasion. Jerry had been there for her when Danny was killed, had helped with his funeral, had hugged her and let her cry.

  And she had tried to be there for him at the same time. Danny, after all, had been his best friend. Together they had mourned for Danny and Jerry had become almost a second father for the kids before he was shipped out here. He had been due back on Earth in two years to retire and just fish and work in his bike shop.

  Now he’d never get the chance.

  Jonathan came up from digging under the bar and quickly moved back in front of her. He slipped a wadded-up napkin into her free hand. “Here. Use this.”

  She nodded her thanks and dabbed her eyes with the napkin. As she did so she noticed there was something hard in the napkin. She was about to stop and unwrap it when Jonathan put his hand over hers.

  She looked up into his dark, worried eyes. She could see concern in them for her, but also fear. Fear in his eyes and in the way he gripped her hand, forcing her to hold tightly whatever was inside.

  “I’m really sorry about Jerry,” he said. “He was a good guy. He didn’t deserve to die.”

  She only nodded again, not trusting herself to say anything.

  “As a bartender, I’m pretty good at giving advice,” he said, holding her gaze solid in his. “You might want to go someplace private, like your ship, and really just let go. Cry all you want. Might do you some good.”

  As he said the word “ship” he squeezed her hand and the message was clear. Again Hank’s words about the Professor being able to see anything came flowing back to her, cutting through the anger and the grief, making her think cold hard thoughts.

  “Thanks,” she said, her voice sounding odd to her. “That’s a good idea. I think I will.”

  She fumbled around in her pockets for a moment with one hand, not sure what she was looking for. Finally it dawned on her and she said, “What do I owe you for the drinks?”

  Jonathan let go of her hand and waved. “Don’t worry about it. Just take care of yourself.”

  She caught the double meaning in that last sentence, too. “Thanks,” she said. She slid off the bar stool and headed slowly for the door, wiping away the tears and anger. She was real good at taking care of herself. If somehow the Professor was responsible for Jerry’s death, she would take care of that, too.

  But first she would see what Jonathan had given her. She couldn’t imagine what it might be. But whatever it was, one thing had come through her anger and grief very clearly. He had been risking a great deal doing so.

  Could things on this station really be that bad?

  Twenty minutes later while sitting in the pilot’s chair of her ship, she suddenly realized just how bad things on Charon Base really were.

  * * *

  The Professor stood just inside the lab door admiring the bustle of activity going on in the huge white room. Twenty or so lab techs in white coats sat or stood at monitors or moved quickly and with reason from one place to another, doing their jobs. He had some of the best scientists in all humanity working with him, right here in this room.

  The room itself was almost a pure white and always scrubbed perfectly clean, yet to him it felt warm and friendly. Of all the places on the station, this was the area he was proudest of. He could spend days and nights in here, without the problems of the station and the outside world—or corporation politics—bothering him. His duty in this room was to the greater good of humanity and he knew that without a doubt.

  The door behind him slid silently open and Grace escorted his visitor in. Cray was wearing tan slacks and a tan dress shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up. The colors stood out in sharp contrast to the bright white lab coats of everyone else.

  The Professor noted that Cray’s gaze took in the room quickly yet carefully, in a left-to-right scan. The Professor had no doubt that if Cray was to turn around and leave immediately, he would still be able to tell someone exactly what the room looked like and probably identify most of the machines in use. He was rumored to be good enough to even give descriptions of the twenty white-coated techs. Too bad there wasn’t a way to test that theory.

  “Welcome, Mr. Cray,” the Professor said while nodding to Grace that she was excused. “I thought you might like a little tour of my world.”

  Cray smiled and nodded. “I’d enjoy it a great deal.”

  The Professor laughed softly. “Wonderful. Follow me.”

  He led the way across the large, high-ceilinged white room. Today the Professor noted a slight smell of alien blood mixed with the cleaning solution smell. Not unusual, considering the work they did here.

  As they moved through the room the Professor nodded to different workers at computer consoles. There was never a time that the main stations in this room were left untended.

  The Professor led Cray over to a glass wall and stopped.

  “The main dissection tank,” the Professor said, indicating the clear, liquid-filled tank, itself the size of a good room. Three human figures in what appeared to be deep-space gear were carefully working over the remains of a large alien floating in the center.

  “How do they avoid the acid blood?” Cray asked, taking a step closer to the glass and intently watching the work.

  “I adapted the gel that I understand you acquired for the company into an effective dissection medium. This has enabled me to extensively analyze and catalogue the alien’s morphology.”

  “Ingenious,” Cray said.

  “I agree,” the Professor said, and then laughed at his own half joke. “Although I discovered more about function and alien physiology than anyone ever has before, it was at the molecular level that I made the most startling find. The one the corporation gave me a blank check to pursue.”

  “The DNA Reflex?”

  The Professor nodded, not exactly happy that Cray had that level of knowledge before he arrived. Now he was starting to understand exactly why Cray was here.

  To Cray, with a nod of approval, the Professor said, “You’ve done your research, I see. Yes, tests show that an adult alien exhibits certain physical characteristics inherited from its host. We call it the DNA Reflex.”

  “So to change future generations of aliens, you give them different hosts.”

  Kleis
t nodded, again impressed. “That’s exactly what we’re doing here. Let me show you.”

  The Professor led the way down the hall and into a second large white room, two sides of which were walled with glass tanks. Behind the thick glass floated what looked to be human bodies. The Professor noted that his guest stopped suddenly, almost in shock. Good. Cray hadn’t known about this aspect of the work.

  The hairless, white bodies seemed to hand upright, naked, suspended in a clear fluid, bubbles drifting around them to the surface. Hoses ran from the backs of their necks, their heart areas, and their groins into the wall below and in front of their feet. A control panel monitored each body’s functions and a white-coated technician was in charge of the monitoring stations, moving from one to the next, slowly and systematically, never stopping.

  Every one of the naked forms hanging in suspension had a face-hugger alien on his face.

  “You like my dummies?” the Professor asked after a moment.

  “Dummies?” Cray asked, not taking his eyes off the human forms floating beyond the two glass walls.

  “Dummies,” the Professor said, closely watching Cray’s expression as he studied the bodies. “That’s what I call them. I cloned body tissue designed to mimic living matter, to trick the alien implantation process. Yes, the aliens have inspired many new commodities.”

  “Amazing,” Cray said as he turned and looked at the Professor. “I had no idea cloning had gone so far.”

  “It is amazing, isn’t it?” He gave Cray a large smile, then indicated a door to the right. “Let me show you something else.”

  He led Mr. Cray out of the lab and into an area labeled “RESTRICTED” in bright red letters. As they walked their footsteps echoed off the smooth concrete walls.

  “Imagine, Mr. Cray,” the Professor said, “what might be the results if these creatures, these killing machines, could be bioengineered to become man’s tool instead of his adversary?”

  “Consumer biologicals?”

  “Exactly,” Kleist said, stopping in front of an airlock. A huge warning sign over it read:

  ALIEN SECTOR. DO NOT ENTER.

  As he fumbled in his pocket, he went on, “I have removed the alien’s innate hostility by splicing their DNA with that of more passive, less predatory creatures. I got the best results with sheep, lamas, and even some cattle. Of course, there were a few setbacks. There always are.”