The Complete Aliens Omnibus, Volume 3

by Sandy Schofield

  No one did, so he turned to Joyce. “Take as much ammunition as you can carry without slowing you down. And go slow.”

  She was about to start on the pile of ammunition belts when Sergeant Green said, “And one more thing.”

  He turned and looked at every civilian in the group. “Any of you fought bugs?”

  Only Joyce and Cray nodded.

  “A few basic words of advice. Aim for the head or knee joints. You hit one in the body and you’ll spray acid blood in a ten- to fifteen-meter circle. They will come in above you more often than not and they move like lightning. Don’t make a stand against them unless you have to. Hit and pull back, okay?”

  He glanced around. “And pay attention to your nose. In an area like this you can smell the rotten bastards if they’re nearby before you’ll ever see them.”

  He hesitated, then looked right at Joyce. “One last thing. If a human is taken alive by an alien, they’re better off dead than captured. Trust me on that one.”

  She knew that very clearly already. She’d seen more people, hung up alive in sacks with baby aliens growing inside them, than she ever wanted to remember. A person got like that and they were dead. The best thing another human could do was put them out of their misery real quick.

  An uneasy silence filled the corridor. Finally Joyce said, “We’ll be waiting for you on the hangar deck.”

  She hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt.

  Green nodded. “I know you will, Captain. That’s why I gave you the job. Now get going. Me and the rest of the men here got some work to do.” Within thirty seconds Joyce had three belts of ammunition over her shoulder, her Kramer cradled in her arms, and was leading nineteen other civilians out the vent and to the right, down the corridor, and away from the armory.

  She only had one worry.

  The hangar deck was on the other side of the lab complex, and damn close to the alien section.

  Too damn close.

  * * *

  Green watched the last of the civilians go through the vent and down the corridor. Then he faced his men, looking at Robinsen in particular. He wished that Lynch were here, but Robinsen was a good man. He’d do the job. He’d have to, or not live to tell about it.

  “Dillon. McPhillips. Young. Rule. And Bosewell. You’re with me.” He looked at each man as he called his name and each nodded. All five had Kramers in their hands, four or five belts of ammunition wrapped around their chests, grenades, pistols, knives, and God knows what else stuffed into their pockets and belts.

  He smiled slightly. If nothing else, they were going to make a mess of some things around this good old base.

  He turned to face his second in command. “The rest of you are with Robinsen. Listen up, so he doesn’t have to repeat this.”

  Everyone took a step closer and Green went on, talking directly to Robinsen. “I want you to make a sweep through the living and recreational areas of the base, rounding up and sending to the hangar deck as many civilians as you can find.”

  “Will do, Sarge,” Robinsen said.

  “Use your best judgment on how to get the people to the ships. You might have to split up and send groups with guards, but I don’t want any man striking out on his own. Stay in pairs. Is that understood?”

  Again Robinsen, and every Marine behind him, nodded.

  Green took a deep breath. “I figure we’ve got about an hour, maybe two if Captain Palmer and her crew can put up a good fight. So do the job and be back at the hangar deck in one hour. Kill any bug you see and terminate any human you see that’s been taken by them.”

  Robinsen nodded. “Let’s go, men. Hansen, take the point.”

  Green watched, satisfied, as Robinsen quickly had his twelve Marines through the vent and started to the left down the hall. Robinsen was the last through the vent and he hesitated for just a moment, glancing at Green. “See you in an hour,” he said. “Then we’re really heading home.”

  Green smiled. “You got it.”

  Robinsen smiled back. “Good hunting.” Then he ducked through the vent and was gone.

  Green took a deep breath and turned to face the five heavily armed men he had picked. “I guess you know what our mission is.”

  All five nodded and Green chuckled, smacking his Kramer to full automatic setting. “Then let’s go get us some dog meat. Dillon, take the point and head right. Our first stop is Kleist’s private office.” Green watched the men slap each other on the back, big smiles on their faces, and started for the vent opening with Dillon in the lead. The five Marines seemed excited, as if they had just hit the lottery and were going on the greatest trip ever.

  Green dropped in behind Dillon. He had to admit, he was excited, too. It was payback time. The Professor and his damn bugs had been dishing it out to him and his men for three years.

  Now it was their turn.

  They were ready.

  18

  The corridors of Charon Base now felt very different to Joyce. Just a few days earlier she had walked this very hall with Hank, relaxed, arm-in-arm as they headed for her room. People had passed them, nodding hello, living their lives, going about their own business in what had seemed like a perfectly ordered world.

  Now, less than two days later, she was again going down the same hall with Hank, only this time it was with eighteen other heavily armed people that she was in charge of. And they were all moving in single file, crouching, staying close to the walls, watching every grate and shadow carefully.

  The hall was no longer a safe, warm place, and she was hoping like hell they could get out of it as fast as possible.

  In the five minutes since they had left the Marines, they had heard some distant shooting, but otherwise there were no signs of people at all. The corridors had a deserted feel and she wondered where everyone was hiding.

  They were approaching a major intersection, with a wide, carpeted hall leading off to her right and a smaller one branching to the left. If this had just been a regular day and she had been just ambling toward the flight deck to check on her ship, she would have gone right, walked about two hundred meters, then turned back to the right again after passing the long lab complex.

  But today was different. She held up her hand for the column to stop and was relieved to see the two men at the end automatically set up to guard in the direction they had just come. They might not be as efficient as the Marines, but she believed they could take care of themselves just fine.

  She turned to Hank and Kent and, keeping her voice low yet firm, asked, “Know of a good way from here?”

  “Through the labs,” Kent said. “By far the quickest and we don’t spend much time out in the open.”

  “Didn’t think you could get through that way,” Hank said.

  Kent gave a snort. “The Professor kept the door onto the flight deck shut off except for special deliveries or his own personal use. He made everyone else go around. His official reason was the decontamination chamber, of course.”

  “Through the labs, then,” Joyce said. “Kent, you want to lead the way?”

  He tapped his Kramer and smiled. “My pleasure.” He quickly moved around her and with a quick look in both directions ducked around the corner and into the main hall.

  Hank was right behind him and Joyce followed Hank. Behind her the rest stayed in line, almost matching them step for step.

  The quick trip down the main corridor was uneventful as they stayed against the left wall and moved quickly in crouched positions as if they were running under low-hanging branches.

  Kent pushed open a door labeled PRIVATE about a hundred paces down the hall. Carefully, gun at the ready, he checked in all directions, including above the door, and then went through indicating that they should follow.

  They entered a large, airlock-style chamber, with places to hang clothes and supplies on both walls and a bench against the right. A window on the left opened into a small room where a guard would usually sit, but now was empty, the chair tipped ov
er backward.

  White lab coats were all that hung on the wall hooks now, with a few tossed carelessly on the bench like people were in a hurry to leave. Joyce wondered if that was a good sign, but she didn’t say anything. If Kent thought this was the best and quickest way, she would let him lead. She had no better choices at the moment.

  Kent did the same routine check beyond the inner door of the chamber and was through it just as fast. The white of the lab was almost blinding as she followed him down a white-tiled hall and around a corner into the main room. The shock of what she saw then brought her to a halt, her heart beating out of control in her chest.

  This was the lab in the tape, the lab where Jerry’s body had hung suspended in some sort of liquid until an alien had burst from his chest.

  Twenty bodies still hung behind those huge windows, floating in a thick, clear liquid, tubes and wires holding them centered in place. Unlike in the tape, there were no lab techs watching the computers and monitors in front of the bodies. A few lights blinked, but otherwise the room was deserted except for the naked human bodies floating behind the glass.

  “Jesus,” Hank said, standing in front of one. “Isn’t that Steven?”

  The others gathered in front of the two huge walls in silence, as if they were standing in front of the gates of hell and looking in.

  Joyce moved over and stood next to Hank, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. “A friend?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Another controller, supposedly shipped home last month. He had a slightly deformed right hand which gave him a little trouble at times.”

  Hank pointed at the hand on the floating body in front of them. It had four natural-looking fingers, with another tiny, baby-looking finger in the position of the thumb. It would be a hard mark to miss. Obviously the Professor was getting to the point lately that he didn’t care who knew he was lying about the bodies and how unlikely they were to be clones.

  She glanced at the others. They had to get moving, yet they had to do something about this place. She couldn’t leave it like this.

  And she couldn’t let those aliens inside those bodies hatch.

  “Kent,” she said, “which way out of here?”

  He pointed to a white door near the far end of the left tank. “Leads through another bigger lab and then into the supply area Beyond that is the hangar deck.”

  “Let’s go, people,” Joyce said.

  One of the men down the line said, “We can’t just leave them.”

  “We’re not,” Joyce said. She pulled a concussion grenade out of her pocket and tossed it a meter into the air so everyone could see. “About ten or so of these should do the trick, don’t you think?”

  Everyone cheered, and she motioned for Kent to lead the way into the next lab.

  “Get everyone away from this area and save some room for me to come running. And watch your ass.”

  He nodded and waved for the people to follow him.

  She held back Hank with a light touch. “Help me with this,” she said. “Think you can throw five in quick succession?”

  He had a grenade out of his pocket like a magician with a much-practiced trick. “Without a doubt.”

  “Sergeant Green told me these things have a ten-second delay from pulling the pin to explosion. If we’re both beside the door, you can toss five at the computers and monitors on the far wall. I’ll toss five along the front of the glass and the monitors there. Ten of these babies should take out anything alive in this room.”

  “Without a doubt,” Hank said. “Without a doubt.”

  They moved quickly over to the door as the last of the others went through.

  Joyce stepped inside and quickly checked to make sure everyone was a safe distance away across the other white lab. Kent waved that they were ready.

  “Let’s do it,” Joyce said, stepping back just inside the lab door and holding it open with her foot.

  “On three.”

  “One.”

  “Two,” Hank said.

  “Three,” they both said.

  Joyce yanked the pin from the grenade in her hand and tossed it as hard as she could down the glass wall. She grabbed another grenade from her pocket, pulled the pin, and threw it.

  One right after another, she pulled and threw. Paced, but as fast as she could.

  Still, she was slightly slower than Hank, who managed a sixth right in front of the tank with his friend Steven in it just as she got her fifth away.

  But she was through the door first.

  She could feel his hand on her back shoving her forward at a dead run across the lab.

  “The desk,” Kent shouted. He pointed to an overturned desk he had fixed for a shield for them, then ducked behind a filing cabinet himself.

  Joyce and Hank both went over the desk like two track stars and hit the slick tile floor on the other side sliding like two baseball players stealing second.

  Then, on all fours they were scrambling back closer behind the desk when the first explosions ripped through the other lab. Dust and glass and splinters of wood exploded from the door they had come through seconds earlier like shot from the mouth of a cannon.

  Joyce thought she could hear five, maybe six distinct explosions as the ground under them shook. Everything around them shook, some books and glassware crashed to the floor behind her.

  She was about to stand when a very familiar odor hit her.

  The smell of alien.

  She spun around in time to see the black-shelled alien grab Cray from behind and pick him up like he weighed nothing at all.

  Cray had been one of the farthest into the lab and had been taking cover behind a large tank near the far side of the room. The alien had come off the top of the tank from somewhere near the ceiling just as the explosion hit.

  The instant Cray realized what had him, he twisted, using his right boot to kick out hard against the alien in a fruitless attempt to break free of its sharp claws. And for a second Joyce thought he might make it. If he’d just been able to drop free for a second the alien would have been blown apart, but with it holding him, they didn’t dare fire.

  Cray’s struggles failed. The bug had him solid with both hands, its claws cutting into Cray’s arms and stomach as Cray fought to free himself.

  Suddenly it reared up, lifting Cray even farther above the floor.

  Before Joyce or anyone had time to react, the bug’s interior mandible shot out from its saliva-dripping jaws, hitting Clay directly in the chest.

  The back of Cray’s shirt literally exploded, showering bright red blood over the white tile like a water balloon breaking on a sidewalk.

  Kent, one of the closest to Cray, had his rifle aimed on the bug trying to get a clear shot when another alien dropped from behind him.

  Three blasts from Kramers around Kent cut the air, pulping the new bug against the wall behind Kent and sending acid blood splattering in all directions.

  Kent dove for cover under a desk and managed to escape most of it, with a few drops burning some holes in his pants and shoes.

  It was clear to Joyce, however, that Cray was dead. The alien’s jaws had hit his heart and probably destroyed his spine.

  “Take it out,” she shouted.

  Five Kramers spoke at once, sending the alien’s head and knees exploding like small bombs had been planted in them.

  As the alien’s body did a slow twist for the ground, still clutching the now obviously dead Cray, Joyce shouted, “Watch your backs. Check the ceiling. Hank, cover me.”

  Everyone did as they were told as she took off toward the body of the alien and Cray. He looked dead, but she was going to make damn sure.

  The alien’s blood was eating ugly brown holes in the white tile and Cray was still held by the death grip of the claws. She got as close as she could, but there was no reaching him through all the acid.

  Still, even from a five-meter distance she could tell he was dead. His blood had almost stopped pumping through the huge hole in his chest a
nd back and his face had a look of terror glued on it. His eyes were wide open, staring off into his own personal hell.

  “Joyce!” Hank screamed out “Behind you!”

  But his warning was too late. From the shadows below another tank, the alien rose up, grabbing her around the waist before she could even move. She could feel the cutting pinch of its claws as it lifted her and pulled her upward toward its mouth.

  She twisted around, trying to bring the Kramer clutched in her hands to bear on its head, but the claws cut at her skin and she couldn’t.

  The only thought in her mind was, I’m going to die.

  And I won’t get to see my kids again.

  * * *

  The fight was going a little differently than the Professor had envisioned.

  He and Grace had taken cover just inside a small archway leading into the queen’s chamber as the rogue and the queen clawed at each other, their tails and feet smashing, the bodies of her guards and the egg sacks around the floor. Golden royal jelly mixed with acid blood splashed the saliva-formed walls and twice the Professor and Grace’s body armor had saved them from being burned by flying acid.

  The rogue had seemed to have the upper hand at first and the Professor was sure his creation would soon defeat the queen. He had created something superior, far more powerful, far beyond the capabilities of anything nature could have created that he thought the fight would be over in seconds.

  In the first contact the rogue had knocked the queen from her feet and had bitten through her lower shell, leaving an ugly wound. But instead of slowing her down the bite had enraged her even more and she had managed to push him off and regain her feet.

  Now, except for a few swipes with their razor-sharp claws, they slowly circled each other, screaming at each other at a frequency that only Grace and other aliens could hear.

  Ten full minutes now, and it still seemed to be a draw. But the Professor knew his creation would win.

  Grace stood watching the battle, her feet spread, the Kramer in her hand always ready. The Professor sat on a stone near the tunnel opening into the chamber, never taking his eyes off the fight, the Sound Cannon beside him.