The Complete Aliens Omnibus, Volume 3

by Sandy Schofield

  Well, at least he had some sense of humor. The others went back to their shuffling and monosyllabic conversations. McGuinness waited for Crespi to say something else, but he held silent, went back to watching the crew as they stumbled around aimlessly.

  She felt a deep twinge in her gut, the tightening of a fist that had lain there for too long. It was time to find out what he knew.

  She took a sip of the watery coffee and tried to sound uninterested in his answer. “Will I be working under you on board the Innominata, sir?”

  Crespi turned his sharp gaze back to her. “Not likely, McGuinness, not if your luck holds. I expect to be deeply involved in some excruciatingly banal series tests.”

  Was it her imagination, or was that bantering tone a cover? The knot in her belly tightened. He was a tough read, but if she had to place bets, she’d say that he was as uninformed as the rest of them.

  “Sounds good to me,” she said, and looked away, continued with the feigned boredom. “The Innominata is a little too hush-hush, too ‘didn’t-happen never-was’ to suit my taste.”

  Crespi leaned closer. “If that’s the case, why did you volunteer for this tour?”

  McGuinness shrugged. “Good question.” And you don’t need to know the answer, sir.

  Several beats of silence. She finally glanced at him, noted the frown above those piercing eyes as he studied her face. He seemed about to say something else—

  A voice crackled out over the com. “Colonel Doctor Crespi, sir. Colonel Thompson wishes to see you on the upper bridge before landing. Sir.”

  Crespi stared at her for another second, then looked away. “Very good.”

  He stood, nodded at her, and walked away from the table.

  McGuinness sipped again from her thermos, relieved. He was quick, maybe too quick, but that might turn out to be an asset—

  One of the men made some crack that she didn’t quite hear, but she laughed along with the rest of them and stared down at her pale hands that suddenly trembled, ever so slightly.

  3

  Crespi stood on the landing deck of the Innominata and waited patiently, feeling a light sweat build up beneath his uniform cap in spite of the brisk air; goddamn covers were still made out of some synthwool blend. More than one soldier in full dress khaks had passed out on a hot day, probably too well trained to take their damn hat off—particularly not if they were waiting for a superior officer, and definitely not if that officer was an unknown…

  “Colonel Doctor Crespi? I’m Admiral Thaves.”

  Crespi straightened his shoulders as a short, barrel-chested man walked on deck, calling out to him across the floor. His booming voice reverberated through the high-ceilinged room, as direct and impatient as his heavy stride.

  Crespi snapped a salute, held it. “Colonel Doctor Anthony Crespi reporting for duty, sir.”

  As Thaves got closer, Crespi studied him discreetly; the admiral looked nothing like he had pictured. He had heard that Thaves had been a field man for most of his career, but the figure in front of him was soft-looking, his grayed, wavy hair styled slickly back. He did have that old-boy air Crespi associated with ancient war holovids, stiff posture in spite of the paunch—but it appeared that the last action Thaves had seen was decades past.

  On the other hand, the admiral’s face looked like it had been in every battle waged in the last fifty TS—weathered and lined, cheeks going to jowl. His nose had been broken at least once and badly reset, and was as red as a rotten beet. The burst capillaries spoke of too many four-star martinis.

  Thaves stepped in front of him and then smiled, his teeth even but stained. Crespi caught a faint scent of cigars and hair oil. The admiral clapped him on the shoulder as if they were old friends, reunited after years apart.

  “At ease until further notice, Crespi. Welcome aboard the Innominata.” He nodded, grinned wider. “You must have some very influential friends back home—a lot of good men were in line for this post.”

  Thaves turned and started back for the lander door without waiting for an answer. Crespi sighed inwardly and fell in behind him.

  “No influential friends that I’m aware of, sir,” he said, careful to keep his tone neutral. “My experience with—”

  “No nepotism implied, Doctor,” Thaves cut him off, held up one meaty hand without even turning to look at him. “Your record speaks for itself. Much sub rosa, eh?”

  The older man’s manner was jovial, but Crespi had the definite impression that Thaves was putting on an act, doing the dance that the brass often seemed to do when they were put up against an unknown. Apparently he was aware that Crespi had been sent for more than one reason—but how much did Thaves think he knew?

  He tried again. “Well, to a certain extent, sir. Intelligence was never my strong—”

  “Yes, most impressive, a good theoretical analyst is always valuable.” Thaves finally glanced back at him, grin still in place. “Colonel Doctor Church may well find a use for you.”

  Thaves turned and walked forward again, leading them through the wide mechanical door and into a quiet corridor. Military issue, right down to the dark plasticrete wall panels and crappy baseboard heaters. Very inexpensive, and it showed; cracks and chips of the cheap material dotted the bare floor, mostly around the heating units—they eroded the walls and kept the air in the hall nice and chilly.

  The atmosphere of this part of the station left something to be desired; the air was recycled, smelled faintly of disinfectant and sweat, and had that strange, flat taint of overuse; Crespi had grown accustomed to it through the years, but somehow it seemed worse than usual.

  Terrific. And if he recalled the layout properly, they were headed toward officers’ quarters…

  So what was the game? Besides the fact that the admiral kept interrupting him, he implied that Crespi was NI, that he’d come to dig for dirt. Obviously the man thought he was more in the loop than he actually was—which could be an asset, depending on how much leeway he could get from it.

  “Of course, I expect to be working closely with Colonel Doctor Church.”

  The admiral kept walking, and his response was mumbled in an overly pleasant and distinctly patronizing tone. “Well, nothing is carved in stone…”

  Enough. Crespi frowned, and stepped up to walk alongside the admiral. “Sir, I hope there hasn’t been a misunderstanding. My assignment is to succeed Colonel Doctor Lennox as Colonel Doctor Church’s research partner.”

  They turned another corner in the hallway, and Thaves motioned to the first in a row of doors, grin in place. “There’s your quarters, A89. There’s a briefing card in the player. Get familiar with the floor, your orderly is on call—”

  “Admiral Thaves, I am here to work with Colonel Doctor Church, am I not?”

  They had stopped in front of his quarters and now faced each other, Crespi looking down on the stocky admiral. Thaves still smiled, but there was something else in his eyes, an aw-shucks look that didn’t sit well on his scarred face.

  “That has to be worked out. Why don’t you brief yourself and have your orderly show you around? We have a lounge that might surprise you, quite a—”

  “I would prefer to meet with Colonel Doctor Church and get brought up to speed right away, sir.”

  The admiral smiled wider, only it didn’t look particularly pleasant anymore. It was almost painful, like he was trying to get every tooth into the act, to convince the doctor just how reasonable he was being.

  “Crespi, you have at your disposal the biggest research area on this station. You’ll have plenty of time to set up and run any operation you want. For now, though, why don’t you relax?”

  “Shit-eating,” that’s the term. Shit-eating grin. Crespi was almost dumbfounded at the man’s ability to avoid a direct answer.

  Thaves went on, the grin turning to a conspiratorial leer. “Perhaps you’ll find this a bit blunt, but I’ve found that a little boy-girl action takes the edge off a long, cold sleep. Or, you know, whatever sui
ts your fancy. Now, up in the lounge you’ll find—”

  “To be a bit blunt myself, sir, all I want to do is meet Colonel Doctor Church and get to work.”

  To be honest, he was also quite tempted to beat the admiral’s head in with his briefcase—though that would probably seem imprudent at this early juncture.

  Too bad.

  Thaves sighed. “Well, I’m sorry to have to inform you that Church has determined that he doesn’t need a new second in command. But don’t worry, you’ll have the best research team that we can muster, I mean that, we’ll—”

  Crespi’s hands had clenched into fists. He didn’t have a particularly quick temper, never with superiors, but this pug-nosed good ol’ boy had pushed it as far as it would go.

  “Sir, I respectfully request that I meet with Colonel Doctor Church immediately!”

  Not one ruffled feather. Thaves shrugged and held out his hands almost apologetically. “Oh, well. Request denied.”

  Crespi glowered down at him, angrier than he’d been in a long time, almost ready to punch that smarmy little smile through the back of the admiral’s head—

  Deep breath, Tony.

  Right. Crespi slowly unfurled his fingers, one, both hands. Pickman was backing him, and Pickman had a lot more clout than this man. There was no need for this.

  Crespi lowered his tone, took another deep breath. “Admiral Thaves, I have my assignment and I intend to carry it out. If I have to petition superseding authority to do so, I will.”

  Finally the grin was gone, wiped off clean, and for the first time Crespi saw some of what had gotten Thaves to his rank. The admiral drew himself to full height and there was a steely coolness in his gaze.

  “Oh, my golly. A tough guy. Isn’t that fine?” Sarcastic, but at least no longer patronizing. “Why don’t you go relax in your quarters while I go discuss this with Colonel Doctor Church?”

  Thaves scowled up at him, waited. Crespi saluted dutifully. “Sir.”

  His commanding officer turned and stalked away, back down the corridor. Crespi opened the door to his new home and threw his briefcase across the room.

  4

  Church sat at his bare desk and gently ran his finger over and across the com switch. The softest touch from his nimble fingers; a caress, really, not enough for the primitive console to even acknowledge. Bare desk in a bare room, except for a few buttons set into the monitor that connected him to the rest of the station…

  He sighed, then punched one long finger at the switch. It was time to meet the great, unheard-of Crespi who had caused Thaves so much disease.

  “Yes?”

  Poor Admiral Thaves, such desperation in that one word!

  “All right. Send him down.”

  “Fine, fine.” The man’s relief was obvious although he tried to hide it. “I think this will work out fine, Doctor; I agree with your decision—”

  “Very well,” he said, and hit discom before he had to hear any more of the admiral’s false bluster. He wasn’t particularly concerned, but Thaves seemed to be half-hysterical over the new man’s arrival and it paid to placate the man. The admiral needed his delusion of authority, though he’d been in Church’s pocket for years—a fact that everyone on board accepted, just as they accepted Thaves’s blindness to it. The admiral ran the station efficiently and left him alone, and Church wanted it to stay that way. Though if this Crespi was even half as good as Thaves seemed to think, he might actually be useful.

  And wouldn’t that be a pleasant change?

  Truly, to have a peer aboard! It had been too long, days, weeks, months—he’d lost track, really. There were probably only a handful of people in the known universe who could even begin to comprehend his work, let along appreciate the implications; indeed, perhaps fewer—the nature of scientific study was reclusive at best, the chance to meet with others in the field as rare as hen’s teeth. He usually didn’t mind, as much of humanity seemed to tend toward boring; lately, though, he’d longed for the company of an associate, a rival mind if not an equal…

  The annoying bleat of the door buzzer disturbed his thoughts. Damned thing should be disconnected, or at least tuned to something more pleasant. Church sighed again and went to greet his visitor.

  He opened the door to a tall, rather stern-looking man in his early forties, dark hair in a standard military buzz. His features seemed sharp, almost angry-looking, the etched furrows in his brow suggesting a man who didn’t laugh often.

  How funny!

  “Colonel Doctor Crespi? I’m Paul Church. Won’t you come in?” He stepped back, ushered Crespi in with a wave.

  “Thanks,” said Crespi. Gruff voice. Polite enough, though somewhat strained. Apparently Thaves had rattled the boy’s cage a bit too hard.

  He turned, motioned at the one uncomfortable seat bolted to the floor in front of his desk. “Please, sit down.”

  “Thanks.”

  Marvelous manners, his mother was undoubtedly quite proud; time, though, to find out what he was made of.

  “Pleasant journey?” Church waited for the doctor to seat himself and then sat down across from him.

  Crespi half smiled. “Uneventful as only cold sleep can be.”

  “No, I didn’t mean your trip. I mean the months ahead. Shall they be pleasant—or otherwise?”

  Crespi didn’t answer but studied him carefully, unable to keep the wariness out of his gaze. At least the man thought before he spoke—a far cry from Admiral Thaves.

  Church waited, but Crespi seemed caught up in his scrutiny, searching for the most appropriate response to such a presumptuous question. Ah, but he did miss intelligent company! With David gone there was no one worth even talking to anymore, his efforts wasted on the sluggards that infested the Innominata…

  Unfortunately, time was too short to play innuendo games with his new guest, as much fun as they could be. He’d have to get to the point and see how this Crespi operated.

  “Things are pretty well established in their course here, Crespi. It’s all routine at this point. It wasn’t necessary for you to be sent to replace Lennox. In fact, I took steps to prevent it.”

  He smiled gently at that now open wariness and went on. “If he hadn’t died when he did, he would have been transferred. Nothing for him to do here. Nothing for you to do, either.”

  He leaned back in the stiff chair, hands behind his head, keeping his tone as friendly and bored as possible.

  Here we go!

  “My research has been downsized. Hardly enough to keep me engaged, really. Space-borne virus typing, dull stuff.”

  His gaze fixed on Crespi, waiting to see which way he’d jump. Church figured on anger, although there was always the placating, diplomatic approach.

  Crespi stood, placed his hands on the desk, and leaned forward, glowering. “I understand that one of your “viruses” pushed Colonel Doctor Lennox’s brain out of the back of his head.”

  Angry but delivered well, cool and quiet instead of the expected bravado. Obviously the good doctor felt that he carried some kind of clout—an admiral’s ear, perhaps? Or some other—extremity?

  Church tittered. “Oh, no, Crespi. What a macabre notion—viruses are little teeny things.”

  Crespi leaned farther across the desk. “Church, my tolerance for baloney is practically nil. If you won’t shoot straight with me, you can explain why to a board of review.”

  My, how—authoritative!

  “The other boys won’t play fair and now you’re going to go call dad.” He smiled wider to show that he wasn’t truly offended. “Honestly, I’m disappointed by your lack of resourcefulness.”

  Crespi continued to scowl. Humorless, utterly humorless.

  Church stopped smiling and stood up himself, suddenly tired by the game. “You’re out of your league, Crespi. Your superiors have tossed you into the Innominata like cave men throwing a dog into a pond to catch their reflections.”

  No response except that sharp and angry face. Very masculine of him. He
’d just have to work around Crespi for the time being, a nuisance but apparently the only way to get back to the research. Perhaps he could take over some of the busywork that David used to occupy himself with while Church decided what to do with him.

  “Well, come on, let’s go.” He smiled anew. “I’ll show you my setup.”

  They walked toward the door, some of the tension easing out of Crespi’s features. They stepped into the dim corridor and Church pointed them toward G Lab, noting how high Crespi held his shoulders, a look of authority to every movement.

  This might actually be interesting.

  * * *

  Paul Church was definitely not what he had expected. They walked down the corridor side by side, the smaller man barely coming up to Crespi’s shoulders and with the look of a genius eccentric—too thin, long, dirty white hair receding back from his high forehead, smudged glasses, a baggy sweatshirt beneath his lab coat.

  It wasn’t the look so much as the distinctly odd attitude. Very offhand, almost indifferent—yet somehow he got the feeling that Church was toying with him, or at least thought that he was.

  Well. He had his orders, even if it required that he be patronized by the mysterious Church. He’d stewed in his quarters for a good twenty minutes before Thaves had given him the go-ahead, which obviously meant that Church had okayed it. If it took a little game playing, so be it. Results were what mattered.

  They approached a lab door with two heavily armed guards in front; they both wore heavyweight battle armor, an updated version of the stuff he had worn in the field. High-impact acid resist, even the headgear. Both soldiers carried full auto rifle/incinerators, the kind they used to clean out infestations…

  Crespi didn’t want to think about that.

  Church smiled at the two men. “O’Hara, Lawless. This is Colonel Doctor Crespi, he’ll be working with me in G Lab.”

  Crespi acknowledged their salutes with a nod. Who the hell were they guarding against? “I’ll need to be put on the bioscan ASAP, of course.”