The Complete Aliens Omnibus, Volume 3

by Sandy Schofield

  Church was smiling.

  8

  McGuinness finally leaned back from the com in her sparse quarters and willed herself to relax. She’d spent over an hour hooked into the station’s main system, but the accessible stuff wasn’t going to tell her what she needed—although truthfully, she wasn’t even sure exactly what that was. Names and numbers that probably weren’t even attainable unless one had a code slate for them. She could probably rascal it out given time, if she knew where to look. Or what to look for.

  She sighed, staring at the blank screen of the outmoded personal in front of her. She’d trained on a piece better than this, and that had been—

  Fifteen years ago? Christ on a crutch. If someone had told her then where she’d be now, she would’ve laughed until she cried. Or maybe just cried. A class-three systems tech who could be making a hundred-fifty creds an hour writing forensics programs—still in the Corps, stuck on some backward science station digging for secrets.

  She chewed at her lower lip thoughtfully. She was no spy; she shouldn’t even have come, let alone reenlisted. She could have been out six months ago, free and clear.

  Except if I don’t do it, who will?

  Right. Nobody would, and she would have gone on with her life, maybe the only person who could uncover the truth about whatever the hell was going on here. And every day would bring fresh pain, the knowledge that she had sold her memories…

  She shook her head, not wanting to think about it; she was here to find out what Doctor Church was hiding, and would have to try to keep her emotions out of it. Church or maybe Thaves would fuck up, or maybe it would be something as simple as a misplaced document or some contraband chemical trace; she’d need to be on her toes, prepared. Between hacking and her forensics background, something would turn up.

  Until then, she would have to wait. Patience wasn’t one of her strong suits, but she needed evidence before she could approach Crespi. And until something out of the ordinary occurred, she wouldn’t know where to start.

  She sighed again, stood up. Orientation was still an hour plus away, where she’d be assigned station duties and set to work. Maybe she could duck into the noncom lounge and ask a few questions—

  The com bleated and a few lines of data appeared on the screen. McGuinness leaned over, frowned.

  //All authorized TFC and systems monitors report to stations immediately/Security breach K4 Class 07//

  She felt her gut tighten. Technically, she wasn’t authorized to do anything, yet—but if she just happened to wander over to one of the console stations, oblivious to the alert…

  McGuinness grabbed her temp ID and headed for the door. It was probably too much to hope for, this soon, but this could be the key to it all—the event that would lead to some peace for her troubled mind, and to the eventual ruin of Paul Church.

  * * *

  Church let the drone devour about half of the slaughtered pig before reluctantly shocking it once again into submission; he liked to watch them eat, the veracity of it, the unadulterated pleasure they took in their conquests…

  Two heavily armed techs crept into the passage and cleared away the rest of the dripping carcass, never taking their eyes off of the fallen creature.

  “Can’t let it eat too much,” he said. “If it gorges in its weakened condition, it may die.”

  Crespi seemed interested, but he still had that stubborn set to his jaw, the petulant look of a little boy who was determined not to give in.

  Well, that will change soon enough.

  “I’m sure you noticed that it didn’t just kill that pig, it practically swam into it. Fearful prey seems to attract aliens and stimulate them to make especially messy kills; I don’t think it’s a form of play, exactly, but they do seem to enjoy it.”

  Crespi swallowed, hard, then nodded. He seemed uncomfortable, which was disappointing; obviously his emotional state was influencing his scientific mind, a problem that Church had successfully conquered decades before. It could be hard to overcome, but a true scholar would find a way in their search for the greater truth. At least he was paying attention, that was a start…

  Two different techs entered the labyrinth and waited for the alien to stir. One held an automatic machine rifle while the other stood unarmed.

  The drone hissed softly and stumbled to its feet, turning its long head slowly, back and forth.

  Church tried again to involve Crespi in the game. “Care to guess which one it’ll attack?”

  Crespi hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Uh—the armed man?”

  Even as he spoke, the drone lunged for the man with the rifle, quickly and silently. The naked terror on the man’s face was almost comical; the sensors kicked in, as always, dropping the haggard creature to the floor in an electric pulse of energy.

  Church was pleased. “Good call, Doctor! An alien will always attack a perceived threat. Out of the hundreds of similar tests I’ve run on dozens of aliens, there has never been a single deviation from this rule.”

  Crespi looked at him, seemingly irritated. “Hundreds of tests? Dozens—what you’re telling me is tantamount to a confession, Church.”

  Church sighed inwardly, stared blandly back at him. Couldn’t he see what was in front of him? This was the type of research that men like him would kill to get into, and here he was playing soldier boy for a group of paranoid brass. It was pathetic, really, that he should limit himself so—and more than a little annoying.

  Crespi held his gaze for a moment, then frowned and looked away. “Okay, let’s overlook that for the time being. You’ve determined some extremely simple behavior patterns—so what’s the point of all this repeat experimentation?”

  Finally!

  “It’s not repetitious. Each time the maze is set up, new sensory equipment is built into it. I’m compiling a data overview that will set a new standard of bioanalysis.”

  Church glanced at the screen, saw Copper and that other one, Wagner, step into the alien’s corridor. The creature was just beginning to move.

  “Now you’ll see something interesting,” he said softly. “Neither man is armed, but the one in the back is full of FITR, a telepathine that induces a sense of invulnerability and increased mental strength.”

  Truly, Copper looked like he was ready to eat the fallen creature; his head was up, his shoulders back, and he wore a slight snarl, as if daring the alien to make a move.

  “The other man is cold sober and, as you can see, scared half out of his mind. Watch.”

  Again, the drone pulled itself up from the floor, moved toward the two men. It barely paused before leaping for Wagner, who screamed, held up one hand as if to ward off the attack.

  And this time, the sensor didn’t go off.

  * * *

  Crespi watched as the drone leapt, and—

  ohshit

  —where was the electric shock? The creature was almost on top of the sober and terrified lab tech, about to rip him to shreds!

  The drugged man stepped forward, stared at the moving drone as if he meant to kill it with a look. The shrieking alien reached out, talons spread—

  And faltered. Stopped cold in its tracks.

  Only then did the flash of electric pulse fill the video screen, jolting the drone to collapse.

  Church was excited, practically jumping up and down. “There, did you see that?!”

  Crespi looked away from the screen, where the two men were being led out by two others. The tech that the alien had almost killed was shaking uncontrollably.

  “I’m not sure what I saw. It started to attack but then—it seemed to change its mind.”

  “Not quite. First it went for the scared man; what caused it to pause was the will of the drugged man.” Church began to pace, hands behind his back.

  “Aliens communicate with each other telepathically. They can sense fear in other animals. My working hypothesis is that they can physically ‘see’ the minds of men, but cannot understand them.”

  Crespi
shrugged. “I suppose that’s plausible, but—”

  “But what? You just saw that alien waver during an attack. Have you ever heard of such a thing before? The man under the influence of FTTR was willing the drone to stop its attack, and it did!”

  Church had stopped in front of him and Crespi could suddenly see something that he had somehow missed before. There was a light in the older doctor’s eyes, a guttering sheen that radiated intelligence and inspiration. A light of genius.

  Or madness…

  “Doctor Crespi. This and previous experiments indicate that a weakened alien can have its actions influenced by a human mind in an exalted state.”

  Church paused, perhaps to let that sink in. Crespi suddenly felt far less objective than he’d wanted. God, was it possible?

  “If what you’re saying is true,” he began, then hesitated. “The implications—”

  Church grinned. “If it’s true, I’ll prove it. This research has just begun. Think of it, Crespi—synthetic E waves! Aliens reduced to fawning puppies at the touch of a button! Entire hives turned into petting zoos!”

  The grin dropped a few notches, and Church turned that bland stare toward him again. “But a bit too esoteric for traditional venues of research, eh? Risky, messy, inconclusive—possibly even immoral. Profound potential for misuse… a pearl beyond price. Secrets countermanding secrets, official smokescreens—”

  Church innocently looked away. “—even top investigative men sent to see how much can be found out.”

  Crespi scowled. “What are you saying?”

  Church ignored the question, returned it with another. “Why don’t we have you coded into the bioscan now?”

  Crespi paused, uncertain. He had been taken for some ride already, but the offer was made: he was welcome to join the research. Just watching the creature had been hard enough, but to be involved—? Could he do it?

  The ashen, beautiful face of Cady Trask suddenly welled up into his mind, as she had been before disappearing into the darkness forever, mutilated and then killed by the obscene nest of monsters. The scent of melting rock, the smoke in his eyes; the weeks after his recovery spent with the psych module; the night terrors and the hopeless self-hatred that had taken years to overcome, the final truth that he had been unable to do any more than he had done…

  Could he do it?

  How could he not?

  This was big, really big, something that could finally make a difference. Church was a strange one, but the work was innovative, exciting—and potentially lethal for the alien breed. Admiral Pickman could be sent a vague report on something connected, maybe about telepathy work—not a lie, exactly…

  But God, the dangers involved! How up front had Church been with him, how far was he willing to go with this?

  One question, and he would accept.

  “How many crew members have died during the course of your research?”

  Church smiled, eyes still shining with that inner light.

  “It depends on who you ask.” That odd humor, almost taunting.

  “I’m asking you.”

  Church didn’t pause, met his gaze squarely. “None.”

  Crespi studied his face for a moment, the deeply etched lines around his sharp gaze. He nodded slowly.

  “It would be a pleasure to work with you, Doctor.”

  Church smiled widely and nodded in return. “Good.”

  A young woman hurried over to them, her boot heels clacking loudly against the polished floor. Her expression was worried, her brow heavy.

  “Excuse me, Colonel Doctor Church—was the specimen in K4 transferred?” Her voice seemed tremulous, uncertain.

  Church answered slowly. “Transferred? No.”

  The woman, a forensics tech by the uniform, bit her lip, apparently deeply anxious. “Something’s wrong then, sir.” She took a deep breath, swallowed.

  “The door to Kennel 4 is open—and the alien is gone.”

  9

  Church didn’t skip a beat. “You’re sure?”

  The woman nodded. “Yes, we’ve looked—”

  But Church was already striding away, calling out orders as he moved. Crespi followed, as confused as he had been all day; it wasn’t possible, not with the supposedly escape-proof pens, the monitoring systems—

  Unless somebody let it out.

  The thought chilled him.

  “—out the alert immediately. Williams, secure the floor, then get to the trackers. Briggs, inform Admiral Thaves, and, uh”—Church looked around quickly—“Webster, get me a head count.”

  A chorus of “yessirs” as Church hurried up the steps to the viewing deck and back toward the guarded entry. Crespi hurried to catch up as the aging doctor barked orders at the sentries.

  “Secure this door. Get reinforcements and cover the lab perimeter!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Church was moving at a half run now, and Crespi jogged along behind him, through a maze of turns and twists to what he assumed would be the monitoring center. He couldn’t help the fear, that they would turn a corner and there it would be, long and black and shrieking for blood…

  He shook the thought and picked up his pace. This was a day for the books all right, un-fuckin’-believable. It was all happening too fast, the memories stirred by that drone, the drone itself, the bizarre twist that he suddenly wanted to be here, doing this—

  No, not this, research is one thing—hunting down killing machines isn’t what I want, never again—

  Church was talking, trying to explain. “—impossible, but we’ve prepared for the impossible; the aliens are all wearing tracking devices, so it’s just a matter of time…”

  He trailed off as they turned down one more corridor and entered one of the rooms. The walls were covered with dozens of small vid units, watched closely by several worried techs.

  Crespi saw Sharon McGuinness standing behind one of the seated men, her knuckles white against the back of his chair. She looked up tensely as the two men hurried into the room.

  “Situation!” Church called out.

  A voice blared out from one of the intercom systems. “Colonel Doctor Church, all personnel are accounted for except Lieutenant Mortenson.”

  Church stepped over to a grid monitor. “Get Mortenson on camera! I’ll find the alien.”

  Crespi ran a hand through his hair and looked around helplessly. There was nothing for him to do except watch and wait. McGuinness seemed to be in the same boat, and he caught her gaze for a moment, saw the frustration there before they both turned back to the screens.

  “What’s the status?” A booming voice filled the room as Admiral Thaves stormed in, his face red.

  Church held up one hand, effectively silencing him and reaffirming Crespi’s suspicions: Church was in charge here, rank aside.

  Church pointed at three red dots on the grided screen. “There are the kenneled ones…” He glanced down as the vid monitor beneath lit up. “And there’s Mortenson. What the devil is he doing?”

  Crespi peered over Church’s shoulder. A thin, middle-aged man in a work uniform knelt amid a pile of decontamination suits. As the audio became clear, Crespi could tell that the man was humming.

  Church went back to the upper screen, talking softly to himself as the station’s prints flickered by rapidly. “Oh, where, oh, where has my little dog—there, freeze it!” He jabbed one finger at the small red dot. “In that breaker room!”

  Right next to Mortenson.

  The tech seated to Church’s left spoke quickly. “Shall I put Mortenson on com, sir?”

  Church shook his head. “Let me do it. That alien is only twenty yards away, if that. If Mortenson panics, it’ll be over in a millisecond.”

  Church reached over and tapped a button. “Mortenson, this is Colonel Doctor Church.”

  The man’s reaction would have been funny if not for the circumstances. He jerked to his feet and looked around wildly, shocked by the voice from nowhere, dropping the tool he’d held.
<
br />   “Uh, yessir! Colonel Doctor Church, sir.” He regained his composure, looked up at the nearest camera.

  Church spoke calmly, firmly. “I want you to go directly to the compressor room in SJ 12.”

  Confusion played across Mortenson’s thin features. “Right away, sir?”

  “Yes, immediately. I want you there in six seconds.”

  Behind Crespi, Thaves muttered angrily. “What is that nitwit doing futzing around with those suits?”

  The vid image switched, showed Mortenson as he walked quickly down a shadowy corridor. He was on one of the lower levels of the station, primarily a maintenance and storage area. Mortenson hurried, but didn’t seem frightened.

  Crespi felt his heart pounding with each of the tech’s steps. God, if he had any idea…

  Mortenson walked into the compressor room and addressed the camera there, set at eye level just inside the door. “I’m here, sir. Do you copy?”

  Church cracked a tight grin. “Big and bold, Mortenson. Shut the door behind you and lock it, please.”

  Mortenson glanced away for a second and then back to the camera. The audio clearly picked up the sound of the door sliding firmly shut.

  Crespi could feel the combined tension in the monitor room give way. He exhaled heavily, not realizing until then that he had been holding his breath.

  “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

  Church rolled his head back. “Yes. Give thanks. You just had a close squeak.”

  Mortenson frowned. “What’s the problem, sir?”

  The admiral stepped forward and shouted at the video image.

  “This is Admiral Thaves. What the hell were you doing with those decon suits?”

  Mortenson shrank back from the com and spoke nervously. “I was changing the filters, sir.”

  “On whose authority?”

  “Station’s orders, sir. Is there a problem?”

  Crespi had looked away, almost embarrassed by Thaves’s blustering reaction to the crisis. What he saw made him spin back to the screen, terrified. A moving red dot.

  Before he could speak, he saw it. They all saw it, suddenly dropping into the video image directly behind the unknowing Mortenson