Aliens Omnibus 4

by Yvonne Navarro

  The Nemesis shuddered noisily around them, temporarily swallowing Candyman’s words as the forward motion slowed to descent.

  “…and stick it to your mother!” Pulaski finished, bellowing to be heard over the compressors.

  Jess glanced at Teape, who shrugged. “Sometimes he forgets that the ship is bigger, you know?”

  Jess cracked up and Pulaski tried to look menacing, but failed. Teape liked them better than the last two on Vengeance. His first seven runs had been with a quiet but competent pair of ex-gangsters who had finally time-served and gone home. The replacements, though: an overweight spouse-beating psychopath named Aberdeen and his toady, a tall, pimply-faced bigot who kept trying to get everyone to call him “Razor.” They’d been malicious and stupid, and Teape had applied to transfer before they’d been out for a week. Baiters were in high demand, since most crapped out on their first try, so transfers were approved quickly. Teape had heard that both men went MIA on their first mission; dorked and corked was the term for it, lost to the alien first-stage, the face-huggers. No great loss, really; he was just glad he hadn’t been there—

  —to see those little babies crawling for you, Teepee, the sticky fingers trailing embryonic fluid tickling around your throat, eh, Teepee-Teape?

  He tried to pretend that he hadn’t heard, but for the briefest of instants the locker room smelled like them. When an egg opened, there was an overwhelming scent for just a second or two; he’d once heard it described like a chemist’s version of rising bread yeast and fresh semen, and that was close…

  He blew out sharply, and the odor was gone. He had no doubts that it had been one of the Voice’s newer tactics; it was searching for weaknesses, trying to draw him out.

  And why would I do that, Teepee? How could I do that, unless you were already insane?

  Teape grinned to himself. He knew how it was; insanity was relative. Considering what he currently did for a living, he was batting a thousand.

  The final metallic thunk of the landing gear drew the three of them to their feet, checking lockers and shouldering rifles.

  “Down and power-down,” Pop called out. “Let’s take care of business, boys; cargo gates in two.”

  In the sudden quiet and lack of motion, Teape realized that they were there.

  An unexpected rush of what was to come crashed over his senses like a wave of darkness, filled his mind with the things he spent all of his waking hours trying to hide from: the stink of bodies dead and dying, a cloying stench like rotten apples and sour milk and vomit; the lithe and cool press of improbable metallic limbs against him in the furious dark, echoing with shrieks of animal rage; humid, steaming dead air hissed between alien jaws, centimeters away from his own unblinking eyes. Most of all the terror, the pure sensation of one’s sanity struggling to get away and the knowledge that you cannot hold sway for much longer. Not a snap; it would be the sound of wet tissue gently pulled, you can hear it starting to stretch and only the very bad place will follow where the screams never stop—

  A huge hand cracked down on his shoulder, Pulaski’s chocolate-tinged voice monstrous in his ear. “You startin’ without us there, Teepee?”

  Teape let it go, all of it. He looked into Pulaski’s earnest, stupid face and felt a genuine smile creep into place. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and take up breath mints, Candyman? You smell like a fuckin’ Zagnut.”

  “You and your mother, pussyface,” Pulaski replied promptly.

  “Enough, white boys. Let’s go learn what we can.” Jess walked between them, hanging a right to lead them to the boarding gate.

  Teape brought up the rear as they walked silently through the belly of the ship, past dim corridors of greased machinery and panels of time-smudged buttons. He tried not to look to either side, not wanting to open up any of his mind’s doors; he’d had enough of long, dark tunnels to last the rest of his life.

  Teape tried to think about blackness, and wondered how close he was to the end of his rope.

  3

  Lara and Pop stood watch while the boys stowed their weapons on the APC and then walked down to the personnel ramp. Lara punched in the lock code, sighing heavily as the system asked her to reenter, not once but twice. Piece of shit.

  The Nemesis was an old Corps ship, actually a class-C “Etcetera” (Elite Team Test Cruiser) from twenty years back, specifically designed to experiment with heavy and expensive machinery in a multitude of environments. The model had long been discontinued due to “ineffective subsistence planning,” plenty of space for equipment but cramped living areas—but with the corporative sector hiring out ex-military to run their Max operations, they’d made the proper connections to lease out abandoned lines inexpensively. All of the safety precautions had been installed on a separate system, and the Company had cut corners farther by running the whole thing off of one completely outmoded program. Which meant—

  “That thing’s a piece of shit,” Pop mumbled, and Lara nodded.

  “My thoughts exactly. Hold on a sec…”

  With a wheezy gasp, the lock popped and a cool wind edged into the cargo hold. Lara took a deep breath and smiled as everyone else inhaled along with her, hungry for a taste. Compared to travel air, the dull smells of real sand and dirt were amazingly wild and free, incredibly rich…

  “Generators?”

  Lara turned to see that Ellis had joined them, his solemnly youthful face flushed from trying to breathe it all in.

  Lara shook her head. “No, it’s real. Which reminds me, listen up—Deep 4 has an oxy-stretch pumped into the mines, but surface is thin; take it easy up here.”

  They filed out and stood in a loose semicircle without speaking, each of them studying the stark environment. Traon was cold and plain, its tiny sun-star casting deep shadows against the flat and rocky terrain even now, 1320 hours by her watch. Past the blank expanses of red, dry land, Lara could see the outline of a small mountain range directly north, dusted with bland indigenous flora. Chilly air gusted, kicking up the light topsoil in pink smears across the oversized landing area. There were five ships besides Nemesis, three medium-weight corporate space transports and a couple of flitters, nothing interesting—all of it set to the flat, lonely sounds of wind and sand in passage.

  Bordering the LZ to the west and southwest were a group of buildings connected by walkovers, flat plasticrete bilevels in uniform gray. Farther out she could see one of the giant shaft openings, covered against the elements. Strict pour job, let the pieces gel and glue ’em together, a Company standard. These operations were built for efficiency rather than aesthetics, but set against Traon’s barren, windblown landscape, Deep 4 looked as though it belonged here.

  A single figure emerged from one of the covered walkways, striding quickly toward them across the open expanse of ground, bent into the wind. Sturges, probably. As he got closer he lifted his head and then paused for a beat, probably counting their group. Pop chuckled at his hesitation.

  Technically the team members were supposed to be locked down in the briefing room after weapon-stock, but Pop wasn’t too by-the-book on Company regs for volunteers—one of his policy rebellions that Lara agreed on, at least with this team. Pop had pointed out that without a bare minimum of mutual trust, decent morale was impossible. As felons, they were denied alcohol, erotic materials, marijuana—anything and everything that civilians took for granted as allowable (if not necessarily moral) vices. Pop had gone out of his way to make them comfortable with things they could have; he’d laid in Pulaski’s stash of candy, as well as a decent stock of old cartoon vids, one of Jess’s pet pleasures. A few moments of real air wasn’t so very much, considering what was ahead. Even with Max, it was a job with a high mortality rate.

  Sturges smiled nervously as he came closer, the hood of his jacket flipping up behind him in the wind. Tall, thin build, shaggy blond, and in his early fifties. Lara could see the dark circles beneath his eyes, the weary tightness of his jaw. He carefully avoided looking at the ground team
, his gaze darting between Pop and Lara.

  “Commander Izzard?” His voice was soft and somehow listless, almost lost in the Traon wind.

  Pop stepped forward. “Call me Pop,” he said easily. “And you must be Supervisor Sturges. Why don’t we get inside and make the rest of the introductions over coffee? You can give us the lowdown without having to yell or freeze your balls off, am I right?”

  Pop laid a casual arm across the man’s thin shoulders and led him back to the Nemesis ramp, still chatting amiably. Sturges nodded along with him, content to be led, his expression one of dazed exhaustion. Pop handled him well, Lara had to admit; he was a natural for putting people at ease, seeming to know immediately what they needed to be comfortable. His blond, rugged looks and blue-eyed smile didn’t hurt, either.

  He certainly knew what I needed, didn’t he? In spades.

  As if he’d heard, Pop glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her, jerking his head toward the ship. Lara’s breath caught for just a second before she picked up on the command; God, she was acting like a child.

  “Okay, recess is over, kids, round ’em up and head ’em on. Let’s get to briefing.”

  Pulaski grinned evilly and elbowed Jess in the ribs. “Aw, doesn’t teacher wanna stay outside and play?”

  Lara looked him up and down carefully, then smiled sweetly. “Not much in the way of playground equipment out here, is there? Think I’ll pass. Come on, move out.”

  All three of them cracked up and started inside, nodding approval and the other two ragging on Pulaski; she felt a brief rush of satisfaction, pleased to have met innuendo requirements. It had taken her a while to feel okay with the burlesque humor, the only woman on a volunteer ship— but she believed that these boys were trustworthy, at least in that regard. As much as they talked shit about sex and women, there was no maliciousness in their banter; she’d finally seen it as the big macho show it actually was, what her mother had playfully called “weenie-waving.” Besides, she was a marine…

  Lara held Ellis back a few paces until the boys were out of earshot, wanting to make sure he wasn’t too jangled. “Okay. Get Max’s stats on-screen for Pop to look at, then call up a copy of the mine’s layout plans, they’ll be piped in direct. Keep your ’com open and follow along when Sturges talks. Pay particular attention to the logistics with regard to time factor—”

  Ellis frowned. “Won’t that be recorded?”

  “Yeah, but you’ll find that it helps to have heard about it when you get in there.” She smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way, remembering how hard her own first run had been.

  “Pop will call you when it’s time to move Max. And if you don’t understand something, it’s vital that you find out; call me, I’ll fill you in. My duties are basic keyboard on this one, so it’s no problem.”

  Ellis smiled hesitantly, looking relieved. “Got it. Thanks.”

  He turned and walked up the passenger ramp, and with a last wistful look at the surface of Traon, Lara followed.

  Her pace quickened as they split up on ground level, each headed for separate ends of the silent ship. She wanted to know how bad it would be, basic outline of probable risk. This was supposed to be a quick one, contained infestation, which meant they’d be prepped in five, moving on ten.

  Facing the enemy in fifteen minutes.

  * * *

  The Candyman shifted from one foot to the other, bouncing lightly on his toes. Fuckin’ blah blah blah, here are the men, this is the ship. Boring. With the ’cyclers off, it was too hot for armor in the small briefing room. He couldn’t even mouth off with Sturges in the room. The guy was in no shape for humor what with his men being trapped; poor shlum probably didn’t even know they was dead yet.

  They were all crowded around the tabled comp’ screen, drinking coffee as Lara tapped up Deep 4’s plans. Pulaski was drinking water; running clearance was a nightmare for dehydration. He wasn’t a fuckin’ health nut or anything, he liked a steak and a shot as much as the next guy, but a workout was a workout.

  The flatscreen monitor flashed through a quick series of prints, overhead and side views of colony layout until it stopped on mining shaft One. Supervisor Sturges ran a rough hand across the plexi, pointing to a series of etched lines.

  “There were two of the creatures in an excavator we reclaimed from our Proteus base, here—” Sturges skipped his hand over a tunnel layout and pointed again. “Thankfully, we managed to confine the outbreak to number One shaft. We’ve closed off the shaft and sealed the lower blast barrier, here. It’s designed to hold up to a full cave-in, so the, uh, XT can’t get out.” Pulaski listened but didn’t look at the screen; all of the directions would be lined in to them, and he knew north from south. Besides, the little graphic representations confused him when they actually put down inside. Fuckin’ waste of time, this all could’ve been done between Lara and Deep 4 over air. He was ready.

  “How many are still trapped down there, Mr. Sturges?” Katherine Lara, now there was a diversion. She looked good, dog tags hanging down over a loose tank, tight exmarine girlbody. She wore a USMC baseball hat most of the time, but she was a redhead. He preferred bigger mams, actually, but she was still cute; too bad he didn’t have an open marriage. Sheila’d kick his ass for even thinking about it too hard. Now that was a woman who could fight.

  “Thirty-one men and women,” said Sturges, blinking tiredly. “Acid burned through several cables on the deep hoist; there was no way we could reach them.” That fuckin’ sucked. Pulaski felt for the guy, his friends all dying like that. Before prison he’d been in the security biz, where a couple of his best buddies had been taken out while covering some politician’s tour. He’d felt like shit for weeks, comrades down and all. The only comfort was that another bodyguard there had blown the assassins into dog food directly after. Pulaski hoped that Sturges would feel better when Max was through.

  “Any contact at all?” Lara asked.

  Sturges shook his head. “The ’com line was in one of those cables.”

  “And this happened eight days ago?” That from Pop. He ran a hand up the back of his neck and stared thoughtfully at the plans; it didn’t take a genius to know what he was thinking. Fucked for Sturges, but at least they wouldn’t have to pack in any medkits.

  “All right team, take a look.” Pop tapped up a new layout, a much simpler diagram with straight lines and clear labels. He pointed to a vertical tunnel titled “Shaft One,” bisected by an offshoot, “Connecting One A” Pulaski leaned over Teape to get a clear view.

  “Our quickest way in is straight down One. Jess should be able to rig up a splice on the hoist at the midway junction, One A, here. There’s one storage spur past that that Teape will check out, then the tunnel at the bottom, where it was called in from. Fail-safe will go at One A.”

  Jess whistled softly, and Pulaski felt a rush of teeth-gritting adrenaline at the thought of all that rock coming straight down. With the setup like it was, the nuke would take out most if not all of Deep 4’s shaft system. Fuckin’ massive destruction.

  “Bye-bye, bugs, Teepee!” Pulaski whispered loudly, and rapped sharply on Teape’s helmet. Teape was a cool guy; funny if kinda whacked.

  “Bye-bye, us,” Teape shot back. He ducked out from under Pulaski’s fist, scowling. Pop glared at them, but Sturges wasn’t paying attention to them. He seemed to have awakened suddenly, eyes wide and blinking.

  “A—a nuclear device? Is that necessary, Commander Izzard? Those silurium deposits are priceless…”

  “Strict company requirement, Sturges. You already know we’re dealing with the most dangerous life-form man has encountered; when my team goes in there, we can’t take any chances. If we fail, nothing comes out alive.”

  Yeah, Pop, lay that shit down! Pop ran the law without being a dick about it, treating the team like they was his own buddies; he knew a lot of good combat stories, too. Not some pilot-pussy who didn’t know the ass end of an M240. Plus, he’d started the whole “Candyman
” thing, which Pulaski liked.

  Sturges looked pleadingly at Pop, face down and unhappy. “But the people trapped in there—”

  “It’s been eight days, Sturges. I’m sorry, but if they’re not dead already, it’s too late for them.”

  He turned to Lara. “Anything else—Lieutenant?”

  Pulaski kept a straight face but he knew better; he’d overheard Pop call her “Kat” once or twice when he thought no one was listening. They were boinking, no two ways about it.

  Holy shit he missed Sheila! He hoped she was saving it up for when he got home; they were both gonna be sore for weeks.

  Lara shrugged. “The usual reminders. Keep dropping your relay beacons, watch your screens. If the signal trace fades, go back and make good. Maintain communications at all times, and listen up for Ellis.”

  Pop nodded, then raised his voice to address the team. “All right, that’s it! You know the drill, let’s get it done!”

  “Yo!” Jess twirled his finger in the air. Move out.

  The Candyman was filled with a sudden need to shout, dance, to bust something apart as he followed the other two into the corridor His lungs threatened to burst from the swell of carbs and adrenaline that coursed through his blood, howled at his muscles to break free, and he could feel the stirrings of an erection. This was supposed to be punishment? This was a party!

  In a surge of restrained glee, he threw back his head and laughed gustily, long and loud in the tight hallway, giant fists clenched. Jess smiled and Teape scurried ahead, probably remembering the last time, when Pulaski had slapped his back and knocked him sprawling.

  He heard his own laughter pound back at him in the muffled space, urging him onward, a call to arms; they had them a bughunt, and the Candyman liked nothing more than kicking a little XT ass.

  4

  “You run that check, Ellis?”

  Ellis looked up at the cam bolted over his console and nodded, trying to look efficient. Lara had all of the monitors on, SOP on countdown.