Aliens Omnibus 4

by Yvonne Navarro

  Pop’s voice suddenly blared over the intercom. “No Max, no duties. You’re off, Ellis. I’ll call you if we need you.”

  “Yes, sir—” The ’com clicked off before he could ask to come up and watch from ops; great. He’d just fuck right off then, was that okay?

  He sighed. Why did Pop Izzard dislike him so much? He hadn’t been incompetent or disrespectful, but Pop had treated him as though he’d come on board to screw things up and then laugh about it. Like he was somehow intruding on Pop’s territory.

  Maybe it had something to do with Lara; he’d overheard the start of an argument after the team had been briefed, having to do with Pop’s trying to assign her duty over to Jess. Ellis wasn’t sure why exactly, but he got the impression that their relationship was a little more involved than either of them had let on. Maybe Pop just didn’t like her paying attention to anyone else.

  Ellis frowned. He liked Lara, but thought of her as a supervisor more than anything; she hadn’t come across as though she were attracted to him, either. On the other hand, Pop was kind of an asshole, and assholes didn’t generally bother with logic when it came to stuff like that.

  Ellis had plenty of experience with the asshole type, growing up the smallest kid in his community. His own father had been kind of like Pop, bluff and macho to the point of ridiculousness, a hands-on machine tech who believed that men shouldn’t cry and women stayed at home; the shame of fathering a small and physically weak boy had made him an overbearing brute, patronizing and sarcastic. He had pushed his thin and awkward son to fight his tormentors at school and then shaken his head sadly when he came home bruised and afraid…

  And look at you now, Brian, still shying away from battle like a cowering little rabbit. Using a man in a suit to feel like a man yourself…

  Ellis shook his head of his father’s voice. Jack Ellis had been dead from a massive coronary for over six years; he hadn’t even been around to see his son shoot up to an average height in his last year of high school—but Ellis knew that that’s what he would have said. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t true, but he felt the same useless frustration he’d felt growing up, trying to defend himself against the embarrassing remarks and cruel, red-faced distance…

  He powered off the monitor and went to Max’s room, thinking about his childhood and the decisions that led him to working with synthetics. It had started as a fascination with the programming of “artificial” people, but hadn’t he been intrigued by their physical power, too?

  Ellis walked into the cold space and sat at the edge of Max’s table, studying the formidable countenance of the silent machine. He had enjoyed operating Max, there was no question. And there wasn’t much of a doubt about where it had come from, the desire to be powerful; he’d suffered a lifetime of feeling weak, of being told that he was hopelessly incapable of aggressive behavior.

  But I’m not using anyone; he’s a volunteer, an antisocial, and it’s the Company that owns the copyright, not me….

  Now who sounded like Izzard?

  The drop-shuttle was probably docked by now, but he didn’t want to watch with Pop—and actually, he didn’t think he wanted to watch at all anymore. Ellis frowned thoughtfully and stared at Max for a long time, wondering about the man inside and about what strength really was.

  * * *

  Pop deftly maneuvered the Nemesis toward the bay marked “B-3,” responding to Lara’s directions with efficient ease. They paused in front of the dock for Jess to trip the air lock with a slender mechanical arm, getting it on the first try; the four thick lock panels slid away, revealing a bay much smaller than Lara had expected, empty and apparently in order.

  Air lock sealed, sensors checked and cleared, they stepped out into the smell of machine lube and recycled dust. The station’s backup system was on, lights cut down, and the air decidedly stale. Lara could feel the pulse jump in her throat as they checked weapons, hoping that the command center hadn’t been taken early on.

  Jess looked at Lara, who motioned in front of them with one gloved hand, “your show.” Jess smiled and stepped in front of her, seeming calm and in control. Lara had admired that cool capability more than once, and although he was technically supposed to defer to her, she was fine with letting him lead. This was his crew.

  “Dropping relay,” said Lara, and she placed a receiver next to the high doorframe, activating the lock.

  “Relay check,” said Jess.

  “Check.” Teape was flushed and sweating, eyes wide— anxious, but not like the pale and trembling demeanor that accompanied infiltration.

  “Check!” Pulaski grinned and adjusted his harness, eager as always. The Candyman was wearing an M56 setup, the automatic weapon mounted to his chest and hip armor by a stabilized articulation arm; if they were attacked in a wave, Pulaski would be in heaven.

  “Coming through clear as a bell, over,” said Pop.

  Lara grit her teeth against all thoughts of Eric and unslung her own M41, reflexively setting the rifle to four-round burst with her thumb. She hadn’t hit a sim range in over six months but had always been comfortable with weapons, expert capacity throughout training. Still, she should have practiced more recently; she’d gotten lazy.

  Teape checked the tracker and shook his head. “Got nothin’.”

  Lara breathed deeply and stayed ready.

  “Opening internal door, over,” said Jess. He tapped the control panel and stepped back.

  The tall doors parted with a soft hiss and revealed a polished, silent corridor, easily lit by soft yellow light. Nothing moved, no shadows; it would have seemed like a perfectly normal station corridor except for the dark, chunky mess about halfway down its length and the smell that washed over them in a warm and humid wave.

  Jess pointed position and Teape took the lead with the sensor, flanked by Jess and Pulaski; Lara brought up the rear, sliding sideways up the hall, already knowing that she didn’t want to look; the stink was violent.

  “Looks like you can start that body count, Pop,” said Jess.

  Lara swallowed dryly and looked down at what was left of a human being, lying in the rotting dark mush that was his or her entrails. One leg was missing, torn off above the knee; the other had been stripped of flesh and muscle, the dried sinews hanging like black fibrous threads from the skeletonized limb. The corpse’s midsection simply wasn’t there, the shriveled hands clawing up from a tacky puddle of almost black decay. The faceless skull grinned at them, flaps of striated muscle drying on the bones.

  Teape’s tracker suddenly ticked to life and they all tensed, turning away from the stripped human and raising arms. Teape turned and pointed with the tracker at a closed elevator door a few meters down the hall.

  “Multiple readings here, small—”

  Jess raised his weapon. “Lara, get the controls.”

  She moved quickly to the door, heart pounding as the team trained their rifles in line, Pulaski at the center. Adrenaline coursed through every part of her, psyching her up for the fight.

  She flipped the override and put her finger on the release. Jess took a deep breath and nodded. Lara hit the. button and jumped away, spinning to target—

  —as dozens of face-huggers leapt and skittered out of the open shaft and the team let loose in a blaze of explosive fire.

  12

  Teape opened up on the wildly scrabbling creatures, crying out in rage and disgust. Dozens, hundreds clattered through the shaft, alien carriers flocking for prey. The pulse of firepower sent acid and spidery bodies flying, the monsters only shrieking as they died. The chemical scent of melting plasticrete quickly overpowered the cloying stink of the dead body.

  “Door!” Jess shouted, and Lara inched back toward the control panel, dealing a path in shattered chunks of acid-spewing body parts.

  Teape felt a burst of self-righteous glee with each screech that signified another death, his rifle hailing pain and destruction across the leaping, crawling face-huggers. They scrambled over spurting pieces of their s
iblings, desperate to plant their parasitic seed.

  Pulaski swung the smart gun in wide, sweeping arcs, taking out the bulk of the swarming horde as Jess and Teape fired at those that crawled out to the sides. Lara reached the control panel and engaged, the door sliding closed as she blew away another of the crawling nightmares.

  Jess covered Lara as the heavily insulated door panels crunched over seeping acid and bone, the creatures scrabbling to get through in time. Teape blew apart another one in a burst of fire and sound, the vile spat of the exploding creeper, louder now as the elevator sealed.

  Another skittered toward him, impossibly quick on clattering legs, its long, ribbed tail thrusting it forward. Teape cut it in half, deeply satisfied as the hard shell fragmented and spun away, its death cry a strangled metallic screech.

  Next to him, the Candyman grinned as he sprayed the ticks with caseless rounds; the automatic weapon swept smoothly on its mount, creatures targeted by the infra sensor.

  From behind a mound of smoldering bodies another face-hugger sprang at Teape. He grinned, too, feeling strong and in control as the pulse of bullets peppered the alien baby.

  Not gonna get me, you shit! Not me—!

  He fired again and again, the movements in front of him sporadic now. The corridor was littered with dozens of smoking embryo carriers, twitching as they died.

  Teape turned and searched for a target, but nothing moved. Pulaski had stopped, too, and Jess lifted his rifle and held up one hand. Silence, except for the hiss of smoking paneling and a faint ringing in Teape’s ears, the aftermath of explosive battle.

  “We got a reception committee, Pop,” said Jess, and exhaled sharply. “Looks like—”

  The rest of his words were lost as Lara gasped and fired. Teape looked over just in time to see that they had missed one, a coiled tick in the doorframe that had waited for an opportunity to spring.

  Lara’s shot went clear as the face-hugger launched itself at her. Teape tracked the creature but couldn’t fire for risk of hitting Lara, saw Candyman and Jess do the same.

  Lara dropped her weapon. Her hands flew up to her head and covered her mouth in the split second before it reached her. The creature struck her face, sent her reeling backward against the wall. The spidery legs wrapped around her helmet, and Teape knew it was only a matter of seconds.

  Lara wasn’t wearing a mask; if the face-hugger did its job, she was as good as dead.

  * * *

  Jess didn’t stop to think as Lara collapsed to the deck. In two steps he was at her side, rifle dropped next to hers.

  “Lara!” Pop shouted into his ear, a cry of panic and fear.

  The face-hugger wasn’t seated properly, Lara’s hands in its way. The long, taloned legs clutched her helmet tightly; the thick ovipositor pushed at the back of her hand, the thick tail looped around her throat and tightening. She gasped for air, struggling to keep the muscular creature from getting a solid grip. The tail slipped tighter, the face-hugger working to render her unconscious so it could complete its task.

  Lara’s wide, searching gaze found Jess’s as he grabbed at one of the leathery limbs and the tail. It was strong, hunching its abdomen closer to her purpling, terrified face even as he pulled. She convulsed, body tightening and legs kicking out. It had cut off her air.

  “Hold still,” said Jess, and Teape was suddenly on Lara’s other side, fingers grasping for a hold around the slickly plated tail. Jess focused on the leg with both hands, arms straining as he took a deep breath and yanked. There was a muffled crack and a tendril of acid blood trickled over the helmet, the creature silent even in pain.

  “Over here!” Pulaski shouted, behind and to the left.

  Teape had worked the tail loose. Jess snatched at another leg. There was no time, the alien blood deterred by the helmet’s coating but still seeping toward Lara’s forehead in a hissing stream. She pulled in a ragged breath and tried to keep still.

  Jess looked at Teape. “On one!”

  Teape nodded, gripped the tail as it whipped wildly.

  “One!”

  Jess and Teape yanked and threw the frantically scrabbling creature away from Lara. Jess watched just long enough to see it hit the ground in front of Pulaski.

  “Got it—!” A short burst of fire and the crippled alien shrieked and died. For a change, the Candyman wasn’t laughing.

  Jess grabbed for the canister of neutralizer on his belt as Teape carefully unlatched her helmet. Lara still drew in long, shuddering gasps but didn’t move; Jess wondered randomly if he would’ve remembered his training so well had it happened to him.

  His thumb found the trigger and a tight stream of acid neutralizer sprayed across her helmet and clouded it pale green. Even as the chemical did its work, the alien blood dribbled harmlessly onto her clear brow.

  “You’re okay, you’re clear,” said Jess, and Lara closed her eyes, tears squeezing out from the corners as the sharp fumes enveloped her face. When she opened them, Jess smiled at her gently.

  He could see gratitude and relief in her wet blue gaze, her breathing shaky but calmer, easier. Teape laid a hand on one of her trembling shoulders and smiled lopsidedly.

  “If you wanted my job, all you had to do was ask,” he said. Pulaski joined them, grinning.

  “That little fucker is a stain,” he said, and Jess grinned himself; it was as close as the Candyman came to expressing sympathy.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, and coughed. Pop broke in again, ignoring procedure to keep silent until reported to.

  “Lara, are you okay?” His voice was sugary with concern and emotion.

  Lara closed her eyes again, but not before Jess saw a flash of anger. She sat up slowly but didn’t respond to the question.

  “She’s all right, Pop, over,” said Jess. He didn’t know the exact situation, but it was obvious that Lara didn’t have dick to say to Izzard; Jess wondered how that would sit with their esteemed commander.

  Jess and Teape helped her up and they retrieved weapons, checking for splatters of blood on their armor. The hall was awash in pieces of face-hugger and bubbling puddles of dark acid, eating random passages through the deck as it melted through. Clouds of toxic-smelling smoke drifted away in the dead air, the stink of the rotting corpse already back.

  “Well, that sucked. Maybe the stairs are a better option,” said Lara, her face paled but contained. She motioned at a door near the end of the corridor and smiled weakly.

  Jess nodded, impressed by how together she was. Not because she was a woman—some of the bravest volunteers he’d ever known had been female, in spite of what guys like Pulaski mouthed. But he’d seen soldiers lose it after an attack like that one, torn apart by facing their own deaths, unable to go on without help. Lara tightened her equipment pack and waited.

  “Pop, I’m calling secure, over.” Jess didn’t want to, but there was no time to clear; the drones would be coming soon, if they weren’t already on their way.

  “Copy that,” said Pop, and his voice was now a blank wall.

  “Let’s move out, then. Candyman, lead off,” said Jess.

  “You know it,” breathed Pulaski. He moved toward the closed stairwell and activated the smart gun’s tracker before opening the door, his broad shoulders tight. Nothing moved.

  Teape and Lara followed, Jess taking the rear as they descended through the quiet wasteland of station 949.

  * * *

  The Candyman slipped down the tightly angled stairs, unable to see more than a couple of meters ahead because of the curve. He watched the weapon’s built-in tracker, pleased as all shit to be in control of the M56 and still pumped from the face-hugger action.

  Man, that Lara was one cool client; he respected anyone who could get up after nearly gettin’ dorked and corked and crack a joke. He went off a lot about boobs and stuff, but there were girls he thought were pretty kick-ass. His wife had set him straight on that.

  He moved the M56’s barrel back and forth and took in the blank readings th
rough the setup’s eyepiece. The smart gun tracked automatically using infrared sensors, feeding him information through the headset beneath his helmet. On full open, the weapon had a cyclic rate of something like 1,200 rpm; this one had a heatsink installed and was loaded to capacity.

  So come on already, bugfucks, the Candyman’s waitin’….

  He could hear the others a few meters back, quiet except for the soft sound of footsteps on metal. It was warmer than it should be, and humid—but the stairs were clean, no burns or blood.

  He stopped at a level platform in front of the first door and swept the weapon, but there was no movement on the other side. Gooddamn, where were they? The bugs had been here two weeks on a station packed with civilians; they shoulda been breaking down walls to get at live flesh.

  Pulaski sighed. “Clear to first door,” he said heavily. “Goin’ down.”

  He turned back to the steps and the sensor ticked to life, a blur of motion maybe three meters ahead. He grinned, knuckles tightening on the rear grip of the smart gun.

  “Hold up, I got movement—!” The wired plexi over his right eye listed coordinates and stats, but all he needed was for it to come on up; looked like a single drone, creeping slowly, stealthy…

  The Candyman breathed easily, his brain buzzing and eager for XT bloodshed. The dim stairwell was silent now; nothing moved.

  He heard it at the same time the sensor showed another meter spanned, a single step for a drone. A low, guttural hiss reached his ears and he felt a trickle of sweat run down the small of his back.

  With a screeching, trumpeting cry, the creature jumped the distance and landed in front of Pulaski. Its talons were spread wide, tail slashing the air behind it; the inner set of dark metal teeth were revealed in a dripping snarl, the long skull improbably big for the tall, insectoid body.

  The Candyman let the weapon lead his movements, squeezing the trigger as the drone prepared to leap again.