The Complete Aliens Omnibus, Volume One (Earth Hive, Nightmare Asylum, the Female War)

by Steve Perry

  * * *

  Wilks found himself in one of the forward storerooms alone, the door locked and guarded by a pair of Massey’s androids. Things didn’t look good for the home team.

  * * *

  Massey sat in front of the telemetry array, watching the feeds from the APC and helmetcams the marines wore. The usual life-systems input wasn’t there. The Colonial Marines must be on a tight budget these days. Well. That didn’t matter. He didn’t care if they died, he only needed another specimen or two and whatever information he could gather on the aliens’ homeworld. Plenty of that coming in. The APC sensors gathered it up, gravity, atmosphere, lighting, weather conditions, all kinds of readings, and spewed it into the Benedict’s recorders. Offhand, it didn’t look like a world that was going to become a vacation spot anytime soon. Gravity a bit higher than Terran Standard, maybe a gee and a quarter, so fat people and those with heart conditions would not like it much, even if it happened to look like Paradise, and in no way did it look inviting. The local star made most of the planet tropical, at least weather-wise. There were small ice caps at the poles, but even the more temperate regions would give you body heat plus a couple degrees. Vegetation was sparse, the oceans were full of nasty salts, and there didn’t seem to be many places where an unprotected human could survive even without killer locals prowling for supper. The poisoned air would require full-time niters or implants. Looked like a place to dump garbage to Massey.

  “Commander, we are breaking through the overcast,” came the android pilot’s voice.

  “I hear you.”

  Massey switched to the nose cam in the APC. The hologram lit the air to his left, showing a swirl of clouds that flew past and thinned. Under the cloud cover, the land below was dull and gray, scraggly trees or what passed for them, lots of young igneous rock exposed to the air, sharp edges, and dirty colors.

  “Got a big thunderstorm forty klicks ahead,” the copilot said. “Tops up to twenty thousand meters, look at the voltage on that lightning.”

  “Go around the storm,” Massey ordered. “Find me a nest of the things and put down within a couple of kilometers. Don’t want our marines to get too tired on their walk.”

  “Copy, Commander.”

  Massey watched the shifting pictures. So far, this mission had gone exactly as he had planned. Right on the nose. It was almost boring. Maybe something would happen down there to spice things up a little.

  * * *

  Billie found that the ventilation tube opened into one of the small kitchens. Nobody seemed to be around, so she slid down the shaft and wiggled her way onto a microwave oven top. She quickly climbed to the floor.

  Most of the food preparation on the Benedict consisted of heating and opening SMPs. That didn’t require anything more than pulling and twisting a tab. Nobody produced wonderful meals for dinner here, but there were some special occasions when something a bit more elaborate than field rations might be called for. Visiting officers, an ambassador, perhaps. So the kitchen could be used to make a soypro cutlet or a stew, maybe even a pie or cake, and therefore there were implements.

  Billie dug through all the cabinets until she found a combination knife and vegetable peeler with a U-shaped slotted extrusion pointed for coring. The edges were serrated on one side and sharp on the other; the blade was only as long as her forefinger. Not much of a weapon, but she could stab somebody with it if she could get close enough.

  A better find was a tapered hollow plastic tube that could be filled with liquid and frozen, to make a rolling pin. Billie triggered the freezer in the handle and in about twenty seconds the liquid inside turned solid. It was cold in her grip but heavy and solid; she could bash in a skull with it. Again, it wasn’t as good as a gun, but it was better than nothing.

  She hefted the rolling pin. Now all she had to do was sneak up behind a whole shipful of armed men and whack each one on the head. Simple, right?

  She chuckled to herself. You’ve lost your mind for sure this time, kid. Still, it felt better to be doing something.

  * * *

  Massey watched from the remote hovercam as the marines marched out onto the surface of the alien world, in full gear except for weapons. Six of his own troops floated in three small open-air pod craft over the walking marines. The androids in the pods were armed and the marines below knew they could either do as they were told or be cut down.

  Sensors watched and listened and smelled and tasted and fed the results to Massey. He monitored his androids as they spoke to each other on their corns.

  “—move pretty well for men who don’t have enough oxygen to breathe—”

  “—we in jeopardy here?”

  “That’s a negative, the alien life form is ground-based.”

  Massey mentally tuned out the chatter. His plan was simple enough: he would march the marines into the nearest hive where the aliens could grab them and implant eggs in them. Then he would send his androids in to retrieve them. Stephens had been instructed to refuse to allow plasma rifles on his ship, but Massey had enough such weapons and chargers on the company vessel to outfit a small army. However tough the aliens might be, they couldn’t stand up to energy blasts that would blow holes in durasteel armor plate easier than a man could poke his finger through damp tissue paper. No, that wasn’t going to be a problem. Once he had a specimen or two and all the information he could collect, he would head back to Earth.

  Maybe after that the company could find him something difficult to do.

  He laughed aloud. It was tough being the best. You had to invent your own challenges. Maybe he would quit the company, go to work for some smaller, hungrier concern. Turn against the people who now fed him and bite their hand a few times, just to show them he could do it. Yes. That had a certain appeal to it.

  Ah, well. Best not to get too overconfident. One mission at a time. You didn’t get to be the best by making mistakes, and counting embryos before the eggs were fertilized was unwise. He turned back to the holograms and information flow in front of him. One mission at a time.

  20

  Bueller and 1st Squad approached the mound cautiously—unarmed as they were, and walking knowingly to their deaths. The mound—nest? hive? whatever—loomed like an apartment-building-sized anthill. The surface was ridged and convoluted, a dull blackish-gray with bits of lighter color here and there. As they drew nearer, Bueller saw that the lighter bits were bones, a lot of them skulls, all blended into the surface.

  “Damn,” somebody said quietly.

  “Some kind of secretion, all right, with a little organic stuff mixed in for the hell of it.”

  There was an oval-shaped entrance with a beaten path leading to it maybe a hundred meters ahead.

  “I ain’t going in there,” Ramirez said. “Fuck this.”

  But the trio of air pods buzzing back and forth overhead like dragonflies meant otherwise. As if to confirm this, Bueller’s com came to life. “Move in,” the voice said. And to punctuate the command, a thin green plasma beam splashed against the ground behind the squad, digging a small smoking crater into the stony surface.

  “Wonder how the other squads are doing?” Chin said.

  “Who cares?” Ramirez said. “We’re about to become history here.”

  “This is what we came for,” Bueller said.

  “Fuck that,” Ramirez said. “We are supposed to be marines, not bait!”

  “I’m open to other ideas,” Bueller said.

  The six of them moved toward the entrance of the mound. Once they were inside the place, maybe they could just squat down and not go in any deeper.

  Right, Bueller. And the guy on the monitor’ll go blind and not see from our cams that we’re standing still.

  So, what can they do about it?

  They can fry us with a reflected plasma beam, that’s what they can do about it.

  Oh, yeah. Right.

  Or they can send one of the expendable androids down to hose us. Probably won’t even have to get out of the air pod
. Like Ramirez said, we’re history.

  The group reached the entrance. Bueller flicked his shoulder light on and took a deep breath. He stepped into the mound first.

  Whatever was gonna happen was gonna happen.

  * * *

  Billie wound her way slowly from the kitchen to the hallway that led toward the ship’s armory. A rolling pin and a peeler weren’t going to get her very far against a shipful of armed men. She needed a gun. And a whole lot of good luck. Maybe even a miracle or two.

  * * *

  Massey was staring through the holographic readouts when a tiny chime called for his attention. He focused on the screen. The three air pods were holding over the entrance to the first mound; the other marine squads hadn’t made it to their destinations yet. What was—?

  Doppler showed aircraft closing on the air pods.

  Impossible! There wasn’t any civilization on this world. The aliens didn’t have, couldn’t have flying devices!

  Then he realized what was wrong with the images. No heat signatures, no power leakage, no radio or radar or Doppler. Either the craft were so primitive they had to be gliders, or…

  Massey blinked. “Team One,” he said. “Alert!”

  * * *

  The first wave of flying creatures dived on the air pods. The cameras caught and recorded the images. They looked reptilian, with grayish, scaled skin. They had delta-shaped wings that spanned at least ten meters, short, sleek bodies and elongated heads with rows of pointed teeth. Carnivores, definitely. There were a dozen in the first group and they attacked soundlessly the three pods.

  The androids were good, Massey had to give them that. The plasma rifles lit and lines of green swept the air. The creatures fell and died as the high-energy beams cut off wings, slashed bodies, lopped heads. Nine of the things went down in the first three seconds as the six androids fired their weapons repeatedly, dodging in the agile little pods.

  But the second wave arrived and there were too many. One of the things took a beam in the chest, was probably dead instantly, but slammed into a pod and knocked it sideways. Another attacker flew in while the pod was tumbling and showed how well those big toothy jaws worked when it bit an arm from one of the androids. The one flying the pod. The pod spiraled down toward the ground, four or five of the beasts following it in controlled dives.

  The other two pods were also in trouble. Flapping wings buffeted the androids as the things darted in and snapped at the heavy plastic, tore at it with taloned claws as if the pods were themselves alive.

  Plasma beams flashed, the flying monsters died under the flares of energy, but those who weren’t hit kept attacking. One of the pods looked like a popcorn ball beset by a flock of starving crows; the plastic was pocked with gouges and bite marks, dented from impacts. The androids fought on, but they were losing.

  The first pod splatted against the ground, shattered, and hurled the two androids away from the impact. Almost instantly the flying creatures were upon the androids, tearing at them, ripping limbs from torsos, spraying circulating fluid up in thin white fountains.

  They tore the androids apart but didn’t eat them.

  Apparently they didn’t much like the taste of artificial flesh.

  Massey watched, amazed, as one of the pods landed in a controlled dive and one of the androids leapt out and sprinted toward the mound. While the flying animals fell on the other android still trying to exit the pod, they did not pursue the fleeing one. They must have known what the aliens in the mounds were capable of. The running android neared the entrance.

  The third pod burst into flame while still thirty meters above the ground. By the time it crashed, both the passengers inside had been mostly consumed in the fire. One of the plasma rifles went critical in the heat and a blinding green flash turned the pod into dust, along with four or five of the attackers who had followed it down too closely.

  How interesting, Massey thought. Surely there was a market for these things. Perhaps he could capture one. A baby, perhaps.

  But first, he had to protect his primary mission. He called the pods shepherding the other marines. “Go immediately to the 1st Squad coordinates,” he said.

  “What about the marines here?” one of the androids asked.

  “Who cares? Do as I order. Keep a ground-hugging flight path. There are flying aliens here who will attack you. Get moving.”

  He broke the com and leaned back in his form-chair. Yes. This was turning out to be more interesting than he had anticipated.

  * * *

  Bueller heard the explosion and stopped.

  “What the hell?” Chin began.

  They were only fifty or sixty meters into the nest and the devil they knew suddenly seemed less dangerous than the one they didn’t. “Let’s go see,” Bueller said.

  “I’m with you, pal,” Ramirez said.

  “I’ll watch our rear,” Mbutu said. She held a fist-sized rock in her hand. She waved the rock.

  Bueller had to laugh. Mbutu was crazy if she thought a rock was going to do her any good. Then again, any weapon was better than none. Bueller looked around for a stone of his own. Better to go down trying than not.

  What they saw was amazing. There were some kind of flying things flapping around like giant bats out there. All three pods were down, only one of them intact, and one of the androids was hauling ass toward the mound, moving at Olympic speed as he broken-stepped the rugged ground. He carried a plasma rifle in one hand.

  “Move back,” Bueller said. “I think maybe some luck just went our way.”

  “Maybe,” Smith said from behind him. “What I want to know is how come the things who live here haven’t swarmed all over us by now.”

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Chin said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means be glad you’re still sucking in the air,” Chin said. “Such that it is.”

  They watched the android run. One of the flying things made a half hearted pass at him, swooping down like a giant raptor seeking prey, but the android dived flat and the thing missed by ten meters anyhow. By the time it circled around for another try, the android was nearly at the mound’s entrance. The flying thing must have decided it had business elsewhere. It soared upward, caught a thermal, and lifted away.

  “Get ready for company,” Bueller said.

  The android reached the entrance and ran inside. He never had a chance. All six of the marines hit him, and he sprawled under their combined weight, helpless.

  Now they had a weapon. It wasn’t much, but it sure beat the alternatives.

  * * *

  Billie returned to the armory where she and Mitch had been only a few hours past. There were weapons aplenty, but after examining several of them, she realized that they were all missing the same part. She mentally shrugged, and slung one of the carbines over her shoulder, collected a couple of spare magazines and a flexbelt of grenades. Maybe she could find the part to fix it. Or maybe she could bluff somebody into thinking it was workable. Or threaten to blow up the ship with a grenade. If she was up against it and going to die anyway, what the hell, she’d have nothing to lose.

  Especially if something had happened to Mitch.

  * * *

  Bueller said, “All right. Blake, you’re the best shot in the squad, you get the plasma rifle.”

  She nodded, took the weapon, and did a quick inspection. “Got almost full charge,” she said. “Thirty, thirty-five shots.”

  “If you have to use them, make them count,” Bueller said.

  “He’s got a sidearm, too.” That from Smith.

  “Better let me have it,” Bueller said.

  “No offense, Bueller, but who died and left you in charge? We’re all the same rank here since Easley bought it.”

  “I outscored everybody in pistol qualification.”

  “Yeah, Smith,” Mbutu said, “you couldn’t hit a tank at arm’s length with a sidearm.”

  “Yeah, well, okay, fine,” Smith said
. “I was just checking, you know.”

  Bueller took the pistol, a standard 10mm caseless slug thrower. It used ammunition close to that of the carbines, except it was less powerful, and in a pinch could be made to fire the heavier stuff—if you didn’t mind risking that the pistol would most likely blow up after five or six shots.

  “Okay, pal,” Bueller said to the captured android, “let’s you and us talk.”

  “Wasting your time,” the android said. “I’m no good as a hostage, I’m expendable, and my clock is running down. I’m dead in a couple weeks no matter what.”

  “You could have a real miserable couple of weeks, though,” Mbutu said, hefting her rock.

  The android shook its head. “I don’t know anything, either. Massey runs the show and he keeps it to himself. We get what he wants us to get, nothing more.”

  Blake kicked the pinned android, hitting his hip with her boot. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s kill him now. Go ahead, Mbutu, bust his head with your rock, no point in wasting a bullet or a charge on him.”

  “Ease off, Blake,” Bueller said. “This guy came out of the vats and got programmed for this. It’s not his fault. Not everybody gets a choice.”

  Blake stared at Bueller. “Yeah. I guess I hear that.”

  “I hate to point this out, but I hear something coming this way from inside the nest,” Smith said. “And even a plasma rifle won’t stop a whole herd of these bugs. What say we go play outside?”

  Bueller glanced down the corridor. He heard the rattle of alien feet and claws on the material. “Let’s move it, people. Get to the downed pods, there might be more guns or supplies, something.”

  “And then go where?” the android asked. “You’re trapped on the planet without pods or an APC.”

  “Maybe so, pal, but we ain’t trapped in this anthill. Let’s go, marines.”

  Nobody needed to be told again.

  * * *

  Billie moved carefully through the ship, hiding when she heard people approaching. She had the carbine over her shoulder and clutched the rolling pin and peeler in her hands. She kept moving away from the voices and bootfalls until she realized she was in the ship’s crew and commanding officer’s quarters. She snaked her way around doorways and stayed flat against the walls, edging along, trying to stay invisible. If somebody should see her, she would be in deep shit in a real hurry.