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

by Steve Perry

  “So what if you don’t get a transport?” said Schell.

  Wilks shrugged. “Right now we’re trying to get a crew. The more people who have faith in this, the better the chance we will get a ship.”

  “Yeah, but what if you don’t?”

  Schell’s open skepticism was getting on Ripley’s nerves. She didn’t think he was going to end up working on this…

  Wilks took that one: “We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it. Any more questions?”

  There was a moment of silence. Wilks glanced at Ripley and back to the two men, who sat thinking.

  Schell scowled at his watch. He stood and reached out to shake hands with Wilks.

  “I appreciate your inviting me to this discussion. The dreams will be easier to live with knowing what you’ve told me—but I’ll have to think about it and get back to you.”

  Wilks started to say something, but must have thought better of it; he shook hands with Schell.

  Schell nodded at Ripley and Dunston, and exited.

  Ripley sighed. Not everyone they spoke to was going to jump at the chance to risk their lives, of course.

  “I’m in,” Dunston said.

  Ripley looked over at the man, surprised. He had been so quiet through the presentation that she had guessed he wasn’t interested.

  Dunston didn’t look as if he had said anything important; he sat with the same unreadable expression on his unlined face. “Let me know what I can do to help you prepare.”

  Wilks and Ripley both grinned. The sergeant explained the proposal they planned to give to General Peters. Ripley watched Dunston absorb the information. The teacher seemed to radiate calmness and strength; he would be a good man to have with them.

  * * *

  Billie sat on Char Adcox’s futon and sipped a mug of black tea, waiting for her response. The lieutenant had seemed enthusiastic enough at the beginning of Billie’s speech, but now looked apprehensive; she tapped her fingers against her own cup, frowning. Billie remained quiet, not wanting to pressure her.

  “I don’t know,” Char said finally. “It sounds good, but I’m not really in a position—” She hesitated. “I had family on Earth,” she said. “It’s taken me a long time to deal with losing them, and I’ve worked hard to get where I am now as it is. Some mornings, I’m still barely able to get out of bed.” She looked at Billie, searched her face for understanding.

  Billie nodded.

  “I just don’t… look, I can’t, I’m sorry.”

  Billie tried not to look disappointed, but it must have shown.

  Char sipped her tea, her eyes troubled. Billie set her mug down and stood to go. “It’s okay, Char,” she said. “Really. We couldn’t have gotten this far without your help. I understand.”

  Billie walked to the door. Damn. She liked the lieutenant, had been certain that she would volunteer.

  She turned. “If you change your mind…”

  Char nodded, but her forced smile said that her decision was firm. Billie walked out and stood in the corridor for a moment. She shook her head. She did understand. Given that the last couple of weeks had been the only time she’d been able to catch her breath since Wilks had come back into her life, she could see how peace and quiet had a lot of appeal. Then again, she realized she’d spent too much of her life in an enforced peace and quiet to want to sit still very long. Even if there were monsters out there waiting for her.

  * * *

  “Well, McQuade is in,” Wilks said. “And Brewster. Did you get to Falk?”

  Ripley nodded. “Yeah, but he lost interest when the question of payment came up. He said he’d consider it if we wanted to buy his time.”

  Wilks shrugged. “Not everyone has cause,” he said. Too bad, though. He had run into Falk a few times on the station. Tall and heavily muscled, he was one of those guys whose loud voice and laugh could be heard in the midst of every card game. Not a real social adept, maybe, but he had the feel of somebody who’d be good to have covering your ass in a firefight.

  They sat in Ripley’s room, going over possible crew members. McQuade, Brewster, Dunston, and Jones so far. Jon Jones was a young medic who seemed too serious for his age. Ripley had seemed tense when Wilks had mentioned the black doctor, but had not objected. A medtech would be a necessity, they both knew that.

  Billie had stopped by earlier to say that Adcox wouldn’t be going. She had seemed unhappy about it and hadn’t stayed to discuss the trip. Wilks guessed that she was at the ’casting room looking for Amy; it had become an obsession of hers, looking for Amy. He understood why.

  “What about Carvey? And Moto, she’s had experience.”

  Wilks returned his attention to the screen. A light flashed in the upper corner, accompanied by a muted tone, signaling a call.

  Ripley tapped the receiver. It was Billie.

  “Ripley, Wilks,” she said, her voice strained, “tune in military channel, ten-vee, quick!” She discommed before either of them had a chance to reply.

  Ripley hit the controls that would switch them to vid.

  The image on the screen was confused, jumbled; Wilks recognized the inside of an armored personnel carrier. A pair of legs from the knees down ran by, then another set; apparently, the camera was on the floor. There were shouts and gunfire in the background. A man’s voice, near hysteria, called out orders that were barely audible above the din.

  “Broillet, Reiter, fall back! Hornoff, Anders, Sites, respond! Respond! Fuck! There’s no—” the voice was cut off.

  Wilks started. Hornoff was one of the men listed in the psych files….

  There was nothing on the screen now except a dim shot of a storage compartment. The picture jerked slightly, as if the APC were being hit. Occasional bursts of gunfire could be heard in the distance, but no more voices.

  “What?” Ripley glanced at Wilks and looked back to the picture. Her expression was part dread and part anger; she knew what she was watching, if not the circumstances.

  “Earth mission,” said Wilks tightly. His knuckles were white. Bako had said there was going to be another.

  “Old ’cast?”

  “I don’t think so. I was going to look up Hornoff tomorrow.” He watched realization flood Ripley’s face. She chewed at her lower lip. There was no reason for this to be on, unless—

  “Somebody fucked up,” he said.

  Suddenly there came an alien’s hoarse shriek, loud enough that it had to be inside the APC. There was no sound of a weapon to answer its cry.

  A thick, spidery shape moved across the screen, too close to see clearly—but Wilks knew.

  Ripley groaned. “Oh, shit.”

  The screen cut to static, then black. Neither of them said anything for a moment, just watched the darkness. A mechanical, unisex voice chimed on, informing them that there were technical difficulties.

  “It was a mistake,” said Wilks. The ’cast had played for less than two minutes, if Billie had caught the beginning; the voice meant that it had been pulled on purpose. Ten-vee was a consistently boring channel dedicated to pro-military information programs, propaganda. He could almost see some vidtech private sweating in his boots right now. A colossal fuck-up. The wrong tape switched to at the wrong time; everyone on Gateway tuned in would have seen it.

  A harried-looking man stepped on to the screen and faced the camera. His brow and upper lip were dotted with sweat. His face and hair looked military, but he was dressed in a rumpled coverall.

  “It’s weasel time,” said Wilks softly.

  “You’re on,” a voice stage-whispered offscreen. Live, of course.

  “We, uh, apologize for the interruption in regular programming,” he said. “Due to an error in our video room, a transmission of the… Earth mission from five weeks ago was… put on.” The PR man fumbled his way through a rationalization, obviously unprepared.

  “What bullshit,” Wilks said. “No way that was ever supposed to see air.”

  “We now return to, ah, the program. Ten
-vee will issue a formal statement at a later time.” The screen cut to a space walk, some minor fix-it operation on the station. Ripley hit the command, blacking the picture. She turned to Wilks, her face pale and numb.

  “Won’t people know?”

  Wilks shook his head. “Maybe friends of the dead soldiers. But who will they talk to before command gets to them?” He realized his hands were still in fists and let them relax, taking a deep breath. “This was supposed to be a secret, and they’re going to step on it hard. Believe that.”

  Ripley looked at him. “What do you think this is going to do to our mission?”

  Wilks returned her look, frowning. What would it do? The military couldn’t keep people from talking… it could swing the transport problem either way.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  * * *

  Billie was getting ready for bed when her ’com chinged. She almost ignored it; whoever it was would try back at another time. She was exhausted and it was very late—she had gone back to the ’casting room after meeting with Wilks and Ripley and watched for Amy for another few hours.

  All three of them had agreed it was an accident; someone had their ass in a sling by now for that little technical error. She had caught the beginning of the transmission and had called the others within ten seconds; they hadn’t really missed anything, except the camera hitting the floor.

  Billie sighed and stretched. There had been no sign of Amy, and now someone was calling in the middle of the night.

  She hit receive. “Yes?”

  “Billie? This is Char Adcox. I didn’t wake you, did I? I’m sorry to be calling so late—”

  Billie felt her sleepiness slip away. “No, I was up. What’s going on?”

  “Did you see the ten-vee fubar this afternoon?”

  “Yeah, I saw it.”

  Adcox sounded exhausted, too. “I’ve been thinking about what I saw. It brought back a lot of history—I’m sure it did for others.” She stopped, then laughed weakly at herself. “I’m sorry, I’m kind of a mess.”

  “You don’t have to apologize, Char, it’s fine.”

  There was a pause at the other end so long that Billie was about to speak again, when she heard the lieutenant take a deep breath. “I want to go with you,” she said. Any trace of hesitation was gone. “If you still want me along, that is. I—need to go.”

  This was the voice of the woman she had seen on the tape of the psych files, strong and unafraid. “Good. Welcome aboard.”

  They made arrangements for the next day and discommed.

  Billie lay down to try to sleep. She instinctively liked and trusted Char Adcox, and was happy the woman would be coming along. And having one of the linear dreamers on board wouldn’t hurt.

  Billie drifted off to a deep sleep. If the queen mother haunted her dreams, the next morning brought no memory of it.

  7

  Ripley opened her door and found Falk standing there, his face solemn. He had one hand raised to knock and dropped it; the big man looked as if he had slept badly. He smelled of stale alcohol and sour sweat.

  “Falk,” she said, “what a treat. I was just on my way to breakfast.”

  She saw that the sarcasm in her voice didn’t escape him. He reddened slightly. “Yeah. Well, I wanted to talk to you for a minute, I—about the trip. I want to go.”

  Ripley stepped back, surprised. Falk obviously took it as an invitation; he walked over to the desk and leaned against it. He kept his gaze on the floor.

  She looked him up and down. He had been sitting when she had met him the day before and she hadn’t realized how huge the man was. At least 195 centimeters and 100 kilos, barrel-chested and long-legged. His receding hair was worn long in a blond ponytail, his mustache was slightly darker. Embarrassment didn’t rest well on his hard face, and he looked as if it were an unfamiliar emotion; one corner of his mouth twitched, and his heavy brows were drawn together.

  “We aren’t offering money,” she said finally.

  His expression didn’t change. “Yeah, that’s fine. You still need help, don’t you? I’m sorry I was such an asshole. I want to go.”

  Ripley frowned. This wasn’t the man she had met yesterday, the loud, wise-cracking, up-yours pirate. He had admitted to having the dreams easily enough but treated them lightly. He said his woman had insisted on the psych visits and he had called them a waste of time.

  “Why?” she said.

  Falk sighed and looked up, but not at Ripley. “The military channel,” he said, focusing his attention on the ceiling. “You heard about their little fuck-up yesterday?”

  “I saw it.”

  “I was in the middle of a card game at a bar when it played. I almost had to beat the shit out of the ’tender to turn it up” He seemed out of breath and paused for a few seconds.

  Ripley waited.

  “Marla was one of those soldiers,” he said. “She told me that she would be gone a while, said it was standard drill shit. She told me not to worry.”

  Falk finally looked at Ripley. She saw that his eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in red. “Last night some asshole dressed in a captain’s uniform told me that there had been an ‘unfortunate accident’ on her ship and that it’d be a good idea for me to keep quiet about it. The bastard stood there and lied to me; I heard her name on that ’cast, I heard somebody yelling it—”

  Falk stopped and took a shuddery breath. All of Ripley’s earlier dislike for the man evaporated. He was obviously in great pain.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I wish there was something I could do…”

  “I want to go,” said Falk. “I want to kill them.” He didn’t sound angry or desperate; his voice was calm and matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing the weather. “I loved her.”

  “We’re meeting at 0800 tomorrow in the dojo on C,” she said.

  He straightened up at that and nodded, his expression unreadable. Ripley understood what it was like to lose someone close and knew there was nothing she could do to make it easier for him.

  “Thanks,” he said, walking to the door. “I’ll be there.”

  She had no doubts about that.

  * * *

  Wilks watched General Peters scan the printout sheet of the psych files Leslie had pulled. To avoid problems with confidentiality and computer rascaling, she had only included the names of the dreamers they had spoken to, along with statements from Billie and Ripley; twelve in all. Ten of them had agreed to go.

  “And you say that this dream is the same in all of these cases, Sergeant?” The general spoke without looking up.

  “Yes, sir.” Wilks stood in his office at ease, hands behind his back. It was one of the more palatial rooms on Gateway, well-lit and comfortably warm. Pastel paintings were hung on the walls and the stuffed chairs were a high-quality synthetic leather. Peters had not asked him to sit.

  The general had not gotten as far as he had through imaginative thinking. His stoic expression and hard eyes said as much—standard military right down the line. The man was also quite fat, hadn’t seen much hands-on combat lately. Wilks had served under such men before, assholes too closed-minded and by-the-numbers to believe in anything outside their own experience. He was wasting his fucking time here, but Ripley wanted to give it a shot. Fine…

  “Well, this is very interesting,” Peters said, looking up, “but I’m afraid there’s really no way I can authorize such a trip on just this. We’ll have to look into it further.” His tone was dismissive.

  Wilks said, “Is there somebody else I can speak to about this, sir?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Wilks shrugged. He was still a marine, sort of. They hadn’t been able to pull all his records, so his status was pretty much in limbo until they did. That gave him a little leeway when talking to officers. He said, “Well, sir, there are civilians in the governing board. They might be interested in this.”

  Peters looked at Wilks with his piggy eyes. �
�Are you trying to be smart, Sergeant?”

  “No, sir.” Not with this clown. Say something smart and it would sail right past.

  “Yes, there are civilians in power here, but when it comes to military missions using my hardware, I am God.”

  Wilks said nothing, waiting.

  “I’ve read your record, Sergeant, and you’ve got a long history of being a troublemaker. I don’t need any more trouble than I’ve got.” Peters set the proposal aside and motioned toward the door.

  Wilks could see that there was no chance. If he thought kissing ass here would work, well, fuck, he’d done worse, but he knew it was a waste of time. Had known it all along, but at least he’d held his temper in check. There was a time when he would have popped fatso here right in the mouth and smiled as he waited for the MPs to come get him.

  “Thank you for your time, sir.”

  The general grunted but didn’t look up from his desk, where he was already looking through other papers.

  The temptation to slam the door on the way out was one that Wilks was only barely able to resist.

  * * *

  Billie met Wilks at the Four Sails. He sat at his table staring at his drink, his scarred face tense.

  “Ripley ’commed, said she’d be a few minutes late,” said Billie, and sat down. “How’d it go with the general?”

  “About like I expected. Head was jammed too far up his ass for him to begin to hear me.” He sipped at his drink. “Fucking officers.”

  Billie felt her stomach clutch at itself. This had become important to her. How could she get to Amy, how could she still hope that the child would be alive?

  “What’s the matter with you two?” Ripley said. She slid into the booth and sat across from them. “Are we ready for our meeting tomorrow?”

  Wilks said, “Yeah, if we can fly without a ship. The general thinks we’re crazy. No surprise.”

  Billie’s heart felt heavy. “It looks like the game is over,” she said. “Unless you want to steal a ship.”

  Ripley grinned. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said.