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

by Steve Perry

  She reached the corridor’s end, then turned back toward the front. To her left now was a large supply area where the marines had stored their equipment before hitting the sleep chambers. Past that, the mess. Ripley’s stomach growled noisily at the thought of food. She stopped and looked in at the bolted-down tables and chairs. It would also serve as a conference room. She reluctantly walked on, deciding to wait and eat with the others.

  Adjacent to the eating area she was back where she started, at the sleep chambers. All in all, a good enough ship. It was a bit larger than they really needed, but that wasn’t a handicap; besides, she reminded herself, thieves can’t always be choosy.

  She shook her head. She was in trouble again, win or lose.

  She walked into the command area and past the twenty-plus seats for crew takeoffs and landings, into the partitioned-off pilot’s room. She stood for a moment and watched the console, its colored lights blinking or glowing in the dim chamber. No problems, of course. An alarm would have gone off. She stepped away from the board and to one of the ship’s five stairwells, to check out the lower deck.

  Ripley walked through the computer room and the APC bay without really looking. She felt her heart speed up a bit as she came to a stop in front of the double hatch to the cargo area. This was what she had wanted to see, the queen’s new home. She took a deep breath of the frigid air and stepped inside.

  It was a huge chamber, coated heavily with carbslip on every exposed surface except the work lights; those were behind thick plates of kleersteel. The acid-resistant gray coating of the carbslip made the chamber seem like what she imagined a giant intestine might look like from the inside. The coating was dry, but it had a greasy, almost slimy shine to it There were two stairwells, leading to the sleep chambers and mess, respectively. Both sets of stairs ended at airtight and extra-thick pressure doors. They would want to reinforce those before admitting their cargo, just to be sure. This place would safely hold the most noxious biochemical and radioactive wastes men could produce. The engineers who designed the hold knew the vile cargo would normally be glass-crated solids or liquid in insulated barrels, but in a pinch, the doors could be sealed and the stuff pumped in through special piping so the whole chamber could be turned into something like a giant toxic aquarium.

  The only sound in the room was her own breathing. She looked around the chamber and nodded slowly: a suitable place for the bitch queen. Let her dull her teeth and claws on the impervious carbslip; let her sit like a bug in a jar, wondering what her fate was to be. Fuck her.

  She had seen what she’d needed to, and the crew would be waking shortly. What she really needed was something to eat and a hot shower. She’d had no startling revelations, but perhaps one of the others had dreamed something up—

  She started back to the open stairs in the computer room. Maybe their closer proximity to the planet would offer more detailed dreams, ideas that they could use. It was just a thought—but then, their mission wasn’t exactly based on solid facts so far, she thought as the thick treadplate steps rang hollowly under her boots.

  She grinned to herself as she moved through the slowly warming rooms, back toward the sleep chambers. Maybe the queen would tell them how to trap her if they asked politely. It wouldn’t be much crazier than the rest of this trip.

  * * *

  Wilks heard a few muttered groans from the other crew members as they climbed from their sleep chambers and stretched, put on clothes, came back to life. He swiveled his head and tried to relieve the tightness deep between his shoulder blades. He’d had worse hangovers, but coming out of cold sleep always left him feeling disoriented and spacey. He’d dreamed, although he couldn’t quite remember—

  “Good morning, Wilks.” Billie.

  She walked over to stand by him, clenched and unclenched her fingers slowly. She looked pale. “You seen Ripley?”

  Part of his dream came back to him when he looked at her, more of a feeling than a picture. Something sexual about Billie. He turned away from her slightly, uncomfortable.

  “No. I hope she’s making coffee, though.” He hoped he sounded more at ease than he felt.

  She nodded and walked toward the showers.

  Wilks tabbed his boots. Maybe he’d shower after breakfast.

  He yawned. Then he followed several of the others down the corridor and into the mess.

  Ripley had indeed made coffee, in addition to putting out several trays of food packets and utensils. She sat at one of the long cafeteria tables, poking at her plate of steaming gray muck.

  Wilks poured a cup of coffee and grabbed a tray with a foil pouch labeled “stir-fry.” He sat down across from Ripley.

  “Hey, Ripley. You’re up early.”

  She nodded and watched him pour the contents of his activated packet onto his tray. It smelled like stir-fry, but was the same mottled soypro-gray as Ripley’s. He grimaced.

  ‘You’d think they’d invest in some food coloring,” she said. “Sleep okay?”

  “As well as could be expected. It’s the getting out of bed that’s a bitch.”

  She nodded again and went back to eating. Respectful of her silence, Wilks turned and focused his attention on the other crew members who straggled in.

  McQuade looked haggard and irritable, and Brewster started in on him.

  “Buddha, Cap, you look like shit.”

  Brewster turned to Carvey. “You know, they say it’s harder for the old to travel like this.”

  McQuade fixed Brewster with a cold stare. “Yeah, well, it would have helped if I could have slept better. The sound of you virgins jacking off the whole time next to me kept me awake.”

  Carvey snickered.

  Brewster tried to think of a comeback and came up short. He stalled, said, “Aw, gee, sorry about that, Cap, I—”

  McQuade cut him off. ‘Yeah, well, your mother’s sorry, too. At least that’s what she told me when her mouth wasn’t full in my quarters back on Gateway.”

  Even Brewster laughed at this.

  Wilks smiled. The corporal was outmatched.

  Moto and Falk walked in together and picked up trays.

  “What’s this?” said Falk. He pointed at a plate of crumbly tan substance.

  “Ah, the famed and much-loved military instant corn bread,” said Moto, putting a piece on her tray. “You get used to it.”

  “Like Brewster’s mother,” said Adcox. She smiled sweetly at Brewster.

  He stabbed a chunk of soypro off his plate. “Oh, funny, Adcox.”

  Wilks was amused by the banter but felt a pang of bitter nostalgia listening to it Talking the talk was an integral part of the military life; some things hadn’t changed. It had been a long time since he had been in a group like this—he could almost hear his old friends talking, their voices superimposed over the Kurtz’s crew’s. Jasper, Cassady, Ellis, Quinn, Lewis—and as always, he felt the guilt. He was still alive and they were dead.

  Billie walked in and pulled her damp hair into a ponytail as she considered the food choices.

  Wilks started to call her over when Adcox motioned for her to join her group. Billie waved at Wilks and Ripley as she sat down and started chatting with the other three.

  Wilks sipped his coffee and noticed that both of the male soldiers perked up considerably when Billie sat down, Brewster in particular. He grinned at her as Carvey recounted some story involving a trip to a bar on Gateway.

  Wilks was surprised by a sudden feeling of protectiveness toward Billie. Brewster wasn’t her type, he was sure. She needed someone more mature, she had been through a lot, she needed somebody who could appreciate that—

  Like me, he thought uneasily.

  Ridiculous. They’d had opportunities before and decided to let them go by. What he felt for Billie was friendship, shared experiences.

  But that dream—

  Wilks looked away from Billie’s group. Good that she had found some people her own age to hang around, finally. And maybe he was just developing some
paternal instincts for her…

  Yeah. Right.

  * * *

  Billie found that she liked Dylan Brewster a lot. He was self-effacing in a mildly sarcastic way, had a bright smile, was very amiable. He and Tom Carvey played off of each other well; their affection for each other was obvious—and in spite of herself, she hoped that it was only brotherly.

  She made herself think of Mitch as she listened to them talk, poking at an old wound that suddenly seemed important to feel. Yes, she still missed him, still hurt thinking of him. Ought not to be sitting here thinking about another man.

  Jesus, she was having breakfast with him, not screwing him. And yet each time Brewster turned his eyes her way she felt a slight tingle in the pit of her stomach.

  Billie looked over at Wilks, who stared moodily into his coffee. What was she to him, exactly? Or he to her? She felt bonded to him somehow, some kind of—

  Too much to think about. She felt tired already, worrying about relationships not an hour out of sleep. Troubled sleep at that. She had looked for Amy, running through her dreams and never finding her. Amy, she reminded herself, was the important thing.

  Ripley stood up and looked around the room. “Excuse me,” she said. “Everyone is here, so I’d like to throw out a suggestion.”

  The room quieted. Billie laid down her fork.

  “Thanks. I’m thinking that our dreams might tell us something new this close to the planet,” she said. “Maybe a more exact location, maybe numbers of aliens, something. I’d like you all to see if you can remember what you dream tonight, so tomorrow we can talk about it.

  “One thing that all of your files showed is that you’re highly creative and sensitive people. Spend some time thinking about it. I’m open to ideas, so if you think of anything, let me know.”

  She sat down again and started talking quietly with Wilks.

  “Think of anything like what?” said Carvey.

  “Do you understand ‘idea,’ Carv? It’s kind of like a thought, but it’s newer.” Brewster smiled, pleased with himself.

  “You wipe. I understand that you’re as ‘sensitive’ as my skivvies.”

  Billie tuned out the soldiers’ talk and thought about what Ripley had said. She dreaded the dreams, had tried all sorts of meds back on Gateway to avoid them—and now they were going to be stronger, more detailed. She shuddered slightly at the thought. Her earliest memories were of bad dreams. She’d never been able to keep them at bay for long, either. Damn.

  Then again, she told herself as she looked around at the pallid faces of the crew, there were worse things than dreams. They’d all found that out; humanity as a whole knew it all too well.

  Brewster gave her a smile and she returned it, noting the slight flush in his cheeks. Well. At least she wasn’t alone anymore. They were all in this together.

  12

  Keith Dunston stood in the black lair of the queen. The air was moist and hot; somewhere water dripped and somewhere else it flowed. He was surrounded by soft clicking and chittering, like fingernails tapping upon glass, or impossible creatures rustling in the dark. He knew which it was, and he also knew it was a dream.

  He held his hands up in front of his face and counted his fingers. He breathed slowly and evenly; the trick was one he had used before, and in his subconscious wanderings it had always placed him in control. Of course, this was different; this was not of his own mind. But command of the transmission was not necessary, merely command of himself.

  A huge shadow shifted in front of him, moved closer.

  He could just make out her shape—taller than the Earth breed, longer, more powerful and sturdy.

  Come to me—

  The voice in his mind was inflected with great love and longing. His brain translated her need into something he would understand, would know, had known before.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated on a response as he had done before, always to no avail. Perhaps this time—

  Where are you? I must find you.

  Come to me, I love you, I am waiting—

  Yes. Are there others?

  Dunston waited, eyes closed. The sounds of the alien breed moving intensified, filled the air. All around him now, they moved closer. Her children. Hundreds, perhaps thousands answered his questions only with their shifting, sliding, greasy motions, making noises like some insane hybrid of locust and wild plains animal.

  The dream was different from before, more vivid. He sensed the texture of the nest’s floor beneath his feet, felt the heat emanating from the alien construct around him. The smell was overwhelming, rot and decay and vomit and a bathroom with a bad chemical recycler. Even so, the emotional impact of the queen’s desire was far greater; it would overwhelm him were he to open himself to it. The mother’s love enshrouded him, tried to enter him with all the subtlety of a rapist.

  Dunston raised his hands in front of his chest and placed his palms together, index fingers extended. The first of the nine kanji, of Kuji Kiri; Tu Mo, the channel of control…

  The queen beckoned, a repeated cycle of need as Dunston calmed his heart and mind with the simple gestures. Stillness, now. Motion, action those would come later.

  In the dreams, there was time to be still.

  * * *

  Falk was in the hot, stuffy shithole where she and her offspring dwelled. The fucking queen. He had been here before, but this time was different somehow. It looked the same, what he could see of it, but it was—more. The air was dank, sweaty, warm glue against his face. It was all alive, the place, the weird moving noises—like he was standing in the belly of some huge beast.

  He waited, full of anger and dread, for her to speak.

  Come to me—

  The hulking darkness in front of him moved, started forward. He raised his arms, hands clenched, and waited for her to come closer. He wanted to destroy, to rip her fucking head off and dance on her bones. Her children had taken Marla away—

  Falk felt sadness splash over him, felt it engulf him in its flow like a dark and lonely tide. These brainless, giant fucking insects had ripped his life apart, had made the universe smaller and colder. Why Marla? Why?

  I understand—

  The voice in his head was simple and calm, full of strength. Not the queen, not the whispery, strange androgynous sound of the queen… He lowered his hands, suddenly unsure.

  “Marla?” he said. His voice was thick and quavering, swallowed in the muggy air. It was impossible.

  I love you.

  It was her voice, the lilt of it familiar and emotional, with that husky undertone he thought he’d never hear again.

  He tried to step forward, but his feet wouldn’t move. He looked around wildly, but he couldn’t see in the murky darkness. Couldn’t see if maybe Marla had somehow made it to this hellish place.

  Come to me, I’m waiting—

  Falk suddenly realized that he wasn’t hearing the words aloud, that they were in his mind only. And that his mind was where Marla existed, and nowhere else. The message was the queen’s; it was a trick. For one minute he had actually hoped—

  His grief and confusion dissipated, were replaced by a searing anger so great that his whole body shook. Everything was tinted red; the blackness rippled and flowed with the new heat of the color.

  Falk drew in breath to scream, to cry, to vent his fury and seal the queen’s fate, and all of it disappeared and went gray…

  * * *

  Charlene Adcox stood in the queen’s steamy chamber and tried to damp down her fear. She was scared, but being scared, she admonished herself, shouldn’t stop one from getting things done. Her own mother had told her that many times, and she believed it still. Although her psych visits with Dr. Torchin had helped her see that she suppressed her emotions, was cut off from her feelings…

  It wasn’t important now. She took in her surroundings, careful to let no detail slip by.

  The place she was in was like a sauna, but the heat was wet and foul, the warmth of rot. It was d
ark, the only light coming from a few cracks in the roof of the nest, far above. There were sounds of water and movement around her, but it was centered… behind and to the left, and again beyond her, past where the darkness was thicker.

  I need you, I love you—

  The queen moved forward, her words echoing in Adcox’s mind. With it, as before, came hints of other things, information that was not human. Tangential reference points, telemetry data, star charts seen with tunneled vision and delivered with the strength of utter supremacy. And purpose. It was all much clearer now—

  Adcox could feel the emotional force that the queen radiated, but was not pulled by it. The love was huge but impersonal; her own thoughts were stronger, controllable in the chaos of feelings.

  I wait for you—

  When the queen spoke, Adcox got a sense of where she was, a curving roundness in water. The design was alien, complex but organic, somewhere…

  The lieutenant concentrated, tried to force the image into geographical planes, but it wouldn’t come. The beckoning was meant for different instincts than she could claim, terrifying in its insane pattern.

  Suddenly the queen stepped even closer, close enough for Adcox to reach out and touch. Her attempts to put aside her fear vanished.

  This isn’t supposed to happen—!

  Adcox screamed, any illusion of control gone, as the queen lifted a wormy, clawed arm to stroke her…

  13

  Billie sat in the dining hall next to Char and sipped black coffee. She watched as the others filed in; they all looked like she felt. Dark circles beneath the eyes, pale faces, wired on nervous tension.

  She had awakened frightened and angry from the queen’s message, amazed at how much more real it had been. She had learned nothing new, except that the planet they would reach the next day was the right one. It had to be—the difference in dream intensity was staggering.