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

by Steve Perry

  The small room she had stepped into led to a dark corridor; a mechanical door, stuck halfway open, separated the two.

  “Talk to me, Wilks,” she said.

  “Got a straight walk ahead of you for ten meters, then a tee—the sign says ‘armory’ on the right and ‘control’ left. No sign of infestation, and the mold is pretty thick on either branch. I think we’re alone.”

  Ripley let out her air and stepped around the broken door. “You heard him,” she said. Moto and Tully came in behind her with the equipment cases.

  “Let us know, Falk,” she said softly. He would keep watch at the gate. Billie, McQuade, and the doctor were back at the Kurtz.

  “Gotcha.”

  She directed her light forward as she moved down the dank hall. Wilks stood at the tee, weapon up, his face distorted in the swaying light.

  “You stay here,” he said. “I’ll check control.” His voice echoed with a faintly metallic ring.

  Wilks moved off down the hall.

  Ripley kept her weapon trained toward the armory, although Wilks was right—it didn’t look like anyone had been here in months.

  Anyone or anything, she added mentally.

  Moto and Tully waited with her. “Maybe the firing sequence was interrupted by some natural phenomenon,” said Moto. She poked at a strand of damp moss on the wall. “These weapons were never meant to withstand exposure to the elements.”

  Wilks rejoined them. “Clear,” he said. “Not a real complicated maze. Hall runs straight twenty meters and then elbows into control. Let me check the other side and we’re set.”

  “I’ll cover,” said Ripley. ‘Tully, Moto, you go ahead.”

  Ripley clutched her weapon with damp palms—androids could sweat, after all—and waited for Wilks in the murky stillness. She was ready for this to be over with; she was tired of being looked to for answers. Billie was right—she did need to finish what she had started. But when it was done, she had a lot more shit to deal with. It seemed as though it would never end…

  Wilks moved back to join her.

  “That didn’t take long,” she said.

  “Same setup on this side, only the door is locked and sealed. Hasn’t been opened in a while, either. I think the bombs are safe.”

  She smiled. “Great—safe bombs.”

  Wilks chuckled. “Yeah, funny. I—”

  “Hey,” Moto crackled into their ears, “looks like we got a little more than corrosion down here.” She sounded worried. “I think someone tried to put a stop to this countdown permanently.”

  * * *

  Billie sat in the control room of the Kurtz and listened to Ripley’s report.

  “…we’ve localized the problem, but it’s going to take longer than I’d hoped. Everything has been dislinked, and as far as we can tell, the main set of hardwiring was bollixed.” Her voice was punctuated with heavy static; the ’coms weren’t designed to send or receive through so many tons of rock.

  “How long?” said Billie.

  “We’ll be lucky to get out of here by dark.”

  She continued to outline the situation, but Billie tuned it out. The sun was still high above; night was a good six hours away. Plenty of time.

  She stood and stretched leisurely as Ripley cut off. “I’m going to take some food packets over,” Billie said. “That should cheer them up.”

  McQuade grinned. “Or they might decide to blow us all to hell.”

  “Just don’t give them any of the stir-fry and we’re probably safe,” said Jones. “Suicide was on my mind when I ate dinner.”

  Billie laughed.

  “Want company?” said McQuade. “Jones could watch the sensors—”

  “Nah.” She hoped she sounded casual. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  She walked back to the dining hall and gathered some of the self-heating packets and some utensils. She also stopped by the weapons stock for a few extra magazines before heading to the lower deck.

  Taking a flier wouldn’t jeopardize the mission; if she didn’t make it back in time—well, she would just have to. She didn’t expect them to wait for her.

  Billie walked out of the APC dock and squinted in the bright light. The air was sweet and cool against her skin, a far cry from the canned recycled stuff that she was accustomed to. Insects and birds sang their songs in the trees around the compound. It was beautiful, what was left of it.

  The firepower that the others were currently setting up would take out a big chunk of this entire region, as Ripley had explained it; but not right away.

  “Six months?” Falk had said. “Why so fucking long?”

  “It’s a big planet. The aliens are all over it. Assuming they can swim—better, of course, if they can’t and they drown—it’ll take three or four months for them to get here. They could be 20,000 kilometers away, halfway around the planet. Allowing time for them to stop and eat and pee, six months should be plenty.”

  That had brought up a bunch of other questions: Why was the superqueen calling them? Maybe whoever made these war toys was coming to collect them, somebody—Wilks?—had said. Would they stay here once they arrived? Nobody knew. They had to go with what they had. They’d baited the trap and they had to allow time for the rats to get to the cheese…

  Billie shook the memory. Falk raised a hand as she approached.

  “Brought you some lunch,” she said.

  “Oh, boy.” He looked less than thrilled. “You gonna join us for the poisoning?”

  “Nope. I thought I’d see if I could scavenge some supplies from a few of the buildings.”

  Falk took the assortment of foil pouches from her with a frown.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he said. “Does Ripley know—?”

  Billie shrugged. “Tell her if you want. I’m armed, the compound is empty, and McQuade is watching for activity.” She tapped her headset. “Besides, I’m sick of sitting on my ass; thought I’d make myself useful.”

  “I hear that,” said Falk. “Just be careful.”

  She smiled and walked away. The fliers were hidden from Falk’s vantage point, two buildings away. She stepped out of view and picked up her pace a bit.

  “What are you doing, Billie?” McQuade’s voice spoke in her ear.

  Falk spoke before she did. “Trying to find us some decent food instead of this swill,” he said. “Surely you can’t object to that?”

  Thank you, Falk! She reached the first ship and looked inside; Wilks and the others had left the hatches popped open. The landhopper was tiny, made to accommodate a few people, with only minimal space and scant supplies. Her heart sank when she saw the ripped wires and broken plastic of the console.

  “There’s nothing in those ships but emergency rations,” said McQuade. “Why don’t you just get back here? I don’t like the idea of you roaming around by yourself, and you could mess up my readings. The Kurtz isn’t out of food—”

  “I’m a big girl,” said Billie as she moved to the second flier. She kept her movements casual; if McQuade saw her run, he’d sound an alarm. “I was actually looking for some more tools”

  “Billie, get back to the ship now,” said Ripley. The edge in her voice was sharp, even through the static.

  So much for playing it safe—

  Billie stepped into the second flier and looked around. It seemed undamaged. She slid the hatch closed behind her and hurried to the pilot’s seat. A few switches and the ship hummed to life.

  “Dammit, Billie, talk to me! What the hell are you doing? You can’t leave; we don’t have time for this!”

  Billie ignored Ripley and fed the access codes and coordinates into the small computer. Thank Buddha for small favors, like nil security on the little ship. Plenty of fuel, automatic everything—

  “Billie, wait!” It was Wilks. “I’ll go with you, just hold on a minute.” At least he sounded more worried than angry.

  “Sorry,” she said. “This is the only way; I know she’s not dead. I’ll be bac
k before dark if I can—”

  Billie toggled the user-friendly controls and the flier began to lift. She understood most of the buttons and hoped that what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. She yanked the headset off and threw it down as Ripley and the captain shouted at her and the small ship pivoted in the air.

  She knew they were pissed, but they didn’t need her to finish. Ripley’s hatred was behind everything the older woman did; Billie was motivated by a feeling that seemed just as strong. Love?

  She strapped in with a silent prayer as the flier rocketed south:

  Please let this work.

  27

  “Shit,” Ripley said. “I should have known, she told me she was going to do this.”

  Tully and Moto continued to strip wires in the dimly lit control room.

  “Nothing we can do about it now,” Wilks said. An icy hand had gripped his heart; he felt as frustrated as Ripley and sick with fear for the young woman. He had known Billie longer, had known how the ’casts of the lost family had eaten at her; if anyone was responsible, he was.

  If you had been thinking, you could have stopped her.

  Then it was Billie’s voice he heard: Fuck off, Wilks, who do you think you are?

  Wilks gritted his teeth. There wasn’t anything he could do. Just hope that Billie was going to come back. If anything happened to her, he’d—

  What?

  Nothing.

  Ripley said, “You’re right. I just wish…” She trailed off and absently picked up her spot welder.

  “Hey, everyone there?” McQuade’s voice crackled from the set. “I got movement here, coming from the west!”

  Wilks unslung his rifle and started to the exit.

  “Falk?” he said as he ran.

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Can’t get a number,” said McQuade. “They’re moving in a group, five or six—”

  Wilks reached the sliding door. Falk crouched in the small anteroom, shielded by the thick melted gate, weapon pointed out.

  “They’ve stopped outside the compound,” McQuade said. “Looks like—wait. Somebody’s coming.”

  Wilks and Falk stood together and waited. “Everyone stay put,” Wilks said.

  A lone figure stumbled into view, halfway between the Kurtz and Orona’s hill. A woman, unarmed. Her clothes were in rags, exposing one dirty breast. Her face was a mask of fear.

  “Hello?” she called out, voice quaking. “Is anyone here?” She pushed stringy, matted hair out of her eyes and looked around nervously. “I’m safe! We’ve been waiting for a ship to come.” She turned and held outstretched arms toward the Kurtz, palms up. “Please!”

  “Wilks?” Falk whispered. He lowered his rifle slightly.

  “I dunno.” He looked at the woman. Yelled: “Bring the others out into the open!”

  She spun at the sound of his voice, but kept her arms up. Her face twisted and she began to sob. “Yes,” she said, “of course!”

  Two men and another woman walked into view, as tattered and grubby as the first person. They all looked frightened and unsure of themselves. None of them were armed.

  “McQuade? Is that it?” Wilks asked.

  A pause. “Can’t tell. Nothing else moving.”

  The four stood in the open. They swayed slightly, as if holding themselves up was an effort.

  “You catching this, Ripley?” said Wilks.

  “Yeah.” She sounded worried. “I don’t like it; could be trouble.”

  “We got ’em covered,” said Falk. “What say I step outside and see? If they got friends in the bushes, they won’t fire on their own people—”

  Wilks tightened his jaw. “They might.”

  “We could stay in here and talk about it all day,” Falk said, “but eventually we’re going to have to go back to the ship. Gotta do something with ’em.”

  Wilks nodded. He didn’t like it either, but Falk was right. “Stay low and give me a clear sight,” he said.

  Falk raised his voice. “Okay, I’m coming out now! We have loaded weapons, so don’t move!”

  The first woman continued to sob, the only noise in the still air. Falk climbed through the gate, carbine trained on the ragged group. He moved toward them slowly and carefully.

  Wilks put one leg through the gate and straddled it. He pointed his rifle at the clump of trees on the west—

  The four people suddenly hit the ground as one, the quiet shattered as gunfire cracked across the compound.

  * * *

  Billie looked at the computer readings as the flier sped toward the state that had been Northern California, but she didn’t touch anything. It all seemed fine; she would be at the coordinates in a little under two hours, provided nothing went wrong…

  What could go wrong? I’m a top-notch pilot and Amy and her family will be standing by, waiting to jump onboard when I show up. Plus I have lots of time.

  She smiled at herself. She had apparently gone insane at some point and hadn’t noticed until now. When she had committed herself to saving the child back on Gateway, she’d never thought she’d be doing it this way—alone in a stolen ship. She couldn’t remember what she had thought—

  That it would be easy, maybe. That someone else would do it for me.

  If she had learned anything from knowing Ripley, it was that to make something happen, you had to make it happen; silly and redundant, but very true. She couldn’t just sit and hope that things would change by themselves.

  Not anymore. The little girl’s name was Amy, but it was also Billie; they would make it together or not at all.

  * * *

  Shit—

  Wilks hit the ground. He didn’t see the shooters, but he capped off a short burst into the trees at chest level. The hillside provided partial protection; he didn’t dare move—

  McQuade shouted in his ear, most of it lost in the noise. “…fuckin’ two gunners, due—”

  The metal gate clanged as bullets drilled into it.

  Wilks fired again and spared a glance at Falk. He was down—hit, or had he purposely dropped? No way to know—

  The four fanatics remained still, but one of the men began to shout. “Don’t kill them, we need them, She demands them—”

  The other three began to screech for salvation, calling loudly on the Great Mother.

  Oh, man! They were pinned down; they had to do something to break this up.

  Another barrage of fire chinged into the gate. Wilks got an idea. He screamed and lay still, pretending to be wounded.

  Don’t move, Falk, if you’re alive, don’t move!

  Seconds ticked by. Wilks stared into the bushes and waited. Sweat trickled down his neck as the sun suddenly seemed to get much hotter. He heard quiet movement behind him, from inside the gate, and hoped that Ripley had the sense to stay put.

  The four fanatics continued to pray in high, shaky voices.

  Wilks heard twigs crackle and snap ahead of him. A dark shape moved through the woods.

  “Not yet!” a voice tried to hiss from several meters farther into the trees. “Wait!”

  Two gunners. Wilks aimed at the shape in front and fired a double tap.

  The figure fell back into the shadows with a yelp.

  Wilks retrained his rifle at the voice and squeezed the trigger again. The unseen sniper cried out in pain.

  At the sound of the shots, the people lying next to Falk jumped up and ran toward Wilks. One of them tripped over Falk’s body and smacked into the dirt.

  Falk rolled over, sat up, and cracked the man’s skull with the butt of his rifle.

  Way to go, Falk!

  Wilks fired twice more. Both of the women crumpled.

  The last man stumbled onward, eyes crazed. He got close enough so that gore spattered Wilks as his final shot caught the runner in the chest. The man fell, coughed blood, and died.

  “Hold it!” Wilks shouted.

  Nothing moved. If the gunners were still alive, there was no sign. He came up slowly, rifle still
aimed into the trees.

  “Falk, you hit?” he said into the ’com.

  The big man had lain back down. “Yeah. Not too bad, I don’t think.” His voice shook.

  “Ripley?”

  “Right here. Did you get them?” She didn’t sound too steady either.

  “Pretty sure.” He wiped at the bits of tissue and blood on his skin. “That, or I shot a couple of innocent bystanders; let me check. Hang in there, Falk.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Wilks pulled into a crouch and ran low for the trees, weapon ready. If anybody moved, he or she was going to get pasted.

  One of the shooters was dead, a middle-aged man with a shaved head. He’d been shot in the throat. The other was still alive, a few meters away, a small woman with a bad stomach wound. The bullets had ripped her gut to shreds. Amazingly, she was still conscious; she lay on her back and pushed at the dirt with her bare feet, trying to crawl away from the compound. She opened her eyes as Wilks approached, her face contorted with pain and rage, her abdomen a slick red tangle of exposed intestine.

  “You’ll—die—” she managed. “You’ll—” She closed her eyes, exhausted.

  It was cool in the shade of the trees; a light breeze stalled the sweat on Wilks’s brow as he aimed carefully. ‘Yeah,” he said.

  The shot echoed for a long time.

  * * *

  Tully worked at her portable console while Ripley continued to hook the system back together in the dim light. The original detonator was set up on a sequential timer, too complicated to fix easily, so Tully worked on a chain-link relay. The hardwiring had to be clean; it had to last for a while.

  Falk was okay. He had two wounds, a minor one high in the left shoulder and a slightly more serious one through the meat of his bicep. Jones had already patched him up and filled him with painkillers.

  Ripley worked as quickly as she could, aware that this first trouble wouldn’t be their last if they didn’t hurry.

  “Ready,” Tully said. “We still have to tune Orona’s dish to where we’re gonna be when we reach a safe distance, but the program is set. In theory, we call the computer here and the clock starts running when we send the signal.”