Aliens: Genocide

by David Bischoff

  Clang!

  Private Ellis's throw was a ringer, twirling around the post.

  "Good shot!" said Jastrow.

  Cheers arose from the audience.

  Those two! What a pair! When they'd asked permission to set up the game, Kozlowski's first inclination was to say no. However, the pressures were so much that she not only assented, but went the next step.

  Why not a picnic? The clouds had cleared and there was a sun shining through. They'd done the first part of the mission extremely well, and there was still a few hours till the rest of the operation could be properly set up.

  So, instead of making her marines eat their meal inside the cold and antiseptic Anteater, she'd allowed the sandwiches and sodas to be set up on a folding table just outside the ramp. You had to be a little careful—if something went wrong with those force fields, you wanted to be able to make it back into the hold of the lander ASAP.

  Jastrow finished his game, then moved to stand by the force field of the perimeter with his saxophone. He serenaded the aliens with John Coltrane-like free form squawking, with an occasionally more melodic passage thrown in for fun.

  She was eating a tasteless sandwich layered with energy-rich Vit-C sauce for a boost, listening to Jastrow's jazz, and along with some heavily carbed macro-drink, when Daniel Grant sidled up, chomping confidently on his sandwich.

  "Regular holiday."

  "A bit bizarre, I agree," she said. "They need it though. There's worse ahead. Much worse."

  "What? Things are going great."

  "Grant. This is a war. Already we weren't quite expecting conflict on this level. Me, I would have preferred to wait until these things killed each other, then moved in."

  Grant shook his head. "Not in the schedule. Things like fuel involved ... money ... time ... Most especially time." His jaws worked thoughtfully around a mouthful of sandwich. "I don't have much time, back on Earth. Can't waste any hovering above this Hiveworld. Wonder what's going on back there, anyway."

  "Maybe you better concentrate on this particular hellhole."

  "Yeah right. But I came here because I need to talk to you a moment."

  "You are talking to me."

  "Alone, I mean. Not in earshot of the troops."

  "Ah." She examined her wristwatch. She was out of her suit, taking the opportunity for a little bit of freedom. She didn't know how long she was going to be in next time she donned the thing. Probably too long. "How about inside the ship?" She wasn't that crazy about it out here now, anyway. Sun or no sun. Those bugs crawling and lumbering and fighting out there bothered her, dammit.

  "That will be just fine."

  She took another bite, another sip, nonchalantly gestured for him to follow.

  Even as she walked into the locker room, she felt a little better. There was the smell of B.O. and gym shorts, sure, but at least it was human and familiar. The whiff of those bugs out there triggered all her inner alarms.

  She spun on him, slapping her fingers clear of crumbs. "What's up, Grant?"

  He sat down on a bench. "These troops ... they're good."

  "You're telling me something I don't know?"

  "I'm sure they're going to pull this mission off, just fine."

  "I sure as hell hope so. You dragged me in here to tell you that?"

  Grant got up and began to pace.

  "I don't know. That sabotage thing has got me worried."

  "Consider yourself reassured. I think if they were going to strike, it would have been by now. Besides, think about this one, Grant. Right now, the numbers are down. They're in the same boat we are. We sink, they sink." She shrugged. "Besides, if there is a saboteur, I'd be happy to lay odds that it's one of your scientist bozos. Now there is a collection of premium losers."

  "We do have a scientist along, remember. Begalli."

  "Rat-face. Yeah. I'm watching him, don't worry. I'm watching everybody. But take it from me. I'm watching my own ass most of all."

  "Me, too! It is a nice one."

  She laughed out loud. "You're a hard case. Even while you're sober, and I smell like a horse after the Derby."

  "You smell fine."

  She nodded. "That's what Michaels used to say."

  "Michaels?"

  "Peter Michaels. Old lover. We used to fight together. Hell, we used to waste those bug hives, he and I. What a team." She shook her head. "God, we got into this incredible habit. After a gig, we'd come back. We'd be so hot, we didn't even bother to shower. We just stripped our suits and screwed. Sheesh. Couple of crazy horny kids."

  She looked over at him. His face had turned a bright pink.

  "Something wrong, Grant."

  "Nothing. Nothing, Alex. Only ..." He smiled. "I know women. Sorry about the old drunken stupor the other night, but you know, you're not bad-looking ... And you're pretty damned tough and not exactly the most feminine creature I've ever encountered ... I like you. Moreover ... I think you like me. I can sense these kinds of things, kiddo. So I was wondering, once this is all over ..."

  "You touch me, you asshole, and I'll cut your genitals off and stick them up your nose."

  He shrugged. "Just thought I'd try." He got up to go. "Well, off to my possible death."

  She stepped over, spun him around, yanked his head down, and devoured his mouth with hers.

  Just as the surprise wore off and Grant warmed up to the osculation, she pushed him away so hard he almost tumbled over the bench.

  "God!" he said, catching his balance. "What was that all about?"

  "Just don't let it go to your head, okay?" She smoothed her mussed hair and stormed from the room, enormously upset at herself.

  She'd liked that a lot, dammit.

  20

  The troops were lined up and ready, their helmets back on and properly secured, their weapons cocked, primed, fully loaded and hungry for action.

  A silence descended upon the troops, bordered by the buzz of the force fields and the snarling tumult of the fighting aliens between them and the entrance to the blacks' monolithic hive.

  Kozlowski could feel their tension.

  Or was it just her own tension, multiplied by twenty-five? This was going to be the make-or-break of the mission.

  Thankfully, the ranks of the bugs had thinned somewhat. Whether many of them had simply been killed or crawled into holes somewhere she didn't know. She just hoped they hadn't gone into the hive.

  She tongued her comm. "Troops ready."

  The bounce-back from Control Central. "All set here." O'Connor's brogue. "Sergeant Argento?"

  She looked back to where the sergeant sat, behind his banks of big weapons.

  "Guns are sighted and ready," said Argento, fingers playing expertly across the controls. "I don't see a more optimum time."

  Kozlowski looked up. She could have wished for a little more light. The clouds had closed back up, tight.

  Oh, well, it didn't really matter that much. They had a good five hours till darkness. That would be more than enough time.

  "Right," came O'Connor's voice. "Opening force-field apertures."

  Kozlowski looked up toward the top of the force field. The field looked like a thin wavering skein of gray normally. It would open just—

  There!

  A wide hole sphinctered, and Argento wasted no time.

  The big guns thundered.

  The many millimetered shells sailed out perfectly, hammering onto the landscape. Whole clusters of bugs were destroyed, even more thrown back in the explosions.

  More shells, differently directed, hammered out of the guns, exploded on the landscape.

  When the smoke cleared, Kozlowski saw that a wide swath had been cleared. A trail of craters lay in the valley that led up to the opening of the hive.

  "Harpoon away!" called O'Connor.

  The appropriately aimed gun on the side of the lander thumped. Amid an explosion of gases, the harpoon launched. It sailed over their heads swiftly and majestically, trailing its cable like a kite caught
in a gale. It threaded the hole in the force field easily and whooshed toward its target.

  Even back here, many meters away, Kozlowski could hear the large harpoon thunk into place, burying itself in the ground right on target.

  A hearty "Hurrah" sounded from the troops.

  "We have a successful landing!" chirped O'Connor's voice. "Prepare for perimeter extension."

  The troops grew quiet. Kozlowski braced herself, getting her rifle ready. Theoretically, when O'Connor pushed the right combination of switches and levers, the force field would move out like an arcing gate—only expanding as it did so.

  Whacking all bugs en route.

  However, in the activity, there was always the possibility that one of the aliens would slip through unharmed. That alien would have to be dealt with, immediately, hence the preparedness of the troops.

  She could see the force field flicker erratically as it moved.

  "Take it a little slower," she instructed.

  "Can't," replied O'Connor.

  With a whoosh, the force field was patterning out and then—snap!—was in place.

  Leaving behind a scattered handful of aliens, in various states of disrepair and shock.

  "Kill 'em," said Kozlowski.

  The troops moved forward, bullets and plasma leaping out to smack into the survivors. It was all over in a matter of moments, bug pieces scattered to the winds of destruction.

  And the force fields were buzzing away, the tunnel within easy striking distance.

  "Yes!" Private Ellis's fist smote the air.

  Cheers broke out among them all as they broke ranks and several broke out and headed deeper into the newly taken territory.

  "Wait a minute, you assholes!" screeched Kozlowski. "I didn't order you ..."

  The force field wavered.

  The troops all stopped in their tracks.

  Kozlowski could feel something wrong before she saw anything.

  But when she saw it, what was wrong was pretty obvious.

  The newly planted harpoon was starting to list.

  "What the hell—"

  "Shit, what's going on—?"

  "Oh, my God! We couldn't see it when it struck ..."

  "The thing landed on a couple of intact bugs."

  That was the only explanation, and the veracity of it, and its implications swept through Kozlowski like electricity.

  "Fall back!" she cried.

  The alien acid must be eating through the base ...

  The upright harpoon shifted more, and the force field flickered again.

  Then the thing toppled, its extended antenna breaking up.

  The southern force field went down.

  For a terrible moment she felt like an EVA astronaut with her suit ripped off.

  "Get back to the original lines!" she screamed.

  At first the surrounding bugs didn't seem to notice. But then, with the damnable speed of their breed, they perceived that the strange almost-invisible wall that had kept them from new prey had evaporated.

  A few tentatively began to straggle toward the troops.

  The soldiers who had gone the farthest out turned to run back. The aliens coming through seemed to sense their fear. They loped forward in the attack.

  "Cover them!" screamed Kozlowski. She fired a volley as close to the troops as she dared, catching a couple of the bugs in their thoraxes, stopping them cold.

  But others took their places.

  "Okay!" she said after chinning her com. "They're past the original wall. Get that back up."

  "Trying," said O'Connor. "Something's short-circuited!"

  "Do it, dammit!"

  "Argento!" said O'Connor. "Get that other harpoon off. That will do the trick."

  By this time, Kozlowski had her hands too full to make commands, let alone comments.

  The bugs were starting to come in.

  Not the whole horde, thank God, or they'd be as good as dead.

  She started blasting, just hoping her people had the sense to come in out of the storm.

  "Shit!" said Daniel Grant. He pounded his hand hard against a bulkhead. "Shit shit shit!"

  "Steady, Mr. Grant," said Dr. Begalli. "I'm sure they've got alternative plans."

  O'Connor was leaning forward, stabbing at the controls. "Goddammit, Argento. Fire the thing! Manually!"

  A voice crackled over the radio. "Can't. Can't find an opening. The things are swarming back into the crater."

  "Then make an opening!" said O'Connor. "That's what you've got the starboard guns for. Blow 'em off!"

  Grant watched disbelievingly.

  Without a hitch.

  Falling apart. Right before his eyes. If those troopers came out of this one without a casualty, it would be a miracle.

  The point man—the one the farthest out—had to turn and blast with his weapons.

  Grant watched with helpless horror as a bug scuttled up the backs of two of its fellows and leapt high into the air, landing directly on the man's back.

  The soldier fought.

  Grant had never seen such a fight.

  Even though suddenly the aliens were all around him, like ants around a lump of sugar, they quaked and blew apart from the plasma blaster.

  Then the havoc there stilled, and Grant could see the things scrabbling away, carrying bloody bits of suit, and pieces of the soldier, like trophies.

  He had to turn away.

  Without a hitch.

  He'd never before seen his optimism turn to sewage, right before his eyes. His stomach turned, and he felt as though he was going to throw up. He contained himself, though. He reached down deep for strength, found it.

  "Hell with the perimeter. Just have him blast those things! Cover the retreat!"

  "I'm sure Argento is doing what he can."

  "Look, can you get at least a partial up. Use what you got, man! Give them some time!"

  He'd come light-years with these people, eaten with them, come to respect them in an odd but compelling way. And now they were being torn apart before his eyes.

  O'Connor nodded. "I can try, sir. I can try."

  Sergeant Argento cursed.

  How the hell was he going to kill all these bugs alone? Should he start blasting, like O'Connor seemed to want—or should he clear out a crater and send off a harpoon?

  He decided to do both. He blasted away with all the guns, making sure he didn't hit any of the troops. The shells streaked out, scattering whole swaths of bugs, and making craters.

  Not exactly as far as they would like, not as close to the entrance of the hive as they needed—

  But it would have to do.

  He sent off another volley.

  Excellent! It was giving the troops a fighting chance.

  He swiveled the guns slightly to the right, concentrated on aiming—

  And then heard the hissing.

  Damn!

  He reached down for his hand weapon and spun around, but it was too late. The bug jumped down from the hull of the Anteater like a spider pouncing on its prey.

  Its secondary set of jaws rammed through Argento's neck, speckling his guns with rich arterial blood.

  They were moving back.

  She'd watched Rodriguez go down. Go down bravely and well, taking a lot of bugs with him and maybe giving them a second or two extra to retreat. No time to grieve now, Kozlowski knew.

  It was time to fight.

  And she'd never fought quite like this before in her life.

  Her rifle was discharging so quickly she could feel the heat come off the thing even through the gloves of her suit. With skill and precision she didn't know she had, she slammed away at the monsters, blowing them apart as fast as they came at her.

  The thing was, she didn't have to think about what she was doing, it was all coming automatically. Because of these suits, the acid-splatter factor was not significant. She didn't have to aim at the knees, and then finish with their heads. She could just keep the rifle level and rip off fire at precisely the mom
ent her instincts and skill dictated.

  All the rest of the soldiers seemed to be doing equally well. The aliens were going down in huge numbers. The problem was that their numbers kept on getting replenished.

  Sensing something on her peripheral vision, she wheeled around and found one of the bugs almost on top of her, its gooey saliva dripping as though in preparation for a feast.

  She fed it a blast of plasma.

  The thing's head lifted up off its neck in the gout of fire and flipped back like some obscene rocket aborting in its takeoff. She ripped off another round of fire to give herself some breathing room, and then took stock of the situation.

  They'd all made it back to within the original perimeter ... all but one.

  Private Jastrow was just outside the area, his rifle blasting away.

  "Jastrow!" she said. "Step back, dammit! Step back so we can put the field on!"

  The man's radio apparently was not working. He did not respond. He just kept firing away at the things.

  She was going to have to go out there and drag him back in, dammit. She started wading through the pile-up of dead bugs, firing away, then stopped dead as she looked back in the direction she was going.

  The bugs covered Jastrow.

  One was blasted away, but another took its place.

  The radio screeched. "Ellis! Ellis, I need some backup! Ellis!" There was a muffled scream, signaling the end of a jazzman's military career.

  "Argento! Start pounding the perimeter wall!" Kozlowski radioed.

  No response.

  What had happened to the guns, dammit! What was going on!

  "Argento! Push them back with the guns!"

  Another voice on the radio: "Argento's down, Colonel. There's a bug up there!"

  Shit. Only one recourse now.

  "O'Connor! Reactivate the southern wall! ASAP!"

  Another bug charged her, dripping with human blood.

  For some reason, Daniel Grant could not take his eyes off the gory demise of Private Jastrow.

  He was stricken by grief, an unfamiliar emotion. He'd actually liked Jastrow, he suddenly realized. He hadn't realized before that he could like anybody. That concept just didn't seem appropriate to the kind of businessman he was.