Grendel Unit

by Bernard Schaffer

  The ship was smaller than Frank expected. It had a long neck and two wings that were cocked back like a hawk positioned to swoop down on unsuspecting prey. The cockpit looked big enough for just a few people, and there didn't seem to be many cannons equipped to the underside. There were guns, a few missile bays, but nothing Frank expected for a field unit in one of the most elite special ops units in existence. "What is this, the shuttle?" Frank said, watching the ship's airlock door open several feet from the edge of the platform.

  "I wish," Hill grunted.

  There was nothing but empty air between the platform and the ship. "Why is he hovering out there when he can just land here?"

  Hill scowled and said, "And mess up the General's flight deck? Are you nuts?"

  "Stupid me," Frank said. "They couldn't get us a bigger ship?"

  "You're quickly going to discover that things aren't exactly done the way they ought to be in this unit. General Milner is a great man, but he's stretching himself too thin by trying to run Grendel and still attend to all his other responsibilities. I don't want to say anything to jinx myself, but if everything goes according to plan, someone else will be running this unit in the near future. And then you are going to see some major changes.

  "Major changes," Frank said. "Those are always just the kind everyone always hopes for." He tossed his bags across the divide, into the airlock with a crashing thud. Frank leaned back and took a running leap, jumping off the edge of the platform and hurling himself through the opening to land on top of his bags.

  "Make some space," Hill shouted, waving for Frank to clear out of the way. When he ran, his tall, perfectly shined boots squeaked across the deck's surface. Hill leapt awkwardly into the ship and grabbed for the side of the door, but his hand slipped. For one brief moment, he teetered on the airlock's edge with his hands flapping in the wind, just inches from a thousand foot drop to the bottom of the academy's entrance. There wouldn't be enough of him left to fill a trash bag. Frank stepped in front of him and reached forward, grabbing Hill by the belt. He held him there for a few seconds before pulling him in.

  Hill knocked Frank's hand away and gasped as he clutched his stomach, wobbling as he reached for the wall. "I-I slipped on something before I jumped. Some stupid bastard forgot to mop the damn deck."

  Frank peeked over the edge of the ship to look down at the steep drop and thought, If you fell they'd have more than enough mopping to do.

  Hill waved him on and panted, "Go ahead, I'll catch up to you. Tell that idiot Buehl to get us out of here."

  Frank picked up his bags and headed into the ship, frowning at the narrow corridors and tight doorways. The engines were a low, steady rumble that vibrated up through his boots as he followed the main corridor toward the cockpit. He couldn't see anyone in the pilot's seat, but there was someone, or something, grunting on the floor below.

  Frank listened for a second at the animalistic noises and said, "If this is some kind of weird initiation ritual, I'm really not into that kind of thing. I mean, I'll watch, I guess, but I'm not going to jump in. Probably."

  The grunting continued, followed by the sound of a man counting rapidly in between breaths. Frank leaned forward and saw the pilot lying face down on the floor next to his chair, racing through a series of pushups. Sergeant Bob Buehl was wiry, but strong, built more like a long-distance runner than a bodybuilder, but he wore a too-tight t-shirt with the sleeves cut high in order to show off his thick biceps.

  Frank watched the man crank out a dozen more pushups and said, "Is this how you get the ship going again? I mean, it doesn't look like much, but I figured it at least had engines that didn't have to use our collective kinetic energy to get started."

  Buehl finished his last pushup and bounced off the floor, looking up and down at Frank's skinny, wiry frame, and said, "You work out?"

  "Sometimes. Normally only before I have to pose for that swimsuit calendar they always bug me about."

  Buehl grabbed a baseball cap off the center console and pulled it over his sweaty head. The center of the cap was emblazoned with a pair of sergeant's stripes. An enlisted man flying a covert black ops unit ship? Frank thought. Unusual.

  "Well you better get workouts in when you can around here," Buehl said. "Our bodies weren't meant to be going in and out of orbit like this all the time. You'll get the space bends and your muscles will atrophy to nothing."

  Lt. Hill came up behind Frank and said, "Space bends is a myth, Bob. I told you that. It only affects a few alien species, but humans are safe."

  Buehl glanced at Frank and muttered, "If that's the case, maybe we ought to start carrying as many sludgesuckers around as we can find."

  The word struck Frank like a bullet, but Hill had him by the arm and was pulling on him before he could work up a response. "Don't mind Bob," Hill said. "He's a techno-wizard but he grew up on one of the backwater planets where people still marry their cousins and think aliens are subspecies. Come on, I'll show you sick bay and your quarters."

  "He sounds a little Sapienist to me," Frank said, looking back at the cockpit.

  Hill waved his hand dismissively, "He just talks tough. Don't worry about it. I mean, I'm a Unificationist as much as the next guy, but I don't necessarily want any sludgesuckers coming around my sisters if you know what I'm saying. Right?"

  Hill had stopped and was looking back at Frank, waiting for an answer. "Right," Frank finally said. It was the only thing he could think to say.

  Hill leaned closer to Frank and whispered, "Actually, one of my cousins got involved with some slick-talking Ligtorp, the ones with the long, skinny arms and sloped-ears? He got her pregnant somehow. She's carrying this half-breed, slope-eared, long-armed demon baby right now. Can you believe that? My own gene pool fouled by this little Liglet bastard. It's a disgrace."

  "Sounds rough," Frank said. "I wonder why she didn't stop to think about your feelings before she went and did that."

  "It's not my feelings, per se, but the rest of the families. It's selfish, is what it is," Hill said.

  Frank nodded slowly, trying his best to play it cool. "Listen, not for nothing, but I always thought Grendel was at the tip of the spear in the fight against terrorists like the Sapienists who want to stop Unification."

  "That's what we are," Hill said.

  "No offense, but don't you find it a little strange to be out here putting your lives on the line for a cause you don't believe in?"

  Hill's eyes widened, "Who said I don't believe in it? Are you accusing me of harboring anti-Unification feelings, soldier?"

  "No, Lieutenant," Frank said quickly. He was going to have to do some quick thinking. "I was asking how you reconcile the work we are asked to do…given the reality of the situation."

  "Oh," Hill said, nodding. The ship lurched forward into motion, shifting Hill sideways enough that he instinctively stuck his hand against the wall to brace himself until he got his bearings. Frank was used to the movement and rocked back and forth to compensate, using what the old soldiers had called their 'sea legs.' Apparently, Hill had skipped that part of training, or he simply wasn't accustomed to space flight, because he kept his hand pressed against the wall as he made his way down the corridor. "The general doesn't expect us to go win the war single-handedly, Frank. We take on specialized assignments that involve enemies of the State."

  "Terrorists, you mean," Frank said.

  Hill shrugged and said, "Yeah. Mostly."

  Before Frank could ask what that meant, the intercom buzzed with the pilot's voice, saying, "Lieutenant, we're on course for Iscariot-Four. We should arrive within the hour."

  "Excellent, Bob. We'll be up after I show the F.N.G. around."

  F.N.G.? Frank thought, looking at the way Hill wobbled as he walked. Instead, he said, "What's on Iscariot-Four?"

  "The jackhole hotshot," Hill said. "He smooth-talked the General into letting him run some ridiculous surveillance operation in a bar down there. I say it's all some big excuse to spend Unification
money on booze and women. Since we're in the area I figured I'd pay him a little visit and prove once and for all that Victor Cojo is nothing but a glorified mercenary."

  "Cojo?" Frank said, thinking about the Unification investigator he'd met all those years ago.

  "Yeah," Hill said, looking back at Frank. "Why? Do you know him?"

  Frank studied the nervous look in Hill's eyes and said, "Nope. His name sounds like something I read in the archives awhile back. Some horror book about a mad dog, I think."

  "Mad dog," Hill sniffed. "That sounds about right."

  The engines groaned as they downshifted from interstellar drive to an approach speed for the Iscariot system. The ship lurched back and forth and Frank's stomach flopped sideways, making him have to take a deep breath to keep himself from getting queasy. Space travel was going to take some getting used to. He shook his head and was about to make a comment to Hill, when he saw the other man's face had turned a sickening shade of green. "Are you all right, Lieutenant?" Frank said.

  "I'm fine," Hill snapped, pressing his back against the wall to keep himself steady. He pressed his hand against his forehead and took it away to look at the sheen of sweat covering his palm. "I just ate something that disagreed with me this morning and this damned idiot of a sergeant doesn't know how to fly the damn ship properly!" he shouted down the corridor.

  Frank nodded sympathetically and said, "He'll get better at it, I'm sure."

  "He'd better, or I'll be finding us a new pilot, that's for certain," Hill muttered. "Anyway, when we get to Iscariot-Four, just follow my lead. It's a hostile planet to humans, and you aren't used to hardcore undercover operations yet. Stay with me, do everything I do, and you'll be fine. Understand?"

  "Yes, sir," Frank said.

  Hill quickened his pace, trying to get down the corridor as fast as he could. "Show yourself around the rest of the ship. I'm going to lie down for a bit until we get there. But make sure you're ready to go when this ship lands, because I'm not waiting around for any F.N.G.'s, you got that?"

  "I got that," Frank said. He watched the lieutenant clutch his stomach and vanish into his bunk and sighed, "Oh, this is going to be just a ton of fun, I can tell."

  11. Body Count's in the House

  Their ship descended through a layer of smog so intense it covered the ship's windows in yellow, misty grime. Frank leaned forward against the observation port to peer down at the surface, seeing nothing but dimly glowing streetlights. Buehl was bickering with the ship's console, telling it, "I know the altimeter says we're approaching landing distance, but I can't see a damn thing!"

  The proximity warning alarm sounded, beeping rapidly as the ship continued dropping. The rapid descent made Frank's ears pop so violently, he had to clench his eyes shut and wait for the pain to pass. He grabbed a dangling storage strap from the wall and held it with both hands, tightening his grip as the warning alert became one long, panicked computer cry. They collided with the ground so hard that every light on the ship flickered as Frank was lifted two feet off the floor and swung sideways into the wall. Once the ship had settled, he was still swinging from the security strap, too terrified to move.

  "Sorry!" Buehl called out. "Sorry about that. That was my fault. The damn system wouldn't calibrate for all the pollution. Is everybody all right?"

  Frank let himself down and stood up shakily. From further down the corridor, he could hear Lieutenant Hill vomiting and had to smile.

  I might be an F.N.G. but at least I'm not a puker.

  He bent down to look at Iscariot-Four, seeing nothing but a smoky, fog-ridden city block. There were large geysers of steam pouring from the tops of tall smokestacks that ran up from the sidewalk. Steam hissed out of rusted metals grates in the gutters, and high above the wet surface of the street, a four-lane aerial highway with hovercars and bikes and trucks racing past one another at neck-breaking speeds.

  In the dense, gray mist, Frank saw that he wasn't the only one watching. There were dozens of glittering eyes staring back at the ship, and at him. The fog shifted and he saw creatures and aliens and oddly-shaped figures of every kind. He looked for any humans, either on the street or in the cars above, but saw none.

  Hill came banging down the corridor, wiping his mouth and scowling at Buehl. He was buckling a service pistol around his waist as he said, "Thanks for almost killing us, you imbecile."

  "I'm sorry about that, El-tee. I'm still getting used to flying this thing."

  "Well you better get used to it, or you'll be reassigned to the service corps," Hill snapped. He nodded his head for Frank to follow and said, "Are you ready? That jackhole Cojo is out there and the sooner we find him boozed up in some bar, the sooner we can get the hell off this dump."

  "Wait a second," Buehl said, jumping out of his seat. "We haven't discussed what kind of gear you're taking for this mission."

  Hill patted the pistol holstered on his hip and said, "I've got all the gear I need. Frank doesn't need a gun if he has me."

  Frank looked sideways at Hill at that remark, then decided he was better off not commenting. He tapped the black medical bag strapped across his chest and said, "I've got my bag. What else did you think we needed?"

  Buehl's mouth fell open, "What else did I…you seriously don't want a gun?"

  "I said he doesn't need one," Hill said.

  Frank shrugged and looked back at Buehl, "This is just a surveillance op and we're trying to blend in. It wouldn't exactly make sense for me to go around wearing one."

  "That's why neither of you should go around wearing one," Buehl said, looking directly at the gun on Hill's hip. "I've got guns you can conceal in your armpit. Guns you can hide in your hat. Guns you can hide inside other guns that are hidden inside other, bigger, scarier guns. Listen, I have got a lot of guns, okay?"

  "I honestly don't think I'll need one," Frank said.

  "And even if he did think so, I already said he won't be taking one," Hill said.

  "Fine. Whatever," Buehl said, looking like Frank had just rejected him from playing on his schoolyard kickball team. "How about comms?"

  Hill waved his phone at Buehl and said, "I can track Cojo on this and call you when we're ready to get picked up. Done and done."

  "I meant between you two," Buehl said. "You're going to need covert communications with each other if you get separated. How am I going to reach Frank if you go down, Lieutenant?"

  Hill chuckled and said, "If I go down? You've been spending too much time with the jackhole, sergeant. Come on, Frank."

  Frank watched the lieutenant exit through the side hatch into the murky mist of Iscariot-Four, and he looked back at Buehl and said, "Two clueless human Unification officers on a planet filled with hostile aliens. What could possibly go wrong, Bob?"

  Buehl grimaced as he looked out at the city. Lieutenant Hill was already busily holding his phone up in the air, trying to get a bead on Cojo's signal. He glanced down and smiled at Frank's hand, held out toward him with the palm upturned.

  "Give me something small that I can conceal," Frank said. "And make it quick before Lieutenant Lostlunch sees."

  "Yes, sir," Buehl said, before taking off running for the equipment locker.

  Hill looked back at Frank as he came hobbling up behind him. He frowned at the way Frank was walking, favoring his left side and wincing with every step, and he smirked. "I thought they trained you trainees for physical maneuvers. What's the matter? Can't keep up with a real field agent, academy boy?"

  They were a block and a half from the ship and Frank had found the lieutenant pressed to the corner of a building, trying to stay out of sight. "I'm fine, sir," Frank said. "I just have a cramp from all that traveling. Buehl said it might be space bends."

  "Not you too," Hill moaned. "Shake it off and let's go. I've got Cojo's signal and I want to get the hell off this sludgesucking planet."

  A tall, cloaked alien being floated past the alleyway, its long, black fingers bent into sharp talons, moving like a wraith bet
ween the crowds of different species that covered the sidewalk. Soon, the figure vanished in the mist and Frank tapped Hill and said, "Let's go."

  The street was a long stretch of bars and shops and bussing terminals, with a hundred different ships filling the skies above with thick streams of smoke and landing lights. Frank wondered how Buehl could have forgotten to recommend a breathing apparatus in his equipment prep.

  From the corner of his eyes, Frank saw a female alien emerge from one of the doorways and block Hill's passage. She was humanoid, but with glittering pink skin and bright blue lips. She wore nothing but a thin strip of fabric across her generous bosom and a thin, see-through skirt around her hips. She pressed her hand against Hill's chest and said, "What were you two doing in that alley, honey? Why don't you take me back there and I'll show you some real fun?"

  Hill angrily slapped her hand away and said, "Keep your filthy hands off me, sludgesucker."

  The word echoed like a gunshot against the storefronts, and every head on the street turned to look at them. Hill ignored it and pushed his way past to keep walking, looking at nothing but the beeping tracker on his phone.

  "Sorry," Frank said softly. "He's got kind of an embarrassing medical condition." He held up his thumb and index finger in the universal signal for "Tiny."

  The alien snarled viciously at Frank, baring her blue teeth and soulless black eyes, and then she turned away and raced off into the smog. He stood there for a moment, wondering what exactly would have happened in that alleyway if they'd gone with her. There were plenty of predatory animals in the universe that used an attractive display to lure their victims in, and then shredded them to pieces with their claws and fangs.

  Or was she just a desperate soul willing to sell herself to survive? Does she just look different than me, and that's what scares me? he thought.

  They're aliens, Frank, he could hear his father telling him. They're not like us. You're living in a fantasy world if you think they'll do anything but tear you open, eat you like meat, and slurp the marrow out of your bones. That's why we have to control them, before they overrun us.