Grendel Unit

by Bernard Schaffer

  Sludge.

  Suckers.

  Hill was nearly at the end of the block already, and Frank was glad to have to hurry to catch up to him and vacate the area as quickly as possible. For all of humanity's unquestionable universal dominance, as individuals they were still vulnerable to all kinds of feral alien species. Frank felt like a shipwrecked sailor on ancient Earth, wandering into the dense jungle, surrounded by a thousand feral animals. Humans might have all the advanced technology back home, but this was their territory and that made all the difference.

  He passed a dozen different kind of aliens, and all of them seemed to be eyeing him hungrily. Frank knew of at least a dozen planets in the surrounding solar systems where humans were considered good eating, and Frank was willing to bet more than a few of the aliens walking past him on the street had heard the same thing and were interested in him like some kind of strange, new delicacy.

  If Lieutenant Hill really thinks that Unification insignia on his shirt is going to stop a hungry Vallvitka from yanking off his head and slurping his sludge, he's stupider than he looks, Frank thought.

  Frank was limping again as he tried to hurry along, but he didn't mind. The extra security of what was stuffed down the front of his shorts was worth it, even if it made it hard to crouch and walk.

  He caught a glimpse of Hill from across the street, just before the lieutenant disappeared behind the closed door of one of the storefronts. Several street-level transports flew past Frank so fast that his shirt rippled, but there were no signals to stop traffic and let him cross. He waited for a break in traffic before he jumped down off the curb and ran for it.

  The street was filled with an inch of muck, a poisonous mixture of synthoil sputtering out of the engine blocks of the older transports to the hydrosene fuel splattered in bursts of speed from the souped-up turbines of modified racers. Frank splashed through it until he was safely on the opposite side and looked down in disgust at his soaked boots and pants. The storefront's door opened again as two aliens staggered out, obviously intoxicated, and teeth-rattling bass drums spilled out onto the street through the open door. Frank grabbed it before it could close and went in, stopping at the doorway to give his eyes time to adjust to the darkness.

  A dozen alien bodies slithered against one another on the dance floor, the green and blue hues of their skin lit by the swirling, colored smoke curling up and around their legs and arms and tails and tentacles. Frank excused himself as he made his way past a group of large, ominous looking creatures, and headed around the dance floor, trying to find his lieutenant. The air was thick with colored effects smoke and smoke from all manner of pipes and hookahs and tiny rolled up cigarettes that everyone inside the bar was smoking. Frank blinked rapidly and wiped his eyes to try and see as he made his way toward the bar.

  Amidst the winged insectoids and cybernetics, he saw Hill, sitting at the bar, scowling at the writhing figures on the dance floor. Frank worked his way through the crowd until he was close enough to Hill to call out, "Thanks for waiting for me."

  "It was a test," Hill muttered. "I wanted to see how long it would take you to catch up. Consider me not impressed."

  Frank ignored the comment as he looked around the club, seeing nothing but aliens. "Did you find him yet?"

  "No," Hill said. "My tracker went on the blink when I came in here, though. This place probably scrambles our signals. Typical."

  Frank looked at the bartender, a short, squat alien called a Buddha. They called themselves something else, obviously, but their resemblance to the ancient holy figure was remarkable, except that they were little more than five feet tall and had no discernable ears. If anything, they looked like regular humans who'd been compressed into smaller, fatter, figures. The Buddha caught Frank's glance and came around to them, saying, "Are you two drinking or just taking up space?"

  Hill spun around in his seat, one eyebrow raised. "Excuse me?" He leaned forward to press his chest against the bar where the Buddha could see it what was on his shirt.

  The bartender looked down at the Unification insignia and his expression changed to happy recognition. "First rounds on the house for our distinguished guests," he said, giving them a fast smile.

  Hill grunted as he looked back at Frank, but Frank was too busy looking past him at the bartender as he poured two beers from the tap. "That's exactly why Unification will ultimately win, Frank. Civilization is an inevitable outcome," Hill said, looking out at the dance floor behind them. "Even in places as filthy as this, every single living thing in the universe craves order." He tapped the insignia on his chest and said, "That's what this stands for. That's why I wear it. I represent that order. That's why I wear it, to show these cretins that no matter what they do, we're never far away."

  Frank watched the Buddha finish filling up their mugs, then lean forward and spit something yellow and thick from the bottom of his throat straight into the white foam of Hill's beer. The Buddha plunked the beers down in front of them and said, "You boys need anything else, just let me know."

  Hill picked up his mug of beer and took a long, deep drink. He lifted his face from the glass and said, "You know what this tastes like, Frank?"

  Frank shook his head silently.

  "It tastes like the victory of civilization."

  Frank watched the lieutenant lift the mug and drain it down to the suds, then slam it back down on the bar and say, "That was good." Hill eyed Frank's drink, still sitting on the bar, untouched. "What's the matter, Frank? Scared of sludgesucker beer?"

  A few heads turned at the word, and Frank immediately looked away, trying to pretend that he wasn't with Hill. "Let's just find your friend and get the hell out of here," he whispered.

  Hill's response was louder than he realized. His voice rose above the clustered conversations of the others at the bar and drew even more attention to them as he said, "Are you afraid of these people? Or, whatever the hell they are?" He picked up Frank's beer and gulped half of it down, then smiled stupidly at the dancers cavorting on the stage beneath them. He waved his arms in the air in vulgar, grunting imitation, and laughed at his own wit. "These are the noble savages of our time, Frank, and it's our duty to bring the glories of civilization to them, whether they know they want it not."

  At least twenty aliens were staring directly at Hill now with open animosity, but he didn't seem to notice. "Are you really as God damned insane as you sound?" Frank hissed.

  "Excuse me?" Hill sputtered.

  Frank opened his mouth to speak, but his voice pinched in his throat like the words had turned sideways and become lodged there at the sight of three menacing figures coming up behind Hill. They looked human, except for their piercing red eyes and sharp-pointed ears. The female standing on the far left was busily picking her long, spiked metal fangs with long, spiked metal fingernails. Her shockingly orange hair was pulled into wicked spikes that stuck out a foot from her head and looked sharp enough to impale someone on.

  There were two males next to the woman. The first was a large, muscular behemoth with a metal jaw that looked like it had been built out of antique transport scraps. Standing at the front of the trio was the horned one.

  The horned one was tall and thin and sickly pale, with two sharp metal horns bolted into his forehead like an ancient devil. He sneered at Hill and said, "You in the wrong place, fleshbag."

  Modders, Frank thought.

  Former Homo sapiens that had modified their bodies with so many illegal implants and cybernetics that they were no longer able to be registered as human in the Unification census books. Modders were almost always mercenaries, or smugglers, and if they were on a planet like Iscariot-Four, they were probably both.

  Hill was still looking at Frank when the horned one spoke from behind him and he smirked with drunken indulgence as he turned around. He put his hands on his hips, making sure the modders saw he was carrying a pistol, and puffed out his chest, putting his shirt's Unification insignia on full display. "Take it somewhere else, budd
y," Hill said. "Just be glad we're not here for you."

  "No?" the horned one said. "What you here for, then?"

  "We're on official business, so just move along," Hill said, doing his best to maintain his air of authority. He was like a lion tamer holding nothing but a chair and a whip in a circus ring, and the lions had suddenly stopped backing up and were now starting to circle dangerously close. Hill raised his voice and said, "Move along, because you don't want me in your life, I guarantee it."

  The female snorted with laughter and said, "I'm bored already. Let's take him."

  "Take him here?" the horned one said, his glowing red eyes widening with delight.

  Frank slid his hand down to his waistband, fingers crawling inside of his pants to touch the hard plastic grip of the gun stuffed in his shorts. As long as Hill stood still, nobody would see him pull it out. I'm not going to start a firefight in here, he told himself. I'm just going to get us the hell out of here and back on the ship.

  "All right, listen," Hill said quickly. "Our business is done here, and we're leaving. I can see you're all fine, upstanding citizens and there's no need to cause you any trouble."

  The horned one's face twisted in confusion at Hill's words and he said, "You ain't supposed to be here, fool. This place off limits to fleshbags with badges. You leavin', that's for real, you just not leavin' like you think."

  A cold bead of sweat trickled down the side of Frank's face as he got enough of the pistol's grip between his fingers to start pulling it up, when he felt the cold barrel of another gun press against the side of his face. Frank let go of the pistol in his pants and turned slightly to see a large, darkly-robed alien standing beside him, shaking its head and wagging his finger.

  "What you doin' back there, fleshbag?" the horned one said, coming around Hill's side, glaring at Frank. "You tryin' to do us? He tryin' to do us."

  The rest of the modders laughed and Hill shouted, "All right, that's enough! We are Unification officers on official business and if you−"

  The female was a blur of motion as her arm flashed forward and her claws slashed through the air. Hill looked down in amazement as the silvery metal tips sliced him across the chest and arm, tearing through his shirt and skin like tissue paper. Blood sprayed the stacks of bright, glittering bottles behind the bar, dripping crimson blood into the swirling multi-colored lights.

  Hill looked down in stunned horror at the deep gashes open in his body, and his mouth fell open but nothing came out except sputtering disbelief.

  The horned one grabbed the gun and holster at Hill's hip and tore them loose with one ferocious rip. He tossed the gun over the bar and called out to the Buddha, "Hold this for me. I'm gonna keep it as a trophy." He smiled at the alien holding Frank hostage and said, "You down to kill some fleshbags?"

  The alien nodded.

  The horned modder glared at Frank, "You try to run, I'll rip off your kneecaps with my teeth." When Frank nodded that he understood, the horned one pushed the big dope with the metal jaw and said, "Go watch the front."

  Hill was about to faint, but the female grabbed him by the throat and kept him upright, dragging him away from the bar and into the crowd. Frank looked down at the smear of blood on the floor from Hill and felt the gun tap him on the side of the face, telling him to move too.

  There were dozens of aliens at the bar as Frank walked past, keeping his hands up, hoping one of them had the decency to call for help. None of them even bothered to look up from their drinks. The music was still blaring and the dance floor was still filled with twirling, twitching figures that had no idea two people were about to be murdered.

  The female modder shoved the back door of the club open, letting the murky light of the rear alley way into the club enough for Frank to get a better view of the alien walking him to his death. It was as tall as he was, but so heavily robed that it looked like a walking pile of rags. It wore a metal mask with narrow eye slits that was painted with a gruesome design. It could have been a hundred different aliens from a hundred different systems, but it didn't matter. It was the reason Frank was going to die.

  "You messed up our deal," the horned one said as he held the door open for Frank to come out. "My friend here come a long way to buy our Phennies and you two show up, makin' us look bad."

  Frank looked back at the alien holding the gun to his head and said, "I'm sorry. We weren't here for you or your Phennies. We were just looking for a friend of ours."

  The horned one grabbed Frank by the throat and yanked him through the doorway with terrifying speed and tossed him effortlessly into the alley. Frank crashed into Hill and the two men fell onto the dirty ground. Frank lifted his face in time to see Hill raise his hands and say, "Don't kill us! It's not worth it! We have a ship! We have weapons. We are worth more to you alive, I promise."

  "Oh, believe that we gon' find your ship," the horned one snarled. "We don' need you for that though."

  "Shoot him in the knees," the female said. "I want to hear him scream."

  The male reached around his back and his arm swung around holding the nastiest pistol Frank had ever seen. He smiled cruelly as he aimed the gun at Hill's left knee and Hill screamed like a terrified child, shrieking with fear, until Frank was forced to close his eyes to try and shut out the sight of the horned one shooting.

  There was a loud bark of pistol fire that echoed against the bricks with a deafening boom, followed by a long string of high-pitched cries by Hill. Frank felt something hit the ground hard in front of him, landing with a wet splat on the asphalt, but when he opened his eyes, he saw only the horned one sprawled out in front of him. Half the modder's head was caved in from being shot at point-blank range and his body was still twitching in the throes of death.

  Frank looked up, stupefied, to see his alien captor turn and point his pistol at the female. His voice was muffled beneath the heavy mask when he said, "You so much as blink and you're dead, cyborg."

  She stared down at her partner in wide-eyed wonder, and in one swift movement, spun on her black spiked heels and took off running. She was nothing but a blur in the alleyway, moving so inhumanly fast that even when the rag-covered figure fired at her twice, the bullets zipped past her, narrowly missing.

  "God damn it!" the alien shouted as he reached up and wrenched his mask off of his face. He turned and threw it down at Hill, hitting the lieutenant square in the chest. "You stupid son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing here?"

  Frank and Hill both looked up in amazement at the sweaty, red-faced Vic Cojo standing draped in his alien costume, and said nothing.

  The alley door behind him popped open with the Buddha holding Hill's gun in his tiny hands, shouting, "What the hell is happening out here?" He looked down at the modder's dead body and gasped, then started to raise the gun to shoot.

  Vic turned around and fired two rounds directly into the fat little alien's chest and sprayed the doorway with fine, red mist. As the door swung back on the body, Vic looked at Frank and said, "Don't just sit there, get your pistol ready while I take this stupid rig off."

  "Y-yes, sir," Frank stammered.

  Vic struggled to slide his left arm out of the large, cumbersome suit, when the club's rear door slammed open again. Without looking, Vic raised the gun and fired, blasting a hole through the face of the big modder, hitting him right in the metal jaw. There was a loud ding! like someone just won a prize at a carnival and the modder collapsed over top of the Buddha, his bright, silvery blood spilling down across the entranceway, more like engine synthoil than actual blood.

  Vic hurried out of the rest of his suit and looked down in disgust at the bodies and Lieutenant Hill, who still had not moved. "Get up," he snapped. "More are going to be here any second."

  12. Kill At Will

  Frank lifted Lieutenant Hill's chin to better inspect the gashes sliced across his chest, guessing they were an inch deep. The flaps of Hill's filleted skin were like drooping open pieces of beef. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Vic p
lant one foot on the side of the Buddha's small head and step up onto the large modder's back that was blocking the entrance. Vic had his gun raised as he checked the inside of the club for threats, but everyone was busy racing the other way. They were crashing into and over one another, a hundred aliens of varying shapes and sizes fighting to get through one modest exit.

  Vic grunted as he climbed back down and raised his weapon to cover the mouth of the alleyway. There was over one hundred feet of concrete and brick between the back entrance to the club and the street, with no doors or stairwells.

  The modders were coming.

  They are coming in force and they are coming in fast, Vic thought. If they catch us in that alleyway, it's going to be a short fight. He glanced back down at Frank and saw the medic screwing around with his bag and said, "What the hell are you doing? We have to move!"

  Frank's fingers were trembling as he scanned the compartments of the bag, searching for the right pouch. "H-he's in shock from the injuries and any movement is going to cause him to bleed out more. I have to stem the bleeding," Frank stammered.

  Vic snatched Frank by the collar of his shirt and twisted it, forcing the medic to look up at him, "If you don't get him on his feet and move, we're all dead anyway!"

  Frank was almost too terrified to move, but somehow, from a very tiny place in the pit of his stomach he said, "Then you go, sir, because I'm not leaving this man behind."

  Vic's eyes narrowed on Frank, as if he were about to drag him by the collar like a disobedient dog. Instead, there was something about the seriousness of Frank's face that made him let go and say, "You have five seconds to patch him up. Make it count."

  Frank dove back into his bag and said, "Got it! Cauterizing powder." He popped the cap off a jar of silvery powder that looked like crystallized ash and said, "Can you hold him up, sir? He's not going to like this very much."