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“What do you suppose that thing is?” Glint asked. Badger said, “It’s some critter indigenous to this planet, I think. Boys, I’ll bet we’re the first ones ever to look at this thing.”
“G’wan!” Meg said. “One of the Lancet people might have seen it first.”
“No way to prove that,” Badger said. “But this thing could be rare, and never take to hanging around the places where humans live and work. Like the bobcat and the wolverine on Earth. If there’s animals like that on Earth, why not here?”
“Here, fella,” Meg called. “Why’ncha come over here?”
The piglike thing lifted its little triangular ears and stared at them with bulbous blue eyes. It lifted a forepaw and pawed the ground. Then it trotted over to Meg.
“Hey, ain’t that nice?” said Meg. She reached over and scratched the creature above its ears. It made a high-pitched grunting sound that had about it a tone of approval. No mistaking that sound for a cry of pain.
The others crowded around. “Cute, ain’t it?” said Glint, who had raised hogs in Arkansas.
Meg said, “I wonder why it came to us?”
“Can’t tell about alien life-forms,” Badger said. “I wonder if we should take this fellow along with us. Back on Earth sell him to a circus, make a lot of money off’n him. I wonder what he eats?”
“I’m sure he’d tell us if he could,” Meg said, scratching the creature’s back. “Where do you come from, fellow?”
The creature cocked its head at them as if it were trying to understand. It seemed to be listening to something. Or for something. It was hard to tell which.
Badger listened, too. And after a few moments he heard a high-pitched buzzing sound, like locusts, only heavier somehow, meaner. As he listened the sound changed. It turned into a heavy thumping, as if a thousand bass drums were advancing up the ridge. Then Badger realized that the two noises were going on simultaneously. He wondered what it could be, and suddenly he didn’t want to know.
“Lock and load!” he shouted to the men. “I don’t like the sound of this!”
The creatures came over the top of the little hill, a couple dozen of them, though of course that was only the first wave. They were different from the creatures they had seen before. They were the size of large dogs, and their heads were big and shaped like raptor birds. They had no feathers, however, just two tails apiece, and those tails appeared to be barbed. Their mouths were filled with long sharp teeth—that seemed to be a rule here on this planet—and they were making a buzzing sound as they came.
Behind them came another group of creatures, a little smaller than the others, about the size and general shape of wopdchucks, and colored a lime green with bluish features. They all had mustaches, like walruses. They made a booming sound as they walked, but Badger couldn’t see how they produced it. They came on, all of them, and they didn’t look friendly.
“Hit ‘em with it!” Red shouted, and he and his three buddies began to pour in fire. They had the caseless carbines going so fast that the firing mechanisms began to grow hot, but they ignored the pain and kept on firing.
One thing was plain from the first: these creatures were hard to hit. They weren’t coming on fast, but their dodging and swerving made them difficult targets. Nevertheless, Red scored a hit, and had the satisfaction of seeing one of the woodchuck blow up like an overinflated beach ball.
Meg scored, and then Glint, who shouted in triumph.
Then one of the raptor-headed creatures got under the one of his fire and grabbed his foot. It bit, twisted.
Glint’s foot came off at the ankle. He stared at the stump, too surprised to feel pain yet, and tried to take a step away. But he toppled over and they were on him, a dozen of them, biting and tearing. One longnecked creature buried his head in Glint’s belly. Glint screamed and tried to tear it away, but the bird-thing was stronger. It got its head deep inside Glint’s belly, and then pulled the rest of itself in. Lying on the ground, Glint went into convulsions.
Badger dropped his empty carbine and picked up a plasma rifle. He turned it to full fire and sprayed the area. He caught Meg, out on the periphery, with his blast and saw her wither and collapse before he could turn it off her.
“Damn it, sorry, Meg!” he shouted. It was just the sort of unfortunate thing that happens sometimes in combat.
Meanwhile, Min Dwin, firing from the hip, was seized from behind by an alien. It caught her by her long hair, and she turned, still firing, and put four rounds into the creature’s head, had the satisfaction of seeing it blow apart. But it still held her hair in its dying claw, and from its ruined head a gout of acid sprayed, catching her full in the face.
“My eyes!” she screamed, and fell to the ground, clawing at her face. She writhed for a moment, then lay still. The acid had penetrated to her brain.
Andy Groggins tried to turn his carbine to face an alien that had just come up on his side. His feet were yanked from under him. An alien had him by the ankles, another seized his arms. They tugged in opposite directions, and Andy triggered off his entire magazine, spraying the area and nearly catching Badger, who had to dive to escape the blasts. Then Andy roared as his left leg was ripped off at the hip.
The alien who had been pulling his feet fell backward. The other caught its balance and came at him. Badger triggered off a burst and blew the creature away. Groggins was dead before the carbine’s reverberations died away.
Looking around, Badger saw that he was alone. The others were dead. The original beast, the barrel-shaped thing, was nearby, sitting on its haunches and watching expectantly.
“Damn you, you Judas goat!” Badger said, and blew it away with a short burst.
The area was a shambles of blood and gore. All Badger’s people were dead, and he expected to go next, but the attack had ended. There were no aliens in sight now except dead ones, and no other creatures, either.
Badger stood there, sobbing with fatigue and anguish, and saw a shadow appear as if from nowhere. He looked up.
There it was, Potter’s ship, the Lancet, and he had a chance to get out of this. “Drop a line! Pick me up!”
They were down level with him, and he saw four of the crew watching him from one of the big glassite windows. He screamed at them, and finally they opened a hatch and threw out a rope ladder. Badger scrambled up with his remaining strength and collapsed inside the ship.
“Did you get all that on tape?” Potter asked.
“Yes, sir,” the second-in-command said.
“The scientists will be interested in these creatures,” Potter commented.
“Yes, sir,” the second-in-command said. “But the killing of all those men was a little gruesome, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, edit that part out,” Potter scoffed. “And mark it in the log that we didn’t reach the surface in time to save the rest of the mutineers.” He turned to go, then stroked his chin. “Not that one ever really wants to rescue mutineers. They set a bad example for the rest of the crew. But don’t put that in.”
“Yes, sir.” The second-in-command saluted and began to walk off. “We did pull one of them out.”
“Take him to the medics,” Potter said. “We’ll get his story later.”
“Yes, sir.” The second saluted and left the control room.
“And now, Dr. Myakovsky,” Potter said to himself, “It is time to deal with you.”
64
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74
“G’wan!” Meg said. “One of the Lancet people might have seen it first.”
“No way to prove that,” Badger said. “But this thing could be rare, and never take to hanging around the places where humans live and work. Like the bobcat and the wolverine on Earth. If there’s animals like that on Earth, why not here?”
“Here, fella,” Meg called. “Why’ncha come over here?”
The piglike thing lifted its little triangular ears and stared at them with bulbous blue eyes. It lifted a forepaw and pawed the ground. Then it trotted over to Meg.
“Hey, ain’t that nice?” said Meg. She reached over and scratched the creature above its ears. It made a high-pitched grunting sound that had about it a tone of approval. No mistaking that sound for a cry of pain.
The others crowded around. “Cute, ain’t it?” said Glint, who had raised hogs in Arkansas.
Meg said, “I wonder why it came to us?”
“Can’t tell about alien life-forms,” Badger said. “I wonder if we should take this fellow along with us. Back on Earth sell him to a circus, make a lot of money off’n him. I wonder what he eats?”
“I’m sure he’d tell us if he could,” Meg said, scratching the creature’s back. “Where do you come from, fellow?”
The creature cocked its head at them as if it were trying to understand. It seemed to be listening to something. Or for something. It was hard to tell which.
Badger listened, too. And after a few moments he heard a high-pitched buzzing sound, like locusts, only heavier somehow, meaner. As he listened the sound changed. It turned into a heavy thumping, as if a thousand bass drums were advancing up the ridge. Then Badger realized that the two noises were going on simultaneously. He wondered what it could be, and suddenly he didn’t want to know.
“Lock and load!” he shouted to the men. “I don’t like the sound of this!”
The creatures came over the top of the little hill, a couple dozen of them, though of course that was only the first wave. They were different from the creatures they had seen before. They were the size of large dogs, and their heads were big and shaped like raptor birds. They had no feathers, however, just two tails apiece, and those tails appeared to be barbed. Their mouths were filled with long sharp teeth—that seemed to be a rule here on this planet—and they were making a buzzing sound as they came.
Behind them came another group of creatures, a little smaller than the others, about the size and general shape of wopdchucks, and colored a lime green with bluish features. They all had mustaches, like walruses. They made a booming sound as they walked, but Badger couldn’t see how they produced it. They came on, all of them, and they didn’t look friendly.
“Hit ‘em with it!” Red shouted, and he and his three buddies began to pour in fire. They had the caseless carbines going so fast that the firing mechanisms began to grow hot, but they ignored the pain and kept on firing.
One thing was plain from the first: these creatures were hard to hit. They weren’t coming on fast, but their dodging and swerving made them difficult targets. Nevertheless, Red scored a hit, and had the satisfaction of seeing one of the woodchuck blow up like an overinflated beach ball.
Meg scored, and then Glint, who shouted in triumph.
Then one of the raptor-headed creatures got under the one of his fire and grabbed his foot. It bit, twisted.
Glint’s foot came off at the ankle. He stared at the stump, too surprised to feel pain yet, and tried to take a step away. But he toppled over and they were on him, a dozen of them, biting and tearing. One longnecked creature buried his head in Glint’s belly. Glint screamed and tried to tear it away, but the bird-thing was stronger. It got its head deep inside Glint’s belly, and then pulled the rest of itself in. Lying on the ground, Glint went into convulsions.
Badger dropped his empty carbine and picked up a plasma rifle. He turned it to full fire and sprayed the area. He caught Meg, out on the periphery, with his blast and saw her wither and collapse before he could turn it off her.
“Damn it, sorry, Meg!” he shouted. It was just the sort of unfortunate thing that happens sometimes in combat.
Meanwhile, Min Dwin, firing from the hip, was seized from behind by an alien. It caught her by her long hair, and she turned, still firing, and put four rounds into the creature’s head, had the satisfaction of seeing it blow apart. But it still held her hair in its dying claw, and from its ruined head a gout of acid sprayed, catching her full in the face.
“My eyes!” she screamed, and fell to the ground, clawing at her face. She writhed for a moment, then lay still. The acid had penetrated to her brain.
Andy Groggins tried to turn his carbine to face an alien that had just come up on his side. His feet were yanked from under him. An alien had him by the ankles, another seized his arms. They tugged in opposite directions, and Andy triggered off his entire magazine, spraying the area and nearly catching Badger, who had to dive to escape the blasts. Then Andy roared as his left leg was ripped off at the hip.
The alien who had been pulling his feet fell backward. The other caught its balance and came at him. Badger triggered off a burst and blew the creature away. Groggins was dead before the carbine’s reverberations died away.
Looking around, Badger saw that he was alone. The others were dead. The original beast, the barrel-shaped thing, was nearby, sitting on its haunches and watching expectantly.
“Damn you, you Judas goat!” Badger said, and blew it away with a short burst.
The area was a shambles of blood and gore. All Badger’s people were dead, and he expected to go next, but the attack had ended. There were no aliens in sight now except dead ones, and no other creatures, either.
Badger stood there, sobbing with fatigue and anguish, and saw a shadow appear as if from nowhere. He looked up.
There it was, Potter’s ship, the Lancet, and he had a chance to get out of this. “Drop a line! Pick me up!”
They were down level with him, and he saw four of the crew watching him from one of the big glassite windows. He screamed at them, and finally they opened a hatch and threw out a rope ladder. Badger scrambled up with his remaining strength and collapsed inside the ship.
“Did you get all that on tape?” Potter asked.
“Yes, sir,” the second-in-command said.
“The scientists will be interested in these creatures,” Potter commented.
“Yes, sir,” the second-in-command said. “But the killing of all those men was a little gruesome, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, edit that part out,” Potter scoffed. “And mark it in the log that we didn’t reach the surface in time to save the rest of the mutineers.” He turned to go, then stroked his chin. “Not that one ever really wants to rescue mutineers. They set a bad example for the rest of the crew. But don’t put that in.”
“Yes, sir.” The second-in-command saluted and began to walk off. “We did pull one of them out.”
“Take him to the medics,” Potter said. “We’ll get his story later.”
“Yes, sir.” The second saluted and left the control room.
“And now, Dr. Myakovsky,” Potter said to himself, “It is time to deal with you.”
64
Stan and his group went through a maze of pathways. They found no sign of Norbert’s electronic trail. No sign of Norbert, either. He had dropped behind, after making a gallant stand against the aliens. Stan had last seen him submerged under a writhing mound of black alien bodies.
Stan’s breathing was laboring, he could hardly drag himself along. When was the royal jelly going to kick in? Julie and Gill helped him all they could, but they needed to keep their hands free to use their weapons. Because now more and more aliens were appearing, coming out of different turnings in the tunnels. They came in ones and twos, no mass attack yet, but it was probably only a matter of time.
It was clear that the suppressors were no longer doing their job. Stan, Julie, and Gill had to be constantly on the alert, because the creatures were attacking silently, suddenly springing out of the shadows.
Julie was leading the way. Her searchlight beam probed ahead into the profound darkness. She thought she had never seen such darkness before. Even the darkness she saw when she closed her eyes was not as deep as this. This was the darkness of evil, the darkness that cloaked a place where unspeakable creatures performed horrifying rituals. This was the darkness of childhood terrors. This was the darkness out of which monsters swarmed, the place where they tortured little children, and ate them, and then spit them up to make them live again so they could kill them anew.
Glancing back, Julie saw Gill falling back to help Stan, fighting half turned around to keep the aliens from running up their backs. He showed no expression when the searchlight beams occasionally illuminated his long, serious face. The android did his work methodically, but then he wasn’t really human, it was all the same to him, he had no feelings, not really. He’d act just the same if he were on an assembly line screwing down machine parts. He’s lucky, Julie thought, because it’s not all the same to me, no matter how hard I try to make it so.
And Stan? In a way he was lucky, too. Too exhausted to care any longer, and in too much pain, to judge from his twisted features and the sweat that dripped from his face. She felt so sorry for him, and yet, in a way, she envied him. He was too far gone to feel the terror that engulfed her mind and turned her legs to jelly.
Gill plodded along, an efficient machine doing what it was supposed to do. His peripheral vision was enormously extended, and when he caught movement at the outer edges, he wheeled and fired in a single economical movement. When a group of three or more aliens came at him, he switched to the small thermite bombs he carried in a pouch on his left side, setting the proximity fuse with his thumb just before he let them go.
It was like a dance—turn, swing, fire—the only dance he had ever done. Turn, wheel, extend the arm. Boom! Blam! Turn again, gracefully duck, turn, fire, fire again, then go forward…
He heard Stan gasp and slip. Gill scooped him up and put him back on his feet. “Can you go on?”
“Yes. Thanks …” Stan was saving his breath.
Gill was worried about the doctor. That dose of pure royal jelly hadn’t seemed to help any. He knew how much Stan had been expecting to find some sort of divine elixir that would cure his cancer. Gill had no particular hope that this would happen. It was illogical. The royal jelly was not a cure; it served merely to diminish the pain. Why should a pure strain do more than the other, adulterated strains?
He knew that humans liked to entertain farfetched notions. All of the humans, in a way, were like those Spanish conquistadpres he had learned about during his hypnopaedic learning sessions, those men in armor who had painfully trekked across the American plains, searching for the Seven Cities of Cibola, imaginary places that had never existed outside the dreams of mythographers.
Stan’s belief in a cure for his disease was like that. It was forlorn, even silly. No android would be capable of such folly. Yet Gill didn’t think that made him better than Stan. Quite the contrary, it made him subhuman, because he could not participate in the delusions, both the pathetic and the sublime, that made the human race what it was.
The aliens were massing behind them. Gill had to slow down more and more to flight rearguard actions.
Julie pressed on ahead, hoping that the turns she took were leading them toward the outside of the hive rather than deeper into it.
Gill switched the plasma rifle to automatic fire and laid down a sheet of flame as half a dozen aliens came crawling out of a pit and, rearing to their feet, loped toward him.
Stan stumbled and fell, and lay still. Gill scooped him up and draped him over one shoulder, leaving one arm free to aim and fire the heavy plasma rifle.
By now the aliens were coming from side turnings as well as from behind. The little party wasn’t surrounded yet, but it looked imminent. Gill threw his last thermite grenade, shifted Stan higher onto his shoulder, and noted that the charge in the plasma rifle was almost depleted. He turned, ready to fight to the end.
Then Julie cried, “There’s light ahead! We’re almost out of it!”
Gill turned and saw the faintest glimmer of grayness penetrating the profound gloom of the hive. He let go of the depleted plasma rifle and pulled a chemical slugthrower out of a side pouch. Four quick shots blasted a close-packed group of aliens with high explosives. Then Gill turned and ran, with Stan on his shoulder, toward the light.
His feet slid on the hard-packed clay of the tunnel’s floor, and then suddenly he was out of the hive and into the sepulchral gray light of AR-32.
Behind him he heard Julie say, “Get out of the way, Gill.”
He managed to stagger a few steps farther. This gave Julie a chance to reset her plasma gun to full heat. She held it steadily, hosing the entrance to the hive through which they had come.
It took Gill a moment to understand what she was doing. Then he put Stan down, rummaged in his pouch, and found a plasma-rifle refill. He reloaded and swept the spot where Julie was beaming.
The beams glittered and coruscated on the hive face. The aliens were forced back, deeper into the cave, to wait until the noise and heat died down.
But Julie had something else in mind. She kept on firing until, with a sudden thunderous roar, the cave mouth collapsed. A cloud of dust and smoke arose, and then it was quiet.
Julie turned off her weapon, as did Gill. “That’ll do it for a little while,” she said. “Until they find another exit from the hive,” Stan said.
“Well, it’s better than nothing. Now, where in hell are we?”
Stan pointed. “You’ve done a great job, Julie. Look down there.”
Julie looked, and saw, less than a hundred yards away, the squat hull of the harvester.
“Now we’re getting somewhere!” she said. “We just have to get aboard.”
“Yes,” said Gill. “But there’s a difficulty.” He pointed again.
It took Julie a moment to see it. But then she saw the small black dots moving at the base of the hive. She could finally make them out: aliens! They had found another exit from the hive sooner than she expected. And they were blocking the way to the harvester.
She asked, “What now, Stan?” But Stan was unconscious again.
Julie and Gill looked at each other, then glanced up as a shadow crossed them.
It was a ship. For one moment Julie’s hopes flared. But then she took in the ship’s markings and design, and a great despondency came over her. That was not the Dolomite. That was the Lancet, commanded by Potter, the Bio-Pharm man. It hovered in the air, and nothing about it stirred. It seemed obvious to Julie that Potter was going to let them die here, watching and maybe videotaping their final agonies.
Stan revived and sat up. “The harvester, did you say?”
“It’s right down there.” Julie pointed.
Stan looked and nodded. He struggled to his feet. “We’ve got to get there. From there, something may be possible.”
“There are quite a few aliens in the way,” Gill pointed out.
“So I see,” Stan said. “Have you ever heard of the old American Indian stunt of running the gauntlet?”
“I don’t believe so,” Gill said.
“You’re about to learn history in a very practical way,” Stan announced. “Load what’s left of the ammo and we’ll be on our way.”
Despite the mortal danger of their position, Julie could have kissed him at that moment.
Stan’s breathing was laboring, he could hardly drag himself along. When was the royal jelly going to kick in? Julie and Gill helped him all they could, but they needed to keep their hands free to use their weapons. Because now more and more aliens were appearing, coming out of different turnings in the tunnels. They came in ones and twos, no mass attack yet, but it was probably only a matter of time.
It was clear that the suppressors were no longer doing their job. Stan, Julie, and Gill had to be constantly on the alert, because the creatures were attacking silently, suddenly springing out of the shadows.
Julie was leading the way. Her searchlight beam probed ahead into the profound darkness. She thought she had never seen such darkness before. Even the darkness she saw when she closed her eyes was not as deep as this. This was the darkness of evil, the darkness that cloaked a place where unspeakable creatures performed horrifying rituals. This was the darkness of childhood terrors. This was the darkness out of which monsters swarmed, the place where they tortured little children, and ate them, and then spit them up to make them live again so they could kill them anew.
Glancing back, Julie saw Gill falling back to help Stan, fighting half turned around to keep the aliens from running up their backs. He showed no expression when the searchlight beams occasionally illuminated his long, serious face. The android did his work methodically, but then he wasn’t really human, it was all the same to him, he had no feelings, not really. He’d act just the same if he were on an assembly line screwing down machine parts. He’s lucky, Julie thought, because it’s not all the same to me, no matter how hard I try to make it so.
And Stan? In a way he was lucky, too. Too exhausted to care any longer, and in too much pain, to judge from his twisted features and the sweat that dripped from his face. She felt so sorry for him, and yet, in a way, she envied him. He was too far gone to feel the terror that engulfed her mind and turned her legs to jelly.
Gill plodded along, an efficient machine doing what it was supposed to do. His peripheral vision was enormously extended, and when he caught movement at the outer edges, he wheeled and fired in a single economical movement. When a group of three or more aliens came at him, he switched to the small thermite bombs he carried in a pouch on his left side, setting the proximity fuse with his thumb just before he let them go.
It was like a dance—turn, swing, fire—the only dance he had ever done. Turn, wheel, extend the arm. Boom! Blam! Turn again, gracefully duck, turn, fire, fire again, then go forward…
He heard Stan gasp and slip. Gill scooped him up and put him back on his feet. “Can you go on?”
“Yes. Thanks …” Stan was saving his breath.
Gill was worried about the doctor. That dose of pure royal jelly hadn’t seemed to help any. He knew how much Stan had been expecting to find some sort of divine elixir that would cure his cancer. Gill had no particular hope that this would happen. It was illogical. The royal jelly was not a cure; it served merely to diminish the pain. Why should a pure strain do more than the other, adulterated strains?
He knew that humans liked to entertain farfetched notions. All of the humans, in a way, were like those Spanish conquistadpres he had learned about during his hypnopaedic learning sessions, those men in armor who had painfully trekked across the American plains, searching for the Seven Cities of Cibola, imaginary places that had never existed outside the dreams of mythographers.
Stan’s belief in a cure for his disease was like that. It was forlorn, even silly. No android would be capable of such folly. Yet Gill didn’t think that made him better than Stan. Quite the contrary, it made him subhuman, because he could not participate in the delusions, both the pathetic and the sublime, that made the human race what it was.
The aliens were massing behind them. Gill had to slow down more and more to flight rearguard actions.
Julie pressed on ahead, hoping that the turns she took were leading them toward the outside of the hive rather than deeper into it.
Gill switched the plasma rifle to automatic fire and laid down a sheet of flame as half a dozen aliens came crawling out of a pit and, rearing to their feet, loped toward him.
Stan stumbled and fell, and lay still. Gill scooped him up and draped him over one shoulder, leaving one arm free to aim and fire the heavy plasma rifle.
By now the aliens were coming from side turnings as well as from behind. The little party wasn’t surrounded yet, but it looked imminent. Gill threw his last thermite grenade, shifted Stan higher onto his shoulder, and noted that the charge in the plasma rifle was almost depleted. He turned, ready to fight to the end.
Then Julie cried, “There’s light ahead! We’re almost out of it!”
Gill turned and saw the faintest glimmer of grayness penetrating the profound gloom of the hive. He let go of the depleted plasma rifle and pulled a chemical slugthrower out of a side pouch. Four quick shots blasted a close-packed group of aliens with high explosives. Then Gill turned and ran, with Stan on his shoulder, toward the light.
His feet slid on the hard-packed clay of the tunnel’s floor, and then suddenly he was out of the hive and into the sepulchral gray light of AR-32.
Behind him he heard Julie say, “Get out of the way, Gill.”
He managed to stagger a few steps farther. This gave Julie a chance to reset her plasma gun to full heat. She held it steadily, hosing the entrance to the hive through which they had come.
It took Gill a moment to understand what she was doing. Then he put Stan down, rummaged in his pouch, and found a plasma-rifle refill. He reloaded and swept the spot where Julie was beaming.
The beams glittered and coruscated on the hive face. The aliens were forced back, deeper into the cave, to wait until the noise and heat died down.
But Julie had something else in mind. She kept on firing until, with a sudden thunderous roar, the cave mouth collapsed. A cloud of dust and smoke arose, and then it was quiet.
Julie turned off her weapon, as did Gill. “That’ll do it for a little while,” she said. “Until they find another exit from the hive,” Stan said.
“Well, it’s better than nothing. Now, where in hell are we?”
Stan pointed. “You’ve done a great job, Julie. Look down there.”
Julie looked, and saw, less than a hundred yards away, the squat hull of the harvester.
“Now we’re getting somewhere!” she said. “We just have to get aboard.”
“Yes,” said Gill. “But there’s a difficulty.” He pointed again.
It took Julie a moment to see it. But then she saw the small black dots moving at the base of the hive. She could finally make them out: aliens! They had found another exit from the hive sooner than she expected. And they were blocking the way to the harvester.
She asked, “What now, Stan?” But Stan was unconscious again.
Julie and Gill looked at each other, then glanced up as a shadow crossed them.
It was a ship. For one moment Julie’s hopes flared. But then she took in the ship’s markings and design, and a great despondency came over her. That was not the Dolomite. That was the Lancet, commanded by Potter, the Bio-Pharm man. It hovered in the air, and nothing about it stirred. It seemed obvious to Julie that Potter was going to let them die here, watching and maybe videotaping their final agonies.
Stan revived and sat up. “The harvester, did you say?”
“It’s right down there.” Julie pointed.
Stan looked and nodded. He struggled to his feet. “We’ve got to get there. From there, something may be possible.”
“There are quite a few aliens in the way,” Gill pointed out.
“So I see,” Stan said. “Have you ever heard of the old American Indian stunt of running the gauntlet?”
“I don’t believe so,” Gill said.
“You’re about to learn history in a very practical way,” Stan announced. “Load what’s left of the ammo and we’ll be on our way.”
Despite the mortal danger of their position, Julie could have kissed him at that moment.
65
Stan gave the signal and they were off, trotting down the rocky path that led from the edge of the hive to the plain. Fifty yards away, more or less, was the harvester. In the sky above them, the Lancet hovered, silent, watching.
And then the aliens came.
They came singly and in pairs, and then in threes. They seemed to crawl out from under rocks and to appear out of holes. They came in silent ferocity, fangs bared, talons extended, forming a rough line between the hive and the harvester. Stan and the others ran through the line, blasting as they went. They had all shifted now to rapid-fire weapons. Never did Julie display better hand-eye coordination. She managed to move at full stride, at the same time keeping a look on all sides of her and releasing sizzling bolts of energy at anything that moved. The rocks turned white-hot under the glancing energy beams. The aliens surged forward, and died. Julie and Gill were doing fine…
And then Stan collapsed.
He had been doing very well, for a man in his condition. But his illness and general debilitation were not to be denied forever. Pain coursed through his chest like a sea of fire. He gritted his teeth and tried to continue, but now everything was turning dark before his eyes. He couldn’t see where he was going. His feet stumbled on the rocky surface, a pebble turned under his foot. He felt himself falling, and a black pit seemed to yawn in front of him. He threw his arms wide as he fell, but before he hit, Gill scooped him up.
“Don’t stop for me!” Stan said.
“Order denied,” Gill said, setting him on his shoulder and running again.
They cut their way through the ranks of the aliens. Flesh, blood, and bile spilled in all directions. It was like a free-for-all in a slaughterhouse. Julie hadn’t imagined there was that much gore in the whole world. Scattered parts of aliens lay everywhere, arms and legs, long ugly tails, heads with the teeth still snapping. And still they came on. Julie thought that every alien on the planet must be here, or on its way.
She was firing two weapons now, cutting a path for herself through a growing mound of living matter— the locked bodies of aliens, still trying to get at them. Gill, running along hard on Julie’s heels, with Stan bouncing up and down on his shoulder, was cutting wide swaths in the clustered aliens. Julie saw her left-hand weapon flare and die. Firing right-handed, she snatched a vibraknife from her waist pouch to set it on high. The blade had to make physical contact to do any harm, but it had come to that now with the aliens pressing ever closer. It seemed to her that this was the end; aliens pressed in and she had no idea where she was. And then Gill was shouting, “The harvester, Julie!”
They were there. Gill raced up the landing platform and dumped Stan inside through the entry port. Then he turned, feet braced, firing a bazooka-style weapon that gave out great gouts of green flame. Julie ducked into the harvester under his arm.
She saw Stan, lying on the floor, unconscious again. Something big and black and many-toothed was bending over him. It was an alien, damn it! The harvester was filled with the creatures—two, no three of them. She cut them down. “Gill!” she screamed. “Get inside so we can close the door!”
Gill cut and slashed and backed through the door. Julie cut down an alien and now there was one left. It stood in the doorway, towering over her, and just at that instant her gun began to fail.
She must have screamed, because Gill slung a handgun across the harvester to her. She caught it, aimed, and triggered it in one rapid moment. The alien was in her face, but she had no choice: at extreme close range she blasted him.
The alien’s throat exploded. One wildly waving claw came completely off. His forelimb, severed at the wrist, waved wildly in the air. The milky white acidic substance that was the blood of the alien spewed forth in a stream.
Some of the acid hit Julie. She screamed and went down, and it seemed to her that she could hear Gill yelling something, too, and then she didn’t know anything anymore.
And then the aliens came.
They came singly and in pairs, and then in threes. They seemed to crawl out from under rocks and to appear out of holes. They came in silent ferocity, fangs bared, talons extended, forming a rough line between the hive and the harvester. Stan and the others ran through the line, blasting as they went. They had all shifted now to rapid-fire weapons. Never did Julie display better hand-eye coordination. She managed to move at full stride, at the same time keeping a look on all sides of her and releasing sizzling bolts of energy at anything that moved. The rocks turned white-hot under the glancing energy beams. The aliens surged forward, and died. Julie and Gill were doing fine…
And then Stan collapsed.
He had been doing very well, for a man in his condition. But his illness and general debilitation were not to be denied forever. Pain coursed through his chest like a sea of fire. He gritted his teeth and tried to continue, but now everything was turning dark before his eyes. He couldn’t see where he was going. His feet stumbled on the rocky surface, a pebble turned under his foot. He felt himself falling, and a black pit seemed to yawn in front of him. He threw his arms wide as he fell, but before he hit, Gill scooped him up.
“Don’t stop for me!” Stan said.
“Order denied,” Gill said, setting him on his shoulder and running again.
They cut their way through the ranks of the aliens. Flesh, blood, and bile spilled in all directions. It was like a free-for-all in a slaughterhouse. Julie hadn’t imagined there was that much gore in the whole world. Scattered parts of aliens lay everywhere, arms and legs, long ugly tails, heads with the teeth still snapping. And still they came on. Julie thought that every alien on the planet must be here, or on its way.
She was firing two weapons now, cutting a path for herself through a growing mound of living matter— the locked bodies of aliens, still trying to get at them. Gill, running along hard on Julie’s heels, with Stan bouncing up and down on his shoulder, was cutting wide swaths in the clustered aliens. Julie saw her left-hand weapon flare and die. Firing right-handed, she snatched a vibraknife from her waist pouch to set it on high. The blade had to make physical contact to do any harm, but it had come to that now with the aliens pressing ever closer. It seemed to her that this was the end; aliens pressed in and she had no idea where she was. And then Gill was shouting, “The harvester, Julie!”
They were there. Gill raced up the landing platform and dumped Stan inside through the entry port. Then he turned, feet braced, firing a bazooka-style weapon that gave out great gouts of green flame. Julie ducked into the harvester under his arm.
She saw Stan, lying on the floor, unconscious again. Something big and black and many-toothed was bending over him. It was an alien, damn it! The harvester was filled with the creatures—two, no three of them. She cut them down. “Gill!” she screamed. “Get inside so we can close the door!”
Gill cut and slashed and backed through the door. Julie cut down an alien and now there was one left. It stood in the doorway, towering over her, and just at that instant her gun began to fail.
She must have screamed, because Gill slung a handgun across the harvester to her. She caught it, aimed, and triggered it in one rapid moment. The alien was in her face, but she had no choice: at extreme close range she blasted him.
The alien’s throat exploded. One wildly waving claw came completely off. His forelimb, severed at the wrist, waved wildly in the air. The milky white acidic substance that was the blood of the alien spewed forth in a stream.
Some of the acid hit Julie. She screamed and went down, and it seemed to her that she could hear Gill yelling something, too, and then she didn’t know anything anymore.
66
Stan returned to consciousness angry that the dose of pure royal jelly hadn’t done anything for him. Luckily he still had some of the older product left. He’d take some of that soon.
He was not really surprised that the pure royal jelly hadn’t helped him. He had always suspected that it was too good to be true, the idea that some other form of the jelly would cure him in some miraculous way. It just doesn’t work like that, he told himself.
His mind raced back to earlier days. He thought of all the work he had done, all his accomplishments. He’d had a lot of chances in the poker game that was his life. Could he have played his cards some other way? He didn’t really think so. And it was strange, but he knew that for some strange reason there was no place he’d rather be than here, right here, at the end of a glorious venture, with Julie and Gill, his friends.
Gill was at the other side of the harvester, looking after Julie. There really wasn’t much he could do for her. Just see that she was comfortable. Most of the acid had missed her, but some drops had fallen along the side of her neck and penetrated deep under the skin. Her face was ashen, her breathing labored. Her vital signs were diminishing.
Gill found himself struggling with new emotions, things he had never felt before. He realized that there was a comfort in being a synthetic man. The trouble with android status was that nothing ever felt very good. There was no joy, no exultation. But the advantage was that nothing ever felt very bad, either.
Strange, though. Now he was filled with unaccustomed emotions: pity for Julie, and something else, some tender feeling that he couldn’t quite identify, couldn’t quite find a name for. He touched the vein on the side of her neck. It pulsed, but not strongly. He reached over to make Julie more comfortable and only became aware then that his left arm was missing a hand and half its forearm. He had been too busy to notice when the hand went off-line. It was that advantage, again, of being a synthetic: you felt no pain. Now, looking back, he could reconstruct how it happened. The harvester’s hatch had been closing, and he had just managed to get inside. But not quite all of him had made it. One hand had still been outside as the alien’s big claw closed over his wrist. Stan had pulled, and the alien had pulled back.
There had been a deadly tug-of-war, with the alien pulling one way and Gill the other, sawing his arm back and forth along the door frame. None of the others had been in a position or condition to help. Stan had been out cold, and Julie, staggered by her acid bath, was out of action, too.
Gill and the alien had fought their deadly game. Gill hadn’t been exactly sure what happened next. Presumably the door edge had severed some of the cables that controlled his arm movements. Or the combined pulls of Stan and the alien had pulled the skin welds on his arm apart. Suddenly, and with an audible pop, his arm had let go several inches below the elbow. Cracks had appeared in the tough synthetic skin, and had immediately widened. Fine-control cables had come under tension, pulled taut until they sang, and then snapped.
Cables and wires had coiled around Gill’s wrist, then pulled free when Gill pulled what was left of his arm the rest of the way inside the ship and the hatch slammed shut. It had been a good sound, that sound of the hatch closing. After that, Gill had been too busy looking after Julie and ascertaining Stan’s condition to pay much attention to his own condition. He looked to himself now.
He could see that there was no way of fixing himself. He could have tried a jury-rig if he’d had spare cables with him. But in the close confines of the pod he hadn’t brought along the repair and spare parts kit that every synthetic tried to keep with him at all times. And even if he’d had the cables, he was still lacking several transistors and capacitors. Reluctantly he took the arm off-line. He had no motion in it at all. From the shoulder down, it was as dead as a hundred-year-old Ford.
“Gave you a little trouble, did they?” Stan’s voice came from over his shoulder.
Stan had revived, calling on reserves he never knew he had. He had even gotten to his feet. He was filled with a strange knowledge; that he was both a dead man and a living one. The two sides of himself were warring now, each trying to establish dominance. Stan thought he knew who was going to win.
Somewhat unsteadily he crossed the harvester and gazed at Gill’s wound.
“Pulled it right off, did they?”
“Yes, sir. Or perhaps I did.”
“Comes to the same thing,” Stan said. “Doesn’t give you any pain, does it?”
“No, Doctor, none at all. I register the loss of my arm solely as an analogue of loss, not as the real thing.”
“It’s abstract for you, is that it?” “I suppose you could say that, sir.” And yet, Gill knew it wasn’t quite true. No human could really imagine what it was like to be a synthetic. And to be a synthetic suffering loss—that was really beyond their scope. Except, he thought, maybe Julie could understand it.
He was not really surprised that the pure royal jelly hadn’t helped him. He had always suspected that it was too good to be true, the idea that some other form of the jelly would cure him in some miraculous way. It just doesn’t work like that, he told himself.
His mind raced back to earlier days. He thought of all the work he had done, all his accomplishments. He’d had a lot of chances in the poker game that was his life. Could he have played his cards some other way? He didn’t really think so. And it was strange, but he knew that for some strange reason there was no place he’d rather be than here, right here, at the end of a glorious venture, with Julie and Gill, his friends.
Gill was at the other side of the harvester, looking after Julie. There really wasn’t much he could do for her. Just see that she was comfortable. Most of the acid had missed her, but some drops had fallen along the side of her neck and penetrated deep under the skin. Her face was ashen, her breathing labored. Her vital signs were diminishing.
Gill found himself struggling with new emotions, things he had never felt before. He realized that there was a comfort in being a synthetic man. The trouble with android status was that nothing ever felt very good. There was no joy, no exultation. But the advantage was that nothing ever felt very bad, either.
Strange, though. Now he was filled with unaccustomed emotions: pity for Julie, and something else, some tender feeling that he couldn’t quite identify, couldn’t quite find a name for. He touched the vein on the side of her neck. It pulsed, but not strongly. He reached over to make Julie more comfortable and only became aware then that his left arm was missing a hand and half its forearm. He had been too busy to notice when the hand went off-line. It was that advantage, again, of being a synthetic: you felt no pain. Now, looking back, he could reconstruct how it happened. The harvester’s hatch had been closing, and he had just managed to get inside. But not quite all of him had made it. One hand had still been outside as the alien’s big claw closed over his wrist. Stan had pulled, and the alien had pulled back.
There had been a deadly tug-of-war, with the alien pulling one way and Gill the other, sawing his arm back and forth along the door frame. None of the others had been in a position or condition to help. Stan had been out cold, and Julie, staggered by her acid bath, was out of action, too.
Gill and the alien had fought their deadly game. Gill hadn’t been exactly sure what happened next. Presumably the door edge had severed some of the cables that controlled his arm movements. Or the combined pulls of Stan and the alien had pulled the skin welds on his arm apart. Suddenly, and with an audible pop, his arm had let go several inches below the elbow. Cracks had appeared in the tough synthetic skin, and had immediately widened. Fine-control cables had come under tension, pulled taut until they sang, and then snapped.
Cables and wires had coiled around Gill’s wrist, then pulled free when Gill pulled what was left of his arm the rest of the way inside the ship and the hatch slammed shut. It had been a good sound, that sound of the hatch closing. After that, Gill had been too busy looking after Julie and ascertaining Stan’s condition to pay much attention to his own condition. He looked to himself now.
He could see that there was no way of fixing himself. He could have tried a jury-rig if he’d had spare cables with him. But in the close confines of the pod he hadn’t brought along the repair and spare parts kit that every synthetic tried to keep with him at all times. And even if he’d had the cables, he was still lacking several transistors and capacitors. Reluctantly he took the arm off-line. He had no motion in it at all. From the shoulder down, it was as dead as a hundred-year-old Ford.
“Gave you a little trouble, did they?” Stan’s voice came from over his shoulder.
Stan had revived, calling on reserves he never knew he had. He had even gotten to his feet. He was filled with a strange knowledge; that he was both a dead man and a living one. The two sides of himself were warring now, each trying to establish dominance. Stan thought he knew who was going to win.
Somewhat unsteadily he crossed the harvester and gazed at Gill’s wound.
“Pulled it right off, did they?”
“Yes, sir. Or perhaps I did.”
“Comes to the same thing,” Stan said. “Doesn’t give you any pain, does it?”
“No, Doctor, none at all. I register the loss of my arm solely as an analogue of loss, not as the real thing.”
“It’s abstract for you, is that it?” “I suppose you could say that, sir.” And yet, Gill knew it wasn’t quite true. No human could really imagine what it was like to be a synthetic. And to be a synthetic suffering loss—that was really beyond their scope. Except, he thought, maybe Julie could understand it.
67
“Well, Gill,” Stan said, “I think it’ll be best if you look after Julie for the time being. I have some work to do on the radio.”
“I don’t think much can be done for her, sir. Not without regular medical facilities.”
“No, I suppose not,” Stan said. “Maybe there’s not much that can be done for any of us. Still, we must avail ourselves of every twist and turn. That’s what it’s like being a human, Gill. You avail yourself of every little opportunity. You assume you’re not dead until you can no longer move. I hope you’re taking note of all this.”
“Indeed I am, Doctor,” Gill said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I’m afraid not,” Stan said. “Unless you happened to bring along a replacement body. No? I didn’t think so. But the royal jelly is finally starting to take effect I’m all washed up, Gill, but I’m feeling a lot better.”
“Glad to hear it, sir.”
“Thanks. We’ll talk more later, Gill.”
Stan turned to the radio. Gill watched him, and he was disturbed. It seemed to him that Dr. Myakovsky was in some sort of shock. He was hardly registering his grief at Julie’s condition. Was it a callousness about him that Gill had missed? Gill thought it was something else. He had noticed that humans from time to time went into a condition they called shock. It was when something terrible happened, either to them or to someone close to them. It was how humans shut down when they experienced overload. But synthetics could never shut down.
“I don’t think much can be done for her, sir. Not without regular medical facilities.”
“No, I suppose not,” Stan said. “Maybe there’s not much that can be done for any of us. Still, we must avail ourselves of every twist and turn. That’s what it’s like being a human, Gill. You avail yourself of every little opportunity. You assume you’re not dead until you can no longer move. I hope you’re taking note of all this.”
“Indeed I am, Doctor,” Gill said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I’m afraid not,” Stan said. “Unless you happened to bring along a replacement body. No? I didn’t think so. But the royal jelly is finally starting to take effect I’m all washed up, Gill, but I’m feeling a lot better.”
“Glad to hear it, sir.”
“Thanks. We’ll talk more later, Gill.”
Stan turned to the radio. Gill watched him, and he was disturbed. It seemed to him that Dr. Myakovsky was in some sort of shock. He was hardly registering his grief at Julie’s condition. Was it a callousness about him that Gill had missed? Gill thought it was something else. He had noticed that humans from time to time went into a condition they called shock. It was when something terrible happened, either to them or to someone close to them. It was how humans shut down when they experienced overload. But synthetics could never shut down.
68
As Stan turned to the radio it suddenly burst into life. An unfamiliar voice said, “Hello? Is there someone aboard the harvester?”
Stan sat down at the instrument panel. “Yes, there is someone here.”
“I thought as much. This is Potter, captain of the Bio-Pharm ship Lancet. You are trespassing on Neo-Pharm territory. Identify yourself at once!”
“I am Dr. Stanley Myakovsky,” Stan said. There are only three of us here—myself, a woman, and an android. We are all that is left of a survey expedition sent to inspect the hive on AR-32.”
“I knew you were here, Doctor,” Potter said. That says it all, I think.”
“Maybe you don’t know everything, Captain,” Stan said. “Our ship was damaged during the recent storm. We require help badly.”
“I understand,” Potter said. “I am sending men to pick you up. Be prepared to leave the harvester. That is all for now.”
Stan put down the microphone and turned to Gill. “He says he’s sending help. I suppose you can guess what kind of help Potter is going to offer.” Gill didn’t answer. He was watching through one of the view panels as the Lancet’s primaries flared briefly and the great ship dropped slowly and majestically down through the sky in a shining glitter of landing jets. The big ship settled effortlessly on AR-32’s plain. Soon after the landing, there was a sparkle of bright lines along the ground, and then something almost transparent that looked like the ghost of a wall erected itself around the Lancet.
“I see you have your force field up,” Stan said. “A wise precaution, I can assure you.”
“We’re able to throw some protection around your ship, too,” Potter said. “My men are coming now.”
A bay door in the Lancets side cracked open, then let down to the ground, forming a landing ramp. Stan watched a dozen men come running down the ramp. Carrying bulky weapons, they were masked and shielded, and wearing full space armor.
“You waste no time, do you, Captain?” Stan said.
“You’re damned right,” Potter said. “The sooner I get you people out of the harvester the better.”
“One way or another,” Stan said mildly.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing,” Stan muttered. “But it looks to me like your men are running into a little difficulty.”
Stan sat down at the instrument panel. “Yes, there is someone here.”
“I thought as much. This is Potter, captain of the Bio-Pharm ship Lancet. You are trespassing on Neo-Pharm territory. Identify yourself at once!”
“I am Dr. Stanley Myakovsky,” Stan said. There are only three of us here—myself, a woman, and an android. We are all that is left of a survey expedition sent to inspect the hive on AR-32.”
“I knew you were here, Doctor,” Potter said. That says it all, I think.”
“Maybe you don’t know everything, Captain,” Stan said. “Our ship was damaged during the recent storm. We require help badly.”
“I understand,” Potter said. “I am sending men to pick you up. Be prepared to leave the harvester. That is all for now.”
Stan put down the microphone and turned to Gill. “He says he’s sending help. I suppose you can guess what kind of help Potter is going to offer.” Gill didn’t answer. He was watching through one of the view panels as the Lancet’s primaries flared briefly and the great ship dropped slowly and majestically down through the sky in a shining glitter of landing jets. The big ship settled effortlessly on AR-32’s plain. Soon after the landing, there was a sparkle of bright lines along the ground, and then something almost transparent that looked like the ghost of a wall erected itself around the Lancet.
“I see you have your force field up,” Stan said. “A wise precaution, I can assure you.”
“We’re able to throw some protection around your ship, too,” Potter said. “My men are coming now.”
A bay door in the Lancets side cracked open, then let down to the ground, forming a landing ramp. Stan watched a dozen men come running down the ramp. Carrying bulky weapons, they were masked and shielded, and wearing full space armor.
“You waste no time, do you, Captain?” Stan said.
“You’re damned right,” Potter said. “The sooner I get you people out of the harvester the better.”
“One way or another,” Stan said mildly.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing,” Stan muttered. “But it looks to me like your men are running into a little difficulty.”
69
The armed men were moving across the corridors between the force fields that lay between Potter’s ship and the harvester. The force fields shimmered faintly in the pelting rain. Low, flat lighting, grim and without shadows, illuminated the scene, and this was aided by the search beam from the Lancet, which flooded different areas with its sulfurous, yellow light. The men moved at a brisk trot, helmet shields up so they could communicate better. Their troubles began slowly and built fast. The first man to scream was hardly noticed, so rapidly were the others moving. But then the squad leader became aware that something was amiss. His name was Blake and he was from Los Angeles. He was used to skulking around smoking ruins and walking down ruined streets. So he wasn’t entirely surprised when he saw one of the men throw his arms in the air as something long and black snaked out from seemingly nowhere and grabbed him around the neck. But what had it been? Blake wasn’t sure. He stared, gaped. Another man screamed, and was dragged away shrieking. Then Blake realized that somehow the aliens had gotten into the uninterdicted corridors between the force fields, and were grabbing soldiers as they crossed from one field to another. Seeing this, Blake shouted some orders. His little squadron was already cut in half. He ordered the remaining soldiers to fight back-to-back. They were closer to the harvester than to the Lancet, so he ordered them to continue.
You could see that the men didn’t want to go. What had begun as a nice little bug fight had turned into a slaughter of humans. It wasn’t fair! But there was no one to complain to.
They fought, their weapons flashing and flaming, and they caught a group of aliens as they were preparing to charge, caught them dead on and blew them to hell and back. The air rained black body parts. The acid from the aliens’ wounds sprayed far and wide, and the ground sizzled beneath them. Luckily the soldiers were in acid-proof armor, or the acid would have made short work of them.
The sun came out as the slaughter continued, and the men seemed to be holding their own. Then the aliens got around the other side of the force field, and the soldiers were caught between two attacking alien groups.
They continued fighting, falling one after another. The lucky ones were dead when they hit the ground. Some of the others, wounded but not yet dead, weren’t so lucky. Aliens draped them over their shoulders and retreated to the hive. These soldiers would make fine hosts, just what the queen needed.
Seeing this, Blake fought hard to keep his composure. It was unnerving, seeing friend after friend pulled apart, torn to bits, or dragged away unconscious to be glued to the wall of the hive with something small and deadly growing inside him, after the facehugger had done its work.
Blake turned back. It was all happening too fast. When he looked around, he saw the last of his men collapse, scream, and get dragged off. Blake saw his chance and sprinted to the harvester. He got there before the aliens, but just barely. He pounded at the door. “Let me in! Please, please, let me in!”
Stan’s mild-mannered face peered back at him through the viewport. His lips moved. Blake couldn’t hear the words, but Stan was saying, “Sorry, I can’t open the door. I don’t have the strength to close it again.”
Blake pounded again, and then the aliens were on him. A claw came around his shoulder and grabbed his face at the forehead. It pulled, tearing the skin right off. Blake felt his nose pull away, felt his lips leave his mouth, felt all this, and then another claw had seized him by the neck, it was pulling out the tendons of his neck! And then Blake felt no more.
You could see that the men didn’t want to go. What had begun as a nice little bug fight had turned into a slaughter of humans. It wasn’t fair! But there was no one to complain to.
They fought, their weapons flashing and flaming, and they caught a group of aliens as they were preparing to charge, caught them dead on and blew them to hell and back. The air rained black body parts. The acid from the aliens’ wounds sprayed far and wide, and the ground sizzled beneath them. Luckily the soldiers were in acid-proof armor, or the acid would have made short work of them.
The sun came out as the slaughter continued, and the men seemed to be holding their own. Then the aliens got around the other side of the force field, and the soldiers were caught between two attacking alien groups.
They continued fighting, falling one after another. The lucky ones were dead when they hit the ground. Some of the others, wounded but not yet dead, weren’t so lucky. Aliens draped them over their shoulders and retreated to the hive. These soldiers would make fine hosts, just what the queen needed.
Seeing this, Blake fought hard to keep his composure. It was unnerving, seeing friend after friend pulled apart, torn to bits, or dragged away unconscious to be glued to the wall of the hive with something small and deadly growing inside him, after the facehugger had done its work.
Blake turned back. It was all happening too fast. When he looked around, he saw the last of his men collapse, scream, and get dragged off. Blake saw his chance and sprinted to the harvester. He got there before the aliens, but just barely. He pounded at the door. “Let me in! Please, please, let me in!”
Stan’s mild-mannered face peered back at him through the viewport. His lips moved. Blake couldn’t hear the words, but Stan was saying, “Sorry, I can’t open the door. I don’t have the strength to close it again.”
Blake pounded again, and then the aliens were on him. A claw came around his shoulder and grabbed his face at the forehead. It pulled, tearing the skin right off. Blake felt his nose pull away, felt his lips leave his mouth, felt all this, and then another claw had seized him by the neck, it was pulling out the tendons of his neck! And then Blake felt no more.
70
Potter was shouting, his voice grating on the speaker. “Damn you! What have you done to my men?”
“Not a thing, Captain,” Myakovsky said. “They brought it on themselves. Nothing I could do for them. Can you get us out of here, Captain?”
“It seems scarcely worth my time,” Potter grumbled. “I ought to nuke all of you.”
“But then you’d lose the contents of the harvester,” Stan said.
“True enough. But I could always come back for it, after things have cooled down.”
“I have a better plan,” Stan said. “Something that will be of use to us all.”
“Hurry up and tell me what it is,” Potter said. “I don’t like leaving my ship down here.”
“It’s too complicated to explain over radio,” Stan said. “But I think you will like it listen, I have an android here who has been damaged in recent fighting. I could send him over to you. He’d explain the whole thing.”
“I don’t know if I should even bother.” Potter was obviously thinking aloud.
“I think you’ll be interested in my scheme,” Stan continued. “And after all, it won’t take very long.”
“All right,” Potter said. “Send him over. This better be good.”
“It’ll be very good,” Stan affirmed.
“How are you going to get him through the aliens? If my own men couldn’t make it, how do you expect your android to get here?”
“Modern technology is a wonderful thing,” Stan said evasively. “He’ll be right over, Captain. Signing off.”
“Not a thing, Captain,” Myakovsky said. “They brought it on themselves. Nothing I could do for them. Can you get us out of here, Captain?”
“It seems scarcely worth my time,” Potter grumbled. “I ought to nuke all of you.”
“But then you’d lose the contents of the harvester,” Stan said.
“True enough. But I could always come back for it, after things have cooled down.”
“I have a better plan,” Stan said. “Something that will be of use to us all.”
“Hurry up and tell me what it is,” Potter said. “I don’t like leaving my ship down here.”
“It’s too complicated to explain over radio,” Stan said. “But I think you will like it listen, I have an android here who has been damaged in recent fighting. I could send him over to you. He’d explain the whole thing.”
“I don’t know if I should even bother.” Potter was obviously thinking aloud.
“I think you’ll be interested in my scheme,” Stan continued. “And after all, it won’t take very long.”
“All right,” Potter said. “Send him over. This better be good.”
“It’ll be very good,” Stan affirmed.
“How are you going to get him through the aliens? If my own men couldn’t make it, how do you expect your android to get here?”
“Modern technology is a wonderful thing,” Stan said evasively. “He’ll be right over, Captain. Signing off.”
71
“Julie,” Gill said. “Can you hear me?”
Julie’s eyelids fluttered. Pain contorted her face. She gave a long shudder and then looked around. “Oh my God, is this where I am? I was having such a nice dream, Gill. There’s this lake I know of. I went there just once when I was a little girl. I remember fields of spring flowers, a little lake. There was a rowboat. I was drifting in the rowboat, and there were willows hanging down over the boat. Oh, Gill, it was so pretty!”
“I’m sure it was,” Gill said.
“Have you ever had a dream like that?” Julie asked.
“No, I have not,” Gill replied. “I do not dream.”
“Well, you can have half of mine,” Julie said sleepily. “It wasn’t really a little lake, I don’t need it all…”
“Where’s Stan?”
“He’s right over there,” Gill said. “He’s trying to save you.”
Julie grimaced. “I’m afraid he’s cut it a little too fine this time. Poor Stan. He has such great ideas. But I’m glad I came, anyhow. He’s not long for this world, you know.”
“I know,” Gill said.
“It’s too bad. He’s such a brilliant man. But they’ve done nothing but crowd him. He hasn’t had a chance. Except this one. And I think this wasn’t much of a chance.”
“I suppose not,” Gill said. She looked at him. “Your arm! What happened?” “Ran into a little trouble,” Gill said. “You’re using understatement, just like a human.” “I suppose it rubs off,” Gill said. “A lot of things do. I feel…”
“Yes?”
“I feel like I understand a lot more about humans now,” Gill said. “It’s … interesting, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is,” Julie said. “Are you all right, Gill? You’ve got a very strange expression on your face.”
“I’m fine,” Gill muttered. “It’s just that … well, even an android can run out of time.”
Suddenly Stan’s voice came from across the cabin. “Gill? What are you doing?”
“Just looking after Julie, sir.”
“That’s good. But she needs to rest now. Come over here. I have some instructions for you.”
“Yes, Dr. Myakovsky.” He turned to Julie. “Julie …”
“What is it, Gill?”
“Try not to forget me.” Gill stood up and crossed the room.
Stan Myakovsky was huddled up in the control chair. He appeared to be experiencing no pain for the moment. But he had changed. Gill noticed that the doctor seemed to have shrunk inside his own skin, to be falling in on himself.
“Now pay attention,” Stan said. “Forget about Julie for a moment. I have work for you to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are going over to the Lancet to parlay with Captain Potter.”
“To what end, sir?”
“Ah, yes,” Stan said. “Negotiations usually have a point, don’t they? Ours will be different. There’s no point at all.”
“But what do you want me to accomplish, sir?”
“Oh, that I can easily tell you,” Stan said. “I want Potter to take his ship away from here. I will retain the harvester. I will find some way to make rendezvous with Captain Hoban, and we will go back home with our ill-gotten gains. How does that sound to you?”
“Wonderful, sir. But I’m afraid—”
“Yes, I am, too,” Stan said. “The captain is not going to like it at all. That’s why I have something else in mind. Come over here to the workbench, Gill. I have a modification I must make in you.”
Gill hesitated. “A modification, sir?”
“You heard me. What is the matter with you?”
“I wouldn’t want to change my thinking on certain issues.”
Stan looked at Gill then glanced over at Julie, who was resting with eyes closed. “I think I understand. You’ve undergone quite a little course in humanization, have you not?”
“I don’t know what to call it But I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
“I won’t change any of those qualities you call emotional, Gill. They are rare and special, I agree with you on that, and sometimes they are a long time coming to men—and to androids, never. Or just about never. No, it’s your command structure I need to modify. And something I need to wire into you. It will make it easier for you to do what you will have to do, unless things go a lot better than I imagine they will.”
“I wish you’d explain a little more,” Gill said, letting Stan take him by his remaining hand and lead him over to the workbench.
Stan checked out his instruments. “Better not to explain too much,” he said, fitting magnifying lenses over his glasses. “I’ll know what to do when the time comes. And so will you.”
Julie’s eyelids fluttered. Pain contorted her face. She gave a long shudder and then looked around. “Oh my God, is this where I am? I was having such a nice dream, Gill. There’s this lake I know of. I went there just once when I was a little girl. I remember fields of spring flowers, a little lake. There was a rowboat. I was drifting in the rowboat, and there were willows hanging down over the boat. Oh, Gill, it was so pretty!”
“I’m sure it was,” Gill said.
“Have you ever had a dream like that?” Julie asked.
“No, I have not,” Gill replied. “I do not dream.”
“Well, you can have half of mine,” Julie said sleepily. “It wasn’t really a little lake, I don’t need it all…”
“Where’s Stan?”
“He’s right over there,” Gill said. “He’s trying to save you.”
Julie grimaced. “I’m afraid he’s cut it a little too fine this time. Poor Stan. He has such great ideas. But I’m glad I came, anyhow. He’s not long for this world, you know.”
“I know,” Gill said.
“It’s too bad. He’s such a brilliant man. But they’ve done nothing but crowd him. He hasn’t had a chance. Except this one. And I think this wasn’t much of a chance.”
“I suppose not,” Gill said. She looked at him. “Your arm! What happened?” “Ran into a little trouble,” Gill said. “You’re using understatement, just like a human.” “I suppose it rubs off,” Gill said. “A lot of things do. I feel…”
“Yes?”
“I feel like I understand a lot more about humans now,” Gill said. “It’s … interesting, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is,” Julie said. “Are you all right, Gill? You’ve got a very strange expression on your face.”
“I’m fine,” Gill muttered. “It’s just that … well, even an android can run out of time.”
Suddenly Stan’s voice came from across the cabin. “Gill? What are you doing?”
“Just looking after Julie, sir.”
“That’s good. But she needs to rest now. Come over here. I have some instructions for you.”
“Yes, Dr. Myakovsky.” He turned to Julie. “Julie …”
“What is it, Gill?”
“Try not to forget me.” Gill stood up and crossed the room.
Stan Myakovsky was huddled up in the control chair. He appeared to be experiencing no pain for the moment. But he had changed. Gill noticed that the doctor seemed to have shrunk inside his own skin, to be falling in on himself.
“Now pay attention,” Stan said. “Forget about Julie for a moment. I have work for you to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are going over to the Lancet to parlay with Captain Potter.”
“To what end, sir?”
“Ah, yes,” Stan said. “Negotiations usually have a point, don’t they? Ours will be different. There’s no point at all.”
“But what do you want me to accomplish, sir?”
“Oh, that I can easily tell you,” Stan said. “I want Potter to take his ship away from here. I will retain the harvester. I will find some way to make rendezvous with Captain Hoban, and we will go back home with our ill-gotten gains. How does that sound to you?”
“Wonderful, sir. But I’m afraid—”
“Yes, I am, too,” Stan said. “The captain is not going to like it at all. That’s why I have something else in mind. Come over here to the workbench, Gill. I have a modification I must make in you.”
Gill hesitated. “A modification, sir?”
“You heard me. What is the matter with you?”
“I wouldn’t want to change my thinking on certain issues.”
Stan looked at Gill then glanced over at Julie, who was resting with eyes closed. “I think I understand. You’ve undergone quite a little course in humanization, have you not?”
“I don’t know what to call it But I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
“I won’t change any of those qualities you call emotional, Gill. They are rare and special, I agree with you on that, and sometimes they are a long time coming to men—and to androids, never. Or just about never. No, it’s your command structure I need to modify. And something I need to wire into you. It will make it easier for you to do what you will have to do, unless things go a lot better than I imagine they will.”
“I wish you’d explain a little more,” Gill said, letting Stan take him by his remaining hand and lead him over to the workbench.
Stan checked out his instruments. “Better not to explain too much,” he said, fitting magnifying lenses over his glasses. “I’ll know what to do when the time comes. And so will you.”
72
There were heavy ground mists when Gill left the harvester and started his trek to the Lancet. The ship loomed eerily in the mounting mists. Gill walked between the force fields. There were aliens out there, and he walked past them. The aliens were searching, but they didn’t seem to know what they were looking for.
Gill knew that he had a certain amount of natural immunity, since androids did not smell like men. But to be on the safe side he had taken the last suppressor. Gill touched it on his wrist for luck. He wasn’t superstitious, but he knew that men were, and of late he had been seeking to emulate them in every way.
The suppressor was working. It had been Mac’s, but that was quite a while ago and now Mac was a bundle of wet fur on a garbage heap in an alien hive.
Gill knew he had to keep his mind on business. Usually, this was no problem for an android. Artificial men weren’t bothered by random thoughts, stray insights, weasel realizations that came to them like thieves in the night. Not usually. But this time was different.
Gill found that his attention was divided. Part of him was observing the terrain he passed over, noting the presence and position of the aliens, watching as he drew nearer to the Lancet. But with another part of his mind he was thinking of Julie, seeing her as she had been just a day ago, vibrant and laughing, filled with life. He had felt something special for her then.
What was it? Was it what the humans called love? How could he find out? No human had been able to explain love to him. Even Stan grew embarrassed and turned away when Gill had asked him to explain the concept and give it a quantifiable value.
Humans were so strange, so filled with odd compunctions that covertly ruled their behavior. And now he had the most understanding of them he would ever have. It all came from stray thoughts, he told himself, and he worked hard to banish Julie’s image from his mind as he approached the entry port of the Lancet.
Gill knew that he had a certain amount of natural immunity, since androids did not smell like men. But to be on the safe side he had taken the last suppressor. Gill touched it on his wrist for luck. He wasn’t superstitious, but he knew that men were, and of late he had been seeking to emulate them in every way.
The suppressor was working. It had been Mac’s, but that was quite a while ago and now Mac was a bundle of wet fur on a garbage heap in an alien hive.
Gill knew he had to keep his mind on business. Usually, this was no problem for an android. Artificial men weren’t bothered by random thoughts, stray insights, weasel realizations that came to them like thieves in the night. Not usually. But this time was different.
Gill found that his attention was divided. Part of him was observing the terrain he passed over, noting the presence and position of the aliens, watching as he drew nearer to the Lancet. But with another part of his mind he was thinking of Julie, seeing her as she had been just a day ago, vibrant and laughing, filled with life. He had felt something special for her then.
What was it? Was it what the humans called love? How could he find out? No human had been able to explain love to him. Even Stan grew embarrassed and turned away when Gill had asked him to explain the concept and give it a quantifiable value.
Humans were so strange, so filled with odd compunctions that covertly ruled their behavior. And now he had the most understanding of them he would ever have. It all came from stray thoughts, he told himself, and he worked hard to banish Julie’s image from his mind as he approached the entry port of the Lancet.
73
Two of Potter’s crew, heavily armed, were waiting for him in the entryway.
“I don’t know how the hell you got through,” one of them said.
“I’ve got a pass,” Gill told them. They just stared at him. Gill decided that his first attempt at that key human quality, humor, hadn’t been a success. But he reminded himself that he was new at it. Perhaps he would get better as he went along.
The two guards looked through the port visor. They could see the aliens, slowly drifting toward the ship, forming up against the almost invisible walls of the force field. They didn’t do anything. Just stood there, their heads facing the ship, and it was as though some great power of attraction held them there. They were surrounding the force field that protected the harvester, too, more and more of them, and the sight of them was singularly uncanny and disquieting.
“We better tell the captain about this,” one of the guards said. To Gill he said, “Come on, you. Raise your arms. We’re going to search you.”
Gill did as he was told. “I carry no weapons,” he told them.
“Sure. But we’ll just check you anyhow. What happened to your arm?”
“I lost it at the movies,” Gill said. Again, the guards did not laugh. They just stared at him like he was crazy. Gill wondered what he was doing wrong. This humor thing was going to take some studying.
“I don’t know how the hell you got through,” one of them said.
“I’ve got a pass,” Gill told them. They just stared at him. Gill decided that his first attempt at that key human quality, humor, hadn’t been a success. But he reminded himself that he was new at it. Perhaps he would get better as he went along.
The two guards looked through the port visor. They could see the aliens, slowly drifting toward the ship, forming up against the almost invisible walls of the force field. They didn’t do anything. Just stood there, their heads facing the ship, and it was as though some great power of attraction held them there. They were surrounding the force field that protected the harvester, too, more and more of them, and the sight of them was singularly uncanny and disquieting.
“We better tell the captain about this,” one of the guards said. To Gill he said, “Come on, you. Raise your arms. We’re going to search you.”
Gill did as he was told. “I carry no weapons,” he told them.
“Sure. But we’ll just check you anyhow. What happened to your arm?”
“I lost it at the movies,” Gill said. Again, the guards did not laugh. They just stared at him like he was crazy. Gill wondered what he was doing wrong. This humor thing was going to take some studying.
74
“Julie, can you hear me?”
Julie had been lying on the deck of the harvester near one of the heaters. Stan had found a blanket in one of the back bays and wrapped it around her. She looked better than she had since the accident.
“Stan?” she said. “I’m very cold.”
“Let me see if I can find another blanket,” Stan said. “I already have these heaters going full blast.”
He stood up to go, but Julie reached out and grabbed his arm. “No, don’t leave me, Stan. We’re in a lot of trouble, aren’t we?”
“To one way of thinking, yes, we are. But to another, we’re in no trouble at all. We’re together, and we’re going to stay that way. Here, Julie, I have something for you. For us both, actually.”
Julie had been lying on the deck of the harvester near one of the heaters. Stan had found a blanket in one of the back bays and wrapped it around her. She looked better than she had since the accident.
“Stan?” she said. “I’m very cold.”
“Let me see if I can find another blanket,” Stan said. “I already have these heaters going full blast.”
He stood up to go, but Julie reached out and grabbed his arm. “No, don’t leave me, Stan. We’re in a lot of trouble, aren’t we?”
“To one way of thinking, yes, we are. But to another, we’re in no trouble at all. We’re together, and we’re going to stay that way. Here, Julie, I have something for you. For us both, actually.”