Alien Resurrection

by A. C. Crispin

  The analogy stung. Tell yourself again, Martin, how you are serving your country. Perez lifted a small, rectangular packet off the table, and picked up a glass. “Drink?”

  Elgyn nodded, the gracious guest.

  Perez tore off the protective covering of the little plastic cartridge and popped out its solid brown gel cube into a glass. Passing the glass under a handheld laser, he handed the now liquefied beverage to Elgyn. Then he prepared one for himself. It was good scotch, if not the best.

  “I’m guessing whatever it is you’ve got going out here isn’t exactly authorized by Congress,” Elgyn said, sipping the drink. He raised it up as if in a toast after sampling it.

  I’m so glad you approve of the vintage, Martin thought irritably.

  No, this project wasn’t approved by Congress, or by any official government agency or military panel. But Perez never lacked for funds or resources. Still, whenever he had to deal with the likes of this pirate, he couldn’t help but question the entire operation. Not that he could afford questions. He had a job to do, a mission to accomplish, and complete carte blanche to get it done any way possible. He had to believe that the future advantages of this work would outweigh whatever sacrifices had to be made now.

  Perez had little patience with Wren’s pie-in-the-sky scenarios about advanced medicines and biochemical miracles. He could only think about creatures that, with electronic implants to control behavior, would be transformed into the quintessential ground troops. In fact, Wren and Gediman had recently reported that the Aliens’ intelligence appeared to be much higher than their scanty historical data would indicate. To Perez, that was an added plus—smart animals would be much easier to train.

  He had to believe that, in his lifetime, the needless forfeit of valuable, well-trained men would be ended forever. Instead, human soldiers would only be used for mop-up operations after the conflict ended—appropriate work for men who could think, assess, use judgment.

  Eventually, different forms of the Aliens would be bred to create beings more advantageous to specific combat conditions, then they would be trained for specialized functions. They would enable the military to reclaim crime-ridden cities, safely prepare new planets for colonization by eliminating dangerous species, begin a new era of peace and productivity—

  He stopped his wandering thoughts as he looked across at Elgyn. This pirate would understand none of this. When they had negotiated over the job, Elgyn had not even asked what his specialized cargo would be used for. His only interest had been the pile of money now sitting between them.

  Perez and Elgyn were both human, but clearly they were two completely different species.

  Perez changed the subject. “Where’d you pick up the new fish?”

  Elgyn chuckled. “Call? Out by the handle. She was looking for a maintenance gig.”

  “Makes an impression,” Perez commented dryly.

  “She is severely fuckable, isn’t she?” Elgyn agreed. “And the very devil with a socket wrench. I think Vriess somewhat pines.” He picked up the stack of bills closest to him, ruffled them, then held them up to his nose and inhaled. His expression was one of a man smelling the finest bouquet of wine, or the clean sharp tang of a well-ripened cigar. “She is curious about this little transaction. You can hardly blame her. Awfully cloak and dagger…”

  Perez resented the fishing expedition. “This is an army operation.”

  Elgyn saw right through that. “Most army research labs don’t have to operate outside regulated space. And they don’t have to hire private contractors… And they don’t call for the kind of cargo we brought.”

  Perez realized Elgyn was angling for something. A bonus? He’d have to lay it on the table. “Do you want something, Elgyn?”

  The reedy man sat back, all relaxed and easygoing. “Just bed and board, couple of days’ worth. Vriess’ll want to snag a few spare parts. If we’re not imposing.”

  Perez wondered again if he were making a mistake. When he’d first engaged Elgyn in this project, he’d seriously considered killing the crew and destroying the ship after the delivery, then decided it could backfire, raise more problems than it might solve. Maybe he needed to rethink that. It would be good to have the crew right here and the ship docked while he reconsidered. “Of course you’re not imposing. Keep out of the restricted areas. Don’t start any fights, and mi casa is yours, too.”

  Elgyn raised his glass in gratitude and finished the drink.

  “I trust, of course,” Perez added, “that you can mind your own business.”

  The man was all smiles. “I’m famous for it.”

  Yes, Perez thought. That’s true, you are. That was why I hired you in the first place.

  * * *

  Back on board the Betty, in the cargo hold, Call slipped on her gloves and walked up to Christie.

  The big man eyed her neutrally, then asked, “What happened to Johner?”

  She shrugged. “You know Johner. He’s in party mode already.”

  Christie shook his head. “Shoulda figured. In that case, thanks for the help.”

  She nodded, as if to say, no big deal.

  She heard the clanging sound of air-lock doors opening, and heard the Betty’s feminine computer voice intone, “Air locks have cycled. Doors opening. Ramp is lowering.”

  Call and Christie moved over to the automated hand trucks that held the first containers of “cargo.”

  As soon as the big doors were completely opened, they touched the controls on the hand trucks and moved the big boxes onto the ramp now running from the Betty to the Auriga. The metal and plasti-glass boxes they were jockeying were nearly three meters high by one meter wide. The Betty had twenty of them to unload. The general’s special cargo.

  And inside each cryotube slept an adult man or woman.

  Call didn’t want to think about that. It wasn’t her job to think about that. This was the cargo. Her job was to deliver it. That was all. She’d get a cut, and salary beside. That was what she’d signed on for, after all.

  Still, she asked Christie in a quiet voice, “You, uh, you think Elgyn knows what Perez wants them for?” She nodded at the cargo.

  Christie looked at her curiously, as if suddenly remembering that she was new. “I can assure you with complete confidence that Elgyn hasn’t spent one minute thinking about the general’s plans. He only cares about the good general’s cash.”

  She nodded once, then started to turn away, but Christie took hold of her arm with surprising gentleness. His tone reflected the same demeanor. “Call—Elgyn doesn’t worry about that stuff, and he pays us not to think about it, either. Okay?”

  Surprised by his brotherly concern, Call was able to fix a smile on her face. “I’m okay. Let’s get it done.” She pushed the hand truck forward, across the ramp, into the Auriga.

  Just do the delivery. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about them. Sleeping people…

  Walking beside the quiet Christie, she moved into the Auriga, pushing the tubes between silent, stationed soldiers, until they ended up before a big door marked, RESTRICTED AREA. There were more soldiers in front of the door. As they saw Call and Christie approach, one of the soldiers knocked on the door.

  Immediately, it whooshed open. Call could see a tall, medium-built man standing inside, wearing a lab coat instead of a soldier’s uniform. He didn’t much look like a soldier either. The name on his lab coat read, “Wren.”

  The two Betty crew members approached the door, but just as they were about to go through it, one of the soldiers stopped them. Other soldiers stepped forward to take the cryounits. Christie glanced at her and nodded, so she released hers to them even as Christie did the same. The guards wheeled the boxes inside the restricted area, and Call and Christie went back to the Betty to get the next ones. The soldiers wouldn’t enter the Betty any more than she and Christie would be allowed to enter the restricted area.

  But as Christie and Call headed back for more cargo, Call couldn’t help looking over her
shoulder to watch the soldiers move those sleep chambers deep into the restricted area.

  Where were they going? Would they wake the sleepers or keep them under? How much space did the restricted area take up?

  The doors closed behind the soldiers, before Call could find any answers to her questions. She turned back to the Betty and the task before her.

  Hand twenty sleeping men and women over to an out-of-the-way military research installation. Yeah. A real simple task.

  * * *

  At least, Wren thought gratefully, Gediman’s not prattling on now.

  In fact, as the entire group of researchers gathered in the viewing area, no one was speaking. Well, after all, what was there to say? They’d all read the reports, the history, but until now, there were no living witnesses to what they were about to see. It was a momentous occasion. And it deserved the respect of silence, in honor of the men and women who were about to make the supreme sacrifice.

  Wren leaned forward as the others shifted quietly behind him and brought the various computer screens on line. They would be able to view everything from every conceivable angle if they wanted. Or, they could just watch it all through the huge viewing port overlooking the adjacent chamber. He realized suddenly that they were all breathing in unison.

  He swallowed, and manipulated the controls.

  Through the monitors, they could see a sweeping pan of the entire area. Twenty cryochambers were on inclined platforms in a circular, pie-shaped pattern, feet to feet. Wren handled the computer controls, and slowly, by increments, the chambers were individually elevated at the head until they were each standing upright. The units were then mechanically secured into position.

  Wren manipulated more controls, changing the cryomix in the chambers. Slowly. Slowly. He couldn’t allow the subjects to be damaged now. They were far too valuable.

  After a reasonable period of time, when the cryomix looked right in the readout, Wren had the computer open the transparent lids of the chambers. It was clear, in the monitors, that some of the chamber’s inhabitants were already stirring. He could see eyes twitching, lips moving, other signs of gradual wakefulness. The readouts were good. The inhabitants were all waking, all fully functional, all in good health. Prime subjects.

  Wren glanced sideways at Gediman when the man shifted nervously. He could tell Gediman was uncomfortable. Wren glanced around at the others. Carlyn was rubbing her arms as if cold. Trish had folded her arms and stared unblinking through the viewport as if she would not permit anything happening here to touch her. Kinloch stared openmouthed as if he couldn’t believe he was here, watching this. Sprague and Clauss were conferring quietly, while glancing nervously through the window. Clauss kept nervously rubbing his throat. Wren turned away from the group, not wanting to be distracted.

  Well, they should be moved. It was a powerful moment. One they would remember forever.

  It was time. Wren handled the controls, tapped in a sequence, and from the ceiling, a large tubular device descended. Surrounding the big transport arm were individual shallow containers. Sitting in each container was a massive, obscenely organic Alien egg. If such a thing could even be called an egg. It was a living organism itself, pulsing wetly with the life contained within. Sitting firmly on its large end, the narrow end pointed up, with four flaplike folds forming an odd orifice at the cusp. Massive veins cording over the surface of each egg trailed into the containers. He and Gediman had speculated for hours as to their purpose. Clearly, they stabilized the egg, and possibly, in their own environment, they pulled sustenance from the ground itself to maintain the larvae within for years if need be.

  Wren pulled his mind away from speculation as the transport arm positioned individual egg-holding containers in front of each hibernation chamber.

  The eggs settled as the transport arm stopped moving them. Within moments of being placed in range of another living organism, the eggs, which had been fairly static up to now, suddenly showed signs of life. They could see dim shapes moving within. The flexible walls of the eggs actually quivered.

  The remote transmission equipment allowed them to not only see what was happening, but to hear it as well. The eggs made sounds. Wet, slurping, sucking sounds. The kind of sounds you heard in surgery, when you were manipulating organs in the cavity of a living body.

  Behind him, Wren realized that everyone in the room had finally stopped fidgeting. Unconsciously, he lifted his arm to blot the sweat from his upper lip with his sleeve.

  In the cryounits, one of the sleeper’s eyes fluttered, then opened completely. The slender, dark-haired man blinked, showing the typical groggy, dry-mouthed aftereffects of the hibernation drugs. The name on his chamber read “Purvis.”

  The egg standing before his unit trembled, then suddenly opened, four flaps folding back like a large, irregular mouth. Hurriedly, Wren manipulated the controls, making cameras dolly around to view the mysterious interior. Oh, they’d analyzed the contents through every remote sensing device at their disposal. They’d even named some of the contents, even though they were still guessing as to their purposes. But it wasn’t the same as seeing it with your own eyes.

  The egg sitting next to “Purvis’s” chamber opened next. Then one across the room. Then another, and another. The sleepers were still only semi-aware, blinking sleepily, looking around, disoriented. They knew they weren’t where they had been when they’d gone to sleep, but clearly they couldn’t tell where they were now, or why. And they were still too drugged to do anything but blink and wonder.

  At last, every single egg sat open.

  Wren held his breath, and wondered if everyone else in the room with him was doing the same.

  Finally, cautiously, six long spindly legs emerged from the egg in front of Purvis.

  * * *

  Slowly, Purvis began to come out of cryosleep. Amazing thing, hibernation. One second you’re awake and settling in for a long winter’s nap and the next second you’re waking back up a jillion light-years and a bunch of months from wherever you’d been. He felt himself warming up, loosening up, as the cryodrugs were flushed from his system.

  He was aware enough to speculate about this upcoming job. The Xarem refinery was pretty far off the beaten track, so they had to pay better than some of the other plants. He’d heard, too, that they had better amenities, precisely because they were so far out. The package they’d offered him was good. He just hoped the working conditions lived up to the hype. He’d had enough of “luxurious accommodations” that turned out to be gang dormitories with no privacy.

  His feet tingled, and he started to stretch. Two years on Xarem would be better than five years anywhere else. He’d re-up, too, if the bonus looked good. He started to blink, look around.

  Hmmmm. Weird recovery area. He wasn’t used to having his cryotube actually moved. Usually recovery went on aboard ship. After waking, you got up, took a shower, collected your things…

  He glanced around. The arrangement of the tubes was different than they’d been aboard the ship, too. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, and finally noticed the huge ovoid thing sitting right in front of him.

  What the hell is that? He didn’t think there was any weird extraterrestrial life on Xarem, plants or animals. So what the hell was this thing? And even if it belonged on the planet, what would it be doing in the compound?

  The oblong monstrosity jiggled suddenly, shifted, as if alive. The surface of it was wet, glistening with some kind of slime. Purvis tried to draw back, repelled, but there was nowhere for him to go. The top cover of the cryotube was opened, but that only exposed his head and upper chest. His arms and body were still confined in the tube. He swallowed, trying to find his voice, wanting to call for a steward, for someone to check this thing out—and release him from the tube.

  But before he could, the top of the thing opened up.

  Purvis felt a wave of nausea as the folding flaps made ugly, squishy sounds.

  What the fuck is going on here? He glanc
ed around at the other chambers, suddenly realizing, as his mind grew clearer and clearer, that one of these grotesque things rested in front of every cryotube. Why? What for?

  Suddenly, something long and insectile began to emerge from the top of the thing. Slender, fingerlike appendages felt their way tentatively around the surface of the oblong mess. Then, finally, the creature the spidery legs were attached to emerged. It looked like a nightmare combination of a soft-bodied scorpion bred to a horseshoe crab.

  What is that, some kind of bug? Purvis hated bugs, small ones, big ones, all kinds. It was one of the reasons he worked in space. You almost never saw bugs in space! And if this was a bug, it was the mother of all of them. It stood poised on its long legs, balancing like a dancer.

  He’d seen enough. Panicked, Purvis repeatedly slapped the controls inside the chamber, trying to get it to release him so he could escape and get as far away from this monster bug as he could. But the controls wouldn’t respond, no matter what he did. He stared around wild-eyed. Most of the hibernators weren’t as aware as he was, didn’t realize what was going on.

  The creature shifted slightly, bounced lightly on its legs. Purvis’s eyes were huge, his mouth agape in shock as he took in a deep lungful of air, to scream for help.

  Just as he started his shout, the creature sprang explosively at him, faster than he could follow. Something rubbery, cold, and wet slapped him hard in the face at the same time he felt his entire head grabbed in a giant hand. A long, thin whip wrapped itself around his throat, strangling him. Then he realized what it was. The monster bug, that thing, was on his face.

  Purvis lost it completely, and tried screaming wildly, hysterically, but his voice was cut off before any sound had a chance to emerge. As soon as he opened his mouth, it was filled with something fibrous and fleshy, viscous and slimy. The taste, the feel was disgusting and his empty stomach heaved, even as he struggled to breathe around the thing shoving into him, filling his mouth, ramming down his throat, forcing its way into his windpipe, into his gullet. He kept trying to scream harder and harder, as he whipped his head back and forth wildly, trying to dislodge the thing. His hands and arms were still trapped in the cryotube, so he tried to bang his face against the sides, but couldn’t. His arms thrashed, his legs kicked uselessly, but nothing helped, nothing. More terrified than he’d ever been in his entire life, Purvis yielded completely to the suffocating fear and voided helplessly.