Aliens vs Predator Omnibus

by Steve Perry

  After a moment Tichinde stood and looked around at his fallen peers. He waited to hear direction from the Leader, but there were no instructive cries.

  Other yautja rose to their feet, dazed. Small pools of mi burned, their flickerings reaching into the dusk, carrying in their fumes the smells of ash and soil and oily death.

  The Leader had fallen not far from Tichinde. Several of the others stumbled with him to where Dachande lay.

  The Leader was barely alive, his mandibles caked with thwei. Wreckage had hit him, knocked him into dhi’ki-de, the sleep near death.

  A quick survey showed them that Warkha, too, was dead, and the other Blooded had been on the ship that still burned and smoked and looked now like nothing so much as a gutted crab. No one would be leaving this world on that vessel. And it would be weeks, months, years perhaps, before anybody came to look for them. Not good.

  When all of the students alive had gathered around Dachande, Tichinde counted. Ten of them. No transport and no elder to tell them what would happen—

  “What will we do?” From ‘Aseigan.

  “Dachande still breathes,” said Gkyaun. “We could—”

  “You are a medic?” Tichinde snorted. “He is beyond the aid kits, look at him. Let him die honorably of his wounds, wounds sustained in battle.” He waved at the smoking ship. “The ooman deliberately attacked us and killed our ship. Therefore, we will kill the oomans, that is what we will do. Dachande lives but his time is short.”

  ‘Aseigan growled. “Who proclaimed you Leader?” His voice was thick with contempt. “You will not lead me. And Hunting Soft Meat is forbidden to unBlooded, even a fool such as you knows this.”

  Tichinde grinned and pointed his burner at the yautja. ‘Aseigan took a step toward him, arms high.

  Tichinde fired.

  The blast blew ‘Aseigan against a pile of smoking rock.

  The others leapt back in surprise.

  “Others dispute?” Tichinde swung the burner in a circle. “I will spill your thwei as easily as I do that of the ooman dogs later! This is not a Hunt, as that dead slave-to-rules thought, but self-defense. We are allowed to defend ourselves from attack, are we not?” Once again he waved at the ruins of their ship.

  None of the nine disagreed. They watched him warily, hands close to their own burners. There was a long moment when a Challenge might have come, when one of the nine might have taken it upon himself to raise his burner and try him, but that moment passed. If another would be Leader, he would have made his move and none did.

  Tichinde smiled. They would follow him, reluctantly or not.

  He raised his staff to the sky and screamed of revenge. When Gkyaun returned from the wreck and handed him the smoldering ooman skull a moment later, Tichinde crushed it with bare claw to the approving hisses of the others. It had killed itself and bravely in the doing, so it could not be a proper trophy. But there would be others to be earned.

  The yautja chanted and howled their approval into the night. Tichinde sent them to scavenge for whole weapons and armor.

  They were stuck here. So be it. The oomans would be sorry they dared attack the yautja. Sorry they dared to cross blades with Tichinde.

  Very sorry.

  10

  The disparity in ratio between the smooth-backed specimens and the single carcass with dorsal spines notwithstanding, I believe the differences between the two types represent sexual indicators—not of the specimens themselves, but of the zygote or “egg” that each carries. As stated above, none of the specimens is equipped for independent life, their sole purpose seems to be nothing more than that of a living delivery vehicle—an ambulatory penis, if you will.

  Noguchi tapped her cigarette without looking at the tray and skimmed back to the top of the page, totally absorbed. This is what Revna had gone after? Why hadn’t he told anyone? Why hadn’t he told her?

  While it is risky to postulate so much from such a tiny sample, we need to know as much as possible about these specimens as quickly as possible. If my assumptions are correct, or even near the mark, we’re dealing with only one stage of this organism. The hybrid silicon-carbon cell construction would lead—

  “‘Ambulatory penis,’ huh? Conjures quite an image, don’t it?”

  Noguchi jumped in her chair and turned quickly, heart pounding. A tall man with blond hair and beard stood there, grinning. He swayed slightly on his feet; from the smell of him, he had been drinking. A lot.

  She stood and backed away a step. “You’re from The Lector, right?”

  The stranger took a step closer. “Hell, I fly that bucket!” He belched softly. “’Scuse me. Scott Conover atcher service.”

  Noguchi smiled but inched back a little more. His intentions weren’t exactly clear but one thing was…

  “You’re drunk, Mr. Conover.”

  “Yeah, but not too drunk, if you know what I mean. You’re Ms. Nogooshi. I’ve been watching you—”

  “It’s Noguchi,” she said coolly. “And you can call me ma’am.”

  Conover laughed and reached out to take her hand. Noguchi tried to pull away, but the pilot gripped her wrist tightly. He leaned close, his alcohol breath moist and pungent. “I heard about what a tough lady you were, the company ramrod, right?” His words slurred together slightly.

  The drunken pilot tried to pull her hand down to his crotch. “I got your ramrod right here, ma’am,” he stage-whispered.

  Noguchi narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  * * *

  Scott couldn’t find the Jap girl anywhere; he wandered around for a while and eventually he heard some guy say that she was watching screens.

  “Operations,” he said to no one in particular, and stumbled in that direction.

  The door was open. He was torn between the desire to march right in and woo the woman and the desire to piss—which had gotten pretty overwhelming. He compromised and peed on the entry frame before his imminent conquest.

  She was reading some kind of porn hard copy, he could see that much. Damn, but she was fine! He imagined that small mouth all over him, on his dick; and she wanted it, too, he could tell.

  They did the small talk thing for a minute or two, and she told him she was into being dominant—‘call me ma’am’—and the little vixen played chase, backing up, her cheeks flushed with desire.

  And he reached out to touch her, to put her hand on his ready-and-willing equipment—and then he wasn’t sure what happened.

  He must have tripped—

  * * *

  Noguchi grabbed his arm above the elbow with her free hand and hooked one foot behind his. She twisted, pushing up and over at the same time, and the pilot went down. She jumped back and struck a ready pose, left foot forward, fists made. It had happened so fast, she was barely aware that she had done it.

  The drunk groaned loudly; he didn’t get up. Noguchi relaxed slightly, but kept her distance.

  Another man stepped into the room, dark-haired, wearing glasses.

  “Scott?” He looked down and moved immediately to the fallen man. “Jesus, what happened?” He stared up at Noguchi, at her fighting stance; realization dawned on his face.

  “You next?” Adrenaline still pumped through her system.

  The drunk’s friend stood, hands in the air. “No, no, I was just coming to tell you that the ship is loaded and that we’ll be making our first shuttle run as soon as the inspectors give the rhynth a clean bill of health—” He spoke all at once, in a rush, but seemed to catch himself.

  Noguchi nodded. “You’d better have them check out this pilot, too.” She looked down at Conover and frowned. “Especially his judgment.”

  “I’m Tom Strandberg, ma’am. I’m sorry about this, he’s the designated drinker on this run.” As the man spoke, he bent down and tried to help Conover to his feet. He grinned sheepishly. “Tomorrow it’ll be my turn.”

  With a grunt of effort, Strandberg stood up, Conover half over one shoulder.

  “Your turn
to drink or your turn to get some of what I gave him?” Noguchi spoke sharply; she knew that none of this was Strandberg’s fault, but damn him for excusing his friend so lightly; attempted rape wasn’t particularly funny.

  Strandberg edged toward the door with his heavy load. “Look, I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again, okay?”

  It seemed to be the perfect cue. Conover raised his head slightly. “Damn bitch,” he mumbled, and nodded back out.

  Strandberg carried the other pilot out without another word.

  Noguchi sat back in her chair and felt her heart slow down little by little. If she didn’t receive a formal apology the next morning, she would file a complaint with the company.

  Maybe I’ll do that anyway: Conover certainly didn’t deserve anything less, ol’ I-got-your-ramrod-right-here.

  She surprised herself by laughing out loud. How classically dumb male. Did they teach lines like that in Neanderthal 101?

  Noguchi picked up the papers she had been reading, a smile still on her face. Well, it had broken the tension she’d been feeling.

  After she’d read the same paragraph three times, she sighed and put the report down. This was important stuff, but she couldn’t seem to regain her concentration after the rush of adrenaline that idiot’s advances had created. Besides, it was late. Revna must have gone to the party or just gone home.

  She stood, stretched, and yawned. Maybe she wasn’t so very out of martial arts’ practice after all. She had tossed him without thinking about it. It came back quick enough when she’d needed it.

  She made sure that the recorders were all on and pulled her jacket off the back of the chair. She would talk to Revna tomorrow about these “specimens”; from the sound of it, there might be some crucial things going on out at Iwa Gorge—and it was her job to know about it.

  * * *

  It was dark and hot. The smell of burned materials worked its way into that darkness, and with the scent came pain.

  Dachande opened his mouth to scream at the young males to fall in line, but nothing happened. He sensed no movement, no sound of the students came to him. He tried to lift one arm to clear his vision, but nothing happened. Only heat and blackness and faraway pain.

  And then only dark.

  * * *

  Scott hurt. He rolled his head and opened his eyes, but closed them again immediately. The whole fuckin’ planet was spinning. And there was an earthquake or something.

  What planet?

  “Wha’ the fuck?” he mumbled. He opened his eyes again.

  “Back to the land of the living?” Tom’s face swam into view next to him. They were riding a small cart outside, back to the ship—the earthquake was the rumbling motor. On Ryushi. The Lector. Cowboys.

  Japanese babe—

  Scott focused on Tom’s face. “Nogooshi,” he said. It was coming back.

  Tom grinned. “Scott, you’re plowed. Apparently you tried to have sex with the head of the company here, a very capable woman who knocked the shit out of you before you got around to figuring out she wasn’t interested.” He paused for a second and then added, “And if you ask me, you’re lucky she didn’t rip your dick off and feed it to you.”

  “Great,” said Scott. He closed his eyes, exhausted. “Nice to have you on my side, ol’ buddy ol’ pal.”

  Scott was almost asleep when the cart stopped. He growled and pulled himself upright. They were back at The Lector.

  “Need help?”

  “No. Fucking Judas.” He got out of the cart okay, but discovered that his legs weren’t particularly interested in staying straight. Tom grabbed one of his arms and pulled it over his own shoulder. Scott leaned on him heavily.

  “Yeah, okay.” He shuffled along next to Tom as they walked onto the second loading ramp. “She can’t treat me like that, you know.”

  “Maybe you want to go back and tell her that,” Tom said. “What’s with the lights? Prindle’s team is getting sloppy, maintenance is going to hell—”

  Scott sighed. “Fuck the lights. But you know what I mean, right? I mean, I’m a goddamned star-pilot, you know?” On top of the humiliation of it all, he was getting a huge headache.

  Tom leaned him up against a wall. “Hang on a sec, let me get a light.”

  Scott went on. “Who the fuck does she think she is, you know?” He stared at the floor. Goddamn rhynth all over the place, looked like one of them had thrown up on the floor. He toed the puddle of wet, mucusy goo with one foot and then looked away quickly; that was enough to make his stomach pretty damn unhappy.

  “She’s corporate,” said Tom. “She pulled rank on you.” He reappeared holding a flashlight and reached out to steady Scott with his free arm.

  “That’s not all she pulled,” said Scott glumly. “I think my back is broken or something.”

  “Who in the hell left this hatch open?” Tom stepped forward and shined the light into the dark rhynth pen.

  “You’re not listening to me.” Scott leaned back on the wall. Fuck the hatch.

  “Hey, Ackland warned you, right?” Tom’s voice had taken on an echolike quality. He had walked into the pen.

  With the last of his coordination, Scott followed him, narrowly missing a renegade doorway. Rhynth puke everywhere.

  Tom continued. “But you wouldn’t listen, no. You just had to go mess with the queen—”

  Tom stopped short. The flashlight hit the floor and a low hiss filled the room, coming from all around.

  Scott shook his head and followed Tom’s gaze. There were four. Or seven. Or twenty. A flurry of horrible images: long, dark skulls and dripping razor teeth. Gigantic, black, all arms and legs and spiny tails, hissing. Moving forward.

  Reaching toward them—

  11

  There was darkness. Not with the cold that she had once associated with the black hours, not with a sense of night or time. It was a stifling darkness that echoed with soft, wet sounds of rhythmic movement—the insistent pulse of body against body, but far from any act of love. It was the black of a huge machine, steadily devouring light, continually working, thrumming. Eating. Building toward the inevitable scream. The darkness was the dragon, calling her name, calling its prey, and, there was no escape…

  “Machiko?”

  Light blared, loud and unwanted. Noguchi started, sat up. She rubbed her eyes. “What—?”

  Hiroki stood in her doorway, his hand on the control panel.

  The darkness machine, insatiable—

  She shook her head. “I had a dream… Hiroki. What time is it?”

  “Almost noon.” Hiroki smiled apologetically. “I know you were up late last night, sorry to disturb you—”

  “What is it?” Noguchi felt the last of the dream slip away as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. She was suddenly aware that she wore only an undershirt, and a tight one at that.

  “Doc Revna still hasn’t returned, and Mrs. Doc is starting to worry. I’ve sent out a crew in the copter to search for him, but I thought it would be best if the staff saw that you were in on this, too.”

  Noguchi nodded. “Thank you, Hiroki. You’re right. Give me two minutes to get dressed.”

  Hiroki averted his eyes politely as she walked to the ’fresher to splash water on her face. Revna wasn’t back? He’d been gone—fifteen or sixteen hours, at least. Too long.

  She dressed quickly and rinsed her mouth with water. In spite of the cool liquid, she felt hot, her eyes sticky and full of sand. Not enough sleep. Noguchi combed through her hair with her fingers and stepped out to meet Hiroki. She glanced longingly at her bed; a nap later, perhaps.

  Doc had probably just had some engine trouble; he would know to stay put and wait for help. Hell, the copter was most likely on its way back with Revna already, nothing to worry about.

  Except for the darkness.

  She shuddered as they reached the door to the building; her dream—

  “You okay?”

  Noguchi smiled and gave up on the half-remembered image. �
��Fine. I just—I dreamed it was hot.”

  Hiroki laughed. “Pure fantasy.”

  Noguchi smiled again, but felt the shudder deep inside. She hoped the dark feelings were just that, fantasy. She donned her sunglasses and followed Hiroki into the blazing day.

  * * *

  David Spanner had one fuck of a nasty headache. The pressers on the goddamn copter were incredibly noisy—no, more than that, they were deadly, that was it. He had been sent out because of all of his sins to die by slow torture. Loud torture.

  “How about after this we go to the cafe and get some sushi, Spanner? Nice and fresh, maybe the abalone, all squishy and raw, or the octopus—”

  “Fuck you very much, Ikeda.” Great. Only big party of the year, everyone in town is sleeping it off, and he gets sent to pick up the doc. With the only person in town who wasn’t suffering a severe hangover.

  His copilot grinned, her smile relaxed and easy. “Or we could have a few cold ones. What do you say? Couple of big frosty quarts of beer, to wash down the snake-roll?”

  Spanner scowled. “I could just throw up on you now, save you the trouble of making me.”

  “No time,” she said. “We’re almost there.”

  Ikeda pulled up on the stick as they rounded a cliff and flew into the gorge. Spanner’s stomach protested at the sudden dip. He wrapped his arms around his chest and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.

  “You did that on purpose, Ikeda.”

  “Maybe. Help me look, lush.”

  Spanner shook his head, eyes still closed. “Uh-uh. You look. I’m just here for the fresh air.”

  They flew without talking for a few minutes, but it was far from silent. The pressers. It was the goddamn age of science, and no one had invented a decent muffler; what were the techs thinking? Spanner considered jumping. At least it would be quiet…

  “What the fuck?”

  Spanner sat up quickly. They had just come over a low cliff, and on the floor of the gorge—

  There had been an explosion, a big one.

  Huge metallic arches like the rib cage of a giant stretched up from still-smoldering wreckage. The charred ground around the arches were strewn with large chunks of blackened debris—of what, Spanner couldn’t tell.