by Steve Perry
Conover glared at her and jabbed a finger in her general direction. “Look, I have some shares in this little investment along with everyone else! There is nothing we can do, okay?”
Strandberg tried to stand up, and fell to the floor. His coughing suddenly turned to hoarse choking sounds, and he spasmed and convulsed, clutched at his chest.
Heart attack or epileptic seizure—
Noguchi took one step toward him and felt a hand on her shoulder. Broken Tusk. He hissed and hefted his spear.
Conover rushed to his friend’s side and then stepped back at the sight of blood on Strandberg’s abdomen.
“Tommy—?!”
Noguchi gasped. The convulsing pilot screamed again and again. And at the same time, there was the sound of ripping, shredding, the sound of flesh parting—
A creature the size of Noguchi’s forearm burst through Strandberg’s chest in a spray of red. Dripping with blood and slime, the animal looked surreal, its head dominated by rows of teeth. It coiled its long, flesh-colored body in the frame of Strandberg’s bloody rib cage and screeched at them.
And jumped—
27
Dachande watched from the door as the oomans battled verbally. Although they did not give off a musk, the anger was clear. He imagined they were worried about their deaths and the proper manner of them, not an unreasonable concern in the situation. There might not be any witnesses to carry the tale to their friends and relatives, no one would know if they had died bravely or not, a concern to any warrior, of course. But in the end, they would know, just as he would know. All beings died, later, sooner, no one escaped the Black Warrior. But—if it happened in battle, did you meet the gods with blood on your blade, your laughter at Death still echoing around you? That was the thing; that way lay honor.
He had counted five of his students crushed into the soil on their way here, their weapons destroyed or missing. There was no way to know if there were more still alive, but he guessed not. He was vaguely disappointed in their performance, but they had been served with what they earned. Especially if they had followed Tichinde. The nature of would-be warriors was to obey the strongest among them and Tichinde had been that. Unfortunately, when a Hunt needed strategy and tactics, strength did not make up for stupidity. Even a good teacher could fail and that rankled, but one worked with what one was given.
Dachande watched the ooman debate with interest; the small warrior was in charge, and the other disagreed with whatever the small one wanted. He waited to see if there would be physical combat, but for some reason, the larger ooman did not strike. Dachande guessed the small one must be a Leader to merit such respect. He decided to support the warrior; from its actions so far, it was surely braver than the others. Certainly it stood in better balance, it flowed better.
When the third ooman fell and went into z’skvy-de, Dachande moved. The oomans had no experience with such things and did not recognize the eruptive phase. The small warrior stepped forward, but he stopped it, quickly explained the situation, and stepped past.
The larger ooman stood in his way. He pushed it aside and reached the ooman host just as the kainde amedha lunged forth.
The newborn creature snaked across the floor and almost made it under a table before Dachande lifted his spear and brought it down, hard.
He could feel the young drone’s back snap beneath the weapon. Hot intestine squirted, blood hissed.
Dachande stepped away and looked at the oomans. He waited.
* * *
Scott couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He was sprawled on the floor next to Tommy, where the giant had shoved him and Tommy was—
“Oh, Jesus, no,” he whispered. His voice sounded faint, far away.
Tommy still quivered all over. His fingers clenched and unclenched, and then nothing.
The giant had squashed the alien parasite quickly and neatly. It was over, that fast. And Tommy lay next to him, the slick innards of his body exposed, his eyes open.
Scott turned away and dry-heaved a few times, the retching bringing only sour spit. And then he understood.
He sat up stiffly and put a hand on his stomach. And coughed. And started to cry.
* * *
Noguchi grabbed someone’s coat off the back of one of the chairs and draped it over the dead pilot. She shuddered and stepped back.
Conover’s shoulders shook with grief.
Noguchi looked up at Broken Tusk, who watched mutely, and then back at Conover.
Broken Tusk had known. Her theory had panned out. For what that was worth at this point.
She crouched down next to the crying pilot and put a hand across his back. She kept her voice low, but didn’t hesitate.
“I’m sorry about your friend, Conover. But I need your help right now, okay? Before Strandberg—”
She cleared her throat and started again. “He was about to tell me something—something that could wipe out the bugs; I need—”
Conover turned his tear-streaked face up to look at her. “You don’t get it, do you? What happened to Tommy—that thing that was inside of him. We were together on The Lector. That means I’ve got one of those things inside of—”
The pilot’s face crumpled in despair. He buried his face in his hands and started to sob loudly.
Noguchi let him cry for a moment, then patted him gently on the back. She felt like a real bitch for what she was about to say, but there was no way around it.
“You’re not dead yet, Conover. We still need your help.”
He continued to rock back and forth. “Leave me alone. I’m doomed, I’m a dead man.”
Noguchi stood up. “Maybe if you help us, I can help you.”
Conover looked up at her and wiped his eyes with the back of one hand. “Are you a doctor? You gonna perform surgery and make me all better?”
Noguchi shook her head. “No, I can’t do that. But you can have a shot at revenge—” She took a deep breath. “And I can make it quicker, easier for you.”
The mixed look of pain and self-pity and gratitude on the pilot’s face made her stomach clench. Conover was an asshole, but he didn’t deserve to die for it. If she had one of those things inside of her…
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Fuck it. Yeah, okay.”
* * *
Scott sat at the terminal, his eyes gritty and his hands trembling. He was going to die. He was going to die. The thought was a repeating loop in his mind, a horrible and constant statement of looming black truth. He was pregnant with a monster, he was going to die—”
Scott shook his head and finished the sentence he had typed onto the screen; almost done. His stomach hurt, and with each second, it got worse. He coughed into his hand and tapped a few more keys. Real, or in his mind?
“Everything you need is on the disk,” he said. His voice sounded dead, too.
Noguchi nodded. She sat next to him and watched carefully as he worked.
“Thanks, Conover.”
“Scott,” he said softly. It suddenly seemed very important that she knew his name. Because he was going to die.
“Thanks, Scott.”
He felt a few more tears trickle down his face and into his beard. It had been like that for the last twenty minutes. Knowing you were about to die was bad, very bad.
“It’s going to be tough getting in,” he said.
“We’ll find a way.”
Scott nodded and glanced at the giant. It was back by the door, spear at its side.
“I don’t doubt it,” he said. He coughed, the painful spasm filling him with dread. He took a deep breath and coughed again. It was getting worse.
He smiled weakly at Noguchi. “You know, if this works, the company’s gonna be really pissed.”
She straightened slightly and then laughed. She seemed surprised by the sound. So was Scott.
You can still make a pretty woman laugh, Scott.
“Fuck the company,” she said.
“Yeah.”
On a sudden impulse,
Scott grabbed at a piece of paper on the console and a pen, He made a quick sketch, studied the drawing for a moment, and then added a few more details.
He folded the paper in half and handed it to Noguchi.
“It’s a going away present,” he said. He coughed and pressed one hand to his stomach. He tried not to think about it—
You’re going to die—
“It’s a map of the ship,” he continued. “I should have thought of it before.”
She slipped the paper into a chest pocket and nodded. Behind them, at the door, the shrieks of the alien bugs had gotten louder.
“Sounds like every bug in the place is trying to get in,” he said. “Well. All but one of them. It’s already in.”
“We’re ready to go.” She stood.
Scott nodded and coughed again. He was going to die.
A kind of calm slipped over him, a sense of unreality that made him feel far away from all this. It didn’t matter, not really. He should be scared, had been scared, but now, in this moment, he was somehow floating above it, watching himself as if he were someone else. It was a done deal, end of the line, and while he had never dreamed it would happen this way, here it was and what choice did he have?
At least he had helped. Maybe it would even make some kind of difference—he wouldn’t be around to see, but at least he wouldn’t be in pain, and the damn repeating line would end.
The giant alien walked over to meet them when Noguchi stood. It gestured with its spear at Scott.
Noguchi’s voice came from the creature: “I can make it quicker, easier for you.”
Noguchi held up one hand. “No. I made the promise, I’ll do it.”
The giant seemed to understand. It stepped back.
“Weird,” said Scott. He coughed—and with it came an odd nauseous feeling. Like he had swallowed something alive.
“Just do it, okay?”
Noguchi held her pistol up. “Close your eyes, Scott.
Count to three.”
Scott closed his eyes. He sensed the barrel of the weapon behind his skull and he clenched his eyes tighter. He was afraid. But he was ready.
“I’ll remember you,” said Noguchi gently.
“One. Two—”
* * *
The warrior looked away from the fallen ooman and stood still for a moment. Dachande said nothing, but after a short span, he growled a time reminder at the standing ooman and motioned at the door. The Leader had done what a Leader had to do; there was no cure for an infected host and the larger ooman’s death was quick and honorable. It had not fought or tried to run.
He moved to the dead ooman, judged where the unborn Hard Meat embryo was, and raised his spear. Looked at the remaining ooman.
The ooman nodded and turned away as Dachande drove the spear downward. Felt the blade hit the harder substance of the embryo. Felt it struggle to escape the point, then give up.
He pulled the blade free, hammered the shaft of the weapon with his free fist to shake the blood from it. Done.
The other ooman walked to join him. Glanced down at its dead comrade, then away. It looked tired. It motioned at a side entrance with its weapon and nodded at Dachande.
He nodded back and followed the small warrior to crouch by the entry. The drones still scrabbled madly outside the main door, but there were no sounds outside this one.
The warrior raised its burner. Dachande readied his staff.
The door opened.
28
Roth yawned and glanced at her chrono for the third time in fifteen minutes. They were out in the middle of nowhere in a quick and dirty makeshift camp and she was watching the darkness for monsters. Monsters.
Life sure wasn’t what you expected, at least never for more than a few minutes at a time.
The suns would be coining up soon, which meant her shift was about done. In the dim predawn light, she leaned against Ackland’s AV and whistled softly for Creep. The mutt had wandered over to stand watch with Leo, an older Chinese man who always seemed to have candy in his pocket.
After a few seconds, Creep padded quietly through the maze of vehicles to join her. She scratched his head.
“How’s Leo, dog? Still awake?”
Creep whuffled softly and sat down, tongue hanging out.
“I heard that, Roth,” a voice crackled in her ear.
“You been feeding my dog crap again, Leo?” Roth spoke quietly. Most of the camp was still asleep, except for her and five others. On any normal night, they would’ve swapped jokes and insults, maybe taken turns napping. But the day before had been too long and too frightening. The shift had been tense and silent, and except for one false alarm when a few stray rhynth had wandered into camp, uneventful.
Leo chuckled. “Yep. You don’t give him anything good; if I were him, I’d be hungry for something besides soypro in a can, too.”
“You’d make a good dog, Leo.”
There was a short pause and then Kaylor came online. “Sorry to interrupt, folks, but shouldn’t Noguchi be here by now?”
Roth sighed. “Yeah, we know.” Kaylor had a bad habit of stating the obvious.
Leo cut in. “Maybe someone should go back…”
He trailed off. No one replied. Roth concentrated on the twins suns as they sneaked up on the far edge of the desert and began to lighten the clear sky.
Twenty minutes later, the door to Ackland’s AV banged open.
Roth jumped. She had been lulled into a trance by the silence and purity of the early morning. Asshole.
Within a few minutes, the camp was up. Bleary-eyed ranchers and their children stumbled out into the almost-cool air and trotted off to relieve themselves behind various rocks and low shrub.
Roth shouldered her rifle and rubbed at her eyes.
Sleep would be bliss, but she wanted to stay awake for a while and watch for Noguchi.
“Jame?” Cathie walked over with two cups of coffee.
“Thanks, hon. Get any sleep?”
Cathie smiled. “An hour or two, at least.”
She handed Roth a mug and kissed her lightly. “I figured you wouldn’t be ready for bed quite yet.”
Roth motioned with her head at a small group of people who had gathered by Luccini’s AV, Ackland and Weaver among them.
“What’s the deal?”
Cathie shrugged. “Ackland’s being a dickhead, what else?”
Jenkins arrived and took over from Roth. They nodded at each other.
As soon as the shift was covered, Roth and Cathie walked over to join the circle; several other ranchers had also stopped.
“…and I think it’s suicide!” Ackland looked blustery and irritated, as usual; Cathie was right, he was a dickhead.
“What’s suicide?” Roth asked.
Weaver’s cheeks were flushed. “Oh, nothing. Ackland is being a coward, that’s all.”
“Bullshit,” said Ackland. “There’s nothing we can do until the Marines show up, that’s all! If one of you wants to go back and get killed, that’s fine by me!”
Paul Luccini spoke up. He didn’t talk much, but people tended to listen when he did. “The Marines might take a while, Ackland.”
Cathie stepped in. “In the meantime, she could be hurt, or in need of help.”
“Those are the chances she took when she accepted the job,” said Ackland. His voice was now patronizing and slow, as if he were addressing children. “The Chigusa Corporation is responsible for the safety of the colonists, not the other way around.”
A red haze seemed to settle over everything for Roth. She took a deep breath, tried to control it, but something snapped while Ackland spoke.
“You bastard!” She stepped forward and poked him in the chest with one trembling finger. “You can’t shove this off on the company! You had me lie to Doc Revna about where we found those creatures! And it was your idea to sneak those rhynth past quarantine!” She took another step toward him. “I’m ashamed to admit to my part in it, but I take responsibility for
my stupidity! What’s your excuse?”
Ackland held up his hands, as if to defend himself. “Hey, look—you know what a hardass Noguchi is, right?” He searched the assembled ranchers for support. “I was just trying to protect my investments. Our investments.”
Luccini spoke again. “Fuck the investments. I’ve got a family.”
Several others chorused agreement.
Weaver glared at Ackland. “You can say what you want about Noguchi, but when it came down to it, she risked her life to save all of us—including your ass!”
Ackland opened his mouth, his fat face angry—and then closed it again. He turned and walked away.
“He’d better pray she’s still alive when this is all over,” Cathie whispered to Roth.
Roth nodded. The rush of adrenaline was gone, had left her exhausted. She caught Weaver’s gaze. “Are you looking for volunteers?”
Weaver considered it for a moment and then shook her head. “No. Not yet, anyway. Machiko told us to wait, so we’ll wait. If she’d not here by late afternoon, though…”
“Right. Let me know, okay?”
Roth and Cathie walked over to a makeshift table that had been assembled and stacked with trays of rolls and a couple of pots of coffee.
“Do you think she’s still alive?” said Cathie. Roth started to say no, but then thought better of it.
“If anyone could survive that place right now,” she said carefully, “it’d be her.”
* * *
Dawn had come.
Broken Tusk stepped past her, out into the open compound, and then motioned for her to follow.
Noguchi crouched outside of the door and pointed left, then right with her handgun. It was clear.
She could still hear the screaming bugs around the corner to her right; they continued to slam into the main door, apparently unaware their prey had escaped.
Noguchi and Broken Tusk circled to the back. From behind them, Noguchi heard several loud cracks as the door finally gave up the fight.
Looks like they got tired of waiting for us to let them in—
Broken Tusk glanced back at her.
She pointed forward and he moved on.
Noguchi covered the rear as they headed to the other side of the ops building. They hurried, but didn’t run. She took her cues from the warrior; he had dealt with these things before, and he stepped cautiously.
