Aliens vs Predator Omnibus

by Steve Perry

  “Punch me through to Evanston—immediately.”

  “Sure.”

  Zorski reached over for a comm-mike, handed it to Machiko, then caught sight of what she was carrying in her bag.

  “God. It’s the android,” she said with an audible gulp.

  “Hello, there!” said Attila.

  “Just keep them covered, Ned,” Machiko said, and clicked on the mike. “Evanston. Livermore Evanston. Do you read me? I need to talk to you, man. I need to talk to you now.”

  Silence.

  She turned to Zorski. “Are you sure this line is open?”

  Zorski leaned over and punched a button. Consulted a readout “Yes.”

  “Evanston. Talk to me, dammit. You’ve got people out there getting killed!”

  A voice, slightly shaking with stress, broke through the speakers.

  “Yes, and who’s killing them? Those damned creatures that you’ve led here. It’s you, Noguchi! You!”

  “Let’s take a step into reality, you bastard. You know what’s gone wrong. Don’t deny it. There’s no time for that now. No time for philosophizing.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Something went wrong with the control on those things.”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s got to be an override on them—right? A button you can push. You’re no dummy, Evanston. You foresaw the possibility that you might not be able to control them. You had to have foreseen the need to destroy the things. Individually.”

  “What if there is?”

  “Use it. Kill them, and we can make a truce. I can talk to my alien companions. You and your settlement will be spared. They just want the creatures destroyed. They are an insult to their sense of honor!”

  “No! They are mine, and they contain the work and wisdom of decades! This eventuality was foreseen—there are independent programs in the creatures that will make them seek shelter. That’s what they are going for now—shelter. When they are safe, they will turn off and be malleable—to the proper parties, of course.”

  “Bullshit. You’ll blow them now, you bastard!”

  “No. Plain and simple, no, Noguchi—and there’s no way you can make me. I’m sitting tight here. Don’t worry—everything’s going to work out fine for me. For you, though—I honestly don’t think so…”

  “Machiko!” cried Sanchez.

  The mercenary pushed her aside, bringing his gun around. A flash of energy ripped into his side, knocking him back and into her gun arm.

  The smell of singed flesh.

  A yell.

  Sanchez was down.

  Standing just meters away was Zorski, holding a gun.

  She looked terrified, but triumphant.

  “Okay, you bitch. The ball’s in our court now!”

  30

  Machiko did not even think; she just acted automatically.

  The smoking, unconscious body of Ned Sanchez had fallen upon her own gun, but she had access to the sling that held the head of Attila the Hun. She allowed it to roll away to the side.

  “Don’t shoot!” she said.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” said Zorski, still looking terrified, but a little more under control. “I think that Evanston has other plans for you.”

  “Good job, Zorski. That’s why I was talking to her, to distract them,” came Evanston’s sneering voice. “Now I think we might be able to accomplish a few things.”

  “How many of your Hunter friends were still alive after the blast?” Zorski demanded. “We need to know—ungh.”

  The grunt was due to the pencil-thin beam of light that streamed from the floor, connected with Zorski’s forehead, and drilled a neat hole through her brain.

  A wisp of smoke flew up from the cauterized wound.

  Zorksi’s gun dropped with a clatter.

  Zorski dropped.

  Dead.

  Machiko was up in a moment, covering the technicians.

  “One wrong move, and you’re all on the floor.” She looked over at Attila’s head. His forehead still had the laser device peeking through. “Good job, Til.”

  “Ready for anything. Good placement. Excellent tactic.”

  She checked Ned. Still breathing. Burned some, but he’d make it.

  She grabbed the mike.

  “You heard that, you saw it,” she wailed. “Now, Evanston, get your fat ass up here before we have to blow it up here!”

  There was no reply.

  * * *

  There was no reply in the main headquarters from the lower bunker, because that bunker had been abandoned.

  Plan B was in effect.

  No sooner had he seen Zorski go down, his last hope, than Livermore Evanston grabbed his own gun and pack of necessary supplies, jumped, and lit out the emergency-exit tube, stuffing a handgun into his belt, just in case.

  He’d foreseen the possibility of having to get out of his bunker. That was a little military lesson that the luminary Adolf Hitler had neglected in planning his escape, and since Evanston had studied all the great leaders, it was natural that he’d wanted to avoid their mistakes.

  He’d made enough of his own.

  After slipping his rotund self inside and strapping in, he pulled the glass top of the car down, pressed the release button. The car pneumatically responded, rocketing down the tube. The rush was amusement-park-ride quick, zooming through the darkness, zooming under the complex, and then suddenly rising at a rate that pushed him back in the seat with G-force.

  Then he hit.

  Springs and belts cushioned the impact, but still Evanston almost lost his breath.

  The door whooshed open.

  No time to waste.

  There was but one hope for escape, and it was beyond that door. He struggled up and hurried there, grabbing the handle and pulling it open.

  Night air rushed in, smelling of burned flesh and other less savory things.

  Evanston didn’t notice. His attention was on the sleek vehicle below the ramp above which he was now perched. The limo. And there was a figure inside, slouched down so as not to draw any attention from anything that might emerge from the violence that flamed just a few hundred meters away.

  Evanston puffed down toward it.

  The light of flames streaked across the door as he opened it.

  “Good job.”

  “Thank heavens it’s you,” said Abner Brookings. “We’re getting out of here.”

  “Yes. For now.” Evanston got in, slammed the door, and motioned for the lawyer to get away from there. “My ship. Well get out of here for now. But when I get back—there’s going to be payback Believe me.”

  The limo rushed through the night.

  * * *

  “Where’s he going?” said Machiko. Not fooling around: Her gun was pointed right under the nostril of the chief technician.

  A drop of sweat slipped down the man’s smooth brow. “There’s an escape tube from the bunker. He’ll have a car waiting. I’d say he’s given up. He’s always got his spaceyacht ready. He’s capable of piloting it himself. He’s out of here.”

  She looked down at the head of Attila.

  “Any thoughts on this?”

  * * *

  The thing lumbered out of the night.

  “Jesus,” said Brookings.

  Evanston recognized it. It was too fast. It would catch them. The silhouette of his spaceyacht loomed just a hundred meters distant. So close. How had the thing stumbled out this far?

  He couldn’t take a chance.

  The limo was rocketing along, but the hybrid would catch them. Evanston leaned over and jerked the steering wheel, sending the limo careering off at a different angle entirely.

  “Evanston! What are you doing?”

  The limo hit the hybrid so hard it buckled its legs. Its body crashed through the windshield. It shrieked, its hands and claws scrabbling.

  Evanston didn’t wait to see what would happen next. With the car slowing to a stop, he pushed open the passenger door and jumped out
, a peripheral glimpse of jaws closing around the right shoulder of Abner Brookings, Esquire.

  Brookings screamed.

  Evanston ran.

  He ran for all he was worth, and he pulled his wrist up as he did so, hitting a radio stub, already attuned to the proper frequency. When he ran up the ramp, the door would be open on its other end, and the instruments ready and activated. There would be a minimum of preparation for takeoff.

  His breath burned in his lungs. He could hear Brookings’ cries suddenly cut off. The hybrid wouldn’t be able to follow him, though. He’d snapped the creature’s legs.

  At long last the ship reared before him, beautiful and shiny in the moonlight. He raced up the ramp and sailed gleefully through the door, open as expected.

  He cycled it closed.

  Safe! Truly safe at last! All he had to do now was run up to the bridge and tap the codes for automatic takeoff! A force field had automatically erected outside the ship, and no one, not Bug nor Predator, not Machiko Noguchi nor the genetic hybrids, could touch him. He would take off, return to the center of his true power. Regroup. Recoup. Talk to the Company. Bring in the Marines and wipe these traitors from the face of his world. The determination and anger gave him the additional power to climb the steps to the bridge. He stumped through with a happy sigh.

  A sigh that changed into a shriek as a form rose from the pilot’s chair.

  A form without a head.

  It finished tapping out its final work on the computer bank and then stood up. “I suggest you not move,” said the headless android body. “There will be parties here soon that will bring you back.” The voice of Attila.

  “No,” cried Evanston, frustration replacing his fear. “No, you can’t do this!”

  He pulled out his gun and fired at the android torso. The bullet smashed the chest, pushed back the body. But it did not bring the robot down.

  “I suggest you put that weapon down.” Machiko’s voice. “We’ve gotten the door open below. There will be a party there very soon to pick you up and take you back.”

  “Can’t we talk about this, Noguchi?” said the man, his voice quavering.

  “We certainly can, Evanston. Once you get back here. Once we get things back on-line. Now, I suggest you tell us what we need to know, or you’re going to be in deep trouble.”

  Evanston considered. But not for long.

  He told them.

  “Thanks,” said Noguchi. “See you soon.”

  Evanston took a deep breath. He sighed. There was nothing more to do. But if he could just stay alive, there would be hope.

  He heard the pound of feet in the hold.

  Looked up.

  One of the Predators strode in. Evanston could smell musk and blood and hate. The thing took off its mask, and bright red eyes burned.

  Gore dripped freely from its wounds and from the long knives attached to its wrists.

  “Machiko,” called Evanston. “Machiko!”

  The android’s headless body had, however, slumped back into the pilot’s chair.

  EPILOGUE

  “On my mark!” said Machiko Noguchi.

  Technician hands hovered over controls.

  “Now!”

  Fingers flicked switches.

  Machiko watched the monitors. On the screen closest to her, one of the Buggers was tearing through a doorway to get at men who had taken shelter.

  Its cyborg portion simply blew up, rendering its bizarre body into tatters.

  On ten other screens similar bloody and explosive fates met other Buggers.

  When the last of the blood and bone drifted down, Machiko got on the all-comm.

  “That was to save your miserable carcasses as well as ours,” she said. “The rule of the particular tyrant here has ended. Lay down your arms. The yautja will not harm you if you are not armed! An immediate truce has been called. Headquarters has been captured and Livermore Evanston is being incarcerated. This is Machiko Noguchi. All will be explained in the fullness of time. Call in and report.”

  “Pretty authoritative,” said a voice from behind her.

  She turned and saw that Ned Sanchez was standing. He hobbled over and slouched into a chair.

  “Ned.” She went to him.

  “Go back to work. I’ll be fine.”

  “You need something for those burns.”

  “Yes, I do, but I’m sure that one of these technicians can fetch me something appropriate.”

  She snapped her fingers, and one of the techies went to a cabinet, pulled out a first-aid kit. As the guy attended to Sanchez’s wound, the reports began to come in.

  It took a few minutes, but everyone seemed to be willing to throw in the towel.

  MacCraken and Marino called in, still hale and hearty, and were given assignments to help take care of the wounded.

  “Hey, you sons of bitches. You left me out here to rot!” called the friendly voice of Dick Daniels.

  “Hey,” said Machiko. “You’re alive. You should be grateful for that.”

  “I seem to have missed most of the fun.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, sure, nothing that a couple of beers won’t take care of. Hope you’re buying.”

  “You got a case coming, soldier. Now, get yourself to HQ and well put you to work.”

  “The only ones not to report in are the Hunters.”

  “I see ’em forming ranks on the vids,” said Machiko. “Attila, have you still got that contact with Bakuub?”

  The eyes in Attila’s head dimmed a moment, then brightened. “Yes. They’re on their way in to talk about what happens next.”

  “Well, that about wraps it up,” said Machiko.

  “So to speak,” said Sanchez, holding up his newly dressed arm. “What happens next, kiddo?”

  “We let the Hunters hunt. We stay out of their way—and put down the guns here. Like I said, these guys will only kill those who kill. It’s a part of their honor system, as that system is stronger, believe me, than the high-tech armor they wear.”

  “What about the settlement?”

  She turned to Attila “I guess we’re going to have to ask Mr. Subversive about that.”

  “I know the correct parties to contact. We shall receive the necessary supplies and armament. This can be a free planet, independent of the Company—free to trade with whom we please. Free to accept the colonies we please.”

  “You think the Hunters will want to help us?”

  Machiko shrugged. “I think the Hunters will do what they want. What I hope is that they don’t stick around too long.”

  “After a good look at you, I don’t blame you.”

  “We humans are lucky. We can change.” She shook her head. “I don’t think they can. I think they like themselves exactly the way they are. And that’s why they are the way they are, and have been for a long, long time.”

  “No interest in psychoanalysts from the Predators?”

  “Sure. Give some shrinks guns and send ’em running, and you’ll get a lot of interest.”

  “Monitors are showing the arrival of a Predator party,” said a technician. “Can’t see them too well.”

  “Let them in, if you please,” requested Machiko.

  Appropriate controls were touched, and within moments they heard heavy footsteps outside.

  “I believe the next thing to do is let them in,” said Machiko.

  The appropriate technician looked reluctant, but one proper glare from Machiko solved the problem.

  Within moments the big aliens shouldered their way into the room. Attila made the proper greeting noises.

  Bakuub stepped forward.

  Machiko stepped toward him.

  They made a gesture of mutual respect.

  “Where’s old Evanston?” asked Sanchez.

  Machiko could handle that question, and so she asked.

  Bakuub gestured to a member of his pack.

  A warrior stepped forward.

  Held out his hand.

&nb
sp; From the hand dangled a net sack, holding a skull with only the spinal column, some flecks of brain, and a dangling eyeball to testify for its freshness.

  “Trophy,” said Bakuub.

  One of the technicians gagged and then was sick beside his station.

  “Alas, poor Yorick,” said Attila.

  “Straight from the horse’s mouth,” said Machiko.

  “We rest now. We talk tomorrow.”

  Machiko nodded, and the Predators turned and left.

  There was a moment of silence as Machiko looked at the blood of Livermore Evanston that had pooled on the floor.

  Ned Sanchez looked at her with a different cast to his eye. “Well, Machiko. Looks like you’ve got yourself a world. What are you going to do with it?”

  “Uh-uh, guy. We’ve got ourselves a world. And what are we going to do with it.” She smiled. “Well, we’re going to make it the best world in the universe.” She raised her blaster. “Any objections to that?”

  “Sounds great to me!” said one of the technicians.

  “Me, too,” said another.

  She grunted. “Good.” She poked a free finger at Attila. “In that case I’d like you to meet your new Head of State.” She stepped forward, picked up the severed head, and placed it in a chair. “And what, O Head, is our first order of business?”

  The eyes traveled around the room.

  “I think our first project is exactly what Bakuub is going to be talking to us about tomorrow.”

  “Which is?” said Machiko.

  “Have you forgotten the reason you’re here? There are bugs on this planet. And unless I miss my guess, while we’ve been warring with ourselves, they’ve been increasing exponentially, as is their wont.”

  “Right. That’s what we’ll do. First, though, I think we could use a bit of a rest.”

  “Oh, and one more personal request,” said Attila.

  Machiko bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “I really would like to reunite with a certain large part of my physical anatomy.”

  Machiko nodded. “We’ll give it a try. I can’t guarantee you anything, my dear friend.” She scratched his scalp affectionately. “We’ll try.”

  For the incredible Zach, when he’s older.

  And for Anne Groell, Juliet Combes, and Lynn Adair—three women who