Selected Stories: Volume 1

by Kevin J. Anderson

Admiral Haldane had an ulterior motive. In a week, the infirmary would release his other body. Paulson Kenz had finished the basic healing process, and he was completing the final physical therapy schedules.

  If he was going to defeat the alien invaders once and for all, Haldane certainly didn’t want to be wearing this scrawny body for the history books.

  VIII

  AFTER ALL THE snide comments and complaints Admiral Haldane had made about Paulson’s original weakling form, the young seaman-recruit wished the admiral had been more careful with this one. If Haldane hadn’t let himself get so smashed up or killed—twice in fact—then Paulson wouldn’t have to spend his days here in the infirmary being tortured by a Spanish Inquisition of physical therapists who used enhanced healing therapies and supercharged hormones that pummeled his muscles and bones until they knitted themselves together—or else.

  The physical therapists had a bedside manner more appropriate for the Marquis de Sade than Florence Nightingale, and Paulson was very quickly convinced that he wanted to be released from their clutches as soon as possible. He longed to be back in the rec room hall again with nothing to do except study reports on the Sluggos.

  Even here in sick bay, however, as soon as he grew strong enough, Paulson called up all available images of the Honolulu attack. Because so many vacationers spent time in Hawaii, most of the footage had been confiscated from homemade tourist videos. Paulson watched the rampaging conglomerate monster that had destroyed the ships in the harbor, the spaceport, the buildings on the shoreline.

  He was more interested in poring over clips taken prior to the assembly of the Sluggo monster. He watched how the myriad organisms drew together like some kind of group mind, how the individual worm-things assembled into a much larger and adaptable body that reorganized itself according to circumstances. The Sluggo organism was clearly intelligent en masse, though the individual creatures showed only the most rudimentary brain activity. After the harbor attack and ransacking the ships and spaceport, some of the retreating Sluggos had maintained enough physical integrity to haul off the wreckage they desired, while the rest of the creatures dissolved like a mist of maggots.

  Even if sonar couldn’t track the massed alien organism underwater, fast ships could have followed the sunken ships and the spaceport gantries as the Sluggos hauled them away. But with Pearl Harbor, the EPN base, the waterfront, and the spaceport destroyed, no one managed to think that far ahead.

  Paulson walked on a treadmill, limbering up his legs. He still felt lingering broken-glass pain in his ribs and shoulder. His numerous bruises had turned an alarming bouquet of colors, but the flesh tone was returning. The therapists often studied his body, finding patterns and designs in the discolorations. One even exclaimed that he saw the face of the Virgin Mary there. Paulson thought he was joking, but the man’s voice held no sarcasm or humor whatsoever.

  During the treadmill work, he sweated heavily and his pulse raced. He was ready to drop, but the therapists egged him on and threatened him. Paulson was surprised when they didn’t enhance his sessions with a bullwhip just to keep him moving. After weeks of physical therapy, he began to long for the days of boot camp, which had been miserable enough, but at least he’d been able to sleep at night.

  On the other hand, if he hadn’t signed on to the escape hatch program, he would have been doomed to go out and fight the alien monsters. He probably would be a statistic from Pearl Harbor. In most ways, being dead was worse than physical therapy.

  According to the doctors’ estimates, given additional enhanced jolts of healing chemicals, in a few days he would swap back into his own body and return to the rec hall with all the other transfer volunteers. And wait.

  Admiral Haldane appeared in the therapy center just as Paulson stumbled off the treadmill and the therapists yanked the monitor electrodes from his scalp and chest.

  The admiral regarded him with obvious impatience.

  “Hurry up and finish healing, Seaman Kenz. The clock is ticking, and I want that body back. I’m due to head into battle again, and I’d rather face the Sluggos wearing that”—he jabbed a finger toward Paulson’s borrowed body—“than this.”

  “Healing as fast as I can, sir.”

  “He’ll be ready on time, Admiral,” said the physical therapist who had seen the Virgin Mary in his bruise patterns. “I’ll give him a double maximum dose tonight.”

  Haldane seemed to consider Paulson as little more than a piece of equipment; he paid attention to the medical specialists instead. “And have you scheduled the cranial reset surgery yet?” He tapped the pendant on the back of his head—Paulson’s own head—and glanced at Paulson, who stood panting and sweating beside the treadmill.

  “Cranial surgery again, sir?” Paulson said. “I didn’t agree to that.”

  “Yes, you did,” Haldane said. “It’s in the fine print. The transfer conduit is set for one-way transmission only, one-time use. It has to be that way, if you think about it. After I evacuate from a critical last-stand situation, I can’t have my volunteer just hit the pendant again and reset.”

  Paulson ran his fingers along the small disc on the back of his head. “So now that we’ve transferred, we can’t just switch back?”

  “We’ll just pop out the device and put in another one,” said one of the medical techs. “Easy as replacing an eyeball. Piece of cake.”

  “You’ll be happy to get your own body back, Seaman Kenz,” said Haldane, “and I’ll certainly be glad to have that one. We located the main undersea base where the Sluggos are building their fortress, and I’ll be taking an expeditionary sub there rigged as a battleship with plenty of megatorpedoes and missiles. It’ll be glorious!”

  Paulson decided it was time to share what he had gleaned from his research on the aliens. “Sir, I’ve been studying the enemy behavior. The Sluggos seem to be a group organism, collectively intelligent but individually not much. The Sluggos are just like cells, bound together by some kind of telepathy. They cooperate, bond with synergy, and—”

  “Yes, yes, very nice, Seaman Kenz,” said Haldane. “With all the megatorps loaded aboard the Prospector, we’ll blow the Sluggos to hell and level their undersea base. The ruins will be the next best tourist attraction since Atlantis.”

  IX

  They didn’t have time for a proper commissioning cruise aboard the Prospector. The crew would get accustomed to their battle sub, and he would get reacquainted with this body, by the time they reached the coordinates of the sunken alien base.

  Admiral Haldane touched the sore spot in the back of his skull where the transfer conduit had been replaced. His freshly healed body still ached; he could feel the lingering remnants of bruises, and his bones twinged when he moved the wrong way. Nevertheless, it felt good to be out of that weakling form. These aches and pains were a good sort of hurt, like after a heavy workout. In the body of Paulson Kenz, his tired soreness just felt like hopeless surrender.

  In the week since the discovery of the alien undersea base, the Sluggos had remained quiet, though aircraft and high-resolution satellites made several tentacle sightings.

  Admiral Haldane was the EPN’s highest-ranking officer and he insisted on commanding this mission, but he had never served aboard a sub before, so he let the actual captain, XO, navigator, and weapons officer do their jobs without interference. Normally, an admiral with Haldane’s clout and experience would never have been risked on such a dangerous mission—and at least half the Prospector’s crew was convinced this would be a one-way trip. Admiral Haldane, though, intended to face the squirming enemy one last time. He wanted to see them all splattered into plankton-sized pieces.

  The Prospector needed his background and experience during what was sure to be intense fighting. He knew the sub’s crew might panic at the wrong moment, so he had to lead them with his proven abilities. Besides, he always had his escape hatch.

  During the long and tedious voyage, Haldane spent much of his time on the bridge, watching the screens. T
he navigator sent sonar bursts, but the waters remained clear. He called for numerous drills and targeting simulations, loading and unloading torpedoes. The admiral also worked out in the sub’s makeshift exercise area, limbering his restored body and working through the last aches and pains.

  When the Prospector reached the coordinates of the Sluggo base, the sub, the crew, and Admiral Haldane’s body were ready for action.

  “We’ll strike fast, and repeatedly,” he said over the horn from the command deck, glancing over at the captain and XO. “Like ninjas. One megatorp after another after another. You all saw the size of that monster that attacked Pearl Harbor. I’d say twenty megatorps should be sufficient, and that leaves thirty more to obliterate the base.” He waited for the resounding cheer, then glanced at the captain. “Captain, prepare your firing pattern.”

  The captain snapped, “Weps, Fire Control, you have your orders.”

  When they approached the target, the sonar technicians sent out pings to map the alien structures ahead. For an instant he saw a shadow of the monstrous conglomerate creature, but it disappeared by the time of the second burst.

  In the blurred sonar images, he saw the huge alien structures, which seemed significantly larger than what the microcameras had recorded a week ago. Some of the towers appeared to be falling, the domes collapsing.

  “That sonar resolution really sucks,” he said.

  “We’re close enough that we can see with our own eyes, Admiral,” said the XO. “Lighting it up now.”

  Haldane smiled with pride at the efficient crew. “Captain, I’ll turn operations over to you. Handle all the details, please.”

  The sub’s brilliant lights stabbed into the deep, dark water, illuminating the bizarre alien fortress. Around them, the water was aswarm with millions of the squirming eels, but the gigantic conglomerate monster was not in sight. The dismantled ship hulls and spaceport gantries stood on the sea floor—and they were slowly toppling down. The base seemed to be falling apart by itself.

  Everyone stared at the startling images, momentarily frozen. Haldane roared, “What are you waiting for? Fire control, launch megatorps!”

  The crew had been tense and waiting, with hair-trigger fingers. The first megatorpedoes soared out like javelins on a tail of foam. The weapons crew was already loading the second volley even before the first had hit.

  Haldane muttered to himself, “This is going to be good.”

  The torpedoes arrowed straight on target and struck the Sluggo base with glorious detonations. Haldane caught his breath as bright shock waves blossomed like an explosive cluster of flowers. The sonar techs switched off their ears before the close-range blasts rang out, and thunder reverberated through the Prospector’s hull. Haldane was caught off guard, but the rest of the crew hunkered down at their stations. Fire control shouted a succession of orders.

  As admiral, he wanted to be in control and direct all activity, but the others reacted so quickly without him, like a well-oiled machine. Within seconds, another volley of megatorps was away. This would be a constant punishing brawl, and the squirming aliens didn’t have a chance.

  Explosions wrecked the undersea structures. The broken hulls and gantry frameworks were already toppling, but then he saw a flurry, as if the megatorps had startled a flock of carrion birds. Individual Sluggos boiled up from the patchwork structures by the thousands—tens of thousands.

  Haldane realized that all those huddled invertebrates had been holding the base together, like living building blocks. Sluggos had covered the scrap components, but the explosions had stirred up all those creatures, which now abandoned the structures and swarmed toward the sub like angry hornets from hundreds of disturbed nests.

  Contradictory orders echoed throughout the Prospector. Haldane intended to give some kind of brilliant insight that would allow the crew to make a wise and instantaneous response, but the best he could vocalize was, “Uh-oh. Keep firing megatorps.”

  The weapons officer yelled, and the crew aft in the torpedo room kept frantically loading volley after volley into the launch tubes like a fire brigade. Explosions hammered the crumbling alien base, but the uncertain and scattered cloud of free-swimming Sluggos simply swirled around. Then the swarm came toward the sub like an angry school of fish.

  “Keep firing!” Haldane yelled, as if the crew needed any encouragement.

  Countless writhing shapes formed a cloud that congealed around the Prospector. The squirming bodies in the swarm wove together, fastening one body to another, and another conglomerate alien creature formed itself like a giant fist around the battle sub.

  The last three megatorps launched but became caught in the thick amorphous mass. The detonations were like sledge hammers, pounding the Prospector’s hull, throwing the crew to the deck. Haldane lost his balance and slammed into a control station, knocking the sonar tech aside. He climbed to his feet, shaking his head. On the main screens, they saw all the water go dark as the mass closed in.

  “All megatorps gone, sir,” said the captain. He looked sickened.

  “Already? This is not possible!” Haldane said. “Fifty megatorps struck their targets! We destroyed the alien base!”

  Nobody argued with him. The fire control and weapons officers knew the explosions had caused damage, but the huge squirming mass of Sluggos just reformed into a giant and powerful mass of angry flesh.

  The Prospector groaned and shrieked as even the reinforced armor was bent beyond its tolerances. The intercom was filled with shouts.

  “Watertight doors closing! Breach on Deck Five!” the XO yelled.

  The battle sub lurched, and the deck tilted at an angle. The huge alien creature had grabbed the hull and was squeezing and shaking the Prospector as if it were nothing more than a toy.

  “Another hull breach on Deck Three, Admiral,” the XO yelled. “Water’s coming in.”

  “And so are the Sluggos!”

  The Prospector’s captain gave him a beseeching look. “You’ve faced the Sluggos before, sir. In your experience, how should we fight off this thing? We need you to tell us.”

  Haldane didn’t know, but he was aware that he had to escape. The sub would collapse any minute, and someone had to return with a full report to the main EPN base. Humanity would count on him to debrief his fellow admirals. With each engagement, Admiral Haldane learned more and more, and now he had to tell someone that even megatorps didn’t work.

  “Even failed missions can be instructive,” he said, making sure he sounded brave. “But we have to keep fighting until the last possible second. Full ahead. Can we use our engines? Maybe we can break free of this slimy mass.”

  The captain gave the order while shaking his head. The engineer yelled through the horn. “The Sluggos are caught in the propellers. This vessel is frozen and shut down, and our reactor’s at 110%. Any more of an overload and it’s going to go critical—fifteen minutes, max.”

  Haldane thought fifteen minutes sounded highly optimistic. “If the reactor goes critical, maybe that’ll take out these things. We all have to be brave right now.” Their bravery, of course, would manifest differently from his own.

  “Sluggos inside the sub!” yelled someone from the torpedo room. “They broke the hatches, pushed their way through the tubes! We’re taking on water—water and Sluggos. Compartment’s filling up!”

  Haldane wanted more details, but the torpedo officer spent too much time screaming and so wasn’t very helpful. More damage reports came from other decks. “Thousands of Sluggos are aboard!”

  Haldane thought of the wriggling forms, slithering along the decks like carnivorous maggots, attacking anything that moved. The Prospector’s hull groaned and lurched again. The captain and XO looked at each other, expressions white.

  Haldane was amazed at how swiftly the invading Sluggos reached the command deck. He had faced these awful things before, had seen the horde wipe out Pearl Harbor, and seen them take down the Far Horizon, had felt them squirming over his body and sinking f
angs into his flesh in the seconds before he activated the escape hatch transfer.

  Knowing there was nothing to do and no point in delaying, Haldane faced the bridge crew. This was their last stand. They were out of weapons; alien invaders had breached the hull. Without question, the Prospector was doomed.

  Haldane accepted the inevitable. Although he wasn’t looking forward to escaping into the scrawny body of seaman-recruit Paulson Kenz, he knew that even a weakling form was better than a dead one.

  “Thank you for your service and bravery, crewmen. Your deaths will not be in vain. I shall deliver the story of your brave final battle, your last stand for humanity.”

  The weapons officer gaped at him. “You’re just bugging out!”

  The XO glowered. “He’s saving his own skin.”

  Haldane lifted his chin. “I’m living to fight another day. It’s the only way Earth will defeat these monsters.”

  Twenty of the squirming, sharp-fanged Sluggos lurched onto the bridge, and several crewmen yelled in terror. Haldane touched the transfer pendant in the base of his skull.

  As reality faded around him, he was indeed proud of the Prospector’s crew. He saw their faces … but for some reason, they didn’t seem particularly glad to know that he, at least, would survive.

  X

  When Paulson Kenz felt the wrenching inside his head and found himself whisked back into Admiral Haldane’s surrogate body, he knew the poop had hit the fan—industrial-sized cargo load of poop.

  Struggling with disorientation, he found himself on the command deck of the battle sub that had gone to attack the Sluggo undersea base. It was a shocking transition from his comfortable padded chair in the rec hall, where he’d been studying reports of the mission, looking at the parameters of the Prospector.

  He had gone over the list of added weapons, the reinforced hull, the fifty megatorpedoes loaded aboard. From what he suspected about the alien biology, Paulson was skeptical that explosive kinetic weapons would solve the problem at all. But Admiral Haldane had not demonstrated much ability to think outside the box.