Our world, he thought, smiling lazily as Didi cleaned him up, settled back into her seat. He focused his gaze on the screens, but reached out to touch her arm, caress her shoulder.
“I expect you to let me return the favor, when we get back,” Trace said. “Soon as we get the product and crew back.”
“I want you to,” Didi said. She looked out across the dark horizon, leaning out a bit to watch the bugs running below. He dropped the flyer’s alt to oblige her.
“I’m glad,” he said. “I want to make you feel good.”
Didi nodded, still looking out and down. “Are we going to dock with the ship?” She asked.
“No way, baby. Not safe.”
Didi turned, blinked her slow, sleepy gaze at him. “I thought the flyer had a connector. You know, so we can dock without going outside?”
“It does, but I don’t want to take any chances,” he said. “We’re just going to recon, drop a satphone pack on their deck so we can coordinate with Lee and Moby, then head home.”
“What if someone’s hurt?” she asked.
Trace smiled. “You want to be a hero, Dee?”
“Maybe,” she said, smiling back at him. “Can we?”
Trace shook his head. “I’m not going to risk you for anything, sweetheart. I shouldn’t even have let you talk me into this.”
Shouldn’t have, but he was already glad he had. The feel of Didi’s mouth and tongue on him was amazing, but it was nothing to the thrill he’d felt when she’d called him at Ops, when she’d called it their world. He’d been unable to turn her down, too excited by what she’d said, what it meant.
They were getting close to their ship’s last coordinates. A final squeeze of Didi’s limber shoulder and Trace tapped the com back up—
—and jumped in his seat, the shout in his ear loud enough to hurt. There were multiple voices, people in the background, their voices loud and high.
“—come in! Shit! Seal the door!”
“This is Trace, report!”
“Trace? Where the fuck, man?” It was Freeman, talking fast. “Breach, we got a breach, there are people with guns in here and I just blew the locks—”
“Wait! What do you mean, you blew the locks?”
“Trog said blow ’em, and we—” A blur of static, of shouting, before Trace could hear the rest of the babbled message. “—time to get to standoff—close the goddamn door!”
The last was shouted, not at Trace—and then he heard a terrible thing. An alien shriek from the com at operations, bugling and ugly and inside, and then there was nothing but dead air.
For the first time in a very long while, Trace felt real fear. He immediately tapped at the panel, tried to get a line into standoff, but no one answered. Back to Ops. Nothing.
Fuck.
“Baby?” Didi asked, and Trace shook his head, trying to think.
“Is something—”
“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped. How had it happened so fast? It had to have been a trick. They’d pulsed the supply ship then come in by ATV while the relays were still fucked up. He hadn’t expected it—no one would have, it was an unnecessarily dangerous approach—but the timing still seemed off, like he was missing a step.
Didn’t matter. What mattered now was surviving. Thank God he had Didi with him, that she’d picked this day out of all others to leave the compound . . . .
Today. She picked today.
They’d reached the crash site. Below, he could just make out the outlines of the ass-heavy supply ship, dropped next to a strangely symmetrical cluster of gray rocks. Bugs were all over the ship and the rocks, screaming and scrabbling.
Trace put them in a holding pattern, looked to Didi, hoping, praying that his sudden inkling of doubt was his own baggage, his fear talking.
“Someone attacked the compound, got inside,” he said, watching her closely—and was relieved and gratified to see the genuine shock on her face, the stir of alarm in her 7-heavy gaze. She was surely too high to fake anything.
“What? How?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Had to have been that ship. Trog talked Freeman into blowing the locks too fast, it sounds like not everyone got to standoff. Shit. I never should have left.”
“What’s—what do we do?” Didi asked.
“Well, you get your wish,” Trace said, flipping on the thermals to scan the fallen ship. “We’ll have to dock with Lee, wait it out. As long as we can hit the top hatch-lock, we’ll be able to get inside safely enough, the connector’s solid. Don’t worry, babe. I’m sure somebody made it to standoff to implement the flush plan, and once they’re clear, we can—”
Trace blinked, stared at the two large, distinct sources of heat below them, giant red and orange smudges on the thermal IR. The cluster of rocks wasn’t, in fact, made up of rock. He switched back to enhanced visual, saw boulders again, bugs all over them—but now that he was really looking, he could see that something wasn’t right, and not just in the way the scarce light bounced off the flat gray surface. The fact that bugs didn’t usually much care about attacking rocks was a definite clue.
It’s a tap. There had been two enemy ships, after all, working together. This one, at least, had some top quality camo paneling. Had they dropped in while the first ship had provided the distraction?
No, the sensors were still up then. He didn’t know, he only knew that this was a serious fuckup and he was in charge. Whatever the final outcome, Msomi would hold him responsible.
“There are two ships down there,” he said, switching back to thermal. He pointed at the twin signatures. “Someone else set down to rip us off. Someone with money.”
“Is that a body?” Didi asked, pointing at the screen as he piloted them over the two ships. She sounded curious, unafraid. In spite of the fist in his gut, he was proud of her.
“If it is, it’s one of theirs,” he said, not sure at all if it was. Lee and Moby both knew better than to go outside . . . Though if the tappers had already gotten in, they might have ejected the product ship’s crew.
They didn’t get in, he thought, he hoped. If they had, he and Didi were fucked.
“We’re going to dock, and then see what’s what,” Trace said, all too aware that they didn’t have any choice. He lowered the flyer for the product ship, the bugs already shrieking in want, leaping for the small transport.
I’ll protect you, he thought, he swore silently to the woman at his side, on their love. Didi was his, and Fantasia was theirs; they would survive, and prevail.
* * *
Lee and Frank Cole went to see about the docking flyer. The noise that roared through the ship, that shook the metal all around them could be nothing else. Moby assured them that it was Fantasia’s, coming out to rescue them, but Tommy wasn’t feeling real disposed toward any certainties right about now. They sat in the ever-fading red light, mostly shadows now, listening to Moby explain how everything was going to be fine.
“There’s a contingency for everything up here, innit,” Moby said. “This ship has two emergency top-hatch locks, besides the side doors. Dock to dock, see?”
Neither Tommy nor Pete spoke. It was foxhole brotherhood, maybe, but it felt like they were on good terms again. Pete’s apology, his commitment had seemed sincere—his word, rather than another vaguely felt promise.
Moby went on, babbling about the ship’s other safety features, several of which seemed not to work so well. Radiation-hardened casings for the emergency systems, for one. He made a big show out of being at ease, but Tommy wasn’t buying. The man was shaken by the pulse, by the smell of drying blood, whatever. It was almost a relief when they heard the returning footsteps bang along the corridor.
Lee stepped back into the tilted AD, followed by none other than Trace Berdella. His girlfriend was with him, the talented and rudderless Didi, blinking around like she wasn’t sure where she was. Frank brought up the rear, his expression grimmer than usual.
“Trace?” Moby stood away from the wall,
his forced ease vanishing. “What’s going on?”
“Compound was attacked,” Trace said. “We were just doing the recon—I was going to send the ATVs out for you—and I got part of a message from Ops. Bugs and bad guys, already inside.”
“No shit,” Moby breathed. “Corporate?”
“Probably,” Trace said. “This took capital. The ship outside is full camo, HD display panels, minicams, the whole deal . . . though Lee says the tap crew didn’t fare so well.”
Moby nodded. “Got et.”
“Bugfucked,” Frank said viciously.
“All of them?” Didi asked, and everyone looked at her. Tommy had already managed to forget that she was there. As beautiful as she was, she acted like an extension of Trace when they were together.
“I mean, should we worry? Some of them could still be alive in there,” she added.
“Doubt it,” Moby said. “Would’ve taken off by now, or hit us again.” He turned his attention back to Trace.
“How do we know when it’s safe to go back?” he asked.
“Brought a satphone,” Trace said. “Speaking of . . .”
He nodded toward Lee, and Tommy saw that he was carrying a shoulder bag. Lee set the bag down in a tilted chair, started pulling out gear. Didi stepped away, looked over at Tommy and Pete, dismissed them just as quickly. She folded her arms tightly, gazing around at the steeply angled room, focusing on the slumped corpse still tied in its chair. The chemist continued to ooze as the blood settled into his twisted shoulder. If the sight bothered Didi, she gave no sign.
Lee started tapping buttons on the satellite com system.
“Nothing,” he said, after a moment. “None of the channels are open.”
“The ship,” Didi said. She turned and looked at them, her expression almost triumphant.
“We have to get to that ship,” she said. “It came down after the pulse, right? That means it can be flown.”
“What are you talking about?” Trace asked slowly.
“It’s our only chance,” she said. “They’ve taken over the compound. This ship is dead, and the flyer can’t take us anywhere.”
Moby cocked an eyebrow. “She’s got a point. We could arm up, go knocking.”
“We’ll wait, see what happens at the compound,” Trace said. “I’m sure it’ll be cleared soon.”
“Fuck waiting,” Lee said. “We’re going to miss the window.”
“Window’s closed already,” Trace said. “Forget it, Lee. The safest option is to wait. If we don’t hear from anyone in the next couple of hours, we can start working on other plans—”
Lee had dropped the phone, stood up while Trace was talking. He got in his face, now, wearing a cold little smile.
“You forget your job, Tracy?” Lee asked. “The product is going out today. If that’s the only ship available, that’s our ride. You can stay behind and wait, if you want. After you help us transfer the cargo over.”
Trace obviously wasn’t used to taking orders. “You in charge now, Lee?” he asked, his voice soft and lethal. “Last time I looked, Fantasia was mine.”
“It’s Msomi’s, fucker,” Lee said. “And he has his doubts about you. Gotta say, I’m starting to feel the same.”
The stare-down continued, would probably have ended in one or more weapons being drawn if Frank Cole hadn’t spoken up.
“How we gonna get over there?” he asked.
Moby spoke up, obviously eager to pacify. “Got that covered, don’t we?”
He half-slid down to the lock, opening a fixed locker to one side of it. He rummaged a moment in the shadows, came up with a dark tube roughly the size of his forearm, capped at both ends. “Incendiary grenades. Ship’s right next to ours, innit. We throw to both openings, block the bugs long enough to get across.”
“What about unlocking the door?” Cole asked. “Someone’s inside, they could hold us off.”
“Got a pack of leeches in here, somewhere,” Moby said, crouching in front of the locker again. Didi moved in his direction, took the long incendiary from him while he dug. She reached in past his shoulder and took out a second, studying them.
“They’re not the best, but they’ll melt through a circuit board quick enough,” Moby was saying. “Oh, be careful with those, love.”
Didi nodded, stepped closer to the lock—and pulled the manual switch for the inner door, the entry sliding up on a loud rush of air. Tommy and Pete both stood up, Tommy’s throat suddenly dry.
“Didi!” Trace yelled. “Wait!”
“Not yet, you dumb bitch,” Lee snapped. “Jesus, can’t you control her?”
Didi ignored them both, stepping into the lock. Moby was closest, he jumped up from the trunk of weapons and stepped in after her, hands raised, voice low.
“Hang on, love. Good idea, right? But let’s all go out together—”
Didi’s hand was on the manual opener. As Moby moved to pull her away, she raised one of the long incendiary grenades—and hit him with it, swinging it down at his skull. After that, it all happened fast.
Lee brought his Uzi up but she was already hitting the outer lock, the door blasting up on air, and then Lee was firing at the screaming monstrosities framed in the entry. Moby, still on his knees, was snatched up by one of the creatures, dragged out to a shrill chorus of excited shrieks.
Didi twisted the end cap on one of the grenades and threw it to the left. A brilliant flare of light went up, casting howling, frenzied silhouettes on the lock’s inner walls. Bugs were scattering, running—clawing over one another to get inside. Lee kept firing, and Trace, screaming Didi’s name, had scooped up Moby’s discarded Uzi and was running after her. There was another flare of light, more alien cries, and then one, two of the bugs was leaping in through the open lock, clawing to find purchase on the slanted deck.
“Fuck!” Cole shouted. “Gimme a fuckin’ gun!”
“Go!” Tommy yelled, pushing Pete toward the lock. Staying on board was no longer an option. A third bug thrust its grinning head through the opening, trumpeting. Lee capped it, also stumbling for the open door.
All three of them hit the lock at once, Frank right behind, and then they were outside, and the bugs were everywhere.
13
They came in through the station’s main hangar and went in cool and easy, right through the lock. Kaye had Graham take point, wanting to save the last incinerator for any XTs that might drop in. Unfortunately, they didn’t have to wait long.
They hadn’t walked five meters, had just flipped back their masks, exposing pale faces to the thick, hot air, when further down the twisting corridor, someone started talking in a high, raspy shout, his voice echoing back at them.
“Blow the locks, all of them! They’re inside!”
“Go,” Kaye said, and the team moved, Graham leading them at a near run. Ahead of them, footsteps clattered out a stumbling dash. The hoarse voice spoke again, the words unclear for the running. Kaye covered their tail, loping sideways, his attention flicking front and back. He caught flashes of green paint between the two, remembered that the compound’s main corridor was painted green. Good, that was good, the informants had been less than clear about the layout but they’d both agreed that the main corridor led to standoff. Where the weapons were, weapons that the res team would need to complete the operation. To survive it, anyway. Whether or not they could get to standoff before it was locked down, that was the trick. It depended on how good the drug manufacturers were at fire drills.
And how long we can hold out, if the creatures make it inside.
Even as he thought it, alarms started to go off, resounding down the twisting hall. A standard emergency loop informed them that oxygen levels were falling, a calm female voice that seemed entirely out of synch with the faded, ratty tunnels and the smell of stale smoke.
Somewhere ahead of them, a blast-door thumped closed. They jogged past a section of corridor lined with monitor screens, the panels showing a dark and empty tunnel, tainted with
red light. The viewing hall, Kaye thought randomly. Ant farm. Empty, because there was a chance for slaughter on their terrible black world, and the creatures wanted to be out there participating.
“Ng, light up,” Kaye panted. “We still got keys?”
“Affirmative,” Borkez said, breathing easily as she jogged along. She reached into her hip pack, brought out a leech, a flat circuit surger that could fry the control panel off a blast-door in a few seconds. Another turn in the tunnel and there it was.
Borkez slapped it and they stood back, waited for the leech’s tiny light panel to go green.
“Graham, drop back to two at first sight of XTs,” Kaye said. “Ng, you’ll step up. Borkez, you’re left front, Ng’s eleven. Everyone clear?”
The light turned green and Borkez pulled the leech, hit the override. The door huffed open, revealing more tunnel—and the sexless sound of someone screaming in mortal terror.
“Let’s do it,” Kaye said.
Ng led them through the dim hall, incinerator up but not flaming. The rest stayed close. They passed an offshoot, a couple of closed doors, and Kaye let them stay closed; compound protocol was for everyone to head to standoff. They would conduct a more thorough sweep when they could. More screams, human and alien rose up from somewhere ahead. The voice loop about losing air continued to cycle.
No weapons fire. They still had a good shot. “Step it up,” Kaye said, looking back—
—and there was their first XT, two of them, coming out of the dark branch they’d already passed. Kaye took both of them out, their screeching cut short in a spray of acid blood.
“Masks,” Kaye said, sliding his down. The masks cut visibility, but not nearly so much as losing an eye. He hadn’t called for them already; it was a mistake, and they’d been lucky not to have suffered for it.
The corridor turned—and there were four, five of the XTs, one holding a man. Ng released a sheet of fire at them, while Borkez and Graham opened up, capping the monsters left and right. The mostly limp drug manufacturer caught on fire, began to flail weakly, silently. The alien clutching him fell back, hissing, and Borkez capped it, acid raining. Kaye took pity on the dying man and shot him in the head.
The Complete Aliens Omnibus Page 18
