On the Planet of Zombie Vampires

by Harry Harrison

  Bill stepped back away from the blazing pressure of all eyes turned on him. Bruiser spoke for all of them.

  "Get out dere, bowb, and see what's goin' on."

  The docking tube was a tight, twisting tunnel, and Bill reluctantly led the way, clumping along with his elephant foot. The others followed at a safe distance, reluctant to trust Bill alone. Except for Uhuru, who was staying behind with Curly to guard the prisoners and survey the damage to the ship, the two of them having been chosen by lot by drawing straws. Or rather, lengths of plastic tubing.

  "I'm claustrophobic," said one of the clones, jammed between Tootsie and Larry or Moe. Bill had lost track of who was who in the clone department again — nor did he really care. The wind whipped unmercifully around the docking tube, howling and shrieking like a demented banshee. Bill had real bad feelings about this planet and not for the first time in his military existence wished that he was back on Phigerinadon II plowing the fields. But that time of youthful innocence was gone, lost forever. He'd been dealt a bad hand by the twists and turns of fate, but there was nothing to do but play the cards he had. Or some rationalization like that.

  Still, he longed for a normal foot for a change, to ease his burden just a little bit.

  "It's dark in here," complained Tootsie. "I can't see where I'm going."

  "Bump into me and I'll lop off one of your limbs," warned Rambette.

  "You were supposed to bring the flashlights," said Larry or Moe.

  "That was your job," replied the other clone. "I was supposed to bring the lunch."

  "Well, that means we've got two lunches and no flashlights. It's not my fault, either, knucklehead."

  "Watch out who you call knucklehead, knucklehead. I've got half a mind to —"

  "Wait!" cried Bill. "Hold it! There's something just ahead."

  "I knew it," moaned Tootsie. "Monsters! The creeping unknown!"

  "You got a death wish, Tootsie," said Rambette. "Give it to us straight, Bill. Can we kill it?"

  "I doubt it," he said. "It looks like a door. Pretty substantial one, too."

  "Perhaps you should open it," said Caine.

  Bill felt for the latch and leaned against the metal surface. It opened slowly and reluctantly, hinges creaking. Bill carefully stuck his head inside and looked around.

  "What do you see?" asked Tootsie.

  "Nothing," said Bill. "It's pitch dark in there."

  "How about I toss in a flare?" asked Bruiser. "I just love all that noise and fire."

  "That's probably not called for yet," said Bill, stepping inside. "There must be a better way."

  "Bowb!" growled Bruiser. "I don't ever get to have any fun."

  "I would suggest we turn on the lights," said Caine. "Illumination would be to our advantage."

  "And where would you suggest we find the lights?" Bill snapped sarcastically, getting a little tired of Caine's know-it-all attitude. "I can't see a thing."

  "Light switches are usually located beside the door," said Caine. "It is the logical position for them."

  Bill found the light switch immediately and when he clicked it on they saw that they were in what was apparently an anteroom to the main part of the station. A dozen spacesuits hung on a rack, and miscellaneous equipment was stacked against the walls. Several closed doors led off in different directions.

  "Anybody home?" called Tootsie. Her voice echoed off the walls and died.

  "This is spooky," said Larry or Moe. "Deserted. Why would they leave their suits?"

  "I don't like this place one bit," said Moe or Larry. "Let's go back to the ship."

  The dog came slinking out of the docking tube, his fur bristling. He walked over to Bill, smelling like compost and growling.

  "Over here," called Caine. "Through this door. I've found the crew."

  "Thank goodness," said Bill as relief flowed over him. "What do they say?"

  "Not much," replied Caine. "They're all dead."

  CHAPTER 7

  "I've deciphered the message beacon," radioed Curly from the ship. "I've sorted out the code. It definitely says KEEP AWAY."

  "Thanks heaps," said Bill, following Caine into what must have once been a command center of sorts. "I suggest that you get down here soonest — and bring the prisoners with you. They might be able to figure out what is happening here." Passing the buck of responsibility in true military tradition.

  A thin layer of dust covered everything in sight. Including the three men, shrunken and mummified, who sat in swivel chairs in front of a lifeless console.

  "What do you think?" asked Bill.

  "It appears that they are no longer functional biological units," observed Caine. "What we have here is three croaked people, unless, of course, we have something else."

  "Like what, for instance?"

  "Like something incredible from far beyond the outer limits of human knowledge," said Caine. "We may be going where no man has gone before."

  "Gross-out!" cried Tootsie. "What we have here is gross-out! I am going to faint..." She did, but everyone ignored her.

  "These guys is all dried out," said Bruiser. "Look!"

  He touched one of the mummified bodies with his axe handle. It immediately collapsed into a pile of dust and dry bones.

  "Now you've gone and done it," Rambette said. "That's just what we need: a mummy's curse following us around."

  "Technically speaking," Caine lectured, "a curse of that type can have no effect on a person unless they believe the curse will work. I myself am not a believer."

  "I don't know what to believe," moaned Tootsie, who had recovered quickly when no one had noticed her. "This is a real creep show."

  The prisoners, still leashed together, were led in. Captain Blight bulged his eyes with incredulity as he stared at the uniform and the pile of dust.

  "What could possibly do a thing like that? That man was an officer. Enlisted men are the ones that are supposed to be exposed to danger, not officers. It's a rule."

  "I would strongly suggest that someone — or something — is not playing by the rules," suggested Caine. "If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it looks like their life force has been sucked out of them, along with most of their vital bodily fluids."

  "Spare me the details," groaned Tootsie, looking sick.

  "So what is dat we got here?" asked Bruiser, forehead furrowed in unaccustomed thought. "Sucked out like maybe big mosquitoes?"

  "This is the work of an alien," said Bill with calm assurance, shaking his head. "Or, most likely, aliens, more than one. Or two. We're into something big here."

  "Da bigger dey are — da harder dey fall," hissed Bruiser, swinging Slasher and accidentally pulverizing another mummy. "Bring 'em on."

  "I suggest that we leave at once," said Bill. "We're in over our heads."

  "I second the motion," said Tootsie.

  "Third the motion," said Larry or Moe.

  "Fourth," said the other clone. "Let's go."

  "Uhuru," radioed Bill. "Come in, Uhuru. Speak to me."

  There was no answer, only silence on the radio, dead silence, still as the tomb.

  "Dey got Uhuru," shouted Bruiser. "Good old Uhuru, eaten by aliens!"

  "I knew it," cried Tootsie. "This place is a death trap. We're all going to die!"

  "That's a death wish, too," said Rambette. "We don't know for sure —"

  "Uhuru here, Bill," crackled the radio. "I was in the freezer taking out some porkuswine chops to thaw. What do you want?"

  "How soon can we take off?" asked Bill. "We got a small problem."

  "No, you got a big problem," replied Uhuru. "There's a lot of busted stuff here. And what's not busted is all bent out of shape. We lost both shields and most every pipe in the ship has sprung leaks. Not to mention the toilets are backed up and the latch on the microwave oven is sprung."

  "How long?" gulped Bill. "How long for repairs?"

  "I figure I'll have the oven going in about two hours, three at max."

  "Forget the oven
, idiot! How long before we can lift off?"

  "Maybe a week if we can salvage parts from the station," said Uhuru. "Maybe never if we can't."

  "Think we got a week?" Bill asked Caine.

  "Not a chance," he said.

  "I'm hungry," Bruiser salivated. "Dere's nuttin' like trouble to make me hungry."

  "We got extra lunches," said Larry and Moe. "Brought them special. Dig in."

  "Real food!" cried Blight. "Meat!"

  "Pass me one of those sandwiches," Christianson said slyly. Rambette glared at him.

  "Please," said Christianson. "I forgot to say please. Sorry. Can I please have one of those wonderful sandwiches?"

  "You can have all the okra you want when we get back. Now — watch us eat."

  He did, moaning from time to time when someone belched happily or licked a crumb from their lips. The captain turned his back on the mutineers and scowled at the remaining corpse.

  As they ate, Bill also looked over his shoulder at the one remaining mummy. There had been twelve spacesuits on the rack. What had happened to the other nine people?

  "Give the dog a munch, Bill," said Rambette. "Barfer looks like he could use a bite."

  "I tried. He won't eat it. He's on a straight okra diet by choice. He hasn't eaten anything else since that time he overdosed on doughnuts."

  "I heard that!" shouted Blight.

  "You heard nothing," snarled Bruiser.

  "I didn't hear anything at all," volunteered Christianson. "I especially didn't hear anything about doughnuts. Can I have a sandwich? Please?"

  "You can have Larry's crusts," said Moe. "Mister Macho over there always pulls them off."

  "I've been thinking," said Caine.

  "Good for you," said Bill. "What about?"

  "Well, for starters, there's something strange about this place."

  "I'm glad you noticed that," said Bill. "I would say a room with two dusted mummies and one more about to crumble would qualify as strange in anybody's book."

  "Not only that," said Caine. "But why are we eating?"

  "Because we're hungry," said Rambette.

  "I, too, am hungry," said Caine. "That in itself is strange. As an android, I am not programmed for hunger unless my batteries need charging or I get low on oil."

  "Maybe you need some volts?" said Bruiser.

  "It is not necessary at this time," said Caine. "I believe something here is affecting our behavior. How else can one explain the fact that we are sitting here eating while our lives are in mortal danger and we're surrounded by mummies, intact or otherwise? It is simply not logical."

  "What do you suggest?" asked Bill.

  "First I think I'll have another sandwich," said Caine, taking one from the pile in the middle of the table.

  "You may have something there," said Rambette, digging into the porkuswine cutlets. "Not only am I hungry, I have a sudden overwhelming desire to wander off alone and do incredible things even in the face of all this danger."

  "Me too," said Bruiser, helping himself to more food. "But me, I always do stuff like dat."

  "I never do stuff like that," said Tootsie, "but now I want to do stuff like that. You know: wander around in the dark with frightening things lurking behind every corner. For a professed coward, that's pretty odd behavior. I don't know what's caused our altered states."

  "Maybe it's something in the dust," said Caine, wiping his finger along the table top and examining it. "It could be that this isn't dust at all, but mind-altering spores."

  "Spores?" asked Larry or Moe, who had switched places around the table so many times Bill had lost track again. "What do you mean, spores?"

  "I knew it," moaned Tootsie, brushing possible spores off her sandwich. "We're being attacked by killer mushrooms and we're all going to die!"

  "That's death wish number three in the past twenty minutes, Tootsie," said Rambette between bites. "You really have a most negative attitude."

  "I'll have to examine these possible spores in my laboratory," said Caine. "But first I think I'll have just a bite more and then take a little stroll all alone in a strange place."

  "Curly, why don't you and Larry see if you can activate the console," said Bill. "Maybe there's a logbook in the memory banks that would explain what happened. Or maybe someone kept a written record."

  "Good idea," agreed Rambette. "I suggest we all split up and search every dark, creepy corner of this place until we find something like that."

  "Wait!" said Tootsie.

  "Wait for what?" asked Caine. "Don't tell me you're afraid to go off by yourself and snoop around in dark and dangerous places."

  "It's not that exactly," said Tootsie.

  "Well, what is it?" asked Rambette.

  "I'm still hungry," she said. "Would you please pass me some more?"

  Bill got up from the table, stuffed. Barfer had wandered away, presumably in search of okra. Bill picked a door at random, opened it and stepped into a long, dark hallway. Having learned a valuable lesson in survival from Caine, the first thing he did was turn on the lights. They didn't help much. It was still dark and frightening.

  Let's see, thought Bill. If I was a diary or something like that — where would I be? Probably in some loathsome corner, snuggled up to a killer mushroom.

  Bill's new foot was starting to give him some trouble. Although it had stabilized in size, it was still getting heavier and had to be dragged most of the time. The skin was all wrinkled, ugly, and gray. It belonged on an elephant, not an Imperial Trooper aching for action. No standard-issue boot in the universe would fit the monstrous extremity. But at least its thick sole made footwear unnecessary.

  There were slime tracks on the corridor floor and Bill wondered if that was a clue or simply a sign that Barfer had trotted down this very hallway, drooling and slobbering like he always did. He opened a side door at random and peered inside. Another mummy sat at a desk, all sucked dry. That brought the missing number down to eight.

  Cautiously, he went inside the room, looking for clues. It was a standard enlisted man's bunk: a cardboard dresser, a closet with a broken door, a contraceptive dispenser on the wall, a bed with a concrete mattress, and a mummy. On the desk was a thick black ledger with STATION'S LOG printed on the cover. In the closet were scratching sounds and the rasp of heavy breathing. The place was crawling with clues.

  Heavy breathing?

  "Barfer, come out of there," he called, walking to the closet. "Good dog."

  No answer. More scratching.

  "No stupid games and don't give me any trouble, Barfer," he said, grabbing the edge of the closet door. "I'll find you some okra."

  The instant Bill opened the closet door, Barfer bounded into the room from the hallway, growling and barking. Something small and quick scuttled out of the closet past Bill. Barfer jumped into the air with a yipe. Bill jumped into the air with quick curses on his lips. And when he landed, Bill's elephant foot crashed through the floor.

  "You scared me to death," he shouted at Barfer, who was standing on the bunk with his ears pushed back and all his fur standing on end, growling deep in his chest.

  It took a minute for Bill to get his massive foot out of the hole. Then he peered down through the hole he had made into what he hoped was the basement. Wrong.

  "Hey!" he yelled. "Over here! Everybody come!"

  "Did you find the logbook?" called Caine as the sound of running footsteps filled the hallway.

  "That's not all I found," shouted Bill. "There's something under the station. It's huge! A cavern or some kind of a big empty place."

  "Empty?" asked Rambette, busting into the room with a knife in each hand.

  "Well, I guess it's not exactly empty," said Bill, looking down the dark hole. "Something incredibly loathsome and outstandingly repellent is moving around down there."

  CHAPTER 8

  "Boy, that looks pretty kind of awful down there," said Rambette as they all gathered around Bill's hole. "I can hardly wait to go down into the unknown
darkness all by myself and see what's what. Who's got a rope?"

  "I found a rope," said Tootsie. "And some atomic flashlights, too. But let's not be hasty. Maybe we should talk it over and get a plan of action."

  "Smart t'inking," agreed Bruiser. "Dere could be plenty danger, alien bowbs, down there. Me first 'cause I da best. Me and Slasher, we take care of anything."

  "As science officer, I am the obvious choice for the initial investigation of that repulsive place," said Caine. "No one else here has the necessary qualifications."

  "Slasher's all da quali'cations I need," snarled Bruiser.

  "You're a botanist, Caine," said Larry or Moe. "I don't expect we're going to find a bunch of killer tomatoes down there."

  "Maybe we should draw straws," said Bill.

  "That's stupid," said Tootsie. "Why don't we all go down there?"

  "You're on," said Rambette, moving the mummy out of the way and tying the rope to the desk. "Here I go!"

  "I just remembered — something ran out of the closet," said Bill, taking a flashlight from Tootsie and waiting his turn on the rope. "I really jumped. Barfer didn't like it either."

  "Perhaps it was a space-rodent," said Caine. "A mutated ship's mouse or a giant fang-rat."

  "No," said Bill. "It scuttled. Mice don't scuttle, not like that. Rats neither, I think. Whatever it was, it moved fast, too fast to see. But this much — it was positively scuttling."

  "Hey! It's great down here," called Rambette. "And real threatening like in an alien sort of way."

  "What about us?" Captain Blight whined. "You can't leave Christianson and me collared together like a couple of dogs."

  "Sounds like a winner to me, hounds of a feather bound together," Tootsie demurred. Then changed her mind. "We'll take the collars off — but only if you come down into the hole with us."

  "Done!" the two officers cried as one, chortling with joy as their restraints were removed.