On the Planet of Zombie Vampires

by Harry Harrison

  "Your dog saved my life," cried Bruiser, flopping backwards on the control board as Barfer pulled the alien off him. At that instant an earsplitting alarm bell started ringing. Green lights flashed stroboscopically, bathing the bloodbath with an obscene and ominous flicker. Steam started pouring from the walls.

  "What did you do?" cried Rambette, lopping an arm off an alien with her knife. "What happened?"

  "I t'ink I fell on da button," admitted Bruiser.

  "What kind of a button?" shrieked Bill, gathering up the dog. "What does it say?"

  "Hold on," cried Bruiser. "I wipe off da ichor first. Yeah, read it now. It says STATION SELF-DESTRUCT BUTTON. DO NOT PRESS."

  "I think we're moving into big problemsville," admitted Rambette. "That button blows the reactor. Move!"

  "This station will self-destruct in five minutes," said a bored female voice over the loudspeakers. "All personnel are advised to take necessary precautions. This is a recording. Have a nice day wherever you are and whoever you are."

  "Gimme da dog," said Bruiser, taking Barfer and tucking him under his arm, heading for the rope and scampering up it like a monkey. "I makin' tracks!"

  Bill followed Rambette up the rope, giving the room five grenades and a final spray on his way up.

  As they started scrambling through the air ducts, Bill turned the radio back on and called Uhuru.

  "There's been a minor difficulty," he said.

  "I've got ears," cried Uhuru, panic in his voice. "There are sirens and buzzers going off everywhere. We're on our final countdown now. I sure hope you make it back in time, because we can't hang around waiting on you."

  "Left!" cried Rambette. "Take the next left, Bruiser."

  "Why would they have a self-destruct button on a station that costs more than most planets make in a year?" asked Bill, following Rambette like a second skin. "It doesn't make sense."

  "It's military," said Rambette. "It's not supposed to make sense. Turn right, Bruiser, right!"

  "This station will self-destruct in four minutes," yawned the prerecorded voice over the clanging alarms and the hiss of steam that filled the air.

  "Where's all this steam coming from?" cried Bill. "I don't want to be scalded to death after all we've been through."

  "I don't know," said Bruiser. "But it sure makes things seem real urgent."

  "Turn left!" cried Rambette. "No, wait! Right! All these ducts look alike to me!"

  "It's dead end!" howled Bruiser. "We lost!"

  "If you care to know, this station will self-destruct in three minutes. Remaining personnel are advised that their chances of survival range from none to zero. Or less. Your only remaining duty is to bend over with your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye."

  CHAPTER 18

  "Let the dog go!" cried Bill. "Bruiser! Let him loose!"

  "I just got da dog an' you want me to trow him away?" yelled Bruiser. "Get serious."

  "I am serious," said Bill. "It's a well-known and proven fact that most dogs can find their way back home from anywhere."

  "In less than three minutes?" wailed Rambette. "Barfer? No offense, but he's not the brightest dog I've known."

  "He's probably hungry," said Bill. "I'll bet he'll head straight for the okra. Put him down and we'll follow him."

  "You're betting a lot on a longshot," said Rambette.

  "Would you rather sit around and argue about it until the reactor blows? Or maybe you got better ideas?"

  "Eaties!" Bruiser shouted as he threw the dog down the duct.

  "There he goes," cried Bill as Barfer trotted away. "Follow him!"

  The trio scrambled, twisted and crawled after the dog through the dark ducts until — lo and behold — Barfer led them to the vent in the anteroom. They tumbled through the opening and scooted across the pile of ruined rubble to the docking tube.

  "Good ... dog..." Bill gasped.

  "This station will self-destruct in two minutes. All remaining personnel are advised it is far too late to seek shelter. So have a good day."

  "Uhuru?" cried Bill through the radio as they ran up the docking tube. "Uhuru?"

  "Sorry, you're too late," he said. "We're lifting off in fifty seconds. Hey, it's been nice knowing you."

  "We're at the door," screeched Rambette, grabbing the radio away from Bill. "And we're coming in! If you don't open it, we'll blast it off and you can all suck vacuum when and if you get this crate back into space."

  "Well, if you put it like that —" muttered Uhuru, triggering the door latch from the control room.

  In a split second, the three Troopers and one dog slid through the opening before it slammed shut with aloud clang.

  "Thirty seconds," said Uhuru, as Bill sprinted to the control room.

  "Head for da okra room," cried Bruiser, following the dog down the hall. "Dem okra beds is softer den da chairs."

  "Me too!" yelled Rambette, passing them in a blur.

  "Ten seconds!" said Uhuru as Bill dived into the nearest seat and strapped himself in. "Five!"

  "I think maybe I made a mistake in my calculations," wailed Curly. "I don't —"

  "Liftoff!" cried Uhuru. "Take it, Curly!"

  "We have ignition!" yelled Curly. "Start main engine burn!"

  "Our engines are on fire," moaned Tootsie. "We're all going to die!"

  "That's normal!" cried Uhuru.

  "Dying?" moaned Tootsie. "What's so normal about that?"

  "I meant fire in the engines, moron!"

  "Glak!!" glakked Curly. "Those G-forces are squishing me to death."

  "Better squished than sorry," said Uhuru. "Everybody hold on!"

  "Yaw!" cried Larry. "We need a bunch of yaw right now!"

  "No, it's pitch we need," interjected Moe. "A whole lot more pitch!"

  "You're getting what I give," yelled Curly, punching numbers into the computer. "I'm tired of taking orders from you knuckleheads. Here we go!"

  "Watch the shields," cried Uhuru as the ship groaned loudly and the G-forces piled one on top of the other. "Don't overload the shields!"

  "Tootsie's right," shrieked Larry. "We're all going to die!"

  "Trust me," called Curly. "If we don't get far enough from the station we'll — HOLD ON! — it's blowing!"

  The Bounty rocked and swayed when it was caught in the subnuclear shock wave as the station and all of its disgusting alien inhabitants were torn apart down to their last ugly, sordid molecule in the raging inferno of the nuclear reactor's self-destruction. It was good way to go. And go they went until every repulsive hank of orange fur, every last drop of saliva and/or ichor was blasted into nascent atoms.

  But it was pretty hairy aboard the ship. The crew swayed left and then right ... and then left again ... right ... blown from side to side like actors in a low-budget movie with a tilting camera. Only this was real-life, heart-stopping action and they screamed and yelled until the ship righted itself and blasted them away from the frightful planet and its appalling inhabitants.

  "Let's not do that again," Bill said hoarsely, as they reached orbital velocity and the ship stopped bucking and vibrating. "Are we safe?"

  "You betcha!" crowed Curly. "And this calls for a drink!"'

  "You're on — break out the wine!" cried Tootsie. "We're not going to die after all."

  "Go easy on the wine," pleaded Captain Blight, whipping an atomic corkscrew out of his pocket. "It's got to last until Beta Draconis."

  "How long will that take?" asked Bill, seizing the corkscrew and stabbing it into the cork on a bottle of white wine. It activated automatically; the cork vaporized in a puff of smoke and the wine bubbled beautifully.

  "Probably on the order of two or three months," estimated Curly, holding out a glass for Bill to fill. "That's my best guess. Of course, I could have made a mistake, a grievous error even, and we'll be slogging and trekking through the stars forever. Sorry I said that — but ichor flashback can do that to you."

  "Bruiser trust you," that gallant warrior said, leadin
g Barfer into the room. "You done good."

  "Gee, thanks," said Curly, blushing and lowering his head as he held his glass out for a refill. "We all had to do what a man has to do."

  "That is a singularly stupid, not to mention male chauvinist pig statement. Pour me," said Rambette, walking into the control room. "Everybody has a glass of wine except Caine, who's the designated android and doesn't count. I want one too."

  "And for dis good little dog?" asked Bruiser, holding out Barfer's water bowl. "Fill it to da top."

  Bill started to relax for the first time in ages. As he filled the dog's bowl with wine, he felt the pressure sliding from him. After all they'd gone through, it felt good to be safe at last. As tired as he was, he'd probably sleep all the way to Beta Draconis.

  "I'm anxious for your report on the mother alien," said Caine. "It's all that's missing from my paper. We really must get it down while it's still fresh in your head."

  Bill sank into a chair and shook his head wearily.

  "No way. I think you androids are bonkers, around the twist, loopy," he growled. "Or maybe it's scientists I don't understand. While normal people like us, or practically normal, are just trying to stay alive in the middle of the most incredibly repulsive experiences, you're sitting around and asking questions! Go — plant an okra!"

  "I can sympathize with your feelings, good shipmate Bill, but someone has to keep the records," Caine demurred. "Otherwise we might not learn from our experiences and the human race would not march triumphantly to the stars."

  "What kind of bum-sucking officer-loving creepo are you?" Bill sneered. "Later, maybe — not now. I'm far too pooped to even think about it. Besides that, I think I stink, as do we all, so it's into the recycler shower as soon as this wine bottle is empty."

  "Sounds a winner," Uhuru agreed. "But let's kill some more wine first. I'll get another." He had happily shed his spacesuit and garlic necklaces. "White or red? Hey, I think I'll get one of each. Maybe I'll dig us out a snack of tingleberry toasties to go with it."

  "You're on," enthused Bill. "We could use a little chow."

  "Barfer got away wit'out a scratch," Bruiser said with admiration. "Dis dog's a real scrapper."

  "I didn't get off that easy," said Rambette, wrapping a bandage around one arm. "We're all lucky just to be alive. I'd rather face an army of Chingers than go another round with one of those aliens."

  "They're unhappily extinct now," complained Caine, shaking his head. "Such a loss for science."

  "It seems to me you were feeling a little differently when they were climbing up your back," sniffed Tootsie.

  "Even androids get inexplicable periods of self-preservation," observed Caine. "Nobody's perfect, though I'm close. However, I realize that in the long run, it would have been vastly preferable for me to have maintained an attitude of scientific objectivity. As it is, the entire repulsive race has perished, and regrettably I haven't even got a single specimen to submit with my paper. Captain Blight has turned all my samples into compost."

  "Just this once I agree with the Cap. That's about all they're good for," Tootsie said, raising her wine glass. "Here's to clear sailing and silent running."

  "I'll drink to that," said Rambette.

  "I'm all for a completely boring and uneventful voyage myself," said Bill. "Nothing but good food and lots to drink and a decent place to sleep."

  "That sounds like a house-cat's life — but I agree. And I'm swearing off monsters for life," said Curly, settling back in his chair and adjusting his ear-bandage.

  "They're nothing but trouble."

  "Something trashed the galley!" cried Uhuru, running into the control room wearing his spacesuit again and three hastily prepared garlic necklaces. "It even wrecked the microwave!"

  "What?" asked Christianson. "What happened?"

  "It's awful," Uhuru cried. "The galley is ruined. There's ichor and orange fur everywhere!"

  "Ichor and fur?" wailed Blight. "Does that mean —"

  "It means we're all going to die," moaned Tootsie. "I knew as soon as we got to feeling safe something like this would happen. Is there no end to this madness?"

  "I gonna end it now," growled Bruiser, strapping grenades on his belt and grabbing up Slasher. "Hubba-hubba, troopers! All for one an' one for all!"

  No one moved.

  Bruiser whistled his axe under their noses. "Da way I see it, we got one choice. We get out dere and kill it, or do nuttin' and get et for lunch. Let's go Trojan!"

  With great reluctance the crew shuffled out behind Bruiser and Uhuru. They marched to the galley, sticking real close to each other and looking over their shoulders. Never before had the Bounty seemed so big, so full of places for alien horrors to hide.

  "What a mess," said Tootsie as they stepped into the galley. "It's terrible. There are pots and pans and plates and bowls and skillets scattered everywhere."

  "That's just my normal housekeeping routine," said Uhuru. "The damage is back here."

  The rear of the galley looked like a bomb had exploded in it. The stove was half-eaten away by alien acid and the door to the freezer had been ripped off. Every surface was covered with ichor and gobbets of fur.

  "It got all my steaks," cried Blight, peering into the freezer. "They were prime cuts."

  "This way!" Rambette shouted. "I think I've got a trail here."

  "Sure looks like it," said Bill, eyeballing the repellent path leading away from the galley. "Uhuru, pass out some more grenades."

  "I don't understand how it got in the ship," Uhuru said as he distributed his homemade beauties. "I know the ship was clean. I swept it myself with the tracker. And Larry watched the door for every minute after that. Didn't you, Larry?"

  "Well, sort of," he said.

  "What you mean, sort of?" snarled Bruiser. "We risk our lives an' you act like alien doorman."

  "I might have dozed off once," he admitted.

  "Once?" yelled Uhuru. "Dozed off?"

  "Well, it could have been two or three times," said Larry. "No more than five, I'm pretty sure. It was real boring sitting there."

  "I'll give you boring!" cried Curly, picking up a flamethrower. "Fry you like an egg!"

  "No — please don't! I'm not responsible, it has always been like that. Since I was a child. One moment wide awake then zonk! All I have to do is close my eyes. I'm able to sleep anywhere, any time. It's a talent I have. I can even do it standing up."

  "I'll put you to sleep permanently!" cried Curly. "You let my own personal nightmare back in the ship."

  "I can't believe you're related to me," snapped Moe. "If you're my brother, you must have come from another planet, a planet where stupidity is the norm."

  "Technically, being clones, you are not brothers," said Caine. "You are genetically identical. A case could be made that you are the same person."

  "I'm not buying that," yelled Curly. "That bowby batbrain —"

  "Enough sibling rivalry," suggested Rambette. "It looks like it went to Repair Dock Five."

  "I hope it's one of the scuttlers," said Blight as they made their cautious way to the repair dock. "That way Bill can stomp it and we're finished."

  "I sincerely doubt that we are dealing with a scuttler," said Caine. "The damage in the galley was far too extensive for a scuttler. I would say we have a Curly-sized one on our hands."

  "Or maybe even larger," shuddered Tootsie, looking up at the melted door to the repair dock.

  "Can we shut up with the wild fantasizing," Rambette ordered. "It ruins morale — which is already pretty low. We'll see what we have when we get there."

  The crew climbed through the melted door and looked down into the great expanse of the repair dock. Built to a size to hold a star-class fighter in for dry-dock repairs, it would dwarf anything but the huge alien that stood in the middle of the bay, dripping ichor and handfuls of fur, staring hungrily at them.

  "What's that?" cried Caine.

  "It's mother," said Bill in a voice filled with sepulchral gloom.
"And she just stomped our forklift flat, so we can't pull that trick again."

  CHAPTER 19

  "Well, there goes our big plan," sighed Rambette. "I got a feeling that we need a change of strategy."

  "We can't kill something that large with our flamethrowers," said Uhuru. "The flames will just smolder the thing's fur."

  "Which will make the creature even more angry — if that's possible," moaned Bill. "We've already tried that."

  "Grenades? No, dey ain't any better," said Bruiser. "Wotta we do?"

  "I'm as close as I'm getting," chattered Tootsie, biting her fist and backing up. "I can't even bear to look at those claws!"

  "And while you're not looking don't look at those teeth or jaws, too," said Rambette. "Just when we felt it was safe."

  "This is utterly fascinating," said Caine. "Unfortunately for the scientific community, I feel myself slipping into my survival-fear mode and am in danger of losing all my objectivity."

  "What are we going to do?" wailed Curly. "This is even worse than my nightmares."

  "We could open the cargo doors and blow it out into space," said Larry. "That would work."

  "It would," said Bill. "But that would suck us out as well, not to mention draining all the air out of the ship."

  "Not the cargo doors — we might be able to get her through the auxiliary airlock," said Rambette. "It'd be a tight squeeze, but it might work."

  "It better work!" said Tootsie. "I really like the idea of tossing the alien out into space."

  "Sure," said Christianson. "Maybe she'd scrunch in there if we asked her nicely, and stand real still while we closed the inner door."

  "Might I suggest that someone could be bait," Caine suggested. "Someone a little tastier than an android could stand in the airlock and look like food."

  "We can draw straws to see who's bait," Uhuru said hopefully. "That's a fair way to decide, and I just happen to have some with me."

  "No way," said Rambette. "We're in this together, all the way to the bitter end. I say we rush her and with battling courage and superhuman strength back her into the airlock."

  "Excuse the expression — but that's incredibly unrealistic. And would probably involve casualties," said Blight. "Maybe even an officer-type casualty." He shuddered at the thought.