[Aliens 02] - Nightmare Asylum

by Steve Perry - (ebook by Undead)

  Billie blew her breath out in a big sigh. Shook her head. There was no need to say it. Wilks knew. He dreamed, too.

  She looked at Mitch. Did androids dream?

  “Up and at “em, people,” came a voice from the entrance to the cell.

  A pair of armed marines stood there.

  “General wants to see you,” one of them said.

  “Tell him our calendar is full,” Wilks said.

  The marines grinned. The same one said, “Not me, Sarge. You tell him. Move out.” He waved the carbine.

  Wilks looked at Billie and Mitch, shrugged. “Well. Since you insist.”

  With Billie pushing Mitch on his cart, the three of them left the cell.

  8

  The table was, nearly as Wilks could tell, black glass. Expensive for an officers” mess on some back-rocket planetoid. Course, it could have been made from local mineral and not brought in on-ship; even so, it was not something you expected to see. The chairs were some kind of basic fold-out issue, but they’d been padded and spiffed up by somebody with skill and time.

  Billie sat to his left, Bueller to his right, the three of them occupying one end of the table. Another dozen people could sit along the sides, but those chairs were empty. Spears sat at the other end, alone. A platter of what looked to be roast meat sat in front of him, aromatic vapors wafting from it. A long knife and double-tine fork were stuck in the meat.

  “It’s not real beef, of course,” Spears said. He pulled the knife and fork from the roast and ran the edge of the blade back and forth against the fork tines, as if sharpening the knife. “Protein hard-jell and soy, but our mess sergeant has a deft touch with seasonings. It’s not bad.”

  With his hat off, Spears was as bald as an egg. Nothing but eyebrows and lashes, from what Wilks could see.

  Spears stabbed the roast with the fork and began to slice the ersatz beef.

  An orderly, dressed in kitchen whites, came from the doorway behind Spears. By the time the general had the first slab of roast carved free, the orderly arrived and shoved a plate under it. The timing was perfect. Half a second later and the “meat” would have flopped onto the black glass. Spears never looked to see if the plate was there.

  The general repeated the carving. A second orderly scooted from the doorway and arrived in time to push another plate under the falling slice of roast.

  The third slice, yet another orderly.

  It was offhand, but every bit as impressive as a precision drill team tossing carbines back and forth at speed. Spears knew it, too.

  When the plates had been delivered to Wilks, Billie, and Bueller, along with glasses of red liquid—wine?—and eating implements, the general carved himself a slice.

  The fourth orderly was a bit slow. He thrust the plate out, caught half the roast. For a second, it looked as if the fake meat would flip from the plate and smack onto the table, but the orderly juggled his cargo and managed to slide the slab back into place. It left a smear of gravy on the white plastic, but stayed put.

  Spears’s jaw muscles tightened once, then his face relaxed into a somewhat forced smile. He nodded at the orderlies. “At ease, troopers.”

  The four orderlies filed out via the door by which they’d entered.

  Wilks would not want to be the last one, the one who had nearly bobbled the general’s own meal. He had very nearly made the general look bad. On a military base, that was as dangerous a crime as a soldier could commit.

  The general raised his glass. “To the Corps,” he said.

  What the hell, Wilks thought. He lifted his own glass. Noticed that Billie and Bueller did the same, albeit without much enthusiasm.

  The wine wasn’t bad. Wilks had surely drunk a lot worse.

  “Eat,” the general said.

  The cook was inspired, Wilks had to admit. The counterfeit beef was as good as any he’d ever had. Right texture, right flavor—if Spears hadn’t told him, he wouldn’t have known the difference. Not that he got a lot of real meat on the money he made anyhow. Rabbit now and then, fish, even chicken on special occasions, that was about it. Last time he’d had what was supposed to be certified beef had been at his old top kick’s mustering-out party couple years back, bio-time. Given all the suspended animation travel since then, it was a lot longer in realtime.

  Whatever was going on inside Billie’s head, Wilks could see she was enjoying her meal, too. As for Bueller, who knew? His model of android could eat, even cut in half as he was now; whether he enjoyed the food in the same way a basic-stock man did or not was something else.

  “Food okay?” the general asked around a mouthful of it.

  Wilks nodded. “Very good.”

  Billie and Bueller also nodded and mumbled something. This was strange territory and wherever this conversation was going, they’d decided to play along. For his part, Wilks was pretty sure this guy’s wingnuts were dogged down too tight. It didn’t make sense to set him off until they had some idea of what he was all about.

  “You’ll have to excuse my somewhat abrupt manner when we met,” Spears said. “There’s a war on, one can’t be too cautious.” He smiled.

  Jesus, Wilks thought, it looks as if his face might crack from the strain. This cocker wanted something from them, that was plain enough. What?

  “It has been brought to my attention that you have had considerable experience with wild-strain aliens, Sergeant Wilks.”

  Wilks chewed on the beef. Swallowed it. “Yessir.”

  Spears popped another chunk into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. “Been in combat against them in several theaters, correct?”

  “That’s right, General.”

  The man nodded. His eyes seemed to take on a brighter gleam. “Good, good.” He looked at Bueller. “And you, Issue, your injury was sustained in combat as well, was it not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “These men are military, marines, I know about them. What about you, little lady?”

  Wilks saw that Billie couldn’t bring herself to speak. “Sir,” he put in, “Billie was on Rim during first contact with the aliens. The only survivor.”

  The general raised one of his thick eyebrows. “Is that so?”

  Dumbly, Billie managed a nod.

  “She survived on her own for more than a month,” Wilks said.

  The general’s other eyebrow went up. “Really? Most resourceful. How old would you have been then?”

  “Ten,” Billie managed.

  Another of the face-threatening smiles. “Excellent.” He ate another bite of the meatless meat. “I envy you three, you know. You’ve been in combat against the toughest enemies, the most dedicated soldiers men have ever faced. Perfect troops, fearless, tough, almost unstoppable. Your survival is quite an achievement. A fluke, really, but no less heroic for that.”

  He pushed his plate away, less than half of the meal eaten. An orderly zipped from the doorway, removed the plate, refilled the general’s wineglass, and vanished almost without a sound. Spears leaned back, sipped at the freshened wine. “The only way to beat an enemy as hard as the one man now faces is to use troops of equal vigor! Ones who can match the ferocity of the opposition.”

  That got through to Billie. “You’re trying to raise tame aliens here?”

  “With the proper leader, my troops could spearhead the retaking of Earth,” Spears said. “Think about it. What better way? The wild strain behave like ants. With troops of equal caliber plus proper strategy and tactics, they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Billie started to say something. Wilks kicked her under the table. She closed her mouth.

  “Great idea, sir,” Wilks said.

  The general nodded, pleased. “I knew you would see it so,” he said. “You’ve been up against them, you know how little chance humans or even specially bred androids have.” He nodded at Bueller, gestured with his wineglass.

  “How can we help, sir?” Wilks said.

  Billie looked at him as if he had lost his sanity. He kicked
her under the table again without changing his expression.

  If Spears noticed Billie’s look it didn’t seem to register. “Your experience, Sergeant. I have computer-generated scenarios, recordings of battles on Earth, theories. You three have been there, you know the reality. I want your advice, your knowledge. My troops must be as well prepared as they can be when I formulate my strategy.”

  “Certainly, sir,” Wilks said. Stretched his own scarred face into a smile. “Bueller and I are marines before anything else. And Billie wants to help, too, isn’t that right, Billie?”

  Billie nodded. “Right.”

  Spears was practically beaming now. He raised his wineglass. “A toast, then—”

  But before the general could offer the toast, the major came in via the same door the orderlies had used.

  Spears frowned. “What is it, Powell?”

  “Sorry to disturb your meal, sir. A security breach. The guard on the South Lock has been assaulted, the outer door burned open. One of the land crawlers is missing.”

  The general waved one hand. “Oh, that.”

  Powell blinked. “Sir?”

  “This is my base, Major. I try to keep up.” He looked at Wilks. “You have to stay on top of things when you’re the CO. Enjoy the rest of your meal. You are free to go anywhere on Third Base; you have full clearance. If you have any questions, Major Powell will be happy to answer them. I suppose I should go and see to the malcontents who have destroyed military property.”

  With that, he stood, gave Billie a military bow that was barely a nod, and left with Powell.

  Wilks stared at the general’s back as he left. Wished he had a gun at that moment.

  In the hallway, Spears said to Powell, “Keep an eye on them. Put the android in rehab, see if we can give him mechanicals or whatever so he can be ambulatory.”

  “Sir.”

  “And that guard from South Lock, put him in the egg chamber. He fucked up.”

  Spears felt a happy satisfaction at watching Powell swallow dryly when he gave him that order. The universe had become a place where only the strong, the ruthless, could survive. Sentiment was for another time. In the past and, someday when he had won this war, in the future. Meanwhile, somebody had to make the hard choices and Spears was the man to make them.

  Billie found she was shaking. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was afraid or angry. She stood, but Wilks was right there. He hugged her, and before she could do more than stiffen and start to pull away, he whispered, “Play along, Billie. They probably have a cam on us and a voice recorder.”

  She relaxed a little. “What?”

  “If we don’t do what this guy says, he is going to feed us to his monsters. Play along.”

  The thought of that turned her bowels to lumps of dry ice. For a moment she couldn’t even breathe.

  A marine private entered the dining room and started to wheel Mitch away. Billie turned quickly. “What are you doing?”

  “Major’s order, ma’am. Taking the AP to Rehab.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t ask me, I’m just doing what I’m told.”

  “It’s okay, Billie,” Mitch said. “It’s like putting your flitter into the shop for repairs.”

  Billie stared at him. The marine wheeled him away.

  “Relax,” Wilks said, his voice at normal volume. “The general just wants to make sure his troops are cared for properly. I don’t know what kind of facilities they have here, but my guess is they can fit Bueller into some kind of lower body exoframe, at least, so he can get around on his own.”

  Billie couldn’t think of anything to say. This was all so damned weird.

  “Come on, let’s explore a little. Might as well get acquainted with our new home, eh?” He winked at her.

  Billie nodded. She understood. The more they knew about this place, the better. “Yeah,” she said. “Good idea.”

  9

  Days passed; Wills and Billie explored the base. It was like a dozen such places Wilks had been on in his career, standard hardware from the lowest bidder, as cheap as it could be and still work. The one thing he noticed that bothered him wasn’t the gear, but the people. There didn’t seem to be enough of them for a base this size. If anything, the military usually had too many troops for the work needed, a larger command being what officers liked to wave at each other. Warm bodies meant more than cold rock. Given the extent of the base, almost as big as a very small town, there ought to be several hundred more people staffing it.

  Eventually, Wilks and Billie worked their way into places not so easy to find or reach.

  “What’s in there?” Wilks asked the guards posted in front of a large double door:

  The two troopers, one male, one female, wore holstered sidearms but they didn’t seem particularly worried that they would need them. The man, who looked to be almost two meters tall, smiled down on Wilks and Billie.

  Wilks said, “The general has given us the run of the base. You want to open the door?”

  Now the woman grinned. “You don’t wanna go in there, Sarge. Show him, Atkins.”

  The tall man touched a control on the wall.

  Billie gasped.

  “Fuck,” Wilks said.

  “Hell, she don’t even have to do that,” the woman said. “She’s fertile all by herself.”

  The projection floated in front of the wall. A queen alien occupied the center of a huge room, a monstrous sac jutting from her rear like some obscene, translucent intestine. The sack, webbed with supports that ran to the convoluted ceiling and walls, was obviously full of eggs, and as they watched, the queen deposited yet another onto the floor already thick with the things. A pair of attendant alien drones stood in a puddle of fluid near the sac’s sphinctered opening, and they gently moved the fresh egg to one side as the queen began to lay another one.

  “Still want me to open the door?”

  “Why are you even guarding it?” Wilks managed.

  “Pan right,” the woman said.

  The taller guard stroked a slide control. The holoproj shifted as the camera panned.

  Webbed against a wall in front of a neat row of eggs were ten humans. The cottony material holding them in place hid most of them, leaving only the faces bare. Some of the people were awake, eyes wide. Were they already infected, or still waiting for the horror yet to come?

  “Turn it off,” Billie said.

  As Wilks and Billie walked away from the stomach-turning scene, the tall marine, obviously enjoying himself, said, “Have a nice day, folks.”

  They weren’t there to keep anybody from getting in.

  They were there to keep anybody from getting out.

  Spears watched the image of Wilks and the woman as they turned away from the projection outside the egg chamber. They were weak, like most people were weak. But he could use them. That was the important thing.

  He looked at his chronometer. “Ah, the mice are about ready. Time for the cat to wake up and move.” He touched a control on his desk. “This is Spears. I want First Platoon, A Company, saddled up and ready to ride ASAR Full combat gear, full field rations. I’ll be at the South Lock in ten minutes. Better not keep me waiting, marines.”

  Wilks went to shower, water being one of the few things they had plenty of on the station. Piped up from some deep underground cave as ice chunks and melted on the way up by heaters in the slurry conduits, SOP for this kind of operation. One of the few perks even grunts got.

  Alone, Billie wandered down narrow hallways, feeling as if she were being watched. God, this was all so insane. Having spent years in a mental hospital because the authorities thought her memories were hallucinations, Billie had some experience with madness. This was right up there. Spears ought to be in a silicone room somewhere, doped to the hairline, scheduled for a full mental revision. Who were those people in there with the queen alien? What had they done to deserve such a fate? No crime could be so awful as to rate that kind of sentence. Spears was bug-fuck crazy and
he should be put away. Instead, he commanded troops and had a personal nest full of the deadliest things man had ever encountered. What kind of deity would allow that kind of lunacy? Only one that was crazy itself.

  She came to a door marked Communications. It slid open as she approached.

  A tech sat, a comhelmet covering half her head, staring at a series of flat screen monitors. The tech looked over, saw Billie. “I heard we got visitors. Come on in, I got a notice says you’re cleared for this area.”

  Billie stared at the woman. Why the hell not?

  The door closed behind her.

  Wilks sluiced the cleaner from his body, enjoying the feel of the hot water against his skin. They were in deep shit here, no doubt about it, but you had to take it as it came. He had expected to fertilize the flowers on the alien homeworld. Hell, he’d been living on borrowed time since the first time he’d run into these fuckers on Rim all those years ago. He should have died with his squad then, it was a miracle he hadn’t. And the years of trying to hide from it and from the nightmares that wouldn’t go away since hadn’t been all that pleasant. He had been ready to pack it in, to take the Big Jump and the hell with it, but before that happened, he got pissed off. He’d blown the aliens” homeworld flat and that hadn’t been enough. Somehow, for some reason, he was still alive. It didn’t make any sense. He’d never been a religious man, but it was like he had some kind of higher purpose driving him. He’d been too lucky, as if somebody had looked out for him. He was tired, he wanted to tube the whole mess, but he couldn’t. It was as if he had been given the responsibility to take care of this little problem—the extermination of all those monsters that had nearly wiped out humans.

  It wasn’t fair, nobody could expect one broken-down chem-head marine to do that, but while he couldn’t pin it neatly to any logical wall, Wilks felt as if that was exactly what he was supposed to do: save mankind.