Aliens

by Jonathan Maberry

  “Oh, shit,” Dietrich said through her hand as she stared into the darkness. “We are so, so fucked.”

  Frost winced in a shaken cocktail of shame and pain. He’d let those men trick him, and now he and Dietrich would pay for it with their lives.

  “Wait,” Dietrich said. “I still have those matches! Do you have the tequila?”

  Frost held up the bottle. By some miracle, he’d managed to keep hold of it as he fell, and he’d barely lost a drop of it. “What good’s that going to do?”

  Dietrich didn’t respond. Instead, she produced the matchbox and fished a fresh match from it. Then she set to lighting it.

  The first attempt failed, as did the second. Frost could hear the crawling little aliens out there, chittering in the rain. Were they talking with each other? Coordinating their plan of attack?

  He couldn’t tell. He just knew the men were still screaming. It would only be a matter of time before the bugs finished the locals off, though, and came crawling after the Marines.

  Dietrich huddled in close to Frost, and they covered the matchbox with their heads. This time, the match flared to glaring life.

  Dietrich took the match and dropped it into the bottle of tequila. The liquor erupted into a blue flame that licked its way up and out of the bottle.

  “What the hell good is that?” Frost said.

  “Throw it at the tank,” Dietrich said.

  Frost goggled at her. “There’s a leak near the tank,” he said. “I can smell it.”

  “So can I.”

  “This could blow it all up.”

  Dietrich reached out and took Frost by the hand. “Beats being eaten by those little bastards, doesn’t it?”

  Frost stared at the tank sitting there in front of the bar. Then he glanced back toward where he’d seen the locals fall. One of them had already stopped screaming. He couldn’t tell which, but he didn’t suppose it mattered.

  He leaned over and gave Dietrich a kiss. Then he cocked his arm back and hurled that flaming bottle of tequila at the leaking propane tank with every bit of strength he could muster.

  The glass bottle shattered against the steel tank, splashing burning alcohol all over it.

  The tank exploded.

  The shockwave knocked Frost and Dietrich flat. The last thing Frost remembered as he went flying backward through the air was watching a gigantic fireball erupt from the tank and light up the night sky.

  * * *

  Frost woke up in a hospital bed the next day, in some distant building he’d never seen, where things were clean and white. Dietrich lay in the bed next to him, still unconscious.

  It seemed she’d put herself between Frost and the explosion and taken the brunt of it. The nurses weren’t sure if she’d make it. “You never know,” one of them said to Frost. “She’s a fighter.”

  Later, the captain came by to ask Frost what had happened, and he told her everything. A pair of representatives from Weyland-Yutani stopped by, too, and Frost repeated his account for them. None of them seemed to believe a word of it.

  The captain took particularly detailed notes as she grilled Frost without relenting. When they were finally done, the captain said to him, “You’ve had a horrible experience. You and Dietrich almost died in that explosion. It’s not surprising your brain would create impossible memories like this to explain what happened.”

  “Fuck you.”

  The captain gave him a sympathetic nod. “I’ll ask the doctor to prescribe you a sedative.”

  Later, once everyone had left Frost alone with his thoughts, he actually began to wonder about his sanity. Maybe Berto had given them some bad tequila. Maybe the concussion he’d sustained had scrambled his brain. Maybe he actually had hallucinated the whole thing.

  He just couldn’t tell anymore. Yet it had seemed so real.

  Soon after, Frost forced himself out of bed and hobbled over to sit next to Dietrich and hold her hand. He didn’t know if it meant anything to her while she was out cold like that, but it comforted him. For the moment, that was enough.

  Frost was almost falling asleep himself when Dietrich finally opened her eyes. She could barely breathe still, just enough to squeeze a few words out of her scorched lungs.

  “We get ’em?” Dietrich croaked. She sounded like a three-packs-a-day smoker.

  “What?” Frost startled at the abrupt sound. “Who?”

  Dietrich stared back at Frost through watery eyes. “The bugs. We kill all those fuckers?”

  “As many as we could,” Frost said. “Enough anyway.”

  Dietrich gave him a wide smile and before she closed her eyes again she said, “Next time we run up against something like that, I’m bringing a fucking flamethrower.”

  NO GOOD DEED

  BY RAY GARTON

  (FOR MY FRIENDS SCOTT CONNORS AND ERINN KEMPER)

  “This moon is not a nice place to visit,” Jex said, looking at his screen while his thin fingers moved like tarantula legs over the touchpad. “Savage winds, severe electrical storms. And yet, people live here.”

  “Live and work,” Mad said as the Viper touched down with a jolt. “In this case, they’re the same thing. Terraforming is a life commitment.”

  “Research and mining, too. One of Weyland-Yutani’s busy shake-and-bake colonies. The terraforming is advanced enough for the air to be breathable, but we’ll want to suit up fully for protection against the weather.”

  The Viper powered down and Mad removed her seat straps.

  “LV-426, one of the three moons of Calpamos, and Weyland-Yutani is working on all of them. Also known as Acheron. The mythological River of Pain.”

  “I thought it was the Stream of Woe.”

  “Would you like to argue about it?”

  She chuckled and said, “Fuck off, Jex. No communication from the colony, so I’m assuming they’re busy with other things.”

  “Of course, you didn’t initiate communication.”

  “No, but I would have responded. The point is, they haven’t noticed us or don’t care. Which means they also haven’t noticed the two escaped psychopaths who just got here. You still got a lock on Jaeger?”

  “He and his companion have left the shuttle behind and are approaching Hadley’s Hope.”

  “We’ve got to beat them there. Any chance of that?”

  “Given our position, we’ll have to move fast.”

  “Then let’s move.” Her seat slid back, then swiveled with a whirring sound, and Mad launched out of it. “I saw their mugshots, but haven’t had a chance to look at their histories since we left the Tartarus. Access their criminal records and fill me in while we suit up.”

  He got out of his seat as he accessed the proper file in his internal database while following Mad to the rear of the ship to dress. “We don’t have enough time for everything, but I can hit a few highlights. Enzo Jaeger, the alpha male in this pack of two, once held an entire childcare center full of children hostage to distract law enforcement while accomplices went on crime sprees throughout the city. The operation was meticulously planned, perfectly synchronized, extremely risky, and yet they pulled it off without incident.”

  “Don’t tell me. He didn’t leave witnesses.”

  “You’d think. But he had the children locked in a room shortly after he took everyone hostage so they weren’t exposed to anything. Once his pals had enough time to get their jobs done, Jaeger killed all of the adults.”

  “He has a sentimental streak.”

  “Who’d a thunk it? Then he launched himself from the roof in a military-issue jetpack to meet with his compatriots and share the loot.”

  “Any survivors of that?”

  “Only Jaeger. And the loot. He used most of his newfound wealth to set up a criminal empire. Illegal weapons, drugs, pornography, black market sex slavery, professional assassins, a shopping center of crime.”

  “Is it true that he hung one of his wives by her ankles, eviscerated her, and she bled to death with her intestines dangling in
her face?”

  “It is. That must have been some argument, huh?”

  “And the other guy?”

  “Jack Bates. He began his criminal career by killing his mother and eating part of her at the age of fourteen. Things only got worse from there. He’s not too bright. Jaeger used him as muscle in the escape. He’s a large person and apparently does anything Jaeger tells him to do, including killing twenty-three people in the process of escaping the Tartarus. Prison sweethearts. A tale as old as time.”

  “How does one man kill twenty-three people? What weapon was he using?”

  “He was unarmed.”

  “That’s impressive. And hard to believe. By ‘not too bright,’ do you mean he’s mentally impaired?”

  “That’s unclear. After killing his mother, he was put into a juvenile detention center, where apparently he didn’t fare well. Bates claims that while there, he was forced to participate in some research programs conducted by MetCon Pharmaceuticals.”

  Mad pulled a zipper up with a quiet hiss as she frowned at Jex. “They experimented on him?”

  “Drug research, they told him. They claimed they were testing a new drug to enhance performance and extend longevity, something they were calling Haxon-K.”

  “Enhance what kind of performance?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Nobody believes him, I suppose.”

  “MetCon denies it, of course, and the authorities are more likely to believe a pharmaceutical company than a convicted mother-eater. The detention facility denies everything, as well. But it’s not the first time someone has made such a claim, and there is evidence of back-channel collusion between MetCon—other corporations, as well—and various prison systems. But not enough evidence to interest authorities.”

  “And there never will be.”

  “Of course not, we know better than that. To answer your question, yes, nobody believes Bates. He claims he’s never been the same, that it made him dumb and a lot meaner.”

  “Meaner than killing and eating his mother?”

  “Mean enough to kill twenty-three people in eighteen minutes. Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

  “Unlike the authorities, I am less inclined to believe any corporation, particularly a pharmaceutical company, than I am to believe just about anybody else. Including a convicted mother-eater. We know that kind of thing goes on, Jex, and somebody like Bates would be a prime target precisely because nobody would believe him.”

  “Are we planning to take Jaeger and Bates back alive?”

  “Under normal circumstances, sure, because under normal circumstances, the bounty’s usually higher when they’re alive. But circumstances are not normal. These two will not hesitate to obliterate anybody who gets in their way and they will not go without a fight. They’re heavily armed and we can’t let that happen here. Too many colonists, a high risk of civilian casualties. They said dead or alive, and I hope they meant it, because those guys are either going back to the Tartarus in bags, or I’ll just take a finger from each of their bodies. Besides, the bounty is the same either way. They really want these guys.”

  “The universe will thank you. Their mothers will thank you. Well… Jaeger’s mother would. She’s still alive. Completely disowned him.”

  “Good for her.”

  Once they were suited up, they went to the weapons rack and began to fill their holsters and pockets. Mad took a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum, a .40 caliber Glock, and the sawed-off shotgun that fit nicely into the long pocket at her right hip. She also took a set of electric brass knuckles that delivered a powerful electrical charge with each punch, and a knife. As an afterthought, she strapped a couple of packs of punch-packing flash grenades. Just in case.

  Turning to Jex, she said, “While we’re out there, don’t hesitate to kill either of them if you get a chance. Right away, as soon as we reach them.”

  “In other words, shoot on sight.”

  “Yep.”

  “Brevity has never been one of your strengths.”

  She chuckled and said, “Fuck off, Jex.”

  * * *

  Mad had been in the right place at the right time. She had gone to the Tartarus to visit an old friend who was incarcerated there. Jewel Vargas was on the minimum security level because her crimes were nonviolent and she had made a deal. She was a digital thief who had stolen a lot of money from some bad people who immediately wanted it back. When they came after her, she cut a deal with authorities that would shorten her sentence and make the time more palatable in exchange for all the information she had on the criminals from whom she had stolen the money, which gave authorities the evidence they needed to arrest them and shut them down.

  A few minutes into their visit, alarms sounded and red lights began to flash everywhere. A rumbling explosion on another level jolted the ship. Then another.

  Madison Voss used aliases whenever she went someplace where her name might be recognized. But her real name was necessary for the I.D. check required to board the Tartarus and see her friend Jewel. As a bounty hunter, she had developed a bit of a reputation for bringing in a couple of high-profile fugitives, and she was well known to members of law enforcement and the penal system. It took only minutes for a guard to track her to Visiting Room B3 and lead her to the administration deck, where Warden Jeffrey Wallingford explained the situation. He was not tall, but he was broad, with skin so black he looked like a muscular, uniformed slice of nighttime.

  Two men had escaped the Tartarus in a stolen shuttle, and they had set explosives in every dock that launched the ship’s armed cruisers, timed to go off as they were making their exit. Two officers of the Tartarus pursued in other shuttles, but they had a clumsy start, the shuttles were not armed or equipped to track and retrieve fugitives, and they lost the escapees.

  “It may have been presumptuous,” Warden Wallingford said, “but we took the liberty of sending their complete files to your ship’s computer. I am hoping you’re available to take up pursuit, because these men should not be loose, as you’ll see when you read their files.”

  “I am available,” Mad said. “Twenty-five million with half up front.”

  “Mizz Voss, you know that is an outrageous—”

  “Mad,” she said with a smile. “I like to be called Mad. And this isn’t negotiable. Twenty-five million with half up front, or I go back and finish my visit with my friend.” When he stared blankly at her, she added, “Time is a factor in these cases, you know.”

  After a moment, he nodded once.

  Now they were about to plunge themselves into the brutal climate of Acheron, all before dinner.

  Jex was accustomed to emergency runs by now and the routine was second nature to him. He had been with her for four years and she credited him with keeping her sane on the job. A friend-with-benefits of Mad’s had a high-level position at Hyperdyne and allowed her to commission a custom-made synthetic. She was given access to technological advances that would not be available to the public until the following year’s models were released. It had cost a fortune, but she had saved up for it and knew exactly what she wanted. A male synthetic with a sense of humor, one who could make her laugh. A smartass.

  Bounty hunting was not pleasant work, but it paid well and it kept her busy. Too busy to have to interact with other people and socialize, skills that had always eluded her. She hated small talk and found most people petty and small-minded. Mad had been told, more than once, that she had a “depressive” personality, and she supposed it was true, which was probably why she was so bad at getting along with other people. They all seemed so goddamned happy for no good reason. Or, worse, for stupid reasons. But she refused to take antidepressants or drugs of any kind if she could avoid them. What she needed was a friend, so she had one made.

  Jex was her only friend. She never lost sight of the fact that he was a synthetic made to her specifications, but it did not matter. She had developed real affection for him because he made her laugh and because he wo
uld shut up whenever she asked. He kept her from going crazy.

  “Let’s go make some money, Jex.”

  “Let’s do that. Oh, and I get to shoot on sight. That’s very exciting. I think I wet myself a little.”

  Mad chuckled and said, “Fuck off, Jex.”

  * * *

  The high wail of Bates screaming in terror, bordering on hysteria, stabbed into Enzo Jaeger’s ears inside the protective helmet he wore. For a moment, it overwhelmed the constant sound of rain pouring on his helmet and even the ripping thunder. Jaeger looked at his companion; he was able to see him clearly only because his helmet’s transparent faceplate was coated with a water repellant that kept his vision clear.

  “Jack, what the fuck?” he said.

  After a pause, Bates said, “Sorry, Enzo. I got my foot stuck between two rocks. Got scared for a second.”

  “Did you get your foot loose?”

  “Yes, Jack. Hey, Jack.” Another pause, and when he spoke again, fear had returned to his voice, quietly this time. “There’s not gonna be any MetCon here, is there?”

  “Any MetCon? It’s a pharmaceutical corporation, Jack, and it’s not here, no. This is Weyland-Yutani, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah, Wayluntani, you told me, Wayluntani.” He pointed at the structure ahead with the big Weyland-Yutani logo emblazoned on the wall, its yellow and blue faded by the elements. “Wayluntani.”

  “Dammit, Jack, I told you, remember? This is a Weyland-Yutani shake-and-bake colony and I got a friend works here. Remember? Don’t go having one of your goddamned panic attacks now, you hear me?”

  “Yuh-yeah, Enzo, yeah. I forgot you told me. Suh-sorry. It’s just, y’know, it scared me for a second, there, that, you know, we might run into some MetCon.”

  His fear suddenly gone, Bates’s voice became a whimper. The poor, stupid son of a bitch.

  He was Jaeger’s only friend on the Tartarus, a mountain of a man with astonishing strength, which was, he assumed, the reason the other prisoners steered clear of him and seemed to fear him. Jaeger had befriended him shortly after being incarcerated on the prison ship because he was the biggest guy there and everybody seemed afraid to get near him. He was a big badass, that was Jaeger’s only interest in him; he did not expect to like him or even want to like him.