And, of course, we don’t want the feds to get their own specimen. This guy Massey has his orders and he’s the best there is—he will do whatever it takes to stop them.
You probably have heard that Research got its hands on a guy salvaged from a cargo express, one of ours, fortunately, with one of the big nasty embryos wrapped around his face. The ship was cold, systems dead, but somehow this thing had kept him in stasis, almost as if he’d been in a sleep tank. Hell, that alone is worth a fortune if we can figure out how the hell it did it.
Anyway, both the crewman and the bug on his face were still alive, so they’ve been brought to the Houston labs for analysis. We’re still way ahead of the feds on this, and already geared up for full-scale testing. Start figuring out ways to spend your bonus, Joel, we’re all going to get rich off this one. That’s it on the main deal. There’s some other stuff in this memo the psycho boys are concerned about, so I’ll let you get to it. See you for lunch Tuesday—Ben.)
FILE EXCERPT—MEDICAL—Case #23325—Maria Gonzales Patient is a 24 y/o unmarried WD, WN female Caucasian Hispanic, gravida 0, complaining of nightmares. Physical examination unremarkable, no known allergies, PH of illness limited to minor URIs, occasional general malaise, broken L. fibula, age 09. Laboratory workups, including SMA-60, CBC, urinalysis, CAT scan, all within normal limits. Patient has ten-year BC implant, no other medications. DR. RANIER: Maria, tell me about the dream. GONZALES: Okay, okay, I’m ridin’ on the subway in L.A. with my mother—RANIER: Your mother died several years ago? GONZALES: Si, cancer, (pause) We’re on the Wilshire tube going into downtown and the tube is empty except for us. (pause—laugh) That’s the really scary part, you know? I never seen an empty subway car. RANIER: Go on.
GONZALES: So all of a sudden there is this loud noise, like something hits the roof of the subway. Then a scraping sound. RANIER: Scraping? GONZALES: (agitated) Yeah, like something digging, you know? But it’s also like fingernails on metal, (pause) [Examiner’s Note: Patient exhibits increasing nervousness, marked diaphoresis, pallor.]
Anyway, then the train stops and I realize that something is trying to get in. Something bad. So I say to my mother, Mama, come on, we have to get out of here! But Mama, she just sits there and smiles at me, you know? (pause) Then all of a sudden the roof tears open like it’s paper and these things claw right into the car. Like nothing I’ve ever seen, they are bestia, como se dice? monsters, with teeth and big heads like bananas. I reach for Mama to pull her with me, only she turns into one of the things, her face stretches! It is too horrible! And it feels so… real.
Case #232337—Thomas Culp DR. MORGAN: What happened after the holovee came on?
CULP: Well, the room looked distorted, twisted, somehow, (pause) Then something like, came out of the set, but it stretched the usual stopping place of the holograms. Like a fist shoving through a sheet of flexiplast. And then the thing—some kind of monster—it grabbed me. I couldn’t move a fucking muscle! It opened its mouth, had teeth as long as my fingers, and inside was like another mouth, smaller, and it opened, and, oh, Buddha! It got me and I couldn’t fucking move!
Case #232558—T M. Duncan DUNCAN: So I was standing next to the flight attendant, hitting on her a little, and then I noticed she looked familiar, like somebody I knew.
DR. FRANKEL: Familiar? Did you recognize her?
DUNCAN: Yeah, it took a second. She looked like my mother. So I figure, well, I shouldn’t be trying to come on to my mother, then all of a sudden, her chest tore open and this thing looked like a snake or a big eel with a lot of teeth comes out, spewing blood and all and flew, fucking flew out of her right at my face! (pause) That’s when I woke up, and man, I was never so glad in my life to be awake. I stayed up for two days.
Case #232745—C. Lockwood LOCKWOOD: It was wet, slick with blood, shiny, hard, like some kind of giant dick with teeth and it wanted to jam itself into me!
In his office, Qrona waved his computer to hold and turned to his assistant. “Interesting. All from within a fifty-klick area, you said?”
“Yessir. And the medicomp has collected a dozen other similar reports.”
“What have the patients in common?”
“High ratings on the Cryer Scale and at least double digits on the Emerson Empathic.”
“Ah. And the descriptions are identical?”
“Virtually identical.”
“Etiology?”
“Unknown. Best guess the medicomp can come up with is some kind of telepathic or empathic projection. Perhaps it is how the things communicate among themselves and perhaps they are trying to communicate with us.”
“Hmm,” Orona said. He frowned. “Our data so far do not indicate that the aliens are particularly intelligent, per se. And we’ve kept a pretty tight lid on this thing. And yet here we are having a wave of spontaneous… connections of some kind. Why now? And why here on Earth? There aren’t any aliens here.”
The computer readout over the bed carried a full-ride telemetry chart. The patient, Likowski, James T, lay in the pressor grip of a state-of-the-art Hyper-dyne Systems Model 244-2 Diagnoster. His EEG, ECG, myotonous level, basal metabolic rate, systems mitosis rates, and full blood counts flowed in continuous waves, words, and patterns across the monitor. Blood pressure, respiration, and pulse rate were noted and logged. The diagnoster checked and corrected the temperature so the patient was not too cold nor too hot. The IV shunt in his left femoral vein fed him the perfect liquid mix of nutrients for optimum health. An indwelling Foley catheter and rectal drain carried away wastes. The company had spared no expense when it came to taking care of this particular patient. The clean room was under Full Isolation Technique, and all visitors, medical or corporate, wore full osmotic surgical suits with their own air supply. The south wall was mirrored one-way, and observers could see the patient directly through the triple-paned glass should they choose. Seven doctors formed the main care team, with six medical technicians working in shifts as monitors, plus eighteen guards and a Full Alert status for the entire wing of the mediplex. Likowski, James T., was not going anywhere, nor was anybody not cleared coming to see him.
Two men stood in the observation room, watching the patient. One was tall, fair, almost bald, and brilliant. He was Tobias Dryner, M.D., T.A.S., Ph.D., and the team leader. The other man was shorter, darker, hairier, and not quite so smart, but hardly stupid. He was Louis Reine, also M.D., T.A.S., but without the extra doctorate in biosystems. Still, he was a company man and a vice president in the Biomed Division, which counted for a lot. Dryner was in charge of the patient, but Reine was in charge of the project.
“How is he?” Reine asked.
Dryner waved his hand over a motion-sensitive control. “Listen for yourself.”
The audio came on: “—somebody tell me what the hell is going on? What happened? I want to talk to my wife. Goddammit, why am I here? I feel fine! Just a little stomachache is all, I don’t need all this crap!”
Dryner waved his hand again and the sound faded. He moved to a Magnetoencephalo axial holographic viewer away from the glass wall and stroked a control. The screens lit with the MAH scan, showing a man at quarter-scale. The image blurred, shifted, and the skin and overlying muscles faded to show the internal organs. The image began to rotate slowly on its axis. Dryner touched another control. Under the man’s ribs, inside the stomach, the alien fetus glowed a computer-enhanced green.
“Give me a full size on the CE image,” Dryner ordered.
The alien grew fourfold.
“Interesting,” Reine said, watching as the image turned. “No wonder he has a stomachache.”
“It is drawing small amounts of blood from a minor artery, here,” Dryner said, pointing at the image with one finger. “Otherwise, it’s not damaging him. The rate of growth is phenomenal. If this were a human baby, it would come to term in a matter of days, not months. The physiology is impossible; it can’t be getting enough nourishment from him. Must be consuming stores of some kind, either that
or one devil of a miraculous metabolic system.”
“Looks something like a kidney bean with teeth,” Reine observed. “Ugly bastard.” A pause. “Does the pilot know it’s in there?”
“As such, no. He feels a certain amount of discomfort. We have done a neural stimulation to up his own endorphin and enkephalin levels so he isn’t feeling pain, merely pressure. We didn’t want to risk drugging the parasite with something that might harm its system.”
“Good idea.”
“Of course, there are some ethical questions as to whether we should inform the patient, given the ultimate prognosis.”
“Your opinion?”
“Well, we are studying a new life form. Behavior of the host organism could be important. Perhaps certain hormonal secretions would be altered if the patient knew. The effect of such changes on the parasite could be detrimental or beneficial—it is hard to say. Offhand, the Chemistry boys guess that an increase in epinephrine would probably accelerate the thing’s growth.”
“You mean that if he knows the thing is going to chew its way out and kill him when it comes to term he’d probably be scared shitless and the bug would like that?”
“It is possible.”
Reine sighed. “This thing could be worth billions, you know that? And the pilot is living on borrowed time. He has family?”
“A wife and two children.”
“They’ll get the company policy?”
“Of course.”
“Then tell him.”
Red wadded up the hard-copy security fax and tossed it in a hook shot at the disposal unit. The thin sheet of plastic hit the field as it fell toward the mouth of the unit and vaporized with a yellow flash and a thin pop!
The door to the office opened and Green entered. The two men smiled at each other. Green said, “Read the fax from Houston?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I put out a few rumors, very hush-hush. Quan Chu Lin’s people practically came all over themselves to make offers. He’s willing to give us top credit for an exclusive if this pans out even half as good as I painted it.”
Red snickered. “His ass. We can bootstrap this sucker up so high that Quan Chu’s money will look like pocket lint.”
“That’s what I figured. But it doesn’t hurt to bait the waters a little. Get the sharks all roiled up and ready to bite each other for a taste of what we can feed “em.”
“Right about that, pal. I’m already shopping for a house on Maui. Maybe I’ll buy myself a ship and do the Belt next summer, what do you think?”
Green laughed. “Why not? You’ll be able to afford it. Me, I’m thinking about getting one of the new Hyperdyne 129-4s—the love slave model.”
“A pleasure droid? Nice. If your wife will let you.”
“What the hell, maybe I’ll get her one, too. That way she’ll be so busy, she won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Both men laughed. If this went the way it should, it would be as good as winning the lottery. At least.
13
Salvaje lay on the whore’s bed, watching the naked woman hang panties on the line strung across the end of the room. The apartment was a basic-dole unit in a high rise and the hot wind from the open window rose from the floors below, carrying with it the stench of too many people crammed into too small a space. Cooked vegetables and sweat and broken toilets added their odors to the stink.
The naked whore was pregnant, seven months along, at least, and carrying a hefty fetus from her look. Her implant had failed and she’d decided to have the baby. There was a nice market for healthy ones; people came down from the north who wanted a newborn without having to bear it themselves. She could get six months pay, easy. Besides, she knew there were some men who found something appealing about pregnant women. Not what he found appealing, but something.
Salvaje stared at her, an eagle watching a tasty mouse.
The whore finished hanging her underwear up. She turned toward him. He was also naked.
“Dios, is that all you gonna do, is watch me? You don’ wan’ to, you know, let me do something for you?” She formed a circle with her hand and moved it as a man would if masturbating. Then she touched her lips with a fingertip, her pubic hair with the other hand.
“No,” he said. “I want to watch you. And I want you to tell me about how it feels to have a fife inside of you.”
The whore shrugged. “It’s your money.”
“Yes, it is. Come here.”
She moved toward him on the bed, sat. He put one hand on her belly, under a pendulous breast. “You know the miracle of carrying life,” he said. “It must be wonderful.”
She laughed. “Oh, yeah, it’s won’erful, okay. My back hurts, my feet swell all up, I got to go pee twelve, fifteen times a day and night. The baby kicks me so hard it almost knocks my pants off sometimes. Won’erful.”
“Tell me more,” he said. He felt himself stirring. Yes. She carried nothing more than a bastard whose father was a paying customer—he doubted the whore even knew or cared who had put it into her—but even so, she was closer to knowing than he was. He envied her, and until the Messiah arrived, this was as close as he could come to finding out how it felt.
She grinned at his erection. “Ah,” she said, misunderstanding. “You want to know what it’s like, okay, I tell you. I make it good for you. The best.”
Later, as Salvaje reached the door to his own apartment, Pindar the technician slogged through the rain toward him.
“Where have you been, I’ve been waiting here almost a fucking hour!”
“I’ll pay you for your time, don’t worry.”
“My time is exactly what I am worried about,” Pindar said. “Like, where I am going to be spending it if I get caught doing this? You are getting kind of famous, you know. The G-boys have a monitoring team working to find you. Something is going on, something more than the usual sweep for somebody doing pirate “casts. What are you into, here, Salvaje?”
Salvaje opened the door and the two of them moved in out of the rain. “They fear me,” he said. “Because of my message.”
“Ratshit,” Pindar said. “There are a hundred like you breaking into the nets every day. They preach about everything from pure water to group sex being the way to God. The TCC doesn’t work up a sweat trying to run them down, but somehow you rate a full-scale investigation. They want you bad. I have been questioned.”
“And you told them.…?
“Nothing, you think I’m stupid? They can bury a man so deep nobody can find him again. But I want to know what I’m into here. Why are you so important?”
“I told you, my message.”
“Listen—”
“No, you listen! You are nothing, you are an insect! The Messiah is coming! I am a tool of the incarnate god and I will not be slowed by such as you. If you need something to fear, then fear me, technician. I have eyes and ears everywhere, and if you fail to serve me, there will be no hole deep enough to hide you from my retribution, do you understand?”
Pindar shook his head and started to turn away.
Salvaje grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around, and shoved him so hard the man fairly flew backward to slam into the wall.
“Fuck!”
“If you do anything to thwart my broadcasts I will see to it that you die in a way more horrible than anything you can possibly imagine! Do you understand?”
The technician’s eyes went wide with sudden fear. “Yeah, yeah, okay, okay! It’s just getting dangerous, that’s all I wanted to say. It’ll cost—”
“I care not what it costs! The time is almost upon us. The message must continue. My organization is formed, I have hundreds, thousands, who do my bidding without knowing who I am, but I need the message to go forth!”
Pindar stared at Salvaje. Salvaje felt nothing but contempt for the technician. He was weak, cowardly, fearing of things that had no meaning. The Messiah would have no use for such as this. None at all.
Onboard the Bionational ship K-0
14 somewhere in the nowhen and nowhere of hypershift, Massey spoke to his crew of androids. They were experimental models with short lifespans and were definitely expendable. The company had made up just this one batch with their particular modifications, and if word got out how they’d been altered, the company would have to do some fast singing and dancing to explain it. The androids could have been programmed with the mission before leaving Earth, but Massey was not one to take chances. By keeping it to himself, risk was minimized. You couldn’t pry an answer from somebody who didn’t have it, and Massey could snuff his own life if he were ever captured, leaving only questions.
Massey stood in front of the holographic wall, images of the government transport ship Benedict floating just behind him. “All right,” he said, “here is our target. There are five main entrances, three emergency hatches, nine service portals, counting the main bay. Our primary entrance will be the number one aft hatch, here.” He pointed at the shimmering image. “Secondary entrance, in the event of blockage, will be the number two forward hatch here. Tertiary entrance will be the number one emergency hatch, here.”
The androids watched, not speaking.
“You will be armed with splatterguns for soft targets only. While these are trained marines, we will have surprise on our side—they are not expecting us. Plus we have other ammunition in our arsenal.
“The crew and marine survivors will be kept alive until we reach our destination, where we will likely have further use for them. Access the tactical computer for your individual assignments, full data base assimilation by 0400 tomorrow. That’s all.”
The android crew sat, still unspeaking. They were, Massey knew, up to the task. There was some risk of failure, a tang of spice, as it were, but Massey did not doubt that he could overcome the slight chance. He had worked out the plan in the finest details, he had covered everything. He was the best there was at this kind of thing, and he would succeed. That was the point, really. Not the money he was paid, not the fortunes the company would make, not the deaths of the androids or the other crew. The thing was, as always, the challenge.
[Aliens 01] - Earth Hive Page 7
