Alien, p.9
Alien, page 9
“What about Miriam?” Angela demanded. “We can’t just leave her!”
Before Zula could answer, a loud smack cut through the air, and Brenna flew sideways. She sailed three meters before hitting the ground, losing her grip on her rifle. It skittered away, well out of her reach.
The other trainees began firing at the spot where their teammate had been standing a moment earlier, but the rounds only struck a half dozen plasteel canisters lined up in a row. The Hider must have moved immediately after striking, and there was no telling where it was now.
Brenna’s voice came over Zula’s comm.
“Damn, that hurt!”
The woman sat up and held her left hand against her right side. The Hider had claws, just like the alien lifeform on which it was based, but it hadn’t been programmed to use them on the trainees. Had that safety feature been overridden as well?
“Brenna, how badly injured are you?” Zula asked.
“A couple bruised ribs. I’ll live.”
“You’d better,” Zula said. “Ray, help Brenna. The rest of you close ranks, with your weapons aimed outward. Kick up some dust. If it adheres to the Hider, you’ll be able to see where it’s at. Save your ammo until you know you have a bead on it. I’ll see to Miriam. Oh, and try not to hit us, okay?”
With that, Zula turned and started toward the fallen cadet. It was difficult to move with any real speed while wearing an EVA suit, but she could cover ground quickly by using a kind of shuffling-hop gait. She gritted her teeth, expecting to feel the Hider strike her any second, but the blow never came, and she reached Miriam safely. She knelt, took hold of the woman’s left wrist, and pressed a control on the small console embedded in her suit.
The suit’s onboard computer did a quick systems check and displayed the results on the miniature screen. Miriam’s suit integrity remained at one hundred percent. She’d hit the ground hard, but thankfully the impact hadn’t ruptured the suit’s protective gear. Zula tapped another control, and Miriam’s vital signs appeared on the screen. She was still breathing, her heart still beat, and that was good enough for now.
At the sound of rifle fire, she turned to see that Genevieve and Donnell were spraying rounds through the air to their right, in the direction of the crane. Bullets pinged off the equipment, but as near as Zula could tell none of the rounds struck the Hider. The trainees kicked up some dust, as she’d suggested, but with no results. There was no sign of the Hider.
Even if by some chance they managed to hit the bot, they couldn’t assume it would respond as it should, and shut down. The Hider’s metal surface was resistant to weapon fire, and it would take a lot more rounds to damage it than if it were an organic creature. As far as they were concerned, it was virtually indestructible.
Ray brought Brenna back to the group, carrying her in his arms. Zula tapped her wrist console to boost her comm signal. She tried to recall the transport driver’s name. Elias? Elliot? Something like that. She decided to go with the first name that had come to her.
“Elias? This is Zula. Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear. What’s up?”
“We’ve run into a situation, and need immediate extraction.”
“On my way,” he said. There was a growl in the distance as the transport’s engine came to life. The vehicles weren’t designed for speed, though, so it would take Elias several minutes to get there. In the meantime, the malfunctioning Hider would continue stalking its prey.
“Come on,” Nicholas said. “We have to do what Zula said and get to the other side of the Junkyard.”
“No!” Ronny said, and the other trainees turned to look at him. Since rejoining the group he’d been uncharacteristically silent. “We need to get down as low as we can,” he continued. “We need to make ourselves look as nonthreatening as possible.”
Zula frowned. Somehow Ronny knew what was going on here, and that meant there was a good chance his advice was solid.
“Do as he says,” she commanded. As she began to follow his instructions, he motioned for her to remain standing.
“No,” he said. “Stay ready.”
She hesitated, then complied.
The other trainees looked skeptical, but when Ronny dropped to the ground and spread out his arms and legs to flatten himself, his comrades did the same. He kept a tight grip on his weapon, though. Brenna had a difficult time getting into position because of her injured ribs, but she managed. Miriam was already down and unconscious, so assuming Ronny was right, the woman was safe.
Then a new thought dawned.
“What about me, Ronny?” she said. “Why didn’t you want me to get down?”
“Because it won’t help,” he said. “Not for you.”
A chill rippled down Zula’s back. Without a word she put her back to the rest of the group, raised her rifle, and began firing at the ground in front of her, moving the barrel back and forth in a semicircle. A cloud of dust rose into the air—far larger than that which the trainees had managed to kick up—and Zula watched closely.
To her left something interrupted the dust. Zula swung her rifle in that direction and began firing on full auto. A cacophony of metallic pings filled the air, and sparks flared from where her rounds struck the Hider. She kept the pressure up, expending ammo at a furious rate, hoping that she’d eventually trip the bot’s deactivation function. One of the rounds must have damaged the camouflage tech—which had been integrated into its metallic “skin”—and that began to fail. Bit by bit the creature appeared, part of its chest here, part of a leg there, until finally it became entirely visible.
Unlike the other bots, its surface wasn’t smooth but covered with thousands of tiny scale-like plates. It was these scales which allowed it to bend light, and Zula’s gunfire had damaged so many that the thing was now covered with tiny dents. The four legs supporting its body were segmented like an insect’s, and it possessed a tail. A pair of forearms jutted from its trunk and terminated in hands with long, scythe-like claws. Its head was an oval, the size of a child’s, which looked strange perched atop such a large body. There were no facial features other than a rectangular lens positioned where its eyes should be.
Zula didn’t wait for the bot to attack her. Now that she could see it, she’d know when it was coming at her. Her first priority was to draw the thing away from Miriam and the other trainees, in case Ronny was wrong about their being safe.
She started shuffle-hopping as fast as she could, and made it past the Hider a split second before it sliced one of its clawed hands through the air. It moved more slowly than she expected, and she wondered if she’d managed to damage more than its camouflage function. She hoped so. As she moved, she saw Ray and Angela start to rise to their feet, most likely so they could start firing at the Hider themselves.
“Stay down!” she ordered. She appreciated the gesture, but this was her battle now, and she didn’t want them to risk themselves.
The two hesitated, and for an instant Zula thought they were going to disobey her, but they got back down on the ground, neither of them looking too happy about it.
She moved away from the trainees as fast as the EVA suit allowed her. One thing she had going for her was that the Hider wasn’t built for speed. Camouflage was its main weapon, making it an ambush hunter instead of a creature that ran its prey to ground. If she’d been facing a Sprinter right now, she’d likely be dead.
Heading in the direction of the earth mover, she couldn’t tell how close the Hider was. The EVA suit didn’t allow her to turn and look over her shoulder, and the helmet blocked all but the loudest sounds. The bot was built to move silently—enabling it to sneak up on its prey—so it could be right on her tail and she wouldn’t know it. In her mind’s eye she saw it close behind her, claw-hands swinging in vicious arcs as it attempted to catch hold of her and bring her down.
One strike would be all it would take, and the Hider would be on her, hacking away with those claws until there was nothing left of her but bone and shreds of bloody meat. With an effort she forced the images away. The fear of death was a soldier’s greatest enemy. Fear made her doubt herself, made her hesitate, and that would get her killed. She remembered something one of her drill instructors had told her.
“Don’t do your enemy’s work for them.”
When she judged she was far enough away from the others, she spun around and raised her rifle. The Hider was roughly fifteen feet behind her—she’d managed to put more distance between them than she’d expected—and she gripped the trigger in front of the weapon’s magazine and fired. While the trainees’ weapons held no grenades, she had a full complement. The explosive struck the Hider in the center of its chest, and detonated.
The bot’s torso exploded in a blast of fire, and fragments of metal and electronic components flew through the air. The oval head and the scythe-clawed arms went in three different directions and hit the ground with a trio of hard thuds. The back end with its four legs remained more or less intact. The impact of the explosion drove the Hider to the ground, and it fell to its side, legs flailing and sparks shooting from the ragged opening in its chest.
Zula was tempted to fire another grenade at the damned thing, to finish it off, but its leg motions slowed, the sparks died away, and it was still.
She had been holding her breath, and released it in a shaky exhalation. Glancing toward the trainees she saw they were rising to their feet. They looked at her in awe, as if not quite able to believe what they’d just witnessed.
Except Ronny. He couldn’t meet her eyes.
Zula lowered her rifle. They were going to have a very interesting debriefing session when they got back to the Lodge.
8
Hassan opened his eyes.
This time he saw ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights. The illumination made his head hurt, so he closed his eyes again.
Better.
As he lay there—unsure exactly where he was—he tried to organize his chaotic thoughts. Yesterday he had been working on a cooling unit in the Comm Center. He’d lingered over the job so he could spend more time flirting with one of the comm techs, a beautiful Indian woman named Haima. She hadn’t seemed that into him at first, but they’d gotten friendlier as time passed, and he thought there was a decent chance she might agree to have a drink with him. He planned to wait a day or two before asking her, though. He didn’t want to come across as overeager.
He remembered finishing the job and leaving the Comm Center, but everything after that was a jumble. Had there been a message waiting for him when he returned to his quarters? He thought so, but he couldn’t—
It all came back in a rush. The message from Dr. Gagnon’s assistant, inviting him to participate in an experiment. Going to the lab, being drugged, waking up in an enclosed chamber with… something. He couldn’t quite remember what. Some kind of thing.
He remembered darkness, remembered not being able to breathe… His eyes shot open, and he put his hands to his face. His features were unobstructed, and he could see and breathe easily. His mind raced. He wanted to believe that the smothering sensation had been nothing more than a dream, but he knew better. The memory was too vivid.
Disoriented, heart pounding in his ears, he looked around, trying to figure out where he was. At first, he thought he was in the same chamber where the… the thing had been, but this place was different. It was a larger room, with a hospital bed upon which he currently sat, an empty side table, and a vid screen on the wall.
Looking down, he saw that his clothes had been removed, replaced with a blue hospital gown. He touched his forehead and chest and found the sensor pads that Brigette had placed on him. Then he realized where he was. He’d spent enough time in this room, or one like it, when he’d volunteered as one of Gagnon’s medical test subjects. There was no window here, but he knew from previous experience that there was a miniature camera built into the vid screen.
He was still in Gagnon’s lab, and he was being observed.
A moment later the vid screen activated and displayed an image of Brigette’s face.
“I’m glad to see you’re awake, Hassan,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
He ignored the question.
“What the hell did you do to me?”
Her eyes flicked to one side.
“Your heart rate and blood pressure are both elevated, but that’s to be expected, given what you’ve been through. They’re still within normal range, however.”
“Where’s Gagnon?” he demanded. “I want to talk to him.”
“The doctor is unavailable at the moment. He’s examining the creature which emerged from the egg. I’m very excited to learn what he discovers. It’s such a fascinating specimen.”
Creature? Egg?
“Is that how you see me, too?” Hassan asked. “As just another goddamned specimen?” Brigette might have been a synthetic, but she flinched at his words, then returned to her previous question.
“How are you feeling?” she said. “Please answer this time. It’s important.”
“Because you and Gagnon wouldn’t want to miss even the tiniest bit of data, would you?”
Brigette stared from the screen, but didn’t respond.
Hassan was furious with what Gagnon had done to him, but at least the situation had returned to one with which he was familiar. That helped him get a grip on his panic. He’d volunteered for medical experiments before, with only the vaguest notion of what would be required of him. Gagnon had infected him, then sat back to watch the effects. Hassan had come through those other tests fine—more or less.
He told himself he would get through this, too.
And when he did, the financial benefits would be worth everything he’d endured. So he just needed to lie back, relax, and let whatever Gagnon had infected him with run its course. He made himself a promise, though—when the testing was done, and Hassan was released, he would never volunteer for one of Gagnon’s experiments again, no matter how many credits the bastard offered.
Lying back on the bed, he closed his eyes. “I feel normal. No, better than normal. I feel good, like I’ve just had a full night’s sleep and I’m ready to take on anything the day brings.”
It was true. He felt more than rested—he felt restored and rejuvenated, better than he had in years. He hadn’t felt this good since he’d been in his early twenties. Who needed a vacation?
“Can you describe your mental state in greater detail?” Brigette asked.
Eyes still closed, Hassan thought for a moment.
“Content,” he said. “At ease. I was upset when I first woke, but I’m way more relaxed now.” It was as if he’d been injected with a mood-elevating drug, instead of a disease. Who knows? he thought. Maybe Gagnon’s testing some kind of antidepressant. Allah knew there was need for one on Jericho 3.
Depression was common among those who worked in space. Long periods confined in close quarters, extended separation from family and friends, and—thanks to the cryo-sleep during long voyages—the feeling that time was passing them by. That they were out of sync with the rest of the universe.
People frequently self-medicated with combinations of alcohol, drugs, sex, gambling… but if Gagnon had discovered something that made people feel this good, it would be the only narcotic they’d ever need. He had to work on a method of synthesizing the substance, though, making it into a pill or an injection. No matter how good you felt in the end, the current delivery method really sucked.
“Interesting,” Brigette said. “The foreign body inside of you is causing a rise in your endorphin levels. Perhaps this is a self-defense mechanism. The better the host feels, the less likely that he or she will believe anything is wrong. They’ll continue to go about their business, and not even think about seeking treatment. It’s quite an elegant adaption.”
Foreign body? Hassan didn’t like the sound of that, but he felt too good to worry about it.
He dozed in and out for a time after. Occasionally, Brigette asked him another question, and he roused himself long enough to answer before dropping off again. Somewhere in the back of his mind he understood that something was happening inside him. He could sense it. His brain sent a warning, but he was too calm to listen.
Pain.
His eyes snapped open an instant before he felt the first stab in the center of his chest. It was almost as if his subconscious had known it was coming, and had tried one last time to sound an alarm—but it was too late. A second jolt hit, and he cried out. He sat up and slapped a hand to his chest.
There was something there.
Brigette’s face was still on the vid screen. She turned away and called out for Gagnon.
“Doctor! You need to see this!”
A third pulse of agony struck him, this one worse than the first two combined. The sound that escaped his mouth was closer to a scream of agony.
Gagnon appeared on the vid screen then, and Brigette stepped back to make room for him, although she remained visible over his shoulder. Hassan was glad he could still see her. She might be a synth, but she was a far friendlier face—and in a strange way more human—than the doctor.
Gagnon spoke to Brigette without taking his eyes off Hassan.
“Make sure the sensors are reading everything.”
Brigette hesitated for an instant, and Hassan thought he saw pity in her gaze. He told himself it wasn’t possible—that synths could only simulate human emotions—but the emotion seemed real, and he took what comfort he could from it.
It wasn’t much.
Brigette moved off screen then, and Gagnon leaned closer, speaking into the camera.
“The sensor pads are transmitting data, but they can’t tell us what you are experiencing. Only you can do that, Hassan. So tell me—how does it feel?”
How does it feel? Hassan thought. You sick bastard. He realized then that Gagnon hadn’t put a virus in him. He’d infected him with something far worse. Some kind of parasite that had grown inside him, using his body as an incubator… and nourishment. The thing, whatever it was, was moving around, and it was ready to emerge.
