Prologue 15 page

Kozlowski lifted her rifle and aimed at its head.

It still came forward.

Henrikson's blasts joined hers, and the thing's head burst asunder like a ripe melon.

They backpedaled to avoid the spurting acid, and the great queen mother writhed and spasmed in its death throes.

Kozlowski stepped forward, looking down at the massive thing.

Fortunately it had come far enough that it hadn't spoiled its own jelly.

"Right," she said. "Too bad about Begalli. Let's get this tank loaded out of here, quick."

She jumped over to the vehicle and pulled out the vacuum tap. This bit was going to be the easy part.

Only when the cargo drone's tank was topped off, did Kozlowski pull the tap out of the membrane. There was lots more jelly, but they just couldn't take it.

"I hope this will be enough," she said sardonically.

"Yes," said Grant. "Yes. It will have to do, I suppose."

"Something wrong, Grant?"

"I think you know what's troubling me." The man sighed deeply. "Besides, I don't get it. Only a few people knew about the alien incubation project. If Begalli didn't sabotage it, who did?"

Casually, Alex Kozlowski grabbed ahold of her rifle. She'd been thinking about that very same thing.

And she didn't care for what was floating up on her mental screen.

She was about to turn when Henrikson's voice sounded behind them.

"Thank you, folks. That looks just fine," he said. "Please drop your weapons. This close, one blast of this rifle can deal with you both."

“Henrikson?" said Grant. He knelt and put his rifle down behind him. "You?"

"That's right, Grant. MedTech pays a lot better than the marines. Damned interesting ride, too. Been enjoying myself." He motioned with the tip of his rifle. "Come on, Colonel—sir. Get that pretty finger off the trigger and set your gun down."

She obeyed. "You're going to kill us and leave us here, aren't you?"

"Absolutely. And no one will be the wiser. And by the time we get back to Earth, a goodly part of this royal jelly will be siphoned off—and some of the DNA samples will be gone as well. Just in case... I daresay, once it's been announced you've been killed in action, your creaky empire will be up for grabs. And the Neo-Pharm scientists will pretty much disperse... The best ones bought up by MedTech."

"I checked your credentials, dammit. They were spotless!" said Kozlowski. She knew there was somebody giving them trouble, but she'd always felt that she could contain any problems. She thought she'd read this guy, that he was straight as an arrow. He'd given absolutely no previous sign of disloyalty.

"Hey! You've got an eminently corruptible bunch you're working for, Kozlowski." The man was grinning maliciously now, savoring his victory.

"What! Are you really a synth, Henrikson?" said Grant, clearly just as shocked as Kozlowski at this turn of events. And no wonder. Henrikson had been Grant's main man, his apple polisher. He'd brought him down to show him the alien incubation. There'd been a trustworthiness about the guy. A big brotherness.

Why hadn't they seen through him, dammit, she thought.

"C'mon. I'm no synth! If I were a synth, I could have taken those Xeno-Zips with absolutely no effect!" He nodded over to the royal jelly. "I avoid the crap."

"But... but I trusted you." said Grant. "I've got such a good nose for this kind of thing."

The grin got broader. "There's where MedTech has got your company beat all to hell, Grant. Every day I douse myself in a special pheromone, designed specifically for leader types to sniff. Makes you trust me, gives type A's like you confidence in big guys like me. That's why the other grunts didn't care for me... they weren't the kind that like this pheromone. You guys bought it!"

"But you've risked your life with all the rest of us... You've been a damned good soldier!" said Grant.

"Yes, I have, and I've had a good time, too, folks, let me tell you. I am a soldier. A soldier of fortune. I raid alien nests with buddies for money. I'm an independent and damned good at it. Only there's more money in this for me than I'd ever dreamed of—and I get to see the stars, too." He shrugged. "Don't look for anything deeper here. That's all there is."

"But the death of the alien baby... that pod... the sabotage... it just doesn't add up."

"Sure it does, Grant. I caused confusion. I hurt the program, and I pretty much framed poor old Begalli. Fact, when I get back with this liquid gold here, that's what I think I'm going to tell them. Yeah. 'It was Begalli, guys. He's dead now, though, along with poor old Grant and Kozlowski. Boo hoo. Mission complete. Now let's get the hell out of here.' You see. Piece of cake."

He started laughing.

Unless she acted, they'd be dead within seconds.

However, since they'd all taken off their helmets, there might be a shred of hope here.

Without a further thought, Kozlowski dived for her rifle. She scooped it up, put her finger under the trigger.

And was blasted by the quadruple barrels of Henrikson's weapon.

Grant watched in horror as the blast hit Kozlowski's left thigh. She spun around and fell hard onto the ground.

The next thing Grant knew, he was on top of Henrikson. The man had been swerving his rifle for the coup de grace—but Grant's fist sailed into the man's bare face with a solid impact before he could pull the trigger again.

Where that had come from, Grant didn't know. But it felt so good that he found himself doing it again.

The attack surprised Henrikson so much he clearly wasn't sure what to do. To defend himself at close quarters he'd have to drop the rifle. But Kozlowski wasn't dead yet, and to give up the weapon meant certain defeat. He lifted his other arm—but Grant countered.

And nailed him with another punch.

Thank God he'd worked out regularly! He hadn't done it for fights. He'd done it for his self-confidence and for the ladies. But his reflexes were good, and it had all paid off.

The blows had opened up Henrikson's face. He bled from the nose and from the mouth, and he went down like a fighting suit full of potatoes.

Grant kicked the rifle away from him, and then booted him in the head again. Hard.

"Unnnh!"

The lights in those bright blue eyes dimmed.

"You don't smell so good to me anymore, Henrikson!"

A groan from behind him. He picked up Henrikson's weapon, and then went over to Colonel Kozlowski.

"Ooooh," she said. "I think my hip is broken."

Indeed, there was a smoking hole in the overplating of the hip area of the suit, exposing underpart beneath.

"Yes," said Grant. "The underplating of this armor is designed to withstand severe concussions. Still, you're probably right about that hip. You're going to need some help."

He helped her up. "Yeah. Thanks." She cringed. "I'll make it."

"Good."

"Looks like you did a number on Henrikson there. Surprised you didn't take his rifle and blast him."

"Don't think the thought didn't enter my mind. No, if we can get him back, I'll be able to use him to string MedTech up by its dangling prescriptions."

"Sounds good. We go now?"

"We go."

They revived Henrikson with a few slaps across the chops, and then they made sure that he knew which direction their rifles were pointing.

Grant propped Kozlowski up on the sideboard of the drone. She could walk, sort of, but he figured he'd better save that for later.

The suit was getting too heavy for him, so he took off the top.

"Helmets?" she said.

"Forget the helmets. We've got enough weight to slow us down as it is."

"At least stick them up here on the drone, dammit."

"Yes, sir."

He had Henrikson do that. The traitorous corporal performed the task grudgingly, without comment.

"The creatures should be miles from here," said Grant.

They started trudging back the way they'd come, with him keeping a bead on Henrikson while Kozlowski controlled the cargo drone.

They were just at the tunnel opening at the end of the chamber when they heard the rumbling.

"What the hell..." said Henrikson, looking behind. "It's coming from that other tunnel, on the opposite end of the chamber."

"Oh, shit," said Kozlowski.

Grant watched, disbelieving, as an alien ran into view in the dimly illuminated distance.

Followed by another.

Followed by three... four...

A clot of the monsters burst out of the tunnel.

"They must be coming back through another entrance!" said Kozlowski. "They must have sensed the death of their queen, dammit, and started to head back."

"And took a short cut! Well, let's get a move on here. I—"

He'd taken his attention off of Henrikson for one moment—one short moment!—and had been rewarded by the big man, big time.

Henrikson's body plowed into his, knocking Grant down, bashing the rifle from his hands. It clunked down beside him, and Grant grabbed it up again.

Henrikson jumped on top of him and they wrestled for the gun. They were on the other side of the cargo drone, away from any chance of Colonel Kozlowski interceding immediately.

"For chrissake, you asshole," said Grant. "They're almost on top of us."

"I'm gonna make it out of here, Grant," said the big man. "I'm going to be the only one who does."

As they struggled, the bottle of Xeno-Zip fell out of Grant's pocket, cracking open on the alien floor beside him, spilling its contents.

Henrikson was distracted.

Grant used it.

He wrenched the rifle away from the man's hands and whacked the butt across the man's chin.

Stunned, the man fell back.

Kozlowski was limping around at that point, holding a rifle. "Stand back, Grant. I'm going to kill him!" she said, nostrils flaring with anger.

Grant took a look at the groaning Henrikson and the fallen bottle of Xeno-Zip and then at the approaching aliens.

"No," he said. "I've got a better idea."

He scooped up a handful of the pills, and he stuffed them into Henrikson's mouth, holding his hands over the man's lips so he was forced to automatically swallow them.

"Get yourself on the front of that drone, and let's get the hell out of here," he said.

"What...?"

"Let's just say that it's a far, far nobler thing that Corporal Henrikson is going to do today than he's ever done before."

Grant put the rifle down between the Corporal's arms and then he grabbed Kozlowski's arm and helped her over to the lander.

The man's eyes popped open.

Inside he felt as though an atom bomb had just gone off in his brain.

He rolled his head, and saw, just meters away, a horde of charging, hissing aliens.

In his arms was a rifle.

Fire raged through his bloodstream and nervous system. He felt the familiar flight-or-fight response, only flight didn't seem necessary.

Henrikson, after all, was God!

And in his hands was a fistful of lightning bolts.

Grinning, he got up as the aliens approached.

"C'mon, you bastards!" he screamed. "Let's play!"

He'd kill them all.

Then he'd go back up and nail that bastard Grant and that bitch Kozlowski.

Yeah!

The gun in his hand started blazing.

Something was going on down there. Something huge. The motion detectors were going nuts in Private Mahone's hands. And her own internal warning system, her instincts, told her that it was danger, pure and simple.

"Cripes," said Private Dicer, his eyes bulging, a tic working at his mouth. "I can even feel it in my feet!"

Sweat had broken out on the brow of Private Clapton. "Shit, man. What are we going to do?"

"Colonel says if they're not back, we should cut and run. I say we obey orders."

Every cell in Mahone's body agreed. She wanted to run and hide. She was exhausted in every respect but for the terror that had filled her from the very first. This mission was worse than she'd ever imagined.

Something deep inside her though surged up. Something strong inside of her took ahold of her, and she realized that it was as much her as her fear.

"No."

"Say what?" said Clapton.

The rumbling was building.

"Shit, Private, those idiots down there are probably getting torn to pieces. We wait here, and that's just what's going to happen to us," said Dicer.

Dicer started moving away toward the exit, eyes rolling with terror. Clapton started following him.

"You assholes move one more step, I'm going to blast you," she said.

Dicer kept moving and she put a blast a yard short of him, and then aimed in a fashion that they well knew could take them both out with a simple tug of the trigger.

"Jeez, Mahone? Are you crazy? Our asses are in a sling here!" whined Clapton.

"Well then rock in 'em, guys. We're going to stay right here and give aid and succor." Her eyes blazed. "And you know what! I've half a mind to go in after the others."

"You're nuts!"

"I'm looking at my watch here. We've got a good ten minutes to wait this out. I'm just following orders." She grinned. "Just doing my job."

Sweating and fidgeting, the others stopped.

Private Mahone smiled to herself. She was getting something out of this crazy jellybean hunt. She was getting her soul back.

She just hoped she was going to have a future to use it in.

"What happened?" said Mahone. "What the hell's going on down there?"

The three soldiers were still waiting for them patiently where Kozlowski had placed them. Seeing them there was a great relief, a testament to her ability to judge people.

"No time to explain," said Grant. "We've just got to get out of here. There's a batch of aliens coming up through the tunnel."

That was all it took.

The cargo van kept going, rolling along with a few more guards.

Behind them, she could still hear the echoes of Henrikson's blazing gun.

Then it stopped, and there was a shriek the likes of which she'd never heard before.

"If we're lucky, enough of the dead things piled up that they're going to have to clear them out first," said Grant. "C'mon, can't we get this beast to move faster?"

"It's flat out," she said.

Running speed. It would have to do.

It seemed to take forever, but finally they saw the lip of the tunnel's entrance.

They rolled out, and there, like a delightful promise, was the Anteater patiently waiting for them.

With her excitement, Kozlowski could almost ignore the pounding pain in her hip.

She chinned her radio on. "O'Connor! Drop all walls of the perimeter and tell Fitzwilliam to start the engines!" she gasped a breath. "Prepare for an emergency lift-off!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Ellis. Get those guns ready. We're going to have some visitors coming out of that hole too damned quickly. Try and stop them, if you can!"

"Yes, sir."

They hightailed it.

They were halfway there when the aliens started gushing out of the tunnel.

"Now, Ellis!"

"Roger."

The private started blasting. The shells devastated whole sections of the emerging aliens. One blasted the side of the hive, sending down clumps of stuff to crush a few.

But there were so many of the things that they just kept on coming, regardless.

And coming too damned fast.

"Hurry it up!" called Grant.

Fortunately they hit a decline, and gained some speed.

They were almost there.

The ramp had been lowered for them. All they had to do, thought Kozlowski, was make that ramp. Roll up. Get in, and nip off.

That was all.

Grant was running alongside her. "Alex... how's the thigh?"

"Better. Why?"

"I think we can run faster than this drone. We might have to abandon it."

Kozlowski shook her head. "No freaking way, Grant. We came all the way to get this stuff. We're taking it back with us. Do you hear? I for one want to see you take a bath in the shit!"

Grant grunted. "Only in the nude, and only if you'll join me."

"If we're both lucky, Grant. If we're both lucky."

Somehow, they made it to the ramp. The drone rolled up like a champ. "Fold up shop!" cried Kozlowski. "Ellis, get your butt in here."

The hydraulic struts of the ramp started squealing up, hauling up the platform.

Through another door Private Ellis raced in, still clutching his dead friend's saxophone.

"Closing up the guns."

"Damn. We've got nothing to shoot them with now," said Kozlowski, hopping off the cargo drone, letting the side serve as her crutch.

"Engines firing."

"The damned hatch has got to close first!" she cried.

Then, a flicker of nightmare:

Talons, scrambling for a hold on the ramp, coming up now like a castle drawbridge in the face of vandals.

The too-familiar banana-shaped head, the drooling fangs...

A hissing insinuated through the sound of the hydraulics.

Guns raised to shoot the alien scrabbling in.

"No!" cried Kozlowski. "The blood will eat through the door. We won't be able to lift—"

"Hell," said Ellis. "I can't play the stupid thing anyway."

With all his might he threw the saxophone.

Its metal base bashed directly into the alien's head.

Bonk!

The creature was knocked off the door, and it closed, tightly and firmly, no alien blood acid eating through it.

The lander rumbled and throbbed, and Kozlowski could feel its rockets kicking off this foul planet's dust with fiery disgust.