“Tarleton!” she screamed.
There was no answer. Neither did she see the man.
She didn’t see any of his body parts, either. But then again, would she? The earth was burnt out and scorched from the acid and the flamethrowers; there was blood here and there… and pieces of colonial marine uniform… still attached to flesh.
Angela wrapped her arms around the child. She looked back to the marines and the android.
“Heading back!” she cried.
“Incoming!” the android, Tommy II, shouted, lifting his weapon. “Run!” he told her.
She did. Enough for their first excursion down. She was pretty sure that at least one of the three creatures they’d encountered was dead; the other two continued to thrash, legs flying about, teeth and forcibles clicking away.
She ran straight up the stairs, followed by the marines. As she reached the top step and the entrance to the cave, she burst out into the dying light of the day, the child still clutched in her arms, marines behind her, firing, firing…
She heard the sound, that awful sound the Xenomorphs seemed to make, no matter what hybrid creation they might be.
I know that sound, know it far too well, it had haunted far too many of my dreams!
Lieutenant Colonel Simon Nicholson seemed to have come to and gained back some of his senses since she—along with the android and the three marines—had gone into the cave. He was shouting out orders to a new wave of soldiers. “Flamethrowers, flamethrowers!” he ordered.
Angela held the little girl close as she raced toward his command center. When she tried to put the little girl down, the child clung to her. “Jake… Jake… Uncle Warrick went to find him… Jake… my brother, you have to get my brother, and my Uncle Warrick… please. Oh…”
The little girl started to sob.
Holding her, Angela blinked.
Uncle Warrick. So the cop who had come for her had done so with good—and personal—reason. The kids were his nephew and niece. But, he hadn’t offered her up for nothing; he’d known what he was facing. And he’d known that she was a better bet than the Lieutenant Colonel who was still there blustering about…
“Okay, what’s your name?” she asked the child.
“Dublin.”
“Your name is Dublin?”
The little girl nodded solemnly. “They say it was a place.”
“Yes. It was a place. A beautiful place, so I was told,” Angela murmured. “Okay, you have to let me go.”
The child’s hold on her was so tight.
“Dublin, baby. You have to let me go, or I won’t be able to go back in. I won’t be able to find your Uncle Warrick, or your brother.”
“What the fuck?” Lieutenant Colonel Simon Nicholson said suddenly.
Angela swung around; she’d just managed to set Dublin down.
She picked her back up.
The alien centipede-Xenomorphs had discovered the way out of the cave.
They’d killed one; she knew that they had killed one—but there were now several that had spilled out of the cave, great heads atop long bodies with those hundreds of long legs… and the rear of the creatures, seeming to whip around, as if they were scorpion-tailed. And the click-click-click of the forcibles in front of the bodies, beneath the giant heads with the double mouths, and the shimmering sharp teeth that dripped with the saliva of a constant hunger…
She wrenched Dublin off the ground and into her arms, running for one of the marine trucks. She thought about the way that the beings had been killed in the past…
So convenient when you could blast the acid dripping monsters into darkest space!
Think! She told herself, think.
Fire worked, but they needed so much of it!
Marines were running everywhere; fighting…
And dying.
Angela shoved Dublin into the passenger side of a marine trunk. “Stay! Don’t move! Don’t come out!”
Dublin nodded, and then screamed. Angela swung around in time to see one of the Xenomorphs bearing down on her.
She just had time to draw her heavy weapon, to send fire surging toward the creature.
The head caught fire; burned.
The thing screamed in a horrible dance of death just as she looked up; one of the marines who had so bravely followed her had just been skewered by at least four of the legs on one of the creatures.
“What are we going to do, what are we going to do, what are we going to do?” Lieutenant Colonel Nicholson demanded. He was by her side—trying to push by her to get into the vehicle along with the child, Dublin.
Angela ignored him; another of the things was coming toward her, forcibles clicking, teeth shimmering in the glow of the vehicle lights—night was coming fast upon them.
She turned suddenly, catching him by the lapels. “What’s that other cave entrance? More silver?”
He shook his head, staring at her as if he had become crazed. “Salt. Rock salt.”
Salt. Rock salt.
She remembered being a child on a Milky Way planet similar to earth—and the neighbor boy who had thrown rocks at cats and dogs and enjoyed setting lizards on fire.
He’d also poured salt over centipedes and watched while they squirmed and died… Centipedes. Yes, at the heart of it all, they were vulnerable. She’d studied the creatures; she loved the earth, and farming, and animal husbandry.
“Salt!” She screamed the word. “Salt! Tons of it, salt and fire, salt and fire…”
“Yes, ma’am!” Tommy II called out.
The rear end of a centipede Xenomorph-thing was swinging around for her; she ducked and rolled, far away. She was headed for the rock salt cave entrance.
But then she saw him.
The little boy. He must have been a year or two older than his sister. His name, she knew, was Jake.
He had made his way to the entrance. He was alone.
One of the Xenomorphs was headed for him.
Did that mean that Chief Warrick Tarleton was dead? Most likely, she thought, and though she hadn’t known him that well, she was saddened. He’d known the truth. He’d been ready to fight, no matter what the battle. She had been afraid. He had forced her to courage.
“Jake! Get down!” she shouted.
She could see one of them; it had been injured. It was missing several legs.
It still had enough. It was stumbling toward the boy.
Angela raced for it, firing away with her flamethrower. It made a horrible sound. She knew to aim for the head and the eyes. She kept her aim steady.
She almost had it down.
And then…
She ran out. Her flamethrower sputtered. The things were not stupid—no matter what the host creature, they seemed to come out with a frightening level of intelligence.
It started toward her and the boy.
Well, that was it, then. She’d escaped once. And now…
She waved her arms at the creature, running to the left of the boy. “Run, Jake, run. See the Colonial Marine truck over there? Run, the shell is resistant to the acid and fire and bullets. Run, run! And you! Oh, my God, you are ugly! Come here, come here…
She waited. One of the legs would stab through her body any second. The leg would lift her; bear her to the chomping inner mouth of the repulsive beast.
Maybe it was just her turn…
“Go ahead, you bastard!” she cried.
Suddenly, fames whipped before, tearing into the thing. She heard it let out one of its terrible screams.
And she spun around. Chief Tarleton was there; he’d swept up a flamethrower, probably from one of the fallen marines.
“The salt is coming!” he cried.
She stared at him.
Salt! Will it work?
The marines were coming. They were minus their commander—and Cousin Joe.
They were accompanied, though, by the android.
Tommy II.
Tommy was hauling some kind of a massive machine with a great b
ig nozzle. She stared at it, still somewhat in shock, as the man at her side burned down the Xenomorph that had been so very close to ending her life.
It was going down… but others were now peeking out the entrance to the cave.
“Duck!” Warrick called to her. “Duck, roll!”
She fell to the ground; he fell with her, forcing the two of them to roll fast and furiously away, far away from the opening to the cave. From there she saw that the marines had come up with tons and tons of the rock salt; they’d loaded it into the machine with the massive nozzle. The android, Tommy II, leapt up to the controls of the machine.
And he let loose…
Rock salt, hard, loose, started to fly.
And fly and fly and fly in a colorful rain, like hail, like rainbow infused snow flurries… so many minerals were part of the mined rock salt, the colors seemed to be endless. It was almost beautiful, large and small, like hair, like a delicate spray, it flew and flew…
It landed upon the creatures, and in the darkness, they seemed to catch those colors as they screamed in a crescendo, melting like the Witch of the West when she was doused with water.
The marines all about went still, watching.
The night sky seemed to take on the colors.
One by one, they went down. And when they were down, marines rushed over them in waves, burning the remains, chopping them to ribbons with their knives and guns and bayonets.
Tommy II didn’t stop; he drove the machine to the front of the cave. He filled it with rock salt.
It was almost like fireworks.
She stood by the marine truck, next to Warrick Tarleton, and watched.
Bit by bit, the night came to an end.
Tommy II crawled down from the machine.
“Thank you. That was brilliant,” Angela told him.
He smiled. “I can’t lie. I can’t kill human beings. I can’t allow them to die, if it is in my power to stop them dying. You gave me the power.”
She shook her head, waving a hand in the air. “No, no… you knew what you were doing. The marines are good.”
She could go home, she thought. Home to the little house and lovely little farm she had going. They were far, far away from…
No. They were never far, far away from danger. She couldn’t hide from it.
She realized it was over—and the marines were all staring at her.
“Nice, Captain! Nice,” one of the young men called out to her.
“Hoorah!” went up.
She lifted her hands, flushing.
She’d lost what she’d had that morning, she realized. Her life of illusion, where she believed that she could hide, that she could find a world that was safe from all dangers…
Warrick Tarleton was there, too, nodding in grim acknowledgment of the marines—and her.
She turned and saw that there were many body parts here and there. Though a great deal of death had occurred before the creatures were stopped, Lieutenant Colonel Simon Nicholson was still alive and well—and whole.
She thought that he would immediately try to regain control; seize back his authority.
“I didn’t do it! I swear I didn’t do it!”
No, he wanted no control. And Angela believed him.
Chief Tarleton spoke, a protective hand on his nephew’s head, another on his niece’s head.
“Your cousin. Joe Nicholson. Your father brought in the Blue Moon giant centipedes. That would insure that the mines were dug out. But Joe couldn’t let that be enough. You were the one in control—he might have been the better soldier, but you were heir to your dad.”
“My dad… no, really, no…” Simon Nicholson said.
He didn’t believe his own words.
“Maybe Joe was… eaten,” Tommy II said. “I don’t see him…”
“Here he is!”
A pretty young female marine walked up, dragging Joe along with her. “He’s alive; he ran the minute the real action started.”
“Don’t… don’t kill me, don’t kill me, don’t kill me…” the man blubbered.
Chief Tarleton wrenched him by the collar. “You’re under arrest. Sargeant,” he said, addressing the young marine. “If you would see this man to the joint barracks? I believe that what he’s done does call for banishment to a penal colony, but, hell. I’m not judge and jury.”
“Yes, Chief!” the marine said.
Warrick Tarleton was staring across the space at Angela. She smiled crookedly as the marines went about their work.
They saw to their injured.
And their dead.
“Thank you,” Tarleton said to her.
As if they been cued—which, of course, they hadn’t, she would have seem them—the children rushed to Angela, putting their arms around her.
“Thank you! Thank you.”
She nodded ruefully. “So—I’m not under arrest anymore?”
“I knew you’d… well, I knew you’d rise to the occasion. You know, they’re probably going to try to talk you into coming back—into taking command here,” Tarleton told her.
“Maybe… I could be a reserve,” she said. She studied him. “I’m impressed. Joe Nicholson—good old cousin Joe. He got a lot of people killed. He nearly got the kids killed. And yet—you refrained. You didn’t even give him a belt in the jaw. I might have been tempted to do that!”
“If I’d have touched him, I’d have killed him,” Tarleton said. “And…well, I cling to whatever it is that makes us human, that makes us different. That lifts us above… above the creatures. I mean… well, we see evil in some of our own kind, right? Beasts lurk in all of us. But, so does something higher,” he added very softly. “So. I’ll get you home. I mean, the marines will get this under control. I wrenched you away from your farm.”
Still studying the man, she nodded. She liked him. Really liked him. Him, and the damned android—and a lot of the marines. She hadn’t liked anyone that way since…
Since Daniel had died.
But then, she hadn’t known anyone who would take such risks for others since then.
“You’re not moving,” he said. “So, does that bode well for the future of this fine group of marines?”
“Maybe,” she said. “But, you’re right. We need some higher authority. For now…”
She ruffled the kids’ hair and asked, “Are you hungry? I grow really great food on my farm.”
“Hungry?” Jake said. “Starving!”
“If your uncle says it is okay…” Angela murmured.
“It’s okay. I mean, I get to eat, too, right?”
“Sure.”
They walked past the trucks and the fires, back to the hover-car.
“Pretty tricky, though. When you came to get me, you didn’t mention that the children were your niece and nephew,” Angela said.
He gazed over Jake’s head and smiled.
“I try to be noble,” he said, then he lowered his head, smiling, “and, of course, I try to avoid stupidity as well.”
Angela laughed. Her beautiful world, created and false in so many ways, had nearly been destroyed.
But that night…
She thought that there was a new kind of beauty around her. It still existed in a created world. And yet…
It was beautifully real.
HUGS TO DIE FOR
BY MIKE RESNICK AND
MARINA J. LOSTETTER
“Xenomorph blood is one of the most corrosive substances known to Man, ideal for use in construction and cutting. Now that you’ve seen how the Company has perfected its procurement and retainment methodology, we think you’ll agree that its employment here on your base is not only safe, but is indeed quite a boon,” said Mr. Jones, the wide-eyed tour guide, skipping ahead of the small group with his clipboard in hand, eager to reach the final stop on their journey.
“Here we come to the pride and joy of our facility—where the root of the magic happens.” Jones waved grandly at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the “Egg Lab” as t
hey approached. White padded paneling lined the hall outside the lab, and two armed guards stood stoically at its entrance. General Amotz, along with her small security detail of two, nodded respectfully to the men as they passed.
She only half-noticed what Jones said at any given moment. His PR training had been thorough, but was completely lost on a marine of her caliber. Her superiors hadn’t interrupted her leave for a tour of the half-constructed military space station because she needed a good dog-and-pony show. They’d called on her because the task was urgent, and she was the nearest high-ranking official.
Due to recent encounters elsewhere with Xenomorph populations, the Company’s “perfected methods” had come into question, and the Colonial Marines had decided they needed a closer look at the systems being used to construct their base.
So they’d wrangled her an invitation, and assigned poor Ribar and Cortez—who’d also been on leave—as security. Marines on vacation were the only ones close enough which was the reason the base was being constructed here in the first place: there was simply not enough of a permanent military presence nearby.
Inside the lab, robotic arms slid back and forth on thick tracks mounted to the ceiling, operated and monitored by the technicians in the control booth, stationed a short distance away from both the lab and the adjoining “Egg Vault.” They’d finished touring the booth only a few minutes prior, and having seen the contents of the lab on the array of monitors, General Amotz was eager to get a closer look at its contents.
As they drew up close to the windows, Amotz found herself squinting. The light in the hall was blindingly bright, while the bulbs within were dimmed. The black-metal arms moved with an eerie precision, and were jointed in such a way as to appear organic when not properly lit. The ends of several looked like hands, with elongated fingers. Others sported pincers. And one looked like a barbed extremity, flicking back and forth near the edge of the window, right where the hall lights created the greatest glare. It could have easily been a tail, ready to strike, to cut, to stab. It looked as though it lay in wait for one of the unsuspecting humans to draw closer, to lose it in the shimmer of the glass.