Bill 5 - on the Planet of Zombie Vampires (15 page)

“What was that?” asked Uhuru, coming into the utility room. “Did I see something scuttle away just now? Were you talking to someone?”

“It was nothing,” lied Bill. “I was reading the numbers off the fuses to myself.”

“It's hard to see anything through this fogged-up faceplate,” said Uhuru, smearing it with a gloved hand. “And these rotten little lights cause a lot of glare. I wish I could turn them off. I don't need them except in the dark anyway.”

“I'm just about finished with the fuses,” said Bill.

“Forget the fuses,” said Uhuru. “We need those screens right away. It's time for you to go back to that cavern of certain doom.”

“Take this flamethrower,” said Moe as they were outfitting Bill in the control room. “I made it myself out of a sump pump.”

“And here are some grenades,” said Uhuru. “They're kind of delicate. Try not to bump into anything. You can hang them from your belt.”

“Take one of my knives,” offered Rambette. “Not that one, it's my best, my favorite. I won't tell you about the throats.... Take one of the others. It's just that since you probably won't be coming back alive, I don't want to lose my best knife, too. You understand.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bill muttered in numb incomprehension. He was beyond understanding anything, now that fear had occupied almost all of his brain.

“Don't forget my observations,” Caine reminded him. “I want a clear and concise report when you run across the aliens.”

“Just where am I going?” Bill complained, at the same time making an obscene gesture in the direction of the asinine android. “Does anyone know where I'm supposed to find these screens?”

“They're probably stored in the supply dock,” said Captain Blight. “You can't miss the place, it's right next to the reactor room that's filled with all those repulsive aliens.”

“Wonderful,” muttered Bill. “And what do these screens look like?”

“They're anodized aluminum,” said Uhuru. “About twenty feet tall and fifty feet wide. They'll probably be rolled up.”

“Wait a minute!” snapped Bill. “How can I carry something like that?”

“Under your arm,” suggested Uhuru. “They're extremely thin and not very heavy.”

“They might not be heavy, but they're long,” said Bill. “Even if they've been rolled lengthwise, they're still twenty feet long. I'd have to drag them and I'd bash them about while I was dodging and killing aliens. Do you want scraped and bent screens?”

“Don't even think of that!” cried Uhuru. “The screens are precision-milled to very tight tolerances. I guess we'll have to send somebody else along to help you. Any volunteers?”

“Count me out,” moaned Tootsie, who was the only one to respond in any way to the call for volunteers. Other than a quick shuffle as they all moved back.

“Let's not all speak at once,” said Uhuru. “Maybe we should draw straws.”

“I'm wise to you and your straws,” said Rambette. “Put them away.”

“Okay,” said Uhuru. “We can use this other set I've got here.” He shook the cut lengths of tubing out onto the table, pointed out that one was shorter than the others, then took them in one hand and shuffled them so that the short end could not be seen.

“That sounds fair to me,” Tootsie said reluctantly, choosing a straw.

“Life was sure a lot easier when all I had to do was order some poor bowb to do the crappy jobs,” complained Captain Blight, closing his eyes and taking a straw. “Doing things in a democratic fashion is not a process that I really enjoy.”

“I got da short one,” cried Bruiser happily. “It's you and me, Bill! And da odds ain't good. I hope you ready to die like a man?”

“Not really,” admitted Bill.

“Ohh, it's a Trooper's lot,” intoned Uhuru. “One is either bored out of one's skull, or frightened out of one's pants. Indeed, I do wish that I could go with you, but I've got to get the shields ready for the screens, just in case you manage to come back alive.”

“Thanks much,” Bill sneered, instantly recognizing self-serving cowardice.

“Gotta get a flamethrower, Moe,” said Bruiser. “I ain't going down dere without one.”

“I made this one out of a refrigeration coil,” said Moe proudly. “Be careful, it's loaded with high-test rocket fuel.”

“Give me your good knife, Rambette,” said Bruiser. “It might come in handy.”

“No way,” snapped Rambette.

“If they don't come back, it's not going to do you any good, is it?” said Tootsie with impeccable logic. “Hand it over.”

“You don't know what you're asking,” Rambette cried. “My mother gave me it at the coming-of-age ceremony, when I got my first bat. It's all I've got left from her, the only memory of that fair world so distant. It would be like you giving away Slasher.”

“I never do dat,” said Bruiser. “But we need dat knife. Give — or I take it.”

“Why are we fighting among ourselves?” moaned Tootsie. “Don't we have enough of an enemy out there without turning on each other?”

“It's nerves,” said Caine. “A typical human reaction to overwhelming fear is to strike out at whatever — or whoever — is nearest.”

“Are you calling me a coward, you hunk of tin?” shouted Rambette. “You men are all alike, even you android men. Think a woman can't take it? I'll show you! Give me your flamethrower, Uhuru, I'm going in. If we depend on these two clumsy bowbs to bring the screens back we might as well throw in the towel.”

“Show these mothers what real women can do!” cheered Tootsie. “Whoopee!”

“I'm keeping my flamethrower,” said Uhuru, clutching it to him.

“Take this one,” said Moe. “I fabricated it out of some spare radio parts and an enema bag.”

“Why are you two bowbs standing there with your mouths hanging open?” Rambette snapped, grabbing the makeshift flamethrower from Moe. “Let's move out!”

“We go!” howled Bruiser, waving Slasher whistling in the air. “It's time to kill, destroy — good stuff!”

Bill reluctantly followed Bruiser and Rambette to the docking tube, where their hooting and hollering — and a few well-aimed kicks — woke up the dormant Larry. Bill was glad to see that Eager Beager had closed the door behind him when he left.

“I'm going in first,” snapped Rambette, kicking the door open and spraying the tube with a billowing blast of flame. “You two follow me. Keep low and don't shoot until we get out of the tube. I'm not getting fried by one of you trigger-happy bowbs.”

Bill was only too glad to follow those kind of instructions, and ducked into the smoking tube in front of Bruiser. The middle seemed like the safest place. It wasn't, he rationalized as they snaked down the dark tube, that he was a coward. It was simply an applied strategy that took survival factors into account and weighed them very heavily. And covered his ass.

“Get ready,” said Rambette as they neared the entrance to the station. “Everyone come out firing. On the count of three. One! Two! Go for it!”

Bill was a little slow because he was waiting for three, being a literal-minded, order-following Trooper. But when Bruiser ran over him and knocked him out of the tube into the anteroom, he triggered the flamethrower and blasted everything in sight.

“I got 'em!” he cried. “Look at 'em burn!”

“You fried the spacesuits,” said Rambette dourly. “There're no aliens here.”

“Maybe they were hiding in the spacesuits,” said Bill, scrambling for an excuse. “That's it, they were probably just waiting for us to walk by and then they'd jump out and get us. We wouldn't have had a chance.”

“Right,” said Rambette. “I'll believe that the day you pass an IQ test.”

“Troopers don't take IQ tests, just officers,” Bill explained.

“Dere's a baked alien in dis spacesuit,” called Bruiser, inspecting the smoldering mess. “And another one in here.”

Rambette looked at Bill with newfound admiration. “You know how to call them,” she said admiringly. “Sorry about the IQ thing. Maybe you ought to take point and lead us in.”

“You're doing fine,” said Bill quickly. “Keep up the good work.”

“Let's do it then! Through this door, down the corridor. Let's clear the way first.”

Bruiser kicked the door open, and Rambette tossed one of Uhuru's grenades in and jumped back. A tremendous explosion rocked the corridor; and smoke came boiling back into the anteroom.

“I just love dat noise,” said Bruiser happily. “Can I throw one too?”

“Save them,” said Rambette as the smoke settled. “We'll need them later. Follow me!”

Bill stuck as closely as possible to Rambette, holding his flamethrower tightly with both right arms. Bruiser was treading on his heels as they moved in cautious hurry down the door-lined corridor.

“Move!” cried Bruiser, shoving Bill in the back. An instant later the first room off the corridor erupted with a roar.

“I maybe saw something move,” said Bruiser. “Uhuru makes good grenade.”

“Quit playing games,” snapped Rambette. “We've got to get the screens.”

Two seconds later, the second and third rooms off the corridor blasted into oblivion. Bruiser was smiling guiltily and Rambette called a halt.

“Is there something moving in every room?” she asked sarcastically. “If you keep blasting away we're not going to have any grenades left when we really need them.”

“Hard to stop,” grinned Bruiser. “Great fun. Boom, boom!”

“Knock it off!” Bill ordered, remembering that he was the MP in charge. “Save the grenades for when we need them.”

“I'll try,” muttered Bruiser. “Hard to do. Bruiser is super Trooper, bad-to-the-bone killing machine. Don't like sit around. Get fidgety and want to be chopping someone's legs off. Kill, maim — dat's my way.”

“All we're asking you to do is go a little easy,” said Rambette, leading them up to the reactor room. “At least wait until you see the greens of their eyes.”

“Maybe he shouldn't wait quite that long,” suggested Bill. “I'm all for taking them out at first sight.”

“He's right!” Bruiser enthused. “You talking real Trooper talk.”

“Wow!” said Rambette. “Look at that!”

The door to the reactor room was holding, but just barely. Great gashes had been cut through it from the inside, and molten metal dripped from the fresh cuts like metallic lava.

“They must have some pretty strong acid,” said Bill. “I'm glad Caine isn't here. He'd probably want us to collect samples.”

“The supply dock is down here,” called Rambette. “Behind this door.”

“Oh boy,” said Bruiser. “Can I throw da grenade in dis time? Please?”

“No grenades, bowb-brain,” sneered Rambette. “You want to blow those screens full of holes? Uhuru said to be careful with them.”

“Maybe little flamethrower burn-burn?” asked Bruiser hopefully.

“Forget it,” ordered Rambette.

“Maybe we should just open the door and look inside,” suggested Bill. “It's more than possible that we've already lost any element of surprise with all that grenade banging.”

“Bruiser no do t'ings half way.” The burly moron raised Slasher over his head. “Do it — no talk about it!”

Before they could stop him, Bruiser knocked the door from its hinges with a single blow from his axe. It dropped to the floor with a loud clang.

“That was real subtle,” said Bill, backing away from the door. “They'll never guess we're out here.”

“I don't see any aliens inside,” said Rambette, standing in the open doorway with her flamethrower ready.

“That's a big place,” said Bill, coming up to stand beside her. “You could hide a hundred aliens in there.”

The supply dock was immense, large enough to hold a ship the size of the Bounty and have enough room to spare for a squadron of fighters. Packing crates and moving equipment were scattered all around the metal-grate floor. Stacks of steel beams, easily a hundred feet long, were dwarfed to matchstick size by the gargantuan proportions of the mammoth structure; the nearby forklift looked like a toy.

“I don't see the screens,” said Bill.

“They could be anywhere,” said Rambette, inching her way carefully into the supply dock. “We'll have to go in and look for them. Come on. Keep your eyes open for movement.”

Her last warning, as far as Bill was concerned, was totally unnecessary. His finger twitched and tightened on the flamethrower's trigger as he followed Rambette. His nerves, already honed to a fine edge by the overwhelming danger, passed into the outer limits of stuttering panic. If he saw so much as a roach, he'd roast it.

“There!” cried Rambette, dropping to her knees and raising her flamethrower. “Over there. Move, Bruiser! I can't get a clean shot!”

A larger-than-Curly-sized alien rose out from behind a stack of boxes by Bruiser. It hissed and snarled, dripping ichor and clashing its pointed teeth. One clawed hand swung out and wrestled Slasher away from Bruiser, throwing the axe a hundred yards with the ease of a Trooper throwing back a beer. Then, with an angry swish of its ridged tail, it leaped out and grabbed the big man.

“Dis t'ings choking me!” choked out Bruiser. “It's got my ear! My throat! Aggg!”

Rambette drew her mother's knife and leaped toward the alien. For an instant she stood frozen, poised in front of the huge beast, crouched low and ready to spring. The alien held the struggling Bruiser easily and looked down on the woman as if she were an insignificant insect.

“Take this, you bowbing acned alien!” she cried, jumping up and slashing at the creature. “The Emperor forever! Death to all grundgies! Die!”

Surprised by the fierce attack, the alien dropped Bruiser to the ground and grabbed Rambette, twisting her in the air like a doll. Then it threw her on top of Bruiser and loomed over them, drooling ichor and dripping gore.

Bill seized the moment and ran forward, sticking his flamethrower into the heaving ribs of the monstrous creature. Before it could react he pulled the trigger, flames washing out. The results were impressive. The creature burst into flame and exploded into a giant cloud of smoke.

“They must dry out when they get big,” Bill said. “We better remember that.”

“Nice style, Bill,” said Rambette, wiping ichor off her knife. “I couldn't have done better myself.”

Bruiser climbed to his feet and looked around, scowling. “Where's my Slasher?”

“Somewhere over thataway,” said Bill.