Bill 5 - on the Planet of Zombie Vampires (7 page)

“Don't confuse him!” echoed Bill from the bottom of his heart.

The ship was in a steep dive, twisting first one way and then another, whipping around like a leaf in a tornado.

“Roll!” shrieked Larry. “Give us some roll!”

“How can you think of food at a time like this?” called Tootsie. “I'm through fetching for you anyway. Get your own roll!”

“Forget the roll maneuver,” bellowed Moe. “Give us a hit on the main engines!”

“We are encountering severe turbulence,” called Caine. “I would advise a two-point-one-second burn on the starboard thrusters to stabilize the ship.”

“Is starboard left or right?” wailed Curly.

“Left!” hollered Larry.

“Right!” cried Moe.

“What was that?” screamed Tootsie.

“I think we lost a shield!” Larry screamed. “The right one!”

“Left!” cried Moe. “Maybe starboard's left. Could be right, though. Which way's up?”

“We're going down!” quavered Bill. “Somebody turn on the exterior lights!”

Even with the lights on, nothing was visible through the viewscreen but whirling sand. Outside the ship the storm thundered and roared, sending borborismic echoes and vibrations through the hull

“This is getting a little rough,” called Rambette through the intercom from the okra room. “How about hitting the smooth switch?”

“Look!” called Tootsie. “There it is! I can see the landing pad.”

“Piece of cake,” said Curly, punching buttons like crazy and causing the Bounty to slip and slide sideways in a stomach-wrenching loop. “We got it made in the shade.”

“We're gonna crash!” wailed Larry.

“Three hundred meters,” called Moe. “Two hundred. Get ready! Hold on!”

“Who put the landing gear down?” barked Curly.

“That was your job!” moaned Larry.

“No, you were supposed to do it!” wailed Moe. “Do I have to do everything?”

“I got it,” said Bill, pressing a button clearly marked ACTIVATE LANDING GEAR.

They hit with a crunch and a bang and a bell-ringer of a smashing jolt. Immediately, alarms started screaming and clanging. Flashing red lights filled the room with eye-destroying stroboscopic glare. Every WARNING and FAILURE light on the control boards glowed malevolently.

“I knew it!” yelled Tootsie. “We're done for! We traded slavery, tedium, endless heartburn, and monotony for certain death and total destruction.”

“Bad trade,” admitted Caine, unfastening his seat belt.

Suddenly the alarms all cut off at once. In the echoing silence that followed Bill climbed shakily to his feet and looked cow-eyed at Curly with newfound admiration and a sense of wonder.

“How did you fix all that stuff that went wrong?” he asked.

“I didn't,” said Curly. “I just turned off the alarms. I hate all that noise.”

“Look out there!” cried Tootsie, pointing at the viewscreen. “A giant snake is attacking the ship!”

A huge tubular object was winding its way to the Bounty, weaving and crawling on its belly like a reptile. When it got close to the vessel, it raised its front end up and struck the ship with a resounding dunk.

“We've been struck,” chattered Bill.

“We've been docked!” called Larry.

“Tell me there's a cure for docked,” moaned Tootsie. “I can't take much more of this.”

“It is nothing to worry about,” Caine pontificated. “That is simply an automatic docking tube connecting our ship with the communication station. We will now be able to pass back and forth without resorting to those cumbersome life-support systems with the funny little headlights and no relief tubes and the faceplates that always fog over.”

“Damage report?” asked Bill.

“I think we got kind of a bunch of broken stuff,” said Curly.

“Not too impressive,” Bill sneered. “Can you be just a little more specific?”

“Sure. Some stuff is broken. Some things are bent: And this and that is not working like it ought to.”

“Can we take off again?”

“Not without a lot of hard work,” said Larry. “I knew it was a mistake to let Curly take us down. That clumsy bowb never mastered his first little red wagon, much less learned to walk and break wind at the same time. I can't imagine anyone less qualified to land this ship, except Moe of course, who's a total loss with anything more complicated than an off/on switch.”

“Look who's talking,” cried Moe. “You ought to —”

“Hey! What's going on?” Bruiser walked into the control room, leading Blight and Christianson by lengths of rope tied about their necks. “Can't a man catch a little sleep?” Rambette followed them all in, a knife in each hand.

“Sleep?” asked Tootsie.

“This concrete-skulled moron slept through it all,” said Rambette. “Curled up nice as you please on an okra bed. Blight and Christianson were tied together and rode it out on the compost pile with Barfer. You may notice they have a certain aroma about them. Hey! What's that?”

“Docking tube,” said Bill. “A walkway of sorts. I guess we ought to check out the communication station.”

“Who goes first?” asked Tootsie. “I volunteer for last!”

“There is a logical solution to this,” Caine intoned. “If there are any military personnel out there it might be wisest for you mutineers to conceal that fact from them. True?” They all nodded like crazy except for the leashed officers, who snarled in revolt — and smelt revolting. “Since most of you are prisoners — and that fact could be in Galactic Records easily accessible by hand-held computer, none of the prisoners can go. As an android ship's officer you probably place little faith in me — that's it, nod your foolish heads off again. So that leaves our MP, duly appointed and theoretically next in line in the chain of command.”

Bill stepped back away from the blazing pressure of all eyes turned on him. Bruiser spoke for all of them.

“Get out dere, bowb, and see what's goin' on.”

The docking tube was a tight, twisting tunnel, and Bill reluctantly led the way, clumping along with his elephant foot. The others followed at a safe distance, reluctant to trust Bill alone. Except for Uhuru, who was staying behind with Curly to guard the prisoners and survey the damage to the ship, the two of them having been chosen by lot by drawing straws. Or rather, lengths of plastic tubing.

“I'm claustrophobic,” said one of the clones, jammed between Tootsie and Larry or Moe. Bill had lost track of who was who in the clone department again — nor did he really care. The wind whipped unmercifully around the docking tube, howling and shrieking like a demented banshee. Bill had real bad feelings about this planet and not for the first time in his military existence wished that he was back on Phigerinadon II plowing the fields. But that time of youthful innocence was gone, lost forever. He'd been dealt a bad hand by the twists and turns of fate, but there was nothing to do but play the cards he had. Or some rationalization like that.

Still, he longed for a normal foot for a change, to ease his burden just a little bit.

“It's dark in here,” complained Tootsie. “I can't see where I'm going.”

“Bump into me and I'll lop off one of your limbs,” warned Rambette.

“You were supposed to bring the flashlights,” said Larry or Moe.

“That was your job,” replied the other clone. “I was supposed to bring the lunch.”

“Well, that means we've got two lunches and no flashlights. It's not my fault, either, knucklehead.”

“Watch out who you call knucklehead, knucklehead. I've got half a mind to —”

“Wait!” cried Bill. “Hold it! There's something just ahead.”

“I knew it,” moaned Tootsie. “Monsters! The creeping unknown!”

“You got a death wish, Tootsie,” said Rambette. “Give it to us straight, Bill. Can we kill it?”

“I doubt it,” he said. “It looks like a door. Pretty substantial one, too.”

“Perhaps you should open it,” said Caine.

Bill felt for the latch and leaned against the metal surface. It opened slowly and reluctantly, hinges creaking. Bill carefully stuck his head inside and looked around.

“What do you see?” asked Tootsie.

“Nothing,” said Bill. “It's pitch dark in there.”

“How about I toss in a flare?” asked Bruiser. “I just love all that noise and fire.”

“That's probably not called for yet,” said Bill, stepping inside. “There must be a better way.”

“Bowb!” growled Bruiser. “I don't ever get to have any fun.”

“I would suggest we turn on the lights,” said Caine. “Illumination would be to our advantage.”

“And where would you suggest we find the lights?” Bill snapped sarcastically, getting a little tired of Caine's know-it-all attitude. “I can't see a thing.”

“Light switches are usually located beside the door,” said Caine. “It is the logical position for them.”

Bill found the light switch immediately and when he clicked it on they saw that they were in what was apparently an anteroom to the main part of the station. A dozen spacesuits hung on a rack, and miscellaneous equipment was stacked against the walls. Several closed doors led off in different directions.

“Anybody home?” called Tootsie. Her voice echoed off the walls and died.

“This is spooky,” said Larry or Moe. “Deserted. Why would they leave their suits?”

“I don't like this place one bit,” said Moe or Larry. “Let's go back to the ship.”

The dog came slinking out of the docking tube, his fur bristling. He walked over to Bill, smelling like compost and growling.

“Over here,” called Caine. “Through this door. I've found the crew.”

“Thank goodness,” said Bill as relief flowed over him. “What do they say?”

“Not much,” replied Caine. “They're all dead.”

“I've deciphered the message beacon,” radioed Curly from the ship. “I've sorted out the code. It definitely says KEEP AWAY.”

“Thanks heaps,” said Bill, following Caine into what must have once been a command center of sorts. “I suggest that you get down here soonest — and bring the prisoners with you. They might be able to figure out what is happening here.” Passing the buck of responsibility in true military tradition.

A thin layer of dust covered everything in sight. Including the three men, shrunken and mummified, who sat in swivel chairs in front of a lifeless console.

“What do you think?” asked Bill.

“It appears that they are no longer functional biological units,” observed Caine. “What we have here is three croaked people, unless, of course, we have something else.”

“Like what, for instance?”

“Like something incredible from far beyond the outer limits of human knowledge,” said Caine. “We may be going where no man has gone before.”

“Gross-out!” cried Tootsie. “What we have here is gross-out! I am going to faint...” She did, but everyone ignored her.

“These guys is all dried out,” said Bruiser. “Look!”

He touched one of the mummified bodies with his axe handle. It immediately collapsed into a pile of dust and dry bones.

“Now you've gone and done it,” Rambette said. “That's just what we need: a mummy's curse following us around.”

“Technically speaking,” Caine lectured, “a curse of that type can have no effect on a person unless they believe the curse will work. I myself am not a believer.”

“I don't know what to believe,” moaned Tootsie, who had recovered quickly when no one had noticed her. “This is a real creep show.”

The prisoners, still leashed together, were led in. Captain Blight bulged his eyes with incredulity as he stared at the uniform and the pile of dust.

“What could possibly do a thing like that? That man was an officer. Enlisted men are the ones that are supposed to be exposed to danger, not officers. It's a rule.”

“I would strongly suggest that someone — or something — is not playing by the rules,” suggested Caine. “If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it looks like their life force has been sucked out of them, along with most of their vital bodily fluids.”

“Spare me the details,” groaned Tootsie, looking sick.

“So what is dat we got here?” asked Bruiser, forehead furrowed in unaccustomed thought. “Sucked out like maybe big mosquitoes?”

“This is the work of an alien,” said Bill with calm assurance, shaking his head. “Or, most likely, aliens, more than one. Or two. We're into something big here.”

“Da bigger dey are — da harder dey fall,” hissed Bruiser, swinging Slasher and accidentally pulverizing another mummy. “Bring 'em on.”

“I suggest that we leave at once,” said Bill. “We're in over our heads.”

“I second the motion,” said Tootsie.

“Third the motion,” said Larry or Moe.

“Fourth,” said the other clone. “Let's go.”

“Uhuru,” radioed Bill. “Come in, Uhuru. Speak to me.”

There was no answer, only silence on the radio, dead silence, still as the tomb.

“Dey got Uhuru,” shouted Bruiser. “Good old Uhuru, eaten by aliens!”

“I knew it,” cried Tootsie. “This place is a death trap. We're all going to die!”

“That's a death wish, too,” said Rambette. “We don't know for sure —”

“Uhuru here, Bill,” crackled the radio. “I was in the freezer taking out some porkuswine chops to thaw. What do you want?”

“How soon can we take off?” asked Bill. “We got a small problem.”

“No, you got a big problem,” replied Uhuru. “There's a lot of busted stuff here. And what's not busted is all bent out of shape. We lost both shields and most every pipe in the ship has sprung leaks. Not to mention the toilets are backed up and the latch on the microwave oven is sprung.”

“How long?” gulped Bill. “How long for repairs?”

“I figure I'll have the oven going in about two hours, three at max.”

“Forget the oven, idiot! How long before we can lift off?”

“Maybe a week if we can salvage parts from the station,” said Uhuru. “Maybe never if we can't.”

“Think we got a week?” Bill asked Caine.

“Not a chance,” he said.

“I'm hungry,” Bruiser salivated. “Dere's nuttin' like trouble to make me hungry.”

“We got extra lunches,” said Larry and Moe. “Brought them special. Dig in.”

“Real food!” cried Blight. “Meat!”

“Pass me one of those sandwiches,” Christianson said slyly. Rambette glared at him.