The Complete Aliens Omnibus Read online

  “Well, if you insist. I know your time is valuable and I hate to take it up by asking you really silly questions. But I have been following your career, and I do have more questions.”

  Somehow the alcohol seemed to have unlocked this woman’s pheromones. She smelled good, damned good, and Daniel Grant breathed her scent in greedily. Of course she wore no perfume—a ridiculous and foolish luxury for a person on a highly un-glamorous journey in a tin can through space with a bunch of males. That didn’t make any difference. Hell, he was tired of perfume. What he had here before him was the dangling, rounded hair and breasts and lovely limbs of a full-blooded woman.

  His last date had hardly been fulfilling. And the gritty details attendant to moving the Razzia and himself toward hyperdrive and hypersleep had pretty much put a hold on his appetites. But as soon as the sleep-rheum drained from his head, he immediately became aware of how horny he was. The incident on the shuttle made him naturally think of Private Edie Mahone. After Colonel Kozlowski’s briefing, he’d suggested that after evening mess she might like to stop by for that promised drink. He always enjoyed talking to fans about his career, and he was quite upset about the gross inaccuracies of that trashy book about him, and wanted to set some things straight—

  …uhm, so to speak.

  Two to go.

  He’d sized her up. She was a three-drink girl. In two drinks she’d be pliable. Three she’d sit closer, lean those dark eyes toward him, let that sweet, fresh, scrubbed scent of her dart in for a kiss.

  Then snap! Like a patient angler fish, he’d swallow her up for a delicious hour or so, and then spit her back out. They’d both be happy, sated, and better able to deal with the grim realities before them.

  She brought the topped-off glass up to those full, moist lips and drank half the glass in a couple swallows. He was impressed and gleeful at this. “My, but this is wonderful stuff.”

  “My own special vintage!” said Grant. “You’re one of the few people who’ve actually tasted it.”

  “Goodness! Then I shouldn’t be so shy, should I? I don’t want to be impolite when I’m so privileged!” With that, and a down-the-hatch determination to her face, she took the large glass and swallowed the rest of it.

  That had been a very large portion. This, perhaps, would be very short work!

  “Yes, right.” In a moment she’d probably have to step off to his private toilet and he’d slip the last bit of liquor into her glass. He had to play it cool though now. “You were asking me about my youth?”

  Edie Mahone had an odd expression on her face. She seemed not to be listening to him, just in a kind of trance.

  “Edie? Edie… are you all right?”

  “Mr. Grant…”

  “Daniel…” he said. “I told you, you can call me Daniel.”

  She got quiet. She closed her eyes.

  Hmm, thought Daniel Grant.

  Maybe two glasses of the old id-tickler was all that was necessary!

  He scooted closer.

  “You know, Edie… We’re basically just two people… a man and a woman with needs… out in the middle of nowhere… We should comfort one another, the way that normal human males and females do…”

  Edie Mahone snorted. She sniffed, and the straight line described by her lips crumpled into misery. Tears dripped from the corners of her eyes.

  “Oh, Daniel…” she mewled, and then dissolved into a quivering mess onto him, arms wrapped protectively over her abdomen. “I don’t know what I’m going to do…”

  “Uhmm… Edie… what’s wrong?”

  “I made a terrible mistake. I never should have come along on this mission. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I just wanted to be light-years away. Light-years from him.”

  “Him?”

  “Chuck!”

  Chuck. Oh, yes. A boyfriend. The usual story.

  Grant began to stroke her back comfortingly. He could feel her muscles relax. Oh, yes, this was going to be soooooo easy!

  “Tell me about him?”

  “What’s to tell?” she said in a monotone voice. “Love with the wrong guy. He was in my troop. Started sleeping with our lieutenant. No way to compete. Only thing to do is to ship out. Chuck wasn’t going to. So I’d tested high in all necessary categories, I’ve got the skill and the experience. And now the reason. But now that I wake up here… Now that I see those pictures, I remember what it was like, the one actual nest experience I had.” Grant could feel her shudder. “It’s worse than cold and forbidding out here. And those things. They’re worse than devils.”

  “There, there, dear. I know how you feel.” She was wearing a green fatigue shirt with buttons down the front. He slowly unbuttoned the top one.

  “I know you do. I can feel it. You’re really a sympathetic man, a good man… beneath that hard, caustic surface. I could tell that… even in the book.”

  Another button.

  “You’re a very special woman, Edie… You deserve comforting.” Another button. He could see a fleshy swell of bare bosom, held in check by a tan bra. Out here in the harsh and cold of space, it struck him as one of the most erotic sights he’d witnessed.

  He slipped his hand inside her shirt. Soft, warm, pliable.

  Ah!

  She said nothing. She hardly seemed to notice, wrapped up in her own misery.

  Maybe she didn’t really want this. Maybe she’d just let him have his way, like a trusting lamb, helpless before the slaughter. Maybe he really shouldn’t take advantage of this vulnerable soul this way…

  Bullshit, he thought, remembering his personal philosophy Plunder while the plunder’s available.

  “You know, Edie, I can’t think of anything more soothing than if we gave each other hot oil massages. You’ll feel much better. Now let me just help you off with this scratchy old uniform and then—”

  There was a pounding on the door.

  Private Edie Mahone jumped about a foot in the air, eyes going wide. “Who’s that?” she said, pulling away from his embrace.

  “No one! I’ll get rid of them!”

  She stuffed herself back into bra and fatigues, sobering up in record time.

  “Grant!” called a too-familiar voice. “I know you’re in there. Answer the damned door. There’s something wrong with your comm unit.”

  “Colonel Kozlowski!” said Mahone, jumping up and away from Grant’s grasp for her. Quickly she ran into his toilet to straighten herself out. She turned back and gave Grant a harsh you’re-just-like-the-book-says-you-are look. Then, in a rush of indignation and alarm, she was gone.

  Pound. Pound. “Grant. We need to talk.”

  Daniel Grant had to take a deep breath and straighten his pants as much as possible. Calm yourself. The bitch doesn’t need any kind of salute from you.

  Then he got up and hit the door hydraulics. It slid open, and characteristically Colonel Kozlowski just stormed on in. “You know, with only three days to go, you can’t expect to just hole yourself up.”

  “I was having a conference. Getting to know our troops,” said Grant, rearing up to every inch of six feet two.

  She glared at him, not buying his attempt at dominance for a moment. “Troops?”

  “Private Edie Mahone. She’s in the bathroom. She was having a few doubts about the mission.”

  Kozlowski raised her eyebrow. “Oh, yeah—?”

  Edie Mahone came out of the head, looking perfectly composed and professional. “Thank you, Mr. Grant. You’ve been a real gentleman, but I have to go now…”

  “Mahone. Why aren’t you studying…?”

  “Free time, sir. I can use it according to my discretion. Permission to leave, sir?”

  “Permission granted,” said Kozlowski in a disgusted tone. She didn’t even watch as the private departed, a study of healing wounded dignity.

  Grant felt mightily vexed.

  Sexual frustration piled upon a direct intrusion upon his privacy by a woman wearing confrontation over her head lik
e a storm cloud.

  Back on Earth, had this situation arisen, so might have the infamous Daniel Grant temper. A rant, a rave, a metaphorical chomping off of the head. Employee or associate, pressman or president, it would make no difference. Grant would have made mincemeat of them.

  He could feel it burbling up, steaming through his capillaries. One little vent was all it would take, and the explosion would blast.

  However something gave him pause.

  Something odd aglint in this feistmeister of a woman’s eye. She did present a fetching figure in those skintight duds she wore. And if you got past the cropped, patchy hair, the defiant lack of softening makeup, and those scars she wore like medals…

  If you turned down the lights a bit and smudged a little with mind and imagination, this Kozlowski bitch was really quite the looker.

  He looked at her. He looked at the unopened bottle of champagne in its cooler slot. He looked back at her, suddenly oily with cordiality.

  “Well, Colonel. As long as you’re here—”

  * * *

  The gall!

  She looked at him as though he’d just opened his zipper and wagged his privates at her.

  The unmitigated gall!

  “No, Mr. Grant. I will not have a glass of champagne with you!”

  Daniel Grant stepped back as though she’d blasted a breath of fire at him. “You don’t drink.”

  “I drink. That’s not what I came here for, though.”

  “You don’t like champagne. I promise you, you’ll not taste better. Besides, Colonel… We’re three days away from Death leering at us. Carpe diem. Seize the day!”

  She wasn’t sure why she was so annoyed at his offer. He was right. She’d pretty much finished most of her tasks for the day anyway, and the Colonial Marines were unfortunately not a military navy force known for packing away kegs of rum onboard for the officers.

  She’d been working hard for three days. Her mouth was dry. And here was some high-quality, rich man’s champagne being offered to her. She hadn’t had a drink in weeks, and she could feel her tastebuds and her nerves, falling to their knees and begging her to accept the offer.

  She told them to go screw themselves.

  “I’m here, Grant, to officially request that you allow me to tour the levels assigned to your scientists on this mission. In the interests of the success of our journey, I feel the need to know everything going on in this ship.”

  Grant nodded. “Ah. I see. This, despite what your superiors told you. To wit: that is not your territory of concern.”

  “Yes. I have given it a great deal of thought. Any ignorance on my part could spell a danger to my troops and this vessel.”

  “I thought the captain was in charge of the actual vessel. He doesn’t seem to care much what’s going on on Decks E and F.”

  “The captain? He’s a burnout. He does just the minimum to get by, counting things out by crossword. I honestly wonder why he was given this particular duty.”

  “He seems quite competent to me…”

  Nonetheless, Grant did not say no.

  Instead, he pushed a button that depressurized the seal on the champagne. He tagged another switch. Armatures extended and made short work of the cork.

  Pop!

  Kozlowski jumped despite herself. A brief spurt of white stuff ran down the upright thing. She licked her lips, a sudden tingling running down her spine.

  Coolly, Grant went to a cabinet, pulled out two glasses. He poured these glasses full of the drink, and then carefully slipped the bottle back into its frigid place.

  “I’ll tell you what, Colonel Alex. Have a drink with me, I’ll give you the Grand Tour.”

  He tapped the side of the glass closest to her. Ting! The liquid effervesced delightfully.

  She made her decision. It was an easy one. She took the glass and drank a swallow, letting it drift through her teeth a moment. It was strong, but it was the lightest, tastiest champagne she’d ever experienced. Fruit vapor, dancing pirouettes on her tongue.

  She glowered. A thought occurred to her. “You bastard. You were going to show me anyway, weren’t you?”

  He picked his own glass up, sipped it. “You’ll never know now, will you?”

  “Damn you.” She couldn’t help but sip the glass again. If anything, it tasted better on the second go.

  “But here—I happen to have some pate. Crackers, too. French and English, respectively.” His hand motioned toward a tray of condiments. “So why don’t you have a seat.”

  She finished the glass of champagne in one guzzle.

  Heaven.

  Her toes seemed to curl.

  “Okay! If you pour us both another!”

  “Absolutely!” He poured. “So nice to have company.”

  She sat and she sipped. She sampled the crackers and pate. After what seemed like a lifetime of reconstituted Marine chow, it tasted like ambrosia. More champagne. Ah. Ambrosia and nectar.

  “So then,” she said, “I have two questions.

  “Number one. What the hell is going on down on those decks? I saw some of the strangest apparatus being boosted off for the Razzia”

  “You’re just going to have to wait until tomorrow for the answer to that,” Grant said. “Then, though, I promise that all will be explained.”

  “Fair enough. Question two—” She drained her glass of champagne. It exploded inside her like a depth charge of flowers. “Have you got another bottle of this stuff around? This is the best alcohol I’ve ever had!”

  Grant grinned widely. “I think that can be arranged!”

  * * *

  Daniel Grant listed. His eyes were half-closed, and his face was mashed against a cushion of the couch.

  A half-filled glass of champagne wobbled in his hand.

  “… I should have never let her go,” he mumbled.

  Clear-eyed and feeling very good indeed, glass balanced on a raised knee, Alex Kozlowski regarded the scene. Totally in charge. Grant had extra champagne, all right. He’d had it trotted on up to his cabin, no problem. A strategy meeting, she’d explained to the surprised ensign sent to deliver it. A tumbled line of dead soldiers lay on the floor.

  “Your wife?”

  “Yeah. She was… she was the only person I ever really loved.” He sighed.

  An interesting evening.

  Halfway through the second bottle of champagne, he’d put a hand on her left breast.

  She’d cold-cocked him.

  He’d flown across the room and landed on the couch fortunately, then lay semi-conscious for a few minutes, while Kozlowski thoughtfully nibbled at crackers and sipped the champagne, enjoying the silence and the boost to her ego. It had been a while since a man had been arrogant enough to make a pass at her, much less trespass her body. She enjoyed it.

  She got some ice, wrapped it up in a cloth, and gave it to him. He thanked her and asked for another glass of champagne. The pain seemed to have leeched the randiness out of him, and the champagne helped with his sore jaw. He apologized and they drank more. Kozlowski finished off the pate and crackers. Grant just sipped.

  She wasn’t going to be able to drink any more before the mission. Drinking now was stretching things. But she figured she might as well enjoy it—and enjoy this first-class liquor—while she could. Might as well have some sound effects while she did so, she’d told herself—so she pried Daniel Grant’s life story out of him. Easy, since he was really getting snookered.

  Pretty queasy stuff.

  Cold mother. Distant father. Money the end-all be-all in the family. No love and affection. A football team approach to sex and affection as conquest. Massive insecurities covered over by efforts and dominance, arrogance and control.

  All in all, fairly predictable. Textbook even, she’d imagine. She’d not read much psychology. Hell, most books and computer information had been destroyed.

  She’d more or less drunken him under the table. Either that, or her fist had knocked something loose in his brain. Unlik
ely. Grant looked like he had a pretty hard head.

  She’d lifted the rock up and found a mass of worms and nightcrawlers.

  The great man wasn’t much different, deep down, from her. A few less nightmares, a little more civilized on the surface. But deep down—the usual writhing stew of human troubles.

  “So,” slurred Grant. “Your full name is Alexandra Lee Kozlowski.”

  “You did your homework. Yes. My parents named me after two famous generals.”

  “Grant and Lee. No wonder the antipathy. Hope we can smooth things out.”

  She shrugged. “We both want the mission to succeed.”

  “Yes,” he murmured. “This trip succeeds, my company succeeds. I’m in the black, debts are paid off, I’m competing effectively against MedTech again, the mob gets paid off, and I get free of their contract—”

  “Which you presume you’re safe from out here.”

  He’d spilled the beans on that one under her probing questions, proving her suspicions correct. He’d come along on the mission because it was a convenient way to get off Earth, away from certain deadly factions. Now she knew why. Simple enough and understandable.

  Only she honestly wondered if Grant knew that he’d jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. And there were a lot of nasty bugs in that fire, you betcha.

  Grant didn’t seem to hear her last comment. He was just rambling on. “I get things on track,” he was saying. “God, the world is my oyster, I just got to get through the shell. When I get straight with everyone… I’ll ask her back. I swear I will. That’s what I’m pushing for… Can’t live the life I’ve been living so long… So empty… So useless…”

  “Fast track. Candle at both ends. Strive, strive, strive so you can build yourself a fancy coffin. Dominance and dominoes—both falling-down games.”

  “Gotta stay on top. Gotta flash the smile. Gotta work, gotta survive,” Grant mumbled.

  “Gotta drink the best champagne,” said Kozlowski. “Eat the best pate.” She downed the last bit of stuff in her glass, clapped it back on the table, and stood up. “I guess that’s as good a goal as any. Thanks, Grant. I had a good time. Tell you what. We get back to Earth, we have a little party. You supply the champagne and eats, and we’ll have a good time.”