Aliens Alien Harvest - By Robert Sheckley Page 0,79

Andy roared as his left leg was ripped off at the hip.

The alien who had been pulling his feet fell backward. The other caught its balance and came at him. Badger triggered off a burst and blew the creature away. Groggins was dead before the carbine's reverberations died away.

Looking around, Badger saw that he was alone. The others were dead. The original beast, the barrel shaped thing, was nearby, sitting on its haunches and watching expectantly.

"Damn you, you Judas goat!" Badger said, and blew it away with a short burst.

The area was a shambles of blood and gore. All Badger's people were dead, and he expected to go next, but the attack had ended. There were no aliens in sight now except dead ones, and no other creatures, either.

Badger stood there, sobbing with fatigue and anguish, and saw a shadow appear as if from nowhere. He looked up.

There it was, Potter's ship, the Lancet, and he had a chance to get out of this. "Drop a line! Pick me up!"

They were down level with him, and he saw four of the crew watching him from one of the big glassite windows. He screamed at them, and finally they opened a hatch and threw out a rope ladder. Badger scrambled up with his remaining strength and collapsed inside the ship.

"Did you get all that on tape?" Potter asked.

"Yes, sir," the second in command said.

"The scientists will be interested in these creatures," Potter commented.

"Yes, sir," the second in command said. "But the killing of all those men was a little gruesome, wasn't it?"

"Oh, edit that part out," Potter scoffed. "And mark it in the log that we didn't reach the surface in time to save the rest of the mutineers." He turned to go, then stroked his chin. "Not that one ever really wants to rescue mutineers. They set a bad example for the rest of the crew. But don't put that in."

"Yes, sir." The second in command saluted and began to walk off. "We did pull one of them out."

"Take him to the medics," Potter said. "We'll get his story later."

"Yes, sir." The second saluted and left the control room.

"And now, Dr. Myakovsky," Potter said to himself, "It is time to deal with you."
Chapter 64
Stan and his group went through a maze of pathways. They found no sign of Norbert's electronic trail. No sign of Norbert, either. He had dropped behind, after making a gallant stand against the aliens. Stan had last seen him submerged under a writhing mound of black alien bodies.

Stan's breathing was laboring, he could hardly drag himself along. When was the royal jelly going to kick in? Julie and Gill helped him all they could, but they needed to keep their hands free to use their weapons. Because now more and more aliens were appearing, coming out of different turnings in the tunnels. They came in ones and twos, no mass attack yet, but it was probably only a matter of time.

It was clear that the suppressors were no longer doing their job. Stan, Julie, and Gill had to be constantly on the alert, because the creatures were attacking silently, suddenly springing out of the shadows.

Julie was leading the way. Her searchlight beam probed ahead into the profound darkness. She thought she had never seen such darkness before. Even the darkness she saw when she closed her eyes was not as deep as this. This was the darkness of evil, the darkness that cloaked a place where unspeakable creatures performed horrifying rituals. This was the darkness of childhood terrors. This was the darkness out of which monsters swarmed, the place where they tortured little children, and ate them, and then spit them up to make them live again so they could kill them anew.

Glancing back, Julie saw Gill falling back to help Stan, fighting half turned around to keep the aliens from running up their backs. He showed no expression when the searchlight beams occasionally illuminated his long, serious face. The android did his work methodically, but then he wasn't really human, it was all the same to him, he had no feelings, not really. He'd act just the same if he were on an assembly line screwing down machine parts. He's lucky, Julie thought, because it's not all the same to me, no matter how hard I try to make it so.

And Stan? In a way he was lucky, too. Too exhausted to care any longer, and in too much pain, to judge from his twisted