Robert Sheckley - Alien Harvest

He could see that there was no way of fixing himself. He could have tried a jury-rig if he'd had spare cables with him. But in the close confines of the pod he hadn't brought along the repair and spare parts kit that every synthetic tried to keep with him at all times. And even if he'd had the cables, he was still lacking several transistors and capacitors. Reluctantly he took the arm off-line. He had no motion in it at all. From the shoulder down, it was as dead as a hundred-year-old Ford.

“Gave you a little trouble, did they?” Stan's voice came from over his shoulder.

Stan had revived, calling on reserves he never knew he had. He had even gotten to his feet. He was filled with a strange knowledge; that he was both a dead man and a living one. The two sides of himself were warring now, each trying to establish dominance. Stan thought he knew who was going to win.

Somewhat unsteadily he crossed the harvester and gazed at Gill's wound.

“Pulled it right off, did they?”

“Yes, sir. Or perhaps I did.”

“Comes to the same thing,” Stan said. “Doesn't give you any pain, does it?”

“No, Doctor, none at all. I register the loss of my arm solely as an analogue of loss, not as the real thing.”

“It's abstract for you, is that it?”

“I suppose you could say that, sir.” And yet, Gill knew it wasn't quite true. No human could really imagine what it was like to be a synthetic. And to be a synthetic suffering loss — that was really beyond their scope. Except, he thought, maybe Julie could understand it.

“Well, Gill,” Stan said, “I think it'll be best if you look after Julie for the time being. I have some work to do on the radio.”

“I don't think much can be done for her, sir. Not without regular medical facilities.”

“No, I suppose not,” Stan said. “Maybe there's not much that can be done for any of us. Still, we must avail ourselves of every twist and turn. That's what it's like being a human, Gill. You avail yourself of every little opportunity. You assume you're not dead until you can no longer move. I hope you're taking note of all this.”

“Indeed I am, Doctor,” Gill said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I'm afraid not,” Stan said. “Unless you happened to bring along a replacement body. No? I didn't think so. But the royal jelly is finally starting to take effect I'm all washed up, Gill, but I'm feeling a lot better.”

“Glad to hear it, sir.”

“Thanks. We'll talk more later, Gill.”

Stan turned to the radio. Gill watched him, and he was disturbed. It seemed to him that Dr. Myakovsky was in some sort of shock. He was hardly registering his grief at Julie's condition. Was it a callousness about him that Gill had missed? Gill thought it was something else. He had noticed that humans from time to time went into a condition they called shock. It was when something terrible happened, either to them or to someone close to them. It was how humans shut down when they experienced overload. But synthetics could never shut down.

As Stan turned to the radio it suddenly burst into life. An unfamiliar voice said, “Hello? Is there someone aboard the harvester?”

Stan sat down at the instrument panel. “Yes, there is someone here.”

“I thought as much. This is Potter, captain of the Bio-Pharm ship Lancet . You are trespassing on Neo-Pharm territory. Identify yourself at once!”

“I am Dr. Stanley Myakovsky,” Stan said. There are only three of us here — myself, a woman, and an android. We are all that is left of a survey expedition sent to inspect the hive on AR-32.”

“I knew you were here, Doctor,” Potter said. That says it all, I think.”

“Maybe you don't know everything, Captain,” Stan said. “Our ship was damaged during the recent storm. We require help badly.”

“I understand,” Potter said. “I am sending men to pick you up. Be prepared to leave the harvester. That is all for now.”

Stan put down the microphone and turned to Gill. “He says he's sending help. I suppose you can guess what kind of help Potter is going to offer.” Gill didn't answer. He was watching through one of the view panels as the Lancet's primaries flared briefly and the great ship dropped slowly and majestically down through the sky in a shining glitter of landing jets. The big ship settled effortlessly on AR-32's plain. Soon after the landing, there was a sparkle of bright lines along the ground, and then something almost transparent that looked like the ghost of a wall erected itself around the Lancet .

“I see you have your force field up,” Stan said. “A wise precaution, I can assure you.”

“We're able to throw some protection around your ship, too,” Potter said. “My men are coming now.”

A bay door in the Lancets side cracked open, then let down to the ground, forming a landing ramp. Stan watched a dozen men come running down the ramp. Carrying bulky weapons, they were masked and shielded, and wearing full space armor.

“You waste no time, do you, Captain?” Stan said.

“You're damned right,” Potter said. “The sooner I get you people out of the harvester the better.”

“One way or another,” Stan said mildly.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Stan muttered. “But it looks to me like your men are running into a little difficulty.”

The armed men were moving across the corridors between the force fields that lay between Potter's ship and the harvester. The force fields shimmered faintly in the pelting rain. Low, flat lighting, grim and without shadows, illuminated the scene, and this was aided by the search beam from the Lancet , which flooded different areas with its sulfurous, yellow light. The men moved at a brisk trot, helmet shields up so they could communicate better. Their troubles began slowly and built fast. The first man to scream was hardly noticed, so rapidly were the others moving. But then the squad leader became aware that something was amiss. His name was Blake and he was from Los Angeles. He was used to skulking around smoking ruins and walking down ruined streets. So he wasn't entirely surprised when he saw one of the men throw his arms in the air as something long and black snaked out from seemingly nowhere and grabbed him around the neck. But what had it been? Blake wasn't sure. He stared, gaped. Another man screamed, and was dragged away shrieking. Then Blake realized that somehow the aliens had gotten into the uninterdicted corridors between the force fields, and were grabbing soldiers as they crossed from one field to another. Seeing this, Blake shouted some orders. His little squadron was already cut in half. He ordered the remaining soldiers to fight back-to-back. They were closer to the harvester than to the Lancet , so he ordered them to continue.

You could see that the men didn't want to go. What had begun as a nice little bug fight had turned into a slaughter of humans. It wasn't fair! But there was no one to complain to.

They fought, their weapons flashing and flaming, and they caught a group of aliens as they were preparing to charge, caught them dead on and blew them to hell and back. The air rained black body parts. The acid from the aliens' wounds sprayed far and wide, and the ground sizzled beneath them. Luckily the soldiers were in acid-proof armor, or the acid would have made short work of them.

The sun came out as the slaughter continued, and the men seemed to be holding their own. Then the aliens got around the other side of the force field, and the soldiers were caught between two attacking alien groups.

They continued fighting, falling one after another. The lucky ones were dead when they hit the ground. Some of the others, wounded but not yet dead, weren't so lucky. Aliens draped them over their shoulders and retreated to the hive. These soldiers would make fine hosts, just what the queen needed.