Unsettled but confident in the rapid-fire carbine he held, Oram watched as the synthetic carefully opened the object, peeling back the top like the petals of a flower. Or a father pulling the edges of a blanket back from the face of a newborn.
“This one was a true survivor. Not unlike myself, I suppose, although my survival stems from intelligence, and its from inherent instinct. It can evolve and reproduce very quickly under a wide variety of situations.” His expression fell. “Sadly, it became aggressive, so I had to euthanize it. Such a shame. I place no blame on something with motivations that are purely primal.”
He beckoned. “Come and look.” When Oram, sensibly, hesitated, David smiled again. “Really, Captain, if I had wanted to infect you with something, I could have thrown you a viable egg sac, instead of a petrified one. Please, come and look. I guarantee your fascination.”
Challenged but still wary, Oram came forward. Gripping his rifle even more tightly and prepared to raise it at the slightest untoward movement from either the object or the synthetic, he leaned over to peer into the now gaping vase-like specimen. The interior revealed a motionless creature, all finger-like appendages and flattened body, with a muscular tail coiled beneath it as if it was ready to spring outward.
It did not move.
It was dead, as dead and preserved as David had promised. As dead as the egg sac the synthetic had tossed to him. Oram stepped back from the specimen, which seemed pregnant with hideous potential.
The synthetic’s reaction was notably different. “Quite magnificent, don’t you think?”
“Quite something, that’s for sure,” Oram muttered. He continued to gaze at the egg-thing and its contents. As patently lifeless as it was, it still managed to send a quiver of fear through him.
“Oh, Captain.” David shook his head sadly. “Acknowledge beauty when you see it. Even if its appearance disturbs you, surely you can admire the skill that went into its design. In case you are wondering, I had nothing to do with it. It lies as I found it, a supreme example of the Engineers’ skill. And also, I suppose, of their hubris.
“Would that I could create something so perfect in its function,” he added. “I try, but I don’t have thousands of years of practice at biological and genetic engineering. I have only my pitiable programming on which to draw. That, and ten years of earnest effort on my own behalf. I have learned only a little, yet I soldier on, hoping always to achieve something like this, always striving to do better, to improve. That’s what the Engineers did, I suppose. That is what someone playing God should do.”
He gestured toward a stairway leading downward.
“Come, this is really what I wanted to show you. My successes. For without an audience, how can one truly know if one has achieved success?” Leading the way toward the staircase, he paused to scoop up some ointment from an open pot, then turned and extended his smeared fingers toward Oram.
“May I?” When Oram shook his head no, the synthetic shrugged. “The smell below can be quite overpowering. And this can protect you from—other things. Here. Use it or not, as you see fit. It’s much like lavender.”
After depositing a dollop of the ointment on the tip of two of the captain’s fingers, David turned and entered the stairway. Oram examined the unguent closely. It showed no sign of movement. Nothing sprang from its interior to confront him. It was, to all appearances and feel, exactly what the synthetic had said it was.
Once again Oram was put in mind of what David could have done at any time while showing his visitor around the laboratory. So the ointment was probably harmless and maybe, as his host claimed, even useful. Maybe. It lay cool and damp against his fingertips.
For now, he would hold off doing anything with it.
Redolent of concentrated ammonia, the stench rose to meet him before they were halfway down the stairs. He recoiled. Hesitantly, he lifted his greasy fingertips toward his nose. The aroma was indeed like lavender. Taking a deep breath, he smeared the salve under his nostrils. Immediately, the acrid odor was neutralized. Feeling much better, he continued following his prideful guide.
The vapor that rose from the floor of the dark, windowless chamber beneath the laboratory might well have been pure ammonia. If so, however, he couldn’t detect it—the ointment worked wonderfully well. A side benefit to its neutralization of the stink was a general feeling of well-being. This was most welcome, since the underground room they now entered quite likely would have smelled of dead, rotting flesh. Water condensed on the enclosing walls. The ground underfoot was sodden, almost spongy.
Resting upright on the floor, neatly spaced from one another, were half a dozen leathery ovoids of varying sizes similar to the petrified specimen David had shown him above. The synthetic walked among them, occasionally running a hand over a curving, wrinkled exterior.
“And thus you see the end of my experiments. Though I marshaled ideas aplenty, I could go no further. No more subjects. No way to finish my masterpiece.”
Oram frowned. “What kind of subjects?”
David replied without looking in his direction. “Fauna.”
Oram moved up alongside him. “Are they alive?” he asked. “I don’t see anything to suggest it.”
“Oh, yes.” David’s enthusiasm was genuine. “Very much so. Waiting, really.”
“Waiting for what?”
The synthetic looked thoughtful. “I suppose you’d say, waiting for Mother.”
There was a flicker of motion from the egg-shape nearest Oram, and it caused him to draw back. The upper portion opened, the petals folding back to drip shimmering tendrils of saliva-like mucus down the sides and onto the absorbent floor. Giving a doleful shake of his head at the captain’s alarm, David approached the open ovoid and peered inside, his head almost touching the nearest petal.
“See? Alive, but inert. It’s not matured, not developed enough to sense me. Perfectly safe, I assure you.”
“I’m not surprised it doesn’t sense you.” Despite his growing curiosity, Oram maintained his distance. “You’re not organic.”
“Very true. That’s another thing the ointment is for. Much as it blockades the odor down here, it likewise blocks any indication of your living presence.” He gestured toward the interior of the egg-thing. “Take a look. You know you want to. A quick glance. In this state, it’s identical to the preserved one you saw above.”
Moving slowly and with great deliberation, Oram approached the ovoid. David stepped back, giving him room. This allowed the captain to aim his weapon in front of him, at the egg’s interior. Just in case, he told himself, even as he continued to glance frequently in the synthetic’s direction.
Then he peered down.
Beneath a tissue-thin membrane, something moved ever so slightly. Unable to make out the details, he started to step back. As he did so, the egg’s innards exploded in his face.
He didn’t even have time to scream.
The constrictor-like tail whipped around his neck as a clutch of bony appendages slapped across his face, locking tight around his head. As he staggered backward, stunned, he got off one shot in David’s direction. The synthetic didn’t even twitch as the blast went wild, damaging only the ceiling.
Suffocating under the pressure of the creature and its eight legs, Oram stumbled, nearly tripping over another egg. His mouth opened to yell, or curse, or shriek. It was impossible to divine his intent, because as soon as his lips parted, the ovipositor-like tube slammed down his throat and into his guts.
Dropping the carbine he fell to his knees and used his hands to claw futilely at the facehugger. His body began to spasm. His desperate, tormented efforts to get the horror off his face amounted to nothing. Collapsing to the floor, he continued to jerk and heave spasmodically.