Slither - Edward Lee [57]
Nora got one every year, for her job. A calibration tool, she thought, looking at it. Another boring mystery solved.
'I'll bet some grunt with the missile team dropped that thing here twenty years ago," Trent said.
74,enty years ago? Nora wondered. The tool didn't even look tarnished.
She put it away and forgot about it. In truth, though, the object wasn't a calibration tool, nor was it a jeweler's file. Nora had been right in the first place. The object was-
CHAPTER ELEVEN
(I)
My key! the corporal thought in the worst kind of alarm. When he'd returned to the control center, he reached to his belt where the key's lanyard had been attached but-
It was gone.
I must've tied the damn thing on wrong! he realized.
This was not good. Especially considering the classified nature of this assignment, the key was considered a sensitive access device. The corporal sweated beneath his protective mask. If one of those civilians gets hold of that key, they could get into the command center! The corporal's career would be over. He'd be busted, written up, fined, and probably thrown in the stockade. The entire mission could be compromised ...
He stood a minute to compose himself, and think. Maybe ... maybe no one will find out, he thought. I won't tell anyone I lost it until the assignment's over. The sarge is coming out on rounds in a minute anyway; I won't even need my key ...
It was the only plan he could think of.
A minute later, the door did indeed open, and the sergeant emerged. "Why didn't you come inside?"
"I was just taking a last look around before shift change."
The sergeant didn't question the lie. "Well, come in here. I want you to see something."
The corporal entered and followed the sergeant to one of the old power rooms that they'd converted for their own use. They used several of the rooms to monitor growth rates on some of the hosts.
The one named Howie, the corporal saw behind the quarantine enclosure's protective screen. The kid's body was so bloated that he'd busted out of his shirt and shorts. He shuddered, pouring sweat.
"He's still alive, isn't he?"
The sergeant nodded, and pointed to the vital signs meter. "Yep. Hope the poor bastard isn't feeling anything, but ..."
"But he probably is," the corporal said.
"Yeah."
The corporal didn't care.
"Looks like he's about to blow," said the major, coming in behind them.
The sergeant and the corporal both snapped to attention.
"Yes, sir," the sergeant said.
"At ease." The major peered through the glass, intent on the spectacle. "So far the transfections have been close to perfect. And the infection rates from the worms and ova alike are occurring in less than twentyfour hours." The major looked more pointedly at the subject. "Is this a single-ovum infection?"
"No, sir," the sergeant answered. "A multiple gesta tion. He was infected by several ova and three or four live worms."
"Are the recorders on?"
"Yes, sir."
"Should be any minute-"
As if on cue, Howie's body began to buck, his wet skin slapping on the floor. His arms and legs seemed to vibrate, and it looked like his eyes were going to jettison. Then-
His back arched upward; the convulsions trebled. Soon the bloated body began to deflate as Howie's mouth poured forth a slew of live, inch-long worms. More worms-hundreds of them-began to evacuate the colon ...
"Beautiful," the major whispered. His eyes glimmered on the scene.
The sergeant and the corporal traded glances. I'm about to puke, the corporal thought, and this guy thinks it's beautiful?
Moments later, Howie lay dead in a pool of shivering pink worms. The worms were peppered with hundreds more immature yellow ova.
The major grinned. "Gentlemen, that's what I call positive reproductive success of a genetically hybridized species. I can't wait for the colonel to see this replay." He pressed his hand to the glass, musing. "Look at all of them, will you? All of that just from one single human host ..."
The sergeant winked at the corporal.
"Decon