Specimen 669

"These specimen vessels have not been transported in accordance with the storage system!"

Technician Max Bohn tried not to flinch at the hard spoken words of Dr Klara Brune as she peered through her spectacles over the glowing holopad she was holding. This was as near as the exobiologist got to anger - or any other emotion for that matter.

"The instructions could not have been clearer. The level of inefficiency displayed is beyond belief!"

"I've just taken charge here," protested Max. "I'm sure I can sort things out how you want them."

"What I want is some semblance of efficiency, Technician Bohn. But it appears to be too great a request that you lab techs do your jobs satisfactorily."

"They're not very good, I'll admit," conceded Max. "But everyone wants things done differently. Prof Feldmann wants things done a certain way, and Dr Hess another, and so on."

"I notice you don't include yourself in that assessment of incompetence," retorted Dr Brune.

"I'm sure you'll report me if I fail to shape up to the task, doctor. But I can assure you my methods are scientific, even if the same cannot be said of the rest of the technical staff.'

"I'll be the judge of that, Tech Bohn. Don't think I won't report your incompetence if I see it."

"I will count upon it, Dr Brune." You icy heartless bitch, he added, internally.

Despite the brusquely impersonal manner of Dr Klara Brune, Max did not mind when it was her he was confined to working with in lab 4. In fact, she was by far his favourite.

As Dr Brune was engrossed in the scrolling information before her bespectacled gaze, Max ran his own bio-scan of the scientist. She was wearing one of her shorter skirts today, displaying the shapely muscles of her lower thighs, and those gym-honed tendons behind her knees. Her strong but slinky ankles, and toned, full calves never failed to elicit his biological attention. He lamented the fact that she insisted on wearing that white lab-coat at all times, usually buttoned up to the top, frustratingly obscuring the sinuous curves of her derriere, and those rather juicy pair of breasts he'd hardly even got a glimpse of. Other than her elegant neck and handsome, angular face, those lower legs were all he got to see of her. The good thing was she was oblivious to his appreciation of her, so he could gawp pretty much all he liked.

She was no supermodel, but he would not have swapped her for one. Her imperfections somehow conspired to enhance her appeal. She was an earthy woman, not a plastic pretty-girl. By standards of classic beauty her nose was a little too long, and her jaw a little too heavy; and she completely distained makeup of any kind. Somehow that all just made her sexier. Max would have kicked a child to see her getting out of the shower. Unfortunately, the technicians were confined to the lower station decks, away from the scientists' living quarters. And there were no children on board.

The doctor wrinkled her haughty nose, and cast her brown eyes over the hopeless mess of the lab. "We shall have to make do with what we have," she said.

"Perhaps if I work here with you all week we can get some continuity," suggested Max, in a flash of inspiration. "If one scientist sticks with the same lab technician that should improve our efficiency.'

Max swore she took a deep breath at the word "efficiency." She liked that shit.

"We'll see how badly you mess up today, Tech Bohn,' said Dr Brune, fixing him coolly with her big brown eyes.

Max had a feeling that today he was going to work hard.

#

The Geonova Corporation that had hired Max Bohn specialised in planetary exploration, not exobiological field research. The team of specialists they had hastily assembled on the orbital station was purposed with investigating a series of crypto-xenological specimens, retrieved by a robot salvage team from the desolate fringe-world below. The rumour was that the specimens (all of which were deceased) were being removed from a crashed spaceship. The matter was top secret. Everyone had signed a confidentiality clause, and was forbidden from even discussing the subject.

For Max Bohn, when the grant for his exobiology degree had run out, he'd leapt at the sudden opportunity to replenish his funds. He could do the work, and the pay was far in excess of regular lab technician wages. It was a galactic fringe zone, so the increased pay did not come without risk. But that was the territory.

By his third day in lab 4 with the "Ice Witch"- as his fellow techs called her - Max fancied he was beginning to melt the ice of Dr Klara Brune a little. When he mentioned that he was studying to become a scientist her attitude towards him underwent an immediate change. She was still just as cold as ever, but her general contempt for him as a person vanished. And his new categorization system which cross-referenced each type of scan data with each individual scientist's written analysis had earned her approval - at least she'd not ripped into him, which was her version of high praise.

That station-day, for the first time, Klara had the top buttons of her lab-coat undone. The wine-coloured blouse she had on underneath displayed about five-centimetres of cleavage, if you managed to look from the right direction. Now he could see them, even a bit, Max was beginning to understand what a criminal waste it was covering up those milk-melons. His quick eyes lapped up the doctor's tits every moment she looked at a readout, or studied her holopad. He wished she would wear some makeup. Apart from her wedding ring she wore no jewellery, either. The thirty-three year old never spoke a word about her husband or two children; when he mentioned her family he got stabbed with a verbal icicle.

Increasingly, it was others who were taking the force of Dr Brune's professional displeasure. Whenever a junior tech was foolish enough to step inside her laboratory (or lair, by tech-speak) Max had learned to step back and let them receive the brunt of it. After she'd sent one poor lad away close to tears, Max risked a personal comment.

"Why don't you get optical implants?"

"What?" She looked at him, creasing her nice face into the same contortion of contempt she did whenever he said anything non-scientific or unnecessary. "That's just vanity. These are quite sufficient." She fondled her specs self-consciously.

"They look good. You could try wearing a little makeup, though." He knew he was pushing it now. "It wouldn't do any harm. Just a bit of eyeshadow. Maybe some neutral lipstick."

She gave him the contempt-glare, but said nothing. That was progress - three days earlier a comment like that would have seen him booted out of her lab.

"I have an idea of how to improve efficiency, here," said Dr Brune.

So do I, thought Max. How about I fuck you over the workbench and burn off some of this tension.

She never got to finish her sentence, as the next specimen was glided in on its suspensor frame. It was one of the biggest specimens they had yet seen. The deceased creature was the size of a horse. It had eight insectoid legs, a distended abdomen, and an odd looking head with small mouthparts and three compound eyes.

They stood in awe for a moment at the thing's peculiarity.

"Now that is one ugly piece of shit," said Max.

"That is an unscientific description, Tech Bohn. But not entirely incorrect, it will be admitted."

"Specimen 669. It looks like a predator, don't you think, Klara?"

"Dr Brune. Yes. Arachnoid in aspect, suggesting predation. A large opisthoma, with no obvious reproductive organs. Pseudo-pods on the prosoma. Strangely small mandibles and no obvious means of killing its prey. We'll set up some internal scans and see if that reveals anything."

Dr Klara knew her aliens. She adjusted her glasses in her idiosyncratic way. She chewed on the end of her pen, which in Max's mind was his cock. There was the tiniest hint of bra-lace showing over the white of her tits. For the last couple of wanks, Max had not had a single thought about any other woman.

"You seem a little distracted today, Tech Bohn," said Klara. "You made one whole mistake earlier with the ultrasonic tissue-density data."

The doctor rubbed her neck, loosening a few strand of brown hair from her painfully tight bun, and for an instant the depth of her cleavage was doubled.

Max thought carefully about his response. He was sure he'd figured out Dr Klara to some extent, and felt like testing his assumptions.

"Unfortunately I didn't have sex for a few weeks before I hyperspaced out here. We are all biomechanical machines, after all. I don't suppose you'd consent to improve my efficiency with some sexual intercourse, doctor? Efficiency must come first, of course."

Klara looked blank for a few seconds. "That would violate the legal obligations of my marriage vows." Adjusted her specs. 'Try Dr Katja Sondheim, or Prof Astrid Morgenthau.'

Astrid Morgenthau was in her nineties - and the decent anti-aging drugs were all recent inventions; and Katja Sondheim was possibly the plainest woman Max had ever seen.

"Perhaps I'll just masturbate to pornography," said Max.

"Yes, good idea. That often does the trick. Do you want a ten minute break? I don't want any more mistakes," said Klara, without looking up from her holopad, not in the least offended.

Max peered at that five-centimetres of lace rimmed cleavage. A tit fuck and a blowjob wouldn't break a marital contract, he thought. For a moment he actually came quite close to saying it.

Klara jabbed away at her handset, scratching under her bra-strap, utterly absorbed in her world of science.

#

Unfortunately for Max, the following day he found Dr Brune had been posted to another laboratory. For the remains of the investigation he was paired with Prof Albrecht Klinger - a tediously dull man with bad breath. Max was at least invited to the wrap party when the project was completed five days later, in acknowledgement of his work. None of the other technicians were invited, and Prof Rolf Feldmann, the project manager, only tolerated him when it emerged he was an undergraduate. Only Klara really spoke to him respectfully. The only other scientist to display any amiability was Prof Arnold Voll. This elderly, short of stature man (four foot eleven inches) was a decidedly eccentric scientist who was clearly considered a bit of an oddball by his colleagues. He'd heard of Max's cross-reference system, and was overly impressed. At least he was friendly. In fact he was so friendly Max found him a little disconcerting.

When no one was looking Max slipped away with a few bottles to the techs' recreation room. Most of the station techs were a bunch of blackguards, which was what you tended to get in the Outer Zone, but there were a few he was friendly with, and they played cards for the rest of the night. He mentioned his frustrated designs of getting into Dr Brune's knickers. It turned out he was not the only one to have developed a non-scientific appreciation of the exobiologist. Max was a tiny bit chagrined to hear what an evil bitch they all considered her, and had to tolerate the vivid descriptions of how they would care to pass the time with her.

The next station-morning Max awoke to find his room in lockdown. His PC was in hibernation mode, and the station central computer had engaged some type of security protocol that had sealed his door shut. The food dispenser was still working, so he ate, showered and wondered what the hell was going on. If there was an emergency then why was he not being informed? Getting increasingly alarmed, he paced his room, now his effective prison.

After three hours, he received a call on the intercom. To his alarm the voice was spoken through a distorter.

"Max. You are no doubt wondering what is taking place. I regret to inform you a bio-containment quarantine situation has developed. I will keep you posted."

That was it for several hours. Then the intercom opened again.

"Max. I have a proposal for you. I would like to offer you the chance to take part in a pivotal moment in the history of xenobiology. Your career could be made at a stroke. Are you interested?"

"What the fuck? Who am I speaking to? What's going on?"

"Yes, I thought we'd get all that. Look at things another way, Max. This station is no longer under the exclusive use of the Geonova Corporation. I'm offering you the chance to do something useful. If not you may find yourself in a position of scientific irrelevance, and thus superfluous to the purpose to which this station has been arrogated.'

It was one of the scientists, not a tech.

"Well that certainly puts things differently. What do you want me to do?"

"Make your way down to lab 8 and all will become apparent."

The door of Max's room unlocked.

#

He was met outside by Jan and Fritz, two of the technicians with whom he'd played cards the previous night. They both held stunguns; although they were not levelled directly at him, Max got the idea. They apologised, explaining they were to escort him to lab 8. Here, Max was taken to the observation room of the isolation chamber, and shut inside. They brought him a coffee, at least.

The distorted voice resumed from the intercom. "Glad you have joined us, Max."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"All that will become apparent shortly, my boy. What you need to know is the xenological specimens assembled on this station are of a scientific value beyond that which has been previously assumed. The Geonova Corporation has no idea what it is dealing with. I represent the interests of a certain exobiotech company that will remain nameless. On their behalf, and in the greater interests of science, I have appropriated control of this installation. There - I've said it. Do we all feel better now?"

"I know who you are."

"All right, I won't bother with this then," said Prof Arnold Voll, disengaging the voice distorter. "As you will have noticed I've got the technical staff on my side. You lot really are being paid peanuts. A one-thousand percent increase in wages does tend to reprioritise a man's sense of duty. For the others, anyway. You, however, Max, are a different sort of man. I knew I'd have to appeal to you intellectually.'

"Errr... can I have the money as well?"

"Of course. If it's your doctorate you're worried about then consider this: you're about to be involved in research level exobiology above and beyond that which your tutors themselves have studied. How's that for a start to your career? For my needs right now though, you're scientifically minded, and that makes you valuable as both a witness and assistant - unlike those other worthless human drones. Naturally you can back out at any point."

"I'm thinking that would not be a good decision."

"Ha! Yes, you're getting the idea. Good boy."

The light came on inside the isolation chamber and Max saw what was inside. Dr Albrecht Klinger, who had been sitting down, stood up. Angrily, he demanded to be let out. He banged his fist on the screen. The screen was opaque from his side, but he knew he was being watched.

"This is exciting, isn't it? Now let's do some science," said Prof Voll.

On the opposite side of the chamber a circular hatch swivelled open, and water-vapour spilled out of the lightless portal. Klinger stopped banging on the screen. A tendril licked the bright space of the chamber. Klinger stepped backwards, his face aghast. A spindly, insectoid leg appeared from the hatch. Then another and another. Max spat out a mouthful of coffee. In a slick, scuttling motion the bulk of the alien creature glided into the chamber. It angled its triple compound eye towards Klinger. It was specimen 669.

"Holy fucking shit! It's alive!"

"Well spotted Max. What an excellent biologist you're going to make. Now shut up, observe, and don't ruin the science."

The alien-thing, all heaving abdomen and scuttling legs, was suddenly looming over Dr Klinger. Albrecht screamed a cracked note of terror. An antenna extended from between 669's eyes, its tip glowing luminously. When the organ hovered in Klinger's face a blankly anodyne look overtook his expression, and he stared vacantly into space.

669 made some distinctly quizzical droning and trilling sounds. Then it made a deep chittering noise, as if it had made its mind up about something. Thick tentacles burst from the pods on its thorax and enveloped the scientist. From its maw a clump of tentacles wrapped around Klinger's head, penetrating his eyes, ears and nose. He didn't even scream. With a disgusting slurping sound it drained the corporeal fluids of Dr Klinger, sucking him dry like a squash carton, and dropping his desiccated husk of a corpse to the floor. The alien made a sated, chittering noise of approval. The observation screen then went black.

Max made for the waste bin, but didn't quite make it, spraying his vomit over the carpet. He managed to get some in the bin; under the circumstances he was quite proud of that shot.

Dr Klinger had not deserved that. He was a pedantic bore with bad breath, but he'd not deserved that. Mouthwash would have done.

"Impressive, eh?" said Prof Voll. "You see how it hunts: it pacifies its prey with a beam of psionic radiation. Have you got any idea of the potential biotech applications of what we've just witnessed? That's a lot to take in of course - you'll need time to think about it. I'd appreciate it if you write your own report."

"You utter bastard. I can't believe you just did that."

"Oh, don't be a milksop, Max. Dr Klinger was an average scientist, at best. Now he's played a more important role in the field of exobiology than he could ever have dreamt of."

"How can it be alive? I mean... it was dead."

"Obviously not. All the specimens are alive. They're encased in a biostatic crypto-organic compound. Its state of the art stuff. None of this lot knew what it was, the idiots. Still, they're going to be scientifically useful - just not in the way they'd imagined."

"You're a sick evil little fuck."

"Sentiment is for poets, Max. I'm a scientist. And if you want to be one too, you'd better start acting like it. You'll be helping my experiments one way or another, I assure you. Perhaps you'd like to go back to your room for a while and think about that."

#

Max consented to help Prof Voll with his experiments. He reassured himself he did not have a great deal of choice. Performing all the ancillary functions, he continued to run the labs in much the same way as he'd done for the other scientists - only now they were part of the experiments.

He never actually saw Arnold Voll himself; it appeared the diminutive professor had control of the station's central computer, and was able to run things from a hidden location. But he still needed Max and the other technicians as his hands. He had more techs than he needed. Max was certain that as soon as he ran out of scientists he would set the techs against one another, and start using them in his experiments. Max knew that would be his chance to turn the others against the evil little monster. First, he would have to find out where he was hiding.

What Max saw kept him awake. Prof Rolf Feldmann was exposed to specimen 583. The alien was a floating membranous sack of gases and tendrils; it digested the unfortunate scientist alive, leaving only his bones. Dr Dominic Gerster was exposed to specimen 704. The thing was a gravid female vespoidea creature that inserted an ovipositor and laid its eggs inside him. His body was put into cryostasis in preservation for this unnamed exobiotech company, which was apparently on route to the station.

On entering the observation area on the fourth day, Max took his seat as usual. The moment he did so a microdrone appeared and vapour-injected him. The drug paralysed him from the neck down. He could neither move nor speak.