Inseminoid

  Man had landed on the planet before: a fruitless, expensive fiasco of an expedition. Then, fifty years later a smaller but disastrous landing had left two men horribly and unexplainedly dead.

  Now a third attempt had so far found nothing but a silent, lifeless world. Until they broke open the underground chamber and discovered in the most vile way imaginable that the planet was not quite dead. That a sleeping life form had been waiting for millennia, needing only a chance to breed before escaping to spread like a foul, devouring disease into the lifeblood of the universe.

  And to breed it needed the bodies of those who had disturbed it.

  SIR RUN RUN SHAW

  presents

  INSEMINOID

  A Jupiter Film Production

  starring

  ROBIN CLARKE • JENNIFER ASHLEY

  STEPHANIE BEACHAM • STEVEN GRIVES

  BARRY HOUGHTON • ROSALIND LLOYD

  VICTORIA TENNANT • TREVOR THOMAS

  HEATHER WRIGHT • DAVID BAXT

  and

  JUDY GEESON as SANDY

  Executive Producer

  PETER M. SCHLESINGER

  Screenplay by

  NICK and GLORIA MALEY

  Music by

  JOHN SCOTT

  Produced by

  RICHARD GORDON and DAVID SPEECHLEY

  Directed by

  NORMAN J. WARREN

  A New English Library Original Publication, 1981

  Copyright © 1981 by Jupiter Film Productions Ltd.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  First NEL Paperback Edition April 1981

  NEL Books are published by

  New English Library Limited,

  Barnard’s Inn, Holborn,

  London, EC1N 2JR.

  Made and printed in Great Britain by

  Hunt Barnard Printing Ltd., Aylesbury, Bucks.

  ISBN: 0-450-05224-9

  PROLOGUE

  The craft touched down on the rocky surface. The ten-member archaeological team looked nervously through the viewer at what would be their home for the next six months. It was a lonely-looking planet. Desolate, uninviting.

  As soon as the craft had come to a complete stop, those that were going to leave began sitting up.

  A century earlier, a two-hundred-strong contingent spent six months on the planet but came up with nothing. It had gone down as one of the biggest blow-outs in history. But their living complex was still standing and this team would be using it.

  Two weeks before them, a preparation team of three had arrived to ready the facilities, stock them with provisions and bring them up to date technically. That team would be going back to Zeno on the return flight.

  “I hope they’ve got the place in good order,” Foster said. He was commander of the expedition. “I’d hate to waste valuable time making the quarters habitable. We’ve got a job to do.”

  The hatch opened and the archaeologists filed out of the craft.

  “No welcoming party?” Anderson remarked. “Didn’t they have our ETA?”

  “They’re probably waiting for us inside,” Commander Foster told him.

  They shuffled through the atmosphere, taking their time to check out their new surroundings.

  “Not a lot going on here,” mumbled Anderson.

  They reached the outer door of the airlock and activated it. The barrier slid to one side and the crew entered. When that was shut, the inner door opened and they marched into the maze of corridors.

  “We’ll need a map of this place to get around,” Goldberg complained.

  Commander Foster shook his head. “Nope, the majority of the complex’s been closed off. We’ll be doing most of our living and working in a relatively confined area.”

  Still there was no one there to meet them and this worried Anderson.

  “They’re probably sleeping. Those guys have the cushiest jobs,” Goldberg decided.

  He’d just finished saying those words when in the distance of the lighted corridor, they saw what looked to be a bundle of old clothes.

  “The jerk-offs can’t even pick up after themselves.” Anderson shook his head in disgust.

  They walked toward the bundle and stopped abruptly.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” whispered Goldberg. At their feet was indeed men’s clothing. And inside was a skeleton. It lay in a foul-smelling pool of burgundy-colored muck. The commander bent to one knee and lifted some of the substance on to his gloved finger. It was thick and sticky.

  None of them knew what to think. But they moved farther into the complex. Foster raised his gun and the other team members followed his example.

  There was a light glowing from under the control room door. They made their way towards it but the room was locked from the inside. The commander nodded his head and Anderson came forward. With a powerful kick, the door flew-off its hinges.

  Anderson rushed in with his gun ready.

  Sitting in the high-backed chair at the control console was one of the prep team. He didn’t move. He just stared at the flashing lights on the console.

  “Commander, it’s okay. Fitzpatrick’s just having a little fun with us. Hey, Fitz, bright idea. Where did you get that skeleton? Some joker you are!”

  Anderson swung the swivel chair around and froze. It was Fitzpatrick all right. But only his head remained identifiable. From the neck down there was only a skeleton within a suit. No flesh. The same muck glued Fitzpatrick to his chair. The horror painted on his face was something none of those people would ever forget.

  The search for Jones went on for two hours, though he was never found. They now had no doubt he’d suffered the same terrible end as his colleagues.

  Foster made the only decision he could. To return to Zeno. Perhaps in twenty-five, maybe fifty years, interest might be revived in exploring the planet. But he wasn’t going to be the one to do it.

  When Foster made his report it was decided to seal his findings. What happened to the prep crew could not be explained. No one would ever learn the truth about that mission. There was never any explanation for the rule applied that made the planet off-limits for exploration until fifty years had expired.

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  “Crew is settled in and down to work. Nothing more to report at this time. Will keep you informed of developments as they occur. This is Nova, Sub-satellite Archaeology Research Team Seven. Commander Holly McKay, signing off.”

  “Message received and acknowledged. Please note that sun-shield goes up in six hours.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “Good luck, Commander McKay.”

  Holly Mckay switched off the communicator and smiled. Luck. What did luck have to do with it? After all, two previous expeditions had located absolutely nothing—no trace that anything at all had ever existed on this planet. The atmosphere being what it was, and the lack of a food supply, made it quite unlikely that except for bored scientists like themselves there had ever been an indigenous population.

  Even so, it was her first command post. At the very least, it would be good experience without the pressure of life-and-death decisions hanging over her. She figured that was why she was given the assignment in the first place. To break her in. Sure, a discovery of some sort, no matter how trivial, would indicate there had been life on the planet and that would definitely be a feath
er in her cap. But just getting the crew back safe and sound would be enough accomplishment for her.

  All was going smoothly and she intended to keep it that way. Each of the crew of twelve had an assigned job to perform and they were all professional enough not to need constant supervision. Holly was pleased. A team like this one made a commander’s job very easy.

  Dean and Ricky comprised the advance team. It was their responsibility to survey potential dig sites. They’d scout out the planet’s nooks and crannies looking for underground caverns or hollowed-out mountain sides in search of places most likely to hold the secrets of a past civilisation.

  Dean was the old pro. He’d been shuttling between intergalactic way-stations for nearly fifteen years. He’d been there for the big finds as well as the blow-outs. He wasn’t sure how long he’d continue kicking around on dead planets. Often during recent months he’d come close to hanging up his oxygen mask and thermo unit, taking his pension and whiling away the days on one of those retirement communities that’d sprung up in the last few years. When it came down to it, though, he knew he couldn’t live out his life in a glass bubble, swimming in an artificial lake, catching electronic fish and partying with people who’d never understand the thrill of excavating a site untouched for a million years. No, Dean was pretty certain he’d die with his boots on.

  While Dean had learned to be deliberate and cautious through his many years of service, Ricky was the impetuous raw rookie, eager to make his mark as soon as he could.

  Ricky was just twenty-two years old. He’d gone through the required course of study, though book-learning bored him to death. He was ready for the big time and so he was a bit disappointed when it turned out that this was to be his first mission. But then, a guy had to start at the bottom in this business.

  And there were the perks—the job benefits that helped to make even a nothing expedition like this worthwhile. Ricky was thinking specifically of the system of sexual rotation. At least he’d be getting it regularly and if he was paired up with a dead one, all he had to do was wait till the rotation wheel turned a notch. Besides, he’d had it with those furtive trysts in the back of the shuttle with Nancy. He’d only done it with her because she was a pushover and always willing. And she kept her mouth shut. She would come by the gymnasium and watch him work out, getting steamed up by the sight of his bulging muscles.

  Ricky was glad to be away from Nancy. She’d become like a puppy dog, always yapping at his heels. If he’d been asked why he’d become a space archaeologist, sex would have come first on the list, adventure second and scientific motivation a lowly third. But then no one asked.

  Crossing the planet’s surface from the living complex to their intended survey location, the two men struck a surreal image. Their silver suits glistened against the purple haze that drifted in for that short period of time each day when one sun was setting and the other rising on opposite horizons. They walked slowly through what had been dubbed the Valley of the Shadows because the two suns cast two distinct shadows on every object.

  They’d been on the planet for only a week and a day but the expedition already had all the markings of a blow-out. Nothing had turned up to justify the continuation of the project, but that was nothing new. Those earlier expeditionary task-forces—fifty and a hundred-and-fifty years before them—came away with the same lack of results. It was the former expedition that constructed the primitive living quarters, a spider-like complex with a maze of corridors and a multitude of laboratories, workrooms and storage facilities. For some long-forgotten reason it had been thought that this planet might provide the key to those questions that continually dogged scientific explanation about the origins of life.

  Although the complex had been built to hold two hundred explorers, much of it had fallen into disrepair and was sealed off. A technical crew from Nova had come down briefly before the archaeologists arrived to modernise a section of the complex for their occupation. New electronics and an updated communication system were installed as well as purified atmosphere control units.

  Dean and Ricky had already checked out Quadrant-Two a few days earlier and found nothing. Now, they were on their way to Quadrant-Four. In the centre of the quadrant was a hill, unremarkable in any way, indeed very similar to many others they’d already checked. But they had to start somewhere and that seemed as good a place as any. Both men carried sonic sensors, small electronic units that registered the thickness of rock and other solid materials. It was with the sonic sensor that they’d be able to determine whether a particular hillside or ground-cover might be concealing a hollowed-out area.

  “We’d better split up,” Dean said. “No reason to duplicate our work. Why don’t you begin checking the other side of the hill?”

  Ricky nodded his helmeted head and moved around the mound, out of view of Dean and the complex in the distance.

  Ten minutes went by, then Dean called to Ricky through his personal communicator. “I may have something here. Sensor indicates a depth of only a foot and a half. Give me a hand.”

  Ricky rejoined Dean. “What do you think it means?”

  “Probably not a whole lot. A small gap in the rock formation is most likely.” Dean removed something from his supply pack. “Let’s see what these little charges can do for us. It sure beats slugging it out with a pick and shovel.”

  Dean positioned a half-dozen small red discs the size of coat buttons on the edge of a protruding rock, and he and Ricky retreated fifty yards. When they were well clear of flying debris Dean electronically set off the charge. The atmosphere was such that sound didn’t travel. Ricky found it strange to see the light and the smoke of the blast but to hear nothing.

  When the dust had settled, they saw that the entire side of the hill had crumbled, revealing a dark cavern. Ricky shot Dean a glance but Dean was intrigued by the gaping hole and didn’t even notice Ricky’s questioning expression.

  “We may just have stumbled on something,” Dean mumbled. He was talking as much to himself as he was to his young colleague.

  They walked to the entrance and stopped just outside it.

  “It’s dark in there,” Ricky commented.

  Dean smiled. “I guess no one told them we were coming and to leave the lights on.” He increased the beams attached to the sides of his helmet and shone the high-intensity lantern inside the cavern. Ricky followed his example and they were ready to enter.

  They drenched the stone walls of the cavern with the artificial light but it was still dark. Then, Dean saw something. Ricky noticed his surprise. “What is it?”

  “Don’t know. Stay where you are and keep the light on the wall.”

  Dean moved to the wall and let his gloved hand brush away thousands of years of dust. It was an engraving.

  He raised his hand and motioned for Ricky to join him. Dean couldn’t believe it—not until he touched it. Indeed, it was real. A broad grin formed on his face. “Ricky, my friend. This is what a scientist waits for. Just as we were on the verge of giving up—a great discovery! Do you realise this is the first sign of civilisation ever discovered on this planet? This means there must be more—that we and the others before us have been looking in the wrong places. This should teach you to have patience.”

  “What do we do now? Should we inform Holly?”

  “Not yet. There’s plenty of time.”

  Dean bent to one knee and studied the hieroglyphics.

  “What do they mean?” Ricky asked.

  Dean shook his head. “No idea. That’s why Mitch is aboard. If he can’t tell us what they mean, then no one can. He’s the best there is.”

  Ricky’s sonic sensor was becoming heavy in his hand, so he rested it on the ground against the wall just beneath the hieroglyphics. Suddenly the digital read-out was flashing.

  “Hey, Dean, look at this. The machine must be broken.”

  But Dean didn’t think so. Those things never went down. If the sensor indicated the wall had a thickness of only six inches, then godd
amn it, it did! “Get me the laser. We’ll burn through it.”

  “You think something’s behind the rock?”

  “Only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

  “But why the laser?” Ricky asked. He was showing his inexperience.

  “Because if we blasted, the whole place would come down on us. Anyway, this rock is thin enough to cut through.”

  “Makes sense.”

  They took their small, hand-held utility lasers from holsters attached to their belts and moved to within a foot of the wall. They activated the instruments and the rock started to melt away. The lasers cut through the stone as though it was butter.

  Suddenly an explosion hit!

  A hail of stone showered down on them. Dean was caught by the full force of the blast and his body was hurled fifteen feet, but he was still breathing. Then one of the rocks tumbling down came to rest only inches from his head. Had it been an ordinary rock, it would have been just one of many and not worthy of special note. But it was very different from the others. Under its rough black exterior were beautiful crystals—crystals that radiated a force so strong that their power passed ghost-like through Dean’s protective helmet without breaking the material. Immediately the left side of his head—the side closest to the crystals—began to melt. The fleshy part of his ear was the first thing to be affected. The mixture of skin, blood and hair became one and dripped down the side of his helmet, sizzling as it went. Then his cheek and his left eyeball began to melt.

  The rocks were still falling and a large, heavy boulder crashed down on Dean’s head, crushing his skull. If the crew later thought that the boulder had been responsible for Dean’s condition, they were very wrong. For that boulder only served to camouflage the true cause of his sorry state. Miraculously, Ricky was knocked clear. He was thrown backwards and lay unconscious half inside and half out of the cavern.

  Sharon was behind the console in the control room. It was her responsibility to keep tabs on all activity. “We’ve got a disturbance in the vicinity of Quadrant-Four,” she announced.