Species II by Yvonne Navarro

out the window and appeared to study the buildings that went from camouflage-patterned to cinderblock to white paint as they rolled past. “Used to be a man could make an entire career out of knocking off communists. Times are a lot thinner since the Iron Curtain came down.”
    A corner of Press’s mouth twisted. “No offense, Burgess, but maybe you ought to catch up with the nineties. From a military viewpoint, aliens are the growth industry now.”
    Burgess’s chin lifted and his eyes hardened, his entire appearance just a little too much self-satisfied to make Press entirely comfortable. “Oh, I’m on the cutting edge, Lennox. You just wait and see.”
    Before Press could respond, the sedan swung into a parking slot outside a bunker-style building with a discreet sign and logo matching the one they’d seen a few moments before. The BioHazard 4 building looked like any of the others on the base, a small square block attached on one side to a whitewashed, oversized version of an airplane hangar.
    “Welcome to Monroe Air Force Base,” Burgess said as the driver released the security locks on the sedan’s doors and the three men climbed out. Press started to say something cutting; then choked it back and laughed instead.
    The idiot driver had pulled into the handicapped slot.
    “O kay, I’m intrigued,” Press said as he followed Carter Burgess down the most recent of a series of long corridors. He paused before a door marked EMERGENCY ARMORY and watched as two uniformed military guards hefted several boxes onto a table, then proceeded to unload a cache of M-16s and Mossberg 590 shotguns. He couldn’t see any farther into the room. “Since when does a bio-facility need an armory?”
    “We’re like the Boy Scouts, Press.” Burgess’s voice was a little glib and Press looked at him sharply. The older man only shrugged and gave him an enigmatic smile. “You do remember the Boy Scout motto, don’t you? Always be prepared.”
    “I was never the Boy Scout type,” Press countered.
    Before he could say more, an airlock door slid open with a muted whoosh. Burgess stepped through and Press followed automatically, not particularly surprised at the high-tech equipment and the med-staff and biologists—all female—scattered around the bio-environment. “This is BioHazard Four,” Burgess announced.
    Press nodded, then saw that even the small contingent of SWAT guards were all women, and all armed to the eyeballs with 9mm H&K MP5A3s. “What—” he began, then his voice choked off.
    “Jesus Christ!”
    These days, Press’s own weapon of choice was a small, concealable Glock 26 9mm. He yanked the gun from beneath his arm without conscious thought, raised it and aimed—
    Sil.
    It was only the shock of seeing her, of knowing somewhere deep in his subconscious that the creature in front of his eyes was safely restrained, that let Burgess snatch the weapon from Press’s hand without getting himself killed in the process. “Put that thing away, Lennox,” the colonel snapped. “You won’t need it here.”
    Inside the confines of a glass-walled set of rooms that reminded Press of a human-sized hamster cage, the new Sil-creature sat cross-legged on a comfortably upholstered hassock in front of a built-in television set. To Press’s shocked eyes, she seemed to be utterly fascinated by a commercial on the screen—some stupid thing with an animated leprechaun dancing around the rim of bowl full of cereal and twittering “Frosted Lucky Charms—they’re magically delicious!” Still paralyzed, Press saw the alien woman cock her head to one side like a dog trying diligently to understand its master’s commands.
    “Magically delicious,” she repeated, her voice echoing softly over a speaker system in the laboratory. Suddenly she blinked as if something had interrupted her chain of thought, then turned her head and saw Press and the colonel. The television forgotten, she stood gracefully and moved to the glass of