ALIEN 3

Novelization by Alan Dean Foster

based on a screenplay by DAVID GILER & WALTER HILL

and LARRY FERGUSON

story by VINCENT WARD

i If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that
this book may have been stolen property and reported as ?unsold and
destroyed?to the publisher in such case neither the author nor the
publisher has received any payment for this ?stripped book.?

WARNER BOOKS EDITION

TM & copyright Ş1992 by Twentieth century Fox Film

Corporation

All rights reserved.

Cover illustration and design courtesy of 20th century Fox

Warner Books, inc.

1271 Avenue of the Americas

New York, N.Y. 10020

A Time Warner company

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing: June, 1992

ii With thanks to Insight Computers of Tempe, Arizona for their
wonderful computers.

ADF iii

Bad dreams.

Funny thing about nightmares. They're like a chronically recurring
disease. Mental malaria. Just when you think you've got them licked they
hit you all over again, sneaking up on you when you're unprepared, when
you're completely relaxed and least expect them. Not a damn thing you
can do about it, either. Not a damn thing. Can't take any pills or
potions, can't ask for a retroactive injection. The only cure is good
sound sleep, and that just feeds the infection.

So you try not to sleep. But in deep space you don't have any choice.
Avoid the cryonic chambers and the boredom on a deep-space transport
will kill you. Or even worse, you'll survive, dazed and mumbling after
the sacrifice of ten, twenty, thirty years of useless consciousness. A
lifetime wasted gazing at gauges, seeking enlightenment in the unvarying
glare of readouts of limited colors. You can read, and watch the vid,
and exercise, and think of what iv

might have been had you opted to slay the boredom with deep sleep. Not
many professions where it's considered desirable to sleep on the job.
Not a bad deal at all. Pay's good, and you have the chance to observe
social and technological advance from a unique perspective. Postponing
death does not equate with but rather mimics immortality.

Except for the nightmares. They're the inescapable downside to serving
on a deep-space vessel. Normal cure is to wake up. But you can't wake up
in deep sleep. The machines won't let you. It's their job to keep you
under, slow down your body functions, delay awareness. Only, the
engineers haven't figured out yet how to slow down dreams and their
bastard cousin the nightmare. So along with your respiration and
circulation your unconscious musings are similarly drawn out,
lengthened, extended. A single dream can last a year, two. Or a single
nightmare.

Under certain circumstances being bored to death might be the preferable
alternative. But you've got no options in deep sleep. The cold, the
regulated atmosphere, the needles that poke and probe according to the
preset medical programs, rule your body, if not your life. When you lie
down in deep sleep you surrender volition to the care of mechanicals,
trusting in them, relying on them. And why not? Over the decades they've
proven themselves a helluva lot more reliable than the people who
designed them. Machines bear no grudges, engage in no animosity. The
judgments they render are based solely on observation and analysis.
Emotion is something they're not required to quantify, much less act upon.

The machine that was the Sulaco was doing its job. The four sleepers on
board alternately dreamt and rested, speeding along their preprogrammed
course coddled by v

the best technology civilization could devise. It kept them alive,
regulated their vitals, treated momentary blips in their systems.
Ripley, Hicks, Newt, even Bishop, though what was left of Bishop was
easy to maintain. He was used to being turned on and off. Of the four he
was the only one who didn't dream, didn't have nightmares. It was
something he regretted. It seemed like such a waste of time, to sleep
but not to dream. However, the designers of the advanced android series
to which he belonged would have regarded dreaming as an expensive
frivolity, and therefore did not apply themselves to the resolution of
the problem.

Naturally no one thought to inquire of the androids what they thought of
the situation.

After Bishop, who technically was part of the ship and not the crew and
therefore did not count, Hicks was the worst off of the sleepers. Not
because his nightmares were any more severe than those of his
companions, but because the injuries he had recently suffered did not
lend themselves to extended neglect. He needed the attention of a
modern, full-service medical facility, of which the closest example lay
another two years travel time and an enormous distance away.

Ripley had done what she could for him, leaving final diagnosis and
prescription to the efficient judgment of the Sulaco's medical
instrumentation, but as none of the ship's medical personnel had
survived the trouble on Acheron, his treatment was perforce minimal. A
couple of years locked in deep sleep were not conducive to rapid
healing. There was little she'd been able to do except watch him slide
into protective unconsciousness and hope.

While the ship did its best his body labored to repair the damage.
Slowing down his vitals helped because that vi

likewise slowed down the spread of potential infection, but about the
internal injuries he'd suffered, the ship could do nothing. He'd
survived this long on determination, living off his reserves. Now he
needed surgery.

Something was moving in the sleep chamber that was not a part of the
ship, though in the sense that it too was wholly driven by programming
it was not so very different from the cold, indifferent corridors it
stalked. A single imperative inspired its relentless search, drove it
mindlessly onward. Not food, for it was not hungry and did not eat. Not
sex, for it had none. It was motivated solely and completely by the
desire to procreate. Though organic, it was as much a machine as the
computers that guided the ship, though it was possessed of a
determination quite foreign to them.

More than any other terrestrial creature it resembled a horseshoe crab
with a flexible tail. It advanced across the smooth floor of the sleep
chamber on articulated legs fashioned of an unusually carbon-rich
chitin. Its physiology was simple, straightforward, and designed to
carry out but one biological function and to do that better than any
comparable construction known. No machine could have done better.

Guided by senses that were a unique combination of the primitive and
sophisticated, driven by an embedded imperative unequaled in any other
living being, it scuttled determinedly across the chamber.

Scaling the smooth flank of the cryonic cylinder was a simple matter for
something so superbly engineered. The top of the chamber was fashioned
of transparent metallic glass. Within slept a small organic shape;
half-formed, blond, innocent save for her nightmares, which were as
sophisticated and frequently more extensive than those of 1

the adults sleeping nearby. Eyes closed, oblivious to the horror which
explored the thin dome enclosing her, she slept on.

She was not dreaming. Presently the nightmare was concrete and very
real. Far better that she remained unaware of its existence.

Impatiently the thing explored the sleep cylinder, beginning at one end
and working methodically up to the head. The cylinder was tight,
triple-sealed, in many ways more secure than the hull of the Sulaco
itself. Though anxious, the creature was incapable of frustration. The
prospect of imminent fulfillment of its biological imperative only
excited it and drove it to greater efforts. The extensible tube which
protruded from its ventral side probed the unyielding transparency which
shielded the helpless body on the unreachable cushions, proximity to its
quarry driving the creature into a frenzy of activity.

Sliding to one side, it eventually located the nearly imperceptible line
which separated the transparent dome of the cylinder from its metal
base. Tiny claws drove into the minuscule crack as the incredibly
powerful tail secured a purchase on the instrumentation at the head of
the cylinder. The creature exerted tremendous leverage, its small body
quivering with the effort. Seals were strained. The thing's effort was
unforgiving, its reserves of strength inconceivable.

The lower edge of the transparent dome snapped, the metallic glass
splitting parallel to the floor. A sliver of the clear material, sharp
as a surgical instrument, drove straight through the creature's body.
Frigid air erupted from the cylinder until an internal emergency seal
restored its atmospheric integrity.

Prone on her bed of uneasy dreams Newt moaned 2

softly, her head turning to one side, eyes moving beneath closed lids.
But she did not wake up. The cylinder's integrity had been restored just
in time to save her life.

Emitting periodic, unearthly shrieks the mortally wounded crawler flung
itself across the room, legs and tail flailing spasmodically at the
transparent sliver which pierced its body. It landed atop the cylinder
in which reposed the motionless Hicks, its legs convulsively gripping
the crest of the dome. Shuddering, quivering, it clawed at the metallic
glass while acidic body fluids pumped from the wound. They ate into the
glass, into the metal base of the cylinder, into and through the floor.
Smoke began to rise from somewhere beneath the deck, filling the chamber.

Around the room, throughout the ship, telltales winked to life, warning
lights began to flash and Klaxons to sound. There was no one awake to
hear them, but that did not affect the Sulaco's reaction. It was doing
its job, complying with its programming. Meanwhile smoke continued to
billow from the ragged aperture in the floor. Atop Hicks's cylinder the
crawler humped obscenely as it continued to bleed destruction.

A female voice, calm and serenely artificial, echoed unheard within the
chamber. ?Attention. Explosive gases are accumulating within the
cryogenic compartment. Explosive gases are accumulating within the
cryogenic compartment.?

Flush-mounted fans began to hum within the ceiling, inhaling the
swirling, thickening gas. Acid continued to drip from the now
motionless, dead crawler.

Beneath the floor something exploded. Bright, actinic light flared, to
be followed by a spurt of sharp yellow flame. Darker smoke began to mix
with the thinner gases 3

that now filled the chamber. The overhead lights flickered uncertainly.

The exhaust fans stopped.

?Fire in cryogenic compartment,?the unperturbed female voice declared in
the tone of something with nothing to lose. ?Fire in cryogenic compartment.?

A nozzle emerged from the ceiling, rotating like a miniature cannon. It
halted, focusing on the flames and gas emerging from the hole in the
floor. Liquid bubbled at its tip, gushed in the direction of the blaze.
For an instant the flames were subdued.

Sparks erupted from the base of the nozzle. The burgeoning stream died,
dribbling ineffectively from the powerhead.

?Fire suppression system inactivated. Fire suppression system
inactivated. Exhaust system inactivated. Exhaust system inactivated.
Fire and explosive gases in cryogenic chamber.?

Motors hummed to life. The four functioning cryonic cylinders rose from
their cradles on hydraulic supports. Their telltales winking, they began
to move to the far side of the room. Some and intensifying flame
obscured but did not slow their passage. Still pierced through by the
chunk of metallic glass, the dead crawler slid off the moving coffin and
fell to the floor.

?All personnel report to EEV,?the voice insisted, its tone unchanged.
?Precautionary evacuation in one minute.?

Moving in single file the cryonic cylinders entered a transport tube,
traveled at high speed through the bowels of the ship until they emerged
in the starboard lock, there to be loaded by automatic handlers into the
waiting Emergency 8

Escape Vehicle. They were its only occupants. Behind the transparent
faceplate, Newt twitched in her sleep.

Lights flashed, motors hummed. The voice spoke even though there were
none to hear. ?All EEVs will be jettisoned in ten seconds. Nine....?

Interior locks slammed shut, externals opened wide. The voice continued
its countdown.

At ?zero?two things happened with inimical simultaneity: ten EEVs, nine
of them empty, were ejected from the ship, and the proportion of
escaping gases within the damaged cryogenic chamber interacted
critically with the flames that were emerging from the acid-leached hole
in the floor. For a brief eruptive instant the entire fore port side of
the Sulaco blazed in fiery imitation of the distant stars.

Half the fleeing EEVs were severely jolted by the explosion. Two began
tumbling, completely out of control. One embarked upon a short, curving
path which brought it back in a wide, sweeping arc to the ship from
which it had been ejected. It did not slow as it neared its storage pod.
Instead it slammed at full acceleration into the side of the transport.
A second, larger explosion rocked the great vessel. Wounded, it lurched
onward through emptiness, periodically emitting irregular bursts of
light and heat while littering the immaculate void with molten, shredded
sections of its irrevocably damaged self.

On board the escape craft containing the four cryonic cylinders,
telltales were flashing, circuits flickering and sparking. The EEVs
smaller, less sophisticated computers struggled to isolate, minimize,
and contain the damage that had been caused by the last-second
explosion. The vehicle had not been hulled, but the concussion had
damaged sensitive instrumentation. 9 9

It sought status clarification from the mother ship and when none was
forthcoming, instigated a scan of its immediate surroundings. Halfway
through the hasty survey the requisite instrumentation failed but it was
quickly rejuvenated via a backup system. The Sulaco had been journeying
far off the beaten photonic path, its mission having carried it to the
fringes of human exploration. It had not traveled long upon its homeward
path when overcome by disaster. Mankind's presence in this section of
space was marked but intermittent, his installations far apart and few
between.

The EEV's guiding computer found something. Undesirable, not a primary
choice. But under existing conditions it was the only choice. The ship
could not estimate how long it could continue to function given the
serious nature of the damage it had suffered. Its primary task was the
preservation of the human life it bore. A course was chosen and set.
Still sputtering, striving mightily to repair itself, the compact
vessel's drive throbbed to life.

Fiorina wasn't an impressive world, and in appearance even less
inviting, but it was the only one in the Neroid Sector with an active
beacon. The EEV's data banks locked in on the steady signal. Twice the
damaged navigation system lost the beam, but continued on the prescribed
course anyway. Twice the signal was recovered. Information on Fiorina
was scarce and dated, as befitted its isolation and peculiar status.

?Fiorina 'Fury' 361,?the readout stated. ?Outer veil mineral ore
refinery. Maximum security work-correctional facility.?The words meant
nothing to the ship's computer. They would have meant much to its
passengers, but they were not in position or condition to read anything.
?Additional information requested??the computer flashed plaintively. 10

When the proper button was not immediately pressed, the screen
obediently blanked.

Days later the EEV plunged toward the gray, roiling atmosphere of its
destination. There was nothing inviting about the dark clouds that
obscured the planetary surface. No glimpse of blue or green showed
through them, no indication of life. But the catalog indicated the
presence of a human installation, and the communications beacon threw
its unvarying pulse into emptiness with becoming steadiness.

On-board systems continued to fail with discouraging regularity. The
EEV's computer strained to keep the craft under control as one backup
after another kicked in. Clouds the color of coal dust raced past the
unoccupied ports as atmospheric lightning flashed threateningly off the
chilled, sealed coffins within.

The computer experienced no strain as it tried to bring the EEV down
safely. There was no extra urgency in its efforts. It would have
functioned identically had the sky been clear and the winds gentle, had
its own internal systems been functioning optimally instead of flaring
and failing with progressive regularity.

The craft's landing gear had not responded to the drop command and there
was neither time nor power to try a second approach. Given the jumbled,
precipitous nature of the landscape immediately surrounding the beacon
and formal landing site, the computer opted to try for a touchdown on
the relatively smooth sand beach.

When additional power was requested, it developed that it did not exist.
The computer tried. That was its job. But the EEV fell far short of the
beach, slamming into the sea at too acute an angle.

Within the compartment, braces and bulkheads struggled to absorb the
impact. Metal and carbon composites 11

11

groaned, buffeted by forces they were never intended to withstand.
Support struts cracked or bent, walls twisted. The computer-concentrated
all its efforts on trying to ensure that the four cylinders in its care
remained intact. The crisis left little time for much else. About itself
the computer cared nothing. Self-care was not a function with which it
had been equipped. The surface of Fiorina was as barren as its sky, a
riot of gray-black stone scoured by howling winds. A few twisted,
contorted growths clung to protected hollows in the rock. Driving rain
agitated the surface of dank, cold pools.

The inanimate shapes of heavy machinery dotted the mournful landscape.
Loaders, transports, and immense excavators and lifters rested where
they had been abandoned, too massive and expensive to evacuate from the
incredibly rich site which had once demanded their presence. Three
immense burrowing excavators sat facing the wind like a trio of gigantic
carnivorous worms, their drilling snouts quiescent, their operator
compartments dark and deserted. Smaller machines and vehicles clustered
in groups like so many starving parasites, as if waiting for one of the
larger machines to grind to life so they might eagerly gather crumbs
from its flanks.

Below the site dark breakers smashed methodically into a beach of
gleaming black sand, expending their energy on a lifeless shore. No
elegant arthropods skittered across the surface of that shadowy bay, no
birds darted down on skilled, questing wings to probe the broken edges
of the incoming waves for small, edible things.

There were fish in the waters, though. Strange, elongated creatures with
bulging eyes and small, sharp teeth. The human transients who called
Fiorina home engaged in occasional arguments as to their true nature,
but as these 12

people were not the sort for whom a lengthy discussion of the nature of
parallel evolution was the preferred mode of entertainment, they tended
to accept the fact that the ocean-going creatures, whatever their
peculiar taxonomy, were edible, and let it go at that. Fresh victuals of
any kind were scarce. Better perhaps not to peer too deeply into the
origins of whatever ended up in the cookpot, so long as it was palatable.

The man walking along the beach was thoughtful and in no particular
hurry. His intelligent face was preoccupied, his expression
noncommittal. Light plastic attire protected his perfectly bald head
from the wind and rain. Occasionally he kicked in irritation at the
alien insects which swarmed around his feet, seeking a way past the
slick, treated plastic. While Fiorina's visitors occasionally sought to
harvest the dubious bounty of its difficult waters, the more primitive
native life-forms were not above trying to feast on the visitors.

He strolled silently past abandoned derricks and fossilized cranes,
wholly intent on his thoughts. He did not smile. His attitude was
dominated by a quiet resignation born not of determination but
indifference, as though he cared little about what happened today, or
whether there was a tomorrow. In any event he found far more pleasure in
gazing inward. His all too familiar surroundings gave him little pleasure.

A sound caused him to look up. He blinked, wiping cold drizzle from his
face mask. The distant roar drew his gaze to a point in the sky. Without
warning a lowering cloud gave violent birth to a sliver of descending
metal. It glowed softly and the air around it screamed as it fell.

He gazed at the place where it had struck the ocean, pausing before
resuming his walk.

Halfway up the beach he checked his chronometer, 13

13

then turned and began to retrace his steps. Occasionally he glanced out
to sea. Seeing nothing, he expected to find nothing. So the limp form
which appeared on the sand ahead of him was a surprise. He increased his
pace slightly and bent over the body as wavelets lapped around his feet.
For the first time his blood began to race slightly. The body was that
of a woman, and she was still alive. He rolled her over onto her back.

Stared down into Ripley's unconscious, salt-streaked face.

He looked up, but the beach still belonged to him alone. Him, and this
utterly unexpected new arrival. Leaving her to go for help would mean
delaying treatment which might save her life, not to mention exposing
her to the small but still enthusiastic predators which inhabited parts
of Fiorina.

Lifting her beneath her arms, he heaved once and managed to get her
torso around his shoulders. Legs straining, he lifted. With the woman on
his shoulders and back he headed slowly toward the weather lock from
which he'd emerged earlier.

Inside he paused to catch his breath, then continued on toward the bug
wash. Three prisoners who'd been working outside were busy delousing,
naked beneath the hot, steady spray that mixed water with disinfectant.
As medical officer, Clemens carried a certain amount of authority. He
used it now.

?Listen up!?The men turned to regard him curiously. Clemens interacted
infrequently with the prisoners except for those who sought him out for
sick call. Their initial indifference vanished as soon as they spotted
the body hanging from his shoulders. ?An EEV's come down.?They exchanged
glances. ?Don't just stand there,?he snapped, 14 14 Alan Dean Foster

trying to divert their attention from his burden. ?Get out on the beach.
There may be others. And notify Andrews.?

They hesitated, then began to move. As they exited the wash and began
grabbing at their clothes, they stared at the woman Clemens carried. He
didn't dare set her down. 15 J

Andrews didn't like working the Communicator. Every use went down in his
permanent record. Deep-space communication was expensive and he was
expected to make use of the device only when absolutely and unavoidably
necessary. It might develop that his judgment would not agree with that
of some slick-assed bonehead back at headquarters, in which case his
accumulated pay might be docked, or he might be denied a promotion. All
without a chance to defend himself, because by the time he made it out
of the hellhole that was Fiorina and back home, the cretin who'd docked
him would probably be long since dead or retired.

Hell, why was he worrying? Everyone he'd ever known would be dead by the
time he got back home. That didn't render him any less anxious to make
that oft-anticipated journey.

So he did his rotten job as best he could and hoped that is 16

his rotten employers would eventually take note of his skill and
professionalism and offer early retirement, except that now a rotten,
unforeseen difficulty had arisen with the sole intent of complicating
his life. Andrews harbored an intense dislike for the unforeseen. One of
the few compensations of his job was its unremitting predictability.

Until now. And it compelled him to make use of the Communicator. Angrily
he hammered the keys.

FURY 361-CLASS C PRISON UNIT-IRIS 12037154. REPORT EEV UNIT 2650 CRASH
OCCUPANTS - BISHOP MODEL ANDROID, INACTIVE HICKS, CPL.-ES
MARINES-L55321-DOA RIPLEY, LT.-CO SVC.-B515617- SURVIVOR UNIDENTIFIED
JUVENILE FEMALE-DOA

REQUEST EMERG. EVAC. SOONEST POSSIBLE AWAIT RESPONSE SUPT. ANDREWS
M51021. [Time delay transmis 1844-Fiorina. Clemens had dragged the woman
out of the water and had hustled her up to the facility as quickly as
possible. So quickly that her condition and not her gender had dominated
their thoughts. Reflection would come later, and with it the problems
Andrews envisioned.

As for the EEV itself, they'd used the mutated oxen to winch it ashore.
Any of the mine vehicles could have done the job quicker and easier, but
those which had been abandoned outside had long since given up the ghost
of active function, and those within the complex were too valuable to
the inhabitants to risk exposing to the weather, even assuming the men
could have safely hoisted an appropriate vehicle outside. Simpler to use
the oxen, unaccustomed as they were to the task. But they performed
effectively, 17

17

save for one that collapsed subsequently and died, doubtless from having
been subjected to the unfamiliar strain of actual work.

Once within reach of the mine's sole remaining operational external
crane, it was easy enough to secure the badly damaged escape craft to
the bracing and lower it inside. Andrews was there when the men went in,
soon to emerge and declare that the woman hadn't come alone, that there
were others.

The superintendent wasn't pleased. More complications, more holes in his
placid daily routine. More decisions to make. He didn't like making
decisions. There was always the danger of making a wrong one.

The marine corporal was dead, likewise the unfortunate child. The
android didn't matter. Andrews was somewhat relieved. Only the woman to
deal with, then, and just as well. She presented complications enough.

One of the men informed him that the Communicator was holding an on-line
message. Leaving the EEV and its contents in the care of others, the
superintendent made his way back to his office. He was a big man in his
late forties, muscular, powerful, determined. He had to be all of that
and more or he'd never have been assigned to Fiorina.

The reply was as terse as his original communication.

TO: FURY 361-CLASS C PRISON UNIT 1237154

FROM: NETWORK CONCOM 01500-WE YLANDYUTANI MESSAGE RECEIVED.

Well, now, that was profound. Andrews stared at the readout screen but
nothing else was forthcoming. No suggestions, no requests for additional
information, no elegant corporate explication. No criticism, no praise.
Somehow he'd expected more.

He could send another message requesting more data, 18

except that the powers-that-be were likely to deem it extraneous and
dock his pay for the cost. They'd responded, hadn't they? Even if they
hadn't exactly replied. There was nothing he could do but deal with the
situation as best he saw fit... and wait.

Another dream. No sense of time in dreams, no temporal spaciousness.
People see all sorts of things in dreams, both intensely realistic and
wholly imaginary. Rarely do they see clocks.

The twin-barreled flamethrower was heavy in her hands as she cautiously
approached the cryonic cylinders. A quick check revealed all three
occupants untouched, undisturbed. Bishop, quiescent in fragments. Newt
ethereal in her perfect childish beauty, so foreign to the place and
time in which she unwillingly found herself. Hicks peaceful, unmarred.
She felt herself hesitating as she drew near, but his dome remained
shut, his eyes closed.

A sound and she whirled, flipping a switch on the weapon's ribs even as
her finger convulsed on the trigger. The device emitted a plastic click.
That was all. Frantically she tried again. A short, reluctant burst of
flame emerged a few inches from one of the barrels, died.

Panicky, she inspected the weapon, checking the fill levels, the
trigger, those leads that were visible. Everything seemed functional. It
ought to work, it had to work. ...

Something nearby, close. She dreamt herself retreating, backing up
cautiously, seeking the protection of a solid wall as she fumbled with
the flamethrower. It was near. She knew it too well to think otherwise.
Her fingers wrestled with the balky device. She'd found the trouble, she
was sure. A minute more, that was all she needed. Recharge 19

19

this, reset, then ready to fire. Half a minute. She happened to glance
downward.

The alien's tail was between her legs.

She spun screaming, right into its waiting arms, and tried to bring the
flamethrower to bear. A hand clutched; horribly elegant, incredibly
powerful fingers crushed the weapon in the middle, collapsing the twin
barrels, the other arm trapping her. She pummeled the shiny, glistening
thorax with her fists. Useless the gesture, useless everything now.

It spun her around and shoved her across the nearest cryonic pod. Shoved
again. Her face was pressed tight to the cool, inorganic glass. Beneath
her, Hicks opened his eyes and smiled again. And again.

She screamed.

The infirmary was compact and nearly empty. It abutted a much larger
medical facility designed to handle dozens of patients a day. Those
miners, prospective patients, were long gone from Fiorina. They had
accomplished their task years ago, extracting the valuable ore from the
ground and then following it back home. Only the prisoners remained, and
they had no need of such extensive facilities.

So the larger unit had been gutted of salvageable material and the
smaller semi-surgery turned over to the prison. Cheaper that way. Less
room to heat, less energy required, money saved. Where prisoners were
concerned that was always the best way.

Not that they'd been left with nothing. Supplies and equipment were more
than ample for the installation's needs. The Company could afford to be
generous. Besides, shipping even worthwhile material offworld was
expensive. Better to leave some of it, the lesser quality stuff, and
gain 20

Alan Dean Foster

credit for concomitant compassion. The good publicity was worth more
than the equipment.

Besides the facility there was Clemens. Like some of the supplies he was
too good for Fiorina, though it would have been difficult to convince
anyone familiar with his case of that. Nor would he have raised much in
the way of objections. But the prisoners were lucky to have him, and
they knew it. Most of them were not stupid. Merely unpleasant. It was a
combination which in some men gave rise to captains of industry and
pillars of government. In others it led merely to defeat and
degradation. When this situation was directed inward the sufferers were
treated or incarcerated on places like Earth.

When it erupted outward to encompass the innocent it led elsewhere. To
Fiorina, for example. Clemens was only one of many who'd realized too
late that his personal path diverged from the normal run of humanity to
lead instead to this place.

The woman was trying to say something. Her lips were moving and she was
straining upward, though whether pushing against or away from something
he was unable to tell. Leaning close, he put his ear to her mouth.
Sounds emergent, bubbling and gurgling, as if rising toward the surface
from deep within.

He straightened and turned her head to one side, holding it firmly but
gently. Gagging, choking, she vomited forth a stream of dark salt water.
The heaving ended quickly and she subsided, still unconscious but
resting quietly now; still, easy. He eased her head back onto the
pillow, gazing solemnly at her mask-like visage. Her features were
delicate, almost girlish despite her age. There was about her the air of
someone who had spent too much time as a tourist in hell. 21

21

Well, being dumped out of a ship via EEV and then awakened and revived
from deep sleep by a crash into the sea would be enough to mark anyone,
he told himself.

The infirmary door hissed softly as it slid back to admit Andrews and
Aaron. Clemens wasn't crazy about either the superintendent or his
number two. At the same time he was quite aware that Andrews wasn't in
love with the facility's sole medical technician either. Though in
status he might be a notch above the general population, Clemens was
still a prisoner serving sentence, a fact neither of the two men ever
let him forget. Not that he was likely to. Many things were difficult to
accomplish on Fiorina, but forgetting was impossible.

They halted by the side of the bed and stared down at its motionless
occupant. Andrews grunted at nothing in particular.

''What's her status, Mr. Clemens??

The technician sat back slightly, glanced up at the man who for all
practical purposes served as Fiorina's lord and master.

?She's alive.?

Andrews's expression tightened and he favored the tech with a sardonic
smile. ?Thank you, Mr. Clemens. That's very helpful. And while I suppose
I wouldn't, or shouldn't, want it to be otherwise, it also does mean
that we have a problem, doesn't it??

?Not to worry, sir. I think we can pull her through. There's no internal
bleeding, nothing broken, not even a serious sprain. I think she'll make
a complete recovery.?

?Which, as you know, Mr. Clemens, is precisely what concerns me.?He
stared appraisingly at the woman in the bed. ?I wish she hadn't come
here. I wish she wasn't here now.?

22

?Without wishing to sound disrespectful, sir, I have this feeling that
she'd eagerly concur with you. Based on what I was told about her
landing and having seen for myself the current condition of her EEV, I'm
of the opinion that she didn't have a whole hell of a lot of choice in
the matter. Any idea where they're from? What ship??

?No,?Andrews muttered. ?I Notified Weyland-Y.??They answer??Clemens was
holding Ripley's wrist, ostensibly to check her pulse.

?if you can call it that. They acknowledged receipt of my message.
That's all. Guess they're not feeling real talkative.?

?Understandable, if they had an interest in the ship that was lost.
Probably running around like mad trying to decide what your report
signifies.?The mental image of confounded Company nabobs pleased him.

?Let me know if there's any change in her condition.??Like if she should
conveniently expire??

Andrews glared at him. ?I'm already upset enough over this as it is,
Clemens. Be smart. Don't make it worse. And don't make me start thinking
of it and you in the same breath. There's no need for excessive
morbidity. It may surprise you to learn that I hope she lives. Though if
she regains consciousness she may think otherwise. Let's go,?he told his
factotum. The two men departed.

The woman moaned softly, her head shifting nervously from side to side.
Physical reaction, Clemens wondered, or side effects of the medication
he'd hastily and hopefully dumped into her system? He sat watching her,
endlessly grateful for the opportunity to relax in her orbit, for the
chance simply to be close to her, study her, smell her. He'd all but
forgotten what it was like to be in a woman's presence. The memories
returned rapidly, jolted by her 23

23

appearance. Beneath the bruises and strain she was quite beautiful, he
thought. More, much more, than he'd had any right to expect.

She moaned again. Not the medication, he decided, or pain from her
injuries. She was dreaming. No harm there. After all, a few dreams
couldn't hurt her.

The dimly lit assembly hall was four stories high. Men hung from the
second floor railing, murmuring softly to each other, some smoking
various combinations of plant and chemical. The upper levels were
deserted. Like most of the Fiorina mine, it was designed to accommodate
far more than the couple of dozen men presently gathered together in its
cavernous depths.

They had assembled at the superintendent's request. All twenty-five of
them. Hard, lean, bald, young and not so young, and those for whom youth
was but a fading warm memory. Andrews sat confronting them, his
second-in-command Aaron nearby. Clemens stood some distance away from
both prisoners and jailers, as befitted his peculiar status.

Two jailers, twenty-five prisoners. They could have jumped the
superintendent and his assistant at any time, overpowered them with
comparative ease. To what end? Revolt would only give them control of
the installation they already ran. There was nowhere to escape to, no
better place on Fiorina that they were forbidden to visit. When the next
supply ship arrived and ascertained the situation, it would simply
decline to drop supplies and would file a report. Heavily armed troops
would follow, the revolutionaries would be dealt with, and all who had
participated and survived would find their sentences extended.

The small pleasures that might be gained from defiance of authority were
not worth another month on Fiorina, much 24

less another year or two. The most obdurate prisoners realized as much.
So there were no revolts, no challenges to Andrews's authority. Survival
on and, more importantly, escape from Fiorina depended on doing what was
expected of one. The prisoners might not be content, but they were pacific.

Aaron surveyed the murmuring crowd, raised his voice impatiently. ?All
right, all right. Let's pull it together, get it going. Right? Right. If
you please, Mr. Dillon.?

Dillon stepped forward. He was a leader among the imprisoned and not
merely because of his size and strength. The wire rimless glasses he
wore were far more an affectation, a concession to tradition, than a
necessity. He preferred them to contacts, and of course the Company
could hardly be expected to expend time and money to provide a prisoner
with transplants. That suited Dillon fine. The glasses were antiques, a
family heirloom which had somehow survived the generations intact. They
served his requirements adequately.

The single dreadlock that hung from his otherwise naked pate swung
slowly as he walked. It took a lot of time and effort to keep the
hirsute decoration free of Fiorina's persistent bugs, but he tolerated
the limited discomfort in order to maintain the small statement of
individuality.

He cleared his throat distinctly. ?Give us strength, Oh Lord, to endure.
We recognize that we are poor sinners in the hands of an angry God. Let
the circle be unbroken... until the day. Amen.? It was a brief
invocation. It was enough. Upon its conclusion the body of prisoners
raised their right fists, lowered them silently. The gesture was one of
acceptance and resignation, not defiance. On Fiorina defiance bought you
nothing except the ostracism of your companions and possibly an early
grave. 25

25

Because if you got too far out of line Andrews could and would exile you
from the installation, with comparative impunity. There was no one
around to object, to check on him, to evaluate the correctness of his
actions. No independent board of inquiry to follow up a prisoner's
death. Andrews proposed, Andrews imposed. It would have been intolerable
save for the fact that while the superintendent was a hard man, he was
also fair. The prisoners considered themselves fortunate at that. It
could easily have been otherwise.

He surveyed his charges. He knew each of them intimately, far better
than he would have liked to, had he been given the option. He knew their
individual strengths and weaknesses, distastes and peccadilloes, the
details of their case histories. Some of them were scum, others merely
fatally antisocial, and there was a broad range in between. He cleared
his throat importantly.

?Thank you, gentlemen. There's been a lot of talk about what happened
early this morning, most of it frivolous. So you can consider this a
rumor control session.

?Here are the facts. As some of you know, a 337 model EEV crash-landed
here at 0600 on the morning watch. There was one survivor, two dead, and
a droid that was smashed beyond hope of repair.?He paused briefly to let
that sink in.

?The survivor is a woman.?

The mumbling began. Andrews listened, watched intently, trying to note
the extent of reactions. It wasn't bad... yet.

One of the prisoners leaned over the upper railing. Morse was in his
late twenties but looked older. Fiorina aged its unwilling citizens
quickly. He sported a large number of gold-anodized teeth, a consequence
of certain 26 Dean Foster

antisocial activities. The gold color was a cosmetic choice. He seemed
jumpy, his normal condition.

?I just want to say that when I arrived here I took a vow of celibacy.
That means no women. No sex of any kind.?His agitated stare swept the
assembly. ?We all took the vow. Now, let me say that I, for one, do not
appreciate Company policy allowing her to freely intermingle...?

As he droned on, Aaron whispered to his superior. ?Cheeky bastard, ain't
he, sir??

Finally Dillon stepped in front of his fellow prisoner, his resonant
voice soft but firm. ?What brother means to say is that we view the
presence of any outsider, especially a woman, as a violation of the
harmony, a potential break of the spiritual unity that gets us through
each day and keeps us sane. You hear what I say, Superintendent? You
take my meaning??

Andrews met Dillon's gaze unflinchingly. ?Believe me, we are well aware
of your feelings in this matter. I assure you, all of you, that
everything will be done to accommodate your concerns and that this
business will be rectified as soon as possible. I think that's in
everyone's best interest.?Murmurs rose from the crowd.

?You will be pleased to know that I have already requested a rescue
team. Hopefully, they will be here inside of a week to evacuate her
ASAP.?Someone in the middle spoke up. ?A week, Superintendent? Nobody
can get here that fast. Not from anywhere.?

Andrews eyed the man. ?Apparently there's a ship in transit to Motinea.
She's been in the program for months. This is an emergency. There are
rules even the Company has to comply with. I'm sure they'll contact her,
kick at least a pilot out of deep sleep, and divert her our way to make
the pickup. And that will put an end to that.? 27

27

He knew no such thing, of course, but it was the logical course of
action for the Company to take and he felt a certain confidence in
presupposing. If the ship bound for Motinea didn't divert, then he'd
deal with the situation as required. One potential crisis at a time.

He glanced up at Clemens. ?Have you had enough time to make an evaluation??

The tech crossed his arms diffidently across his chest. ?Sort of. Best I
can manage, with what we have here.?

?Never mind the complaints. What's her medical status??

Clemens was well aware that every eye in the room was suddenly focused
on him, but he didn't acknowledge them, keeping his attention on the
superintendent. ?She doesn't seem too badly damaged. Mostly just bruised
and banged up. One of her ribs may be broken. If so it's only a stress
fracture. What is potentially more dangerous is that she came out of
deep sleep too abruptly.? He paused to collect his thoughts.

?Look, I'm just a general tech and even I can see that she's going to
need specialist attention. Somebody gets whacked out of deep sleep
early, without the appropriate biophysical prep, and there can be all
kinds of problems. Unpredictable side effects, latent respiratory and
circulatory complications, cellular disruptions that sometimes don't
manifest themselves for days or weeks-stuff I wouldn't begin to know how
to diagnose, much less properly treat. For her sake I hope that rescue
ship carries full medical facilities.?

?Will she live??Andrews asked him.

The tech shook his head in quiet wonder. The superintendent was good at
hearing only what he wanted to hear.

?Assuming nothing shows up later, I think she'll be fine. But don't
quote me on that. Especially to a registered physician.? 28

Alan Dean Foster

?What're you afraid of??Someone sniggered behind him. ?Bein' accused of
malpractice??Inclement laughter rose from some in the group.

Andrews stepped on it quickly, before Clemens or anyone else could
reply. ?Look, none of us here is naive. It's in everybody's best
interests if the woman doesn't come out of the infirmary until the
rescue team arrives. And certainly not without an escort. Out of sight,
out of mind, right??No one chose to comment one way or the other. ?So we
should all stick to our set routines and not get unduly agitated.
Correct? All right.?He rose. ?Thank you, gentlemen.?

No one moved. Dillon turned and spoke softly. ?Okay.?

The assemblage began to break up, the men to return to their daily
tasks. Andrews was not miffed by the slight. It was a small gesture by
the prisoners, and he was willing to allow small gestures. It let some
of the pressure off, mitigated their need to attempt big ones.

The meeting had gone as well as could have been expected. He felt he'd
dealt with the situation properly, putting a stop to rumor and
speculation before it could get out of hand. Aaron at his side, he
headed back to his office.

A more informative response from the Company would have been helpful,
however.

Clemens found his exit blocked by Dillon. ?Something on your mind??

The big man looked concerned. ?Pill pusher. You should be careful of
this woman.?

Clemens smiled. ?She's not in any condition to cause much trouble. Don't
we owe all God's children a fighting chance??

?We don't know whose child she is.?The two men stared at each other a
moment longer. Then Dillon moved 29

29

aside to let the tech pass. His gaze followed Clemens until he stepped
through the portal leading to tunnel D.

The woman lay motionless on the bed, for a change not moaning, not
dreaming. Clemens checked the IV pack taped to her arm. Without knowing
the specifics of her condition he'd been forced to treat her for general
debilitation. In addition to glucose and sucrose the pack contained a
broad range of tolerant antibiotics in solution, REM-sleep modifiers,
and painkillers. The tough ID tag she'd been wearing had been damaged in
the crash, so he'd been forced to treat her without the crucial
information it contained. He'd monitored her carefully for any signs of
rejection and was relieved when none manifested themselves. At least she
wasn't allergic to anything he'd pumped into her system so far.

He was gratified to see that the armpack was nearly empty. That meant
her body was making good use of the rehab solution. The readouts on the
VS checker as he passed it over her chest and skull stayed green. Thus
encouraged, he slipped a capsule into the injector and turned her arm
slightly to expose more of the tricep.

Her eyes snapped open as if she'd only been faking sleep. Startled by
the speed of her reaction, he hesitated. She indicated the device in his
hand.

?What's that??

?General site injector.?

?I can see that. You know what I mean.?

He smiled slightly. ?A light cocktail of my own devising. Sort of an
eye-opener. Adrenaline, some selected designer endorphins, a couple of
mystery proteins. For flavor. I think your body's recovered sufficiently
to metabolize them. Five minutes after they've dispersed through your
system you'll feel a lot better than you do now.?

She continued to eye him warily. ?Are you a doctor?? 30

He shrugged and looked away momentarily, as if the question made him
uncomfortable. ?General med tech. I've only got a 3-C rating. But I'm
the best you're going to find around here.?He leaned forward, eyes
narrowing as he inspected her hair appraisingly. ?I really ought to
shave your head. Should've done it right away but I was busy with more
important things.?

This admission caused Ripley to sit bolt upright in the bed, clutching
the sheet protectively to her neck.

?Take it easy. I'm no murderer. Though you'll find them here.?

?Why do you have to shave my head??

?Microscopic parasites. Carnivorous arthropods. They're endemic to
Fiorina. Fortunately they don't find humans particularly tasty... except
for the keratin in our hair. For some reason they don't have the same
appetite for fingernails. Wrong consistency, maybe. We just call 'em
lice, and to hell with scientific nomenclature.?

?Can't you use some kind of spray, or prophylactic shampoo,
something??Her eyes remained fixed on the razor.

?Oh, the Company tried that when they were starting up the mine, but
these little suckers are tough. Anything'd have to be to make a success
of it on this world. Turned out that anything strong enough to dent the
parasites raised blisters on the skin. Bad enough on the scalp. Damn
sight worse lower down. Shaving turned out to be a simpler, cheaper, and
more efFective solution. Some of the guys hang on to a little hair out
of spite and fight the bugs as best they can. Eyebrows, for example. You
wouldn't think anybody would give a damn about something as ephemeral as
eyebrows. But dense hair, that's out of the question. Try to live 31

31

with the lice and they'll drive you crazy, crawling around, eating,
itching-?

?All right, all right,?Ripley replied quickly. ?I get the picture.?

?I'll give you an electric razor for downstairs. When you're feeling
better you can attend to that. The infirmary's about the most sterile
room in the installation, so you should be okay for a while, but the
little buggers'll find you eventually. They're too small to screen out.
Just shave and they won't bother you.?She hesitated, thoughtful, then
nodded understandingly.

?My name is Clemens. I'm the chief medical officer here at Fury 361.?

Her brows knitted. ?That doesn't sound like a mine designation.?

?Mine's what it used to be. Last of the worthwhile ore was dug out,
refined, and shipped offworld some time ago. Weyland-Yutani had this
huge facility cost that forced them to abandon, so to recoup a few
credits they lease the operative part of it for a maximum-security
prison. Everybody benefits. Society is separated from its most
undesirable undesirables and the Company gets free caretakers. Everybody
benefits, except those of us who are sent here.?He gestured with the
injector. ?Do you mind? This is just sort of a stabilizer.?

She was feeling safe enough now to let him approach as she turned her
attention to examining her surroundings. ?How did I get here??

?You crash-landed in an EEV. Nobody knows what happened to your
mothership or what caused you to be ejected. If Harry Andrews-he's the
superintendent here- knows, he isn't saying.

?Whatever catastrophe caused you to be ejected also 32

must have damaged the landing controls on the EEV because you smacked
into the bay pretty hard. We hauled it back here. I haven't been inside
myself, but if the exterior's any indication of the kind of internal
damage she suffered, you're damn lucky to be alive, much less more or
less in one piece.?

She swallowed. ?What about the others??

?Yeah, I was kind of wondering about that myself. Where's the rest of
the crew? did they get off on other EEVs??

?There is no 'rest of the crew,' ?she informed him tersely. ?It's a long
story, one I don't feel much like telling right now. I mean what about
those who were in the EEV with me? How many were there??

?Two. Three if you count the android.?He paused. ?I'm afraid they didn't
make it.?

?What??It wasn't sinking in.

?They didn't survive.?

She considered for a long moment, then shook her head brusquely. ?I want
to go to the ship. I have to see for myself.?She started to sit up and
he put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

?Hey, hang on. As your doctor, I have to tell you that you're in no
condition for that.?

?You're not a doctor, remember??She slipped out of the other side of the
bed and stood waiting expectantly, quite naked. ?You want to get me some
clothes, or should I go like this?

Clemens took his time deciding, not entirely displeased by the
opportunity to view her vertically. ?Given the nature of our indigenous
population, I would strongly suggest clothes.? Rising, he opened a
locker on the far side of the infirmary and began sorting through the
contents. 33

33

?Keep in mind as you gambol through our little wonderland that the
prison population here is strictly male and none of them have seen a
woman in years. Neither have I, for that matter.?

She waited, hand on hip, giving him the calculating eye. ?Yeah, but I
don't have to worry about you, because you're a not-doctor, remember??

He grinned in spite of himself. 34

Clemens noted how her eyes darted to and fro as he led her through the
corridors and along the walkways. Like those of a nervous child... or
sophisticated predator. She missed nothing. The slightest sound drew her
instant attention. Their feet made little noise on the worn metal. The
garb he'd scavenged for her was a little small, but she didn't seem to mind.

?I've no idea how long you were in deep sleep, but coming out of it the
way you did can be a helluva jolt to the system. Just so you don't panic
if I look at you crossways, you should know that I'm still monitoring
you for possible delayed side effects. So let's steady on as we go, Ripley.?

She looked at him sharply. ?How do you know my name??

?It's stenciled on the back of your shorts.?He smiled apologetically.
?We also found your ID tag. It was so

35

35

mangled the computer could hardly read it, but we got that much off it.
Unfortunately, most of your personal medical info was scrambled. I had
to guess a lot.?

Ripley rolled her shoulders forward experimentally, let her head roll
from side to side. ?Feels like you did a pretty good job. Thanks.?

To his immense surprise he found that he was slightly embarrassed. ?Hey,
any jerk can slap on an armpack.?

She grinned. ?I don't think so. It takes a specially qualified jerk.?

The work crew was being as careful as possible with the hulk of the EEV
as they eased it onto hastily raised blocks. The old crane groaned with
the effort. There hadn't been much call for its use since the mine had
been shut down, and temporary reactivation for the purpose of
manipulating the emergency vehicle had been a touchy process. But the
machinery was responding adequately. Cables sang as the craft was gently
lowered.

It had attracted its share of stares when it had first been hauled
inside the complex. Ripley drew rather more as she and Clemens
approached. She did a much better job of pretending not to notice than
the prisoners did of trying not to look.

?Just what kind of place is this work prison??she asked her guide as
they started up a ramp toward the battered lifeship.

Clemens stayed close. ?Used to be a mine cum refinery. Mostly
platinum-group minerals. Naturally the raw ore was refined on the spot.
Much cheaper than shipping it offworld for processing elsewhere. I
understand there was a considerable rise in the price of platinum about
the time the ore body here was located. Otherwise it wouldn't have been
worth the Company's while to go to the expense of setting 36

up a facility this size this far from any point of consumption. It was a
rich lode, highly concentrated.?

?And now??She had stopped outside the EEV and was inspecting the damaged
hull.

?Weyland-Yutani's got it on hold. Interstellar commodities trading isn't
exactly my specialty and I don't know that anybody here gets their
jollies from following the relevant rises and falls in raw materials
prices. I think I heard that a drop in the price of the refined metal
was accompanied by less need for the stuff.

?So most of the equipment here's been mothballed. Not worth the expense
of moving it, not worth enough as salvage. There's still ore in the
ground and if the price goes up I'm sure the Company would reopen. That
means we'd probably get moved. Wouldn't do to have felons associating
with nice, moral miners. Not that anybody would mind being shifted off
this rock. The change would be sweet and it's pretty hard to conceive of
anyplace else being worse.

?So we're just caretakers, just a custodial staff. Keeps things from
freezing up in case the price of the ore or the need for it goes back
up. Works out well for the government and the Company.?

?I'd think you'd go crazy after a year or so in a place like this.?

Clemens had to laugh. ?That's what they said some of us were before we
were sent here. But I don't think we are, at least not the majority of
us. The isolation isn't nearly so trying if you can learn to think of
yourself as a contemplative penitent instead of an incarcerated felon.?

?Any women ever been here??

?Sorry, Lieutenant Ripley. This is a double Y chromosome facility.
Strictly male.? 37

37

She nodded, then turned and bent to crawl through what remained of the
battered air lock. Clemens let her forge a path, then followed.

The battered exterior of the craft was pristine compared to what she
encountered inside. Walls were crumpled and bent, readouts and consoles
smashed, equipment strewn haphazardly across the deck. The thick smell
of salt water permeated everything. She paused, astonished that anything
or anyone could have survived intact, much less her own fragile form.

?Where are the bodies??

Clemens was equally taken with the extent of the destruction, marveling
that Ripley had suffered no more damage than she had.

?We have a morgue. Mining's the kind of enterprise that demands one.
We've put your friends in there until the investigative team arrives,
probably in a week's time.?

?There was an android. ...?

Clemens made a face. ?Disconnected and discombobulated. There were
pieces of him all over the place. What's left was thrown in the trash.
The corporal was impaled by a support beam straight through the chest.
Even if he'd been conscious he'd never have known what hit him. As it
was he probably never came out of deep sleep long enough to hurt.?

?The girl??She was holding a lot in, Clemens saw. He had no idea how much.

?She drowned in her cryotube. I don't imagine she was conscious when it
happened. If anything, she went out more quietly than the corporal. I'm
sorry.?

Ripley digested this quietly. Then her shoulders began to shake and the
tears came. That was all. No yelling, no 38

screaming, no violent railing at an unfair, uncaring universe. Little
Newt. Newt, who'd never had a chance. At least she was free. Wiping at
her eyes, Ripley turned to survey the remains of the little girl's
cryotube. The faceplate was broken, which was understandable.

Abruptly she frowned. The metal below the faceplate was strangely
discolored. She leaned forward and ran her fingers over the stain.

Clemens looked on curiously. ?What is it??

Ripley rose, the emotion of the moment transformed into something else.
There was no concern in her voice now, none of the tenderness he'd noted
previously.

?Where is she??

?I told you, the morgue. Don't you remember??He eyed her with concern,
worried that she might be having a reaction to something from the
armpack. ?You're disoriented. Half your system still thinks it's in deep
sleep.?

She whirled on him so suddenly that he started. ?I want to see what's
left of her body.?

?What do you mean, what's left? The body's intact.?

?Is it? I want to see it. I need to see for myself.?

He frowned but held off questioning her. There was something in her
expression. ... One thing was clear: there would be no denying her
access. Not that there was any reason to. He had the feeling her desire
to view the corpse had nothing to do with nostalgia. Difficult on short
acquaintance to figure what she was really like, but excessively morbid
she wasn't.

The circular stairwell was narrow and slippery, but cut time off the
long hike from the storage chamber where the EEV had been secured.
Clemens was unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

?Any particular reason you're so insistent?? 39

39

?I have to make sure how she died,?she replied evenly. ?That it wasn't
something else.?

?Something else??Under different circumstances Clemens might have been
insulted. ?I hate to be repetitious about a sensitive subject, but it's
quite clear that her cylinder was breached and that she drowned.?He
considered. ?Was she your daughter??

?No,?Ripley replied evenly, ?she wasn't my daughter. My daughter died a
long time ago.?

As she spoke her eyes avoided his. But of course she was still weak and
had to concentrate on the narrow, spiraling steps.

?Then why this need??

Instead of answering directly she said, ?Even though we weren't related,
she was very close to me. You think I want to see her the way you've
described her? I'd much rather remember her as she was. I wouldn't ask
to do this if it wasn't damned important to me.?

He started to reply, then stopped himself. Already he knew that Ripley
wasn't the sort of person you could force a reply from. If she was going
to tell him anything it would come in her own good time.

He unlocked the entrance and preceded her inside. A bottom drawer
responded to his official key code and slid open on silent rollers. She
moved up to stand alongside him and together they gazed down at the
peaceful, tiny body.

?Give me a moment. Please.?

Clemens nodded and walked across the room to fiddle with a readout.
Occasionally he turned to watch as his companion examined the little
girl's corpse. Despite the emotions that had to be tearing through her,
she was 40

efficient and thorough. When he thought a decent amount of time had
passed, he rejoined her.

?Okay??He expected a nod, perhaps a last sigh. He most definitely did
not expect what she finally said.

?No. We need an autopsy.?

?You're joking.?He gaped at her.

?No way. You think I'd joke about something like this? We have to make
sure how she died.?Ripley's eyes were steel-hard.

?I told you: she drowned.?He started to slide the body drawer back, only
to have her intervene.

?I'm not so sure.?She took a deep breath. ?I want you to cut her open.?

He stared at her in disbelief. ?Listen to me. I think you're
disoriented. Half your system's still in cryosleep.?

?Look,?she said in a thoroughly no-nonsense tone, ?I have a very good
reason for asking this and I want you to do it.?

?Would you care to share this reason??He was very composed.

She hesitated. ?Isn't it enough that I'm asking??

?No, it is not. 'Request of close personal friend' won't cut it with
Company inspectors. You've got to do better than that.?He stood waiting,
impatient.

?AH right,?she said finally. ?Risk of possible contagion.?

?What kind of 'contagion'??he snapped.

She was clearly reaching. ?I'm not the doctor. You are.?

He shook his head. ?You'll have to do better than that.?

?Cholera.?She eyed him squarely. Her determination was remarkable. 41
Alien 3

41

?You can't be serious. There hasn't been a case reported in two hundred
years. C'mon, tell me another. Never turn down a good laugh in this
place. Smallpox, maybe? Dengue fever??

?I am telling you. Cholera. I was part of the combat team that nuked
Acheron. They were experimenting with all kinds of mutated bacterial and
viral strains in what was supposed to be a safe, closed environment.
Maybe you know about some of the Company's interests. The infection got
loose and... spread. It was particularly virulent and there was no
effective antidote. Nor could the infection be contained, though the
people there tried.?

?So they nuked the place? Seems like a pretty extreme prescription. Of
course, we don't hear much out here, but it seems to me we would have
heard about that.?

?Really? I guess you don't work for the same Company I do. Or maybe you
did hear. Your superintendent doesn't strike me as an especially
loquacious kind of guy. He may know all about it and just decided there
was no reason to pass the information along.?

?Yeah.?She had him confused, Clemens had to confess. And curious. Was
Andrews hiding that particular piece of news? It wasn't as if he was
obligated to keep the prisoners conversant with current events.

But cholera? Mutated strain or not, it still seemed like a pretty thin
story. Of course, if she was telling the truth and the little girl's
corpse was infected with something they might not be able to combat...

Or maybe it was a half-truth. Maybe there was a risk of some kind of
infection and the cholera story was the only cover she'd been able to
think up on short notice. Obviously she thought she had her reasons. She
was military. What the hell did he know about it? 42

She was standing silently, watching him, waiting.

What the hell, he thought.

?As you wish.?

Compared to the morgue the rest of the petrified, neglected complex was
as bright and cheerful as an alpine meadow at high spring. Stainless
steel cabinets lined one wall, bar codes taped to several. The tough
laminated tile floor was chipped and cracked. Easy enough to repair,
except that they didn't have the equipment or the necessary skills, and
nobody cared anyway.

The gleaming cream-white table in the center of the room was bare
beneath the overhead lights. A masked and gowned Clemens bent over the
prepped corpse of the little girl and commenced the initial incision
with the scalpel, pausing to wipe at his brow. It had been a long time
since he'd done anything like this and not only was he badly out of
practice, he wasn't at all sure why he was doing it now.

A saw sliced silently and efficiently through the undersized rib cage.

?You're sure you want to go through with this??he asked the staring
Ripley. She ignored him, watching silently, her heart cold, emotions
stored safely away where they wouldn't interfere. He shrugged and
continued with the incision.

Placing both gloved hands in the opening he'd made, knuckles against
knuckles, he took a deep breath and pulled apart, prying open and
exposing the chest cavity. Concentrating, he peered inward, occasionally
bending close and looking sideways for a different view. Eventually he
straightened and relaxed his fingers.

?We have nothing unusual. Everything's where it's supposed to be.
Nothing missing. No sign of disease, no unusual discoloration, no sign
of contagion. I paid particular 43

43

attention to the lungs. If anything, they appear abnormally healthy.
Hooded with fluid, as I suspected. I'm sure analysis will show Fiorinian
sea water. Kind of an odd physical state for cholera, hmmm??

He made a final cross-lateral cut, inspected within, then glanced up.
?Still nothing. Satisfied??

She turned away.

?Now, since I'm not entirely stupid, do you want to tell me what you're
really looking for??

Before she could reply, the far door was thrown open. The two somber
figures who entered ignored it as it smashed into the interior wall.

Andrews's expression was even less convivial than usual.

?Mr. Clemens.?

?Superintendent.?Clemens's reply was correct but not deferential. Ripley
observed the unspoken byplay between the two with interest. ?I don't
believe you've met Lieutenant Ripley.?

She suspected that the burly super's appraising glance lasted rather
longer than he intended. His attention shifted to the operating table,
then back to his med tech.

?What's going on here, Mr. Clemens??

?Yeah, right sir,?Aaron chipped in, a verbal as well as physical echo of
his boss. ?What's going on, Mr. Clemens??

?First, Lieutenant Ripley is feeling much better, I'm happy to say. As
you can see, physically she's doing quite well.?Andrews didn't rise to
the bait. Mildly disappointed, Clemens continued. ?Second, in the
interests of public health and security, I'm conducting an autopsy on
the deceased child.? 44

?Without my authority??The superintendent all but growled.

The tech replied matter-of-factly, not at all intimidated. ?There didn't
seem to be time.?

Andrews's brows lifted slightly. ?Don't give me that, Clemens. That's
one thing we have in surplus on Fiorina.?

?What I mean is that the lieutenant was concerned about the possible
presence in the body of a mutated infectious organism.?

The superintendent glanced questioningly at the silent Ripley. ?Is that
true??

She nodded, offering no further explanation.

?It's turned out all right,?Clemens interjected. ?The body is perfectly
normal and shows no signs of contagion. I was certain,?he finished
dryly, ?that you'd want me to follow up on this as promptly as possible.
Hence my desire to begin immediately.?

You could almost see the thoughts dancing in Andrews's brain, Ripley
thought. Fermenting.

?All right,?he said finally, ?but it might be helpful if Lieutenant
Ripley didn't parade around in front of the prisoners, as I am told she
did in the last hour. Semimonastic vows notwithstanding. Nothing
personal, you understand, Lieutenant. The suggestion is made as much for
your protection as for my peace of mind.?

?I quite understand,?she murmured, half smiling.

?I'm sure that you do.?He turned back to the med tech. ?It might also be
helpful if you kept me informed as to any change in her physical status.
I'm expected to keep the official log updated on this sort of thing. Or
would that be asking too much??

Ripley took a step forward. ?We have to cremate the bodies.? 45

45

Andrews frowned at her. ?Nonsense. We'll keep the bodies on ice until a
rescue team arrives. There are forms that will need to be filled out. I
don't have that kind of jurisdictional leeway.?

?Cremate... that's a good one, sir,?Aaron sniggered, always eager to please.

?Look, I'm not making an arbitrary request here,?Ripley told him, ?and
it has nothing to do with... personal feelings. There is a public health
issue at stake.?She eyed Clemens expectantly.

What on earth is troubling her so? he found himself wondering. Aloud he
said, ?Lieutenant Ripley feels that the possibility of a communicable
infection still exists.?

The superintendent's gaze narrowed suspiciously. ?I thought you said
there was no sign of disease.?

?What I said was that as far as I was concerned the body was clean and
showed no sign of contagion. You know how sophisticated the facilities I
have at my disposal are, and what an outstanding reputation I maintain
in the interworld medical profession.?Andrews grunted understanding.

?Just because I pronounce the body clean doesn't mean that it
necessarily is. It would appear that the child drowned plain and simple,
though without the proper forensics tests it's impossible to be
absolutely certain. At the risk of contradicting my own analysis I think
it would be unwise to tolerate even the possibility of a mutated virus
getting loose within the installation. I don't think the members of the
rescue team would look kindly on such a development upon their arrival,
either. It might make them rather standoffish, and we do treasure our
occasional visits, don't we?

?Not to mention which a preventable outbreak of something the marines
had to nuke Acheron to destroy 46

would look very bad on your report, wouldn't it? Assuming you were still
alive to care.?

Andrews now looked distinctly unhappy. ?Freezing the body should take
care of any viruses present.?

?Not necessarily,?Ripley told him.

?How do you know it wouldn't??

?We're talking complex bioengineered mutations here. How do you know
that it would??

The superintendent cursed under his breath, his troubled expression
deepening. ?There are at present twenty-five prisoners in this facility.
They are caretakers second. All are double Y chromos-former career
criminals, thieves, rapists, murderers, arsonists, child molesters, drug
dealers ... scum.?He paused to let the litany sink in.

?But scum that have taken on religion. It may make them appear and sound
mellow, but I, for one, don't think it makes them any less dangerous.
However, I value its meliorating effect. So I try not to offend their
convictions. They appreciate my tolerance and I'm rewarded with a
greater amount of peace and quiet than you'd expect to find in a
situation like this.

?I don't want to disturb the established order. I don't want ripples in
the water. And I most especially don't want a woman walking around
giving them ideas and stirring up memories which they have conveniently
managed to bury in their respective pasts.?

?Yes,?Ripley agreed. ?Obviously, as you've said, for my own personal
safety. In addition to which, despite what you seem to think, I'm not
entirely oblivious to the potential problems my temporary presence here
creates for you.'

?Exactly.?Andrews was clearly pleased by her apparent desire to
cooperate. Or in other words, to make life as easy as possible for him.
He glanced back at the med tech. 47

47

?I will leave the details of the cremation to you, Mr. Clemens.?He
turned to leave.

?Just one thing, Superintendent.?

Andrews halted. ?Yes??

?When I'm done, will you be wanting a time and circumstances report? For
the official log, of course.?

Andrews pursed his lips thoughtfully. ?That won't be necessary, Mr.
Clemens. Just 'com me. I'll take care of the rest.?

?As you say, Superintendent.?Clemens grinned thinly. 48 IV-

M

I W I eat. Some of it familiar, some not. Dull rust red struck through
with flashes of bright crimson. Small carcasses dangling from old hooks.
Huge slabs tipped with protuberant suggestions of amputated limbs,
outlined in frozen fat.

Nearby, chickens and cattle, oblivious to their eventual fate. A lone
sheep.?Live meat.

Most of the abattoir was empty. It had been built to handle the daily
needs of hundreds of technicians, miners, and refining personnel. It was
far larger than the caretaker prisoners required. They could have left
more space between supplies, but the vast rear of the huge chamber, with
its echoes of draining blood and slicing and chopping, was a place they
preferred to avoid. Too many animate ghosts lingered there, seeking form
among milling molecules of tainted air.

The two men wrestled with the cart between them, on which rested the
unwieldy carcass of a dead ox. Frank tried

49

49

to guide it while Murphy goosed forward motion out of the rechargeable
electric motor. The motor sputtered and sparked complainingly. When it
finally burned out they would simply activate another cart. There were
no repair techs among the prison population.

Frank wore the look of the permanently doomed. His much younger
companion was not nearly so devastated of aspect. Only Murphy's eyes
revealed the furtive nature of someone who'd been on the run and on the
wrong side of the law since he'd been old enough to contemplate the
notion of working without sticking to a regular job. Much easier to
appropriate the earnings of others, preferably but not necessarily
without their knowledge. Sometimes he'd been caught, other times not.

The last time had been one too many, and he'd been sent to serve out his
sentence on welcoming, exotic Fiorina.

Murphy touched a switch and the cart dumped the clumsy bulk onto the
deeply stained floor. Frank was ready with the chains. Together they
fastened them around the dead animal's hind legs and began to winch it
off the tiles. It went up slowly, in quivering, uneven jerks. The thin
but surprisingly strong alloyed links rattled under the load.

?Well, at least Christmas came early.?Frank straggled with the load,
breathing hard.

?How's that??Murphy asked him.

?Any dead ox is a good ox.?

?God, ain't it right. Smelly bastards, all covered with lice. Rather eat
'em than clean 'em.?

Frank looked toward the stalls. ?Only three more of the buggers left,
then we're done with the pillocks. God, I hate hosing these brutes down.
Always get shit on my boots.? 50

Murphy was sucking on his lower lip, his thoughts elsewhere. ?Speakin'
of hosing down, Frank...?

?Yeah??

Memories glistened in the other man's voice, haunted his face. They were
less than pleasant. ?I mean, if you got a chance... just supposing...
what would you say to her??

His companion frowned. ?What do you mean, if I got a chance??

?You know. If you got a chance.?Murphy was breathing harder now.

Frank considered. ?Just casual, you mean??

?Yeah. If she just came along by herself, like, without Andrews or
Clemens hangin' with her. How would you put it to her? You know, if you
ran into her in the mess hall or something.?

The other man's eyes glittered. ?No problem. Never had any problem with
the ladies. I'd say, 'Good day, my dear, how's it going? Anything I
could do to be of service?' Then I'd give her the look. You know-up and
down. Give her a wink, nasty smile, she'd get the picture.?

?Right,?said Murphy sarcastically. ?And she'd smile back and say, 'Kiss
my ass, you horny old fucker.' ?

?I'd be happy to kiss her ass. Be happy to kiss her anywhere she wants.?

?Yeah.?Murphy's expression darkened unpleasantly. ?But treat 'em mean,
keep 'em keen... right, Frank??

The older man nodded knowingly. ?Treat the queens like whores and the
whores like queens. Can't go wrong.?

Together they heaved on the chains until the carcass was properly
positioned. Frank locked the hoist and they stepped back, letting the
dead animal swing in its harness.

Contemplative silence separated the two men for a long moment. Then
Frank uttered a casual obscenity. ?Frank?? 51

51

?Yeah??

?What do you think killed Babe??He nodded at the carcass.

Frank shrugged. ?Beats me. Just keeled over. Heart attack, maybe.?

Murphy spoke from the other side. ?How could it have been a heart
attack? How old was she??

?Charts say eleven. In the prime. Tough luck for her, good for us. You
know the super won't let us kill any of the animals for meat except on
special occasions. So me, I look on this as a bonus for work well done.
Chop her up. Later we'll throw her in the stew. Animal this size ought
to last for a while. Make the dehys taste like real food.?

?Yeah!?Murphy could taste it now, ladled over hot loaves of the
self-rising, self-cooking bread from the stores.

Something on the cart caught his attention. Whatever it was, it had been
pancaked, flattened beneath the massive bulk of the dead animal. Still
discernible was a small, disc-like body, a thick, flexible tail, and
multiple spidery arms, now crushed and broken. A look of distaste on his
face, he picked it up by the tail, the splintered arms dangling toward
the floor.

?What's this??

Frank leaned over for a look, shrugged indifferently. ?Dunno. What am I,
a xenologist? Looks like some jellyfish from the beach.?

The other man sniffed. The thing had no odor. ?Right.?

He tossed it casually aside.

The lead works was a kind of liquid hell, a place of fire and simmering
heat waves, where both vision and objects wavered as if uncertain of
outline. Like much of the rest of the mining facility it had been
abandoned largely intact. The 52

difference was that it gave the prisoners something to do, lead working
being considerably less complex than, say, platinum wire production or
heavy machinery maintenance. Fiorina's inhabitants were encouraged to
make use of the facility, not only to occupy and amuse themselves but
also to replace certain equipment as it broke down.

Presently the automatic extruders were drawing molten lead from the
glowing caldron into thin tubes which would be used to replace those in
an older part of the facility's plant.

The prisoners on duty watched, alternately fascinated and bored by the
largely automated procedure. Not only was the leadworks a popular place
to work because it offered opportunities for recreation, but also
because it was one of the consistently warmest spots in the complex.

?You goin'??The man who spoke checked two of the simple readouts on the
monitoring console. As always, they were well within allowable parameters.

His companion frowned. ?Haven't decided. It's nothin' to do with us.?

?Be a break in routine, though.?

?Still, I dunno'.?

A third man turned from the searing caldron and pushed his protective
goggles up onto his forehead. ?Dillon gonna be there??

Even as he ventured the query the towering prisoner in question
appeared, striding down the metal catwalk toward them.

?Shut it down,?he said simply when he reached them. The first prisoner
obediently flipped a switch and the caldron immediately began to cool.

?What's the story, man??asked the man with the goggles, blinking
particles from his eyes. 53

53

?Yeah,?said the prisoner in the middle. ?We been talkin' about it, but
we ain't been able to decide.?

?It's been decided,?Dillon informed him. He let his gaze rest on each of
them in turn. ?We're all goin'. Maybe we didn't know these people, but
we show our respect. They wanna burn bodies, that's fine by us, long as
it isn't one of us.?Having imparted this information, he turned to leave.

The three men followed, the one with the goggles slipping them down
around his neck. ?Ain't had a funeral in a long time.?

?That's right,?agreed his companion somberly. ?I've been kind of missing
the service. It's so much like a passage, you know? Off this place.?

?Amen to that, brother,?said the first man, increasing his stride to
keep pace with the taller Dillon.

The old smelter creaked and groaned as it was juiced to life. The
immense chamber had been cut and blasted out of the solid rock directly
above the ore body, then lined where necessary with heat-reflective
shielding. Monitors and controls lined the walkways and railings. Cranes
and other heavy tracked equipment rested silently where they had been
parked by the departing miners. In the shadows thrown by the reduced
lighting they resembled Mesozoic fossils escaped from some distant museum.

Flames began to flicker around the beveled edges of the holding pit.
They heightened the stark figures of the two prisoners who stood on a
crane suspended over the abyss. A pair of nylon sacks hung between them.
Their limp contents caused them to sag noticeably in the middle.

Ripley gazed up at the men and their burden, her hands tightening on the
rail that separated her from the artificial hell below. Clemens stood
next to her, wanting to say 54

something and, as always, failing to find the right words. Having used
up all the consolation in his body a number of years ago, he now
discovered there was none left for the single forlorn woman standing
beside him.

Aaron was there too, and Dillon, and a number of the other prisoners.
Despite the fact that the dead man had in fact been something of a
government enforcer, none of them smiled or ventured sarcastic remarks.
Death was too familiar a companion to all of them, and had been too much
of a daily presence in their lives, to be treated with disrespect.

Andrews harrumphed importantly and opened the thin book he carried. ?We
commit this child and this man to your keeping, O Lord. Their bodies
have been taken from the shadow of our nights. They have been released
from all darkness and pain. Do not let their souls wander the void, but
take them into the company of those who have preceded them.?

In the control center below, the prisoner called Troy listened via 'com
to the proceedings on the catwalk overhead. When Andrews reached the
designated place in the eulogy the prisoner tech began adjusting
controls. Telltales shifted from yellow to green. A deep whine sounded
behind him, rose to complaining pitch, and died. Other lights flashed ready.

Below the catwalk white-hot flame filled the smelting pit. It roared
efficiently, impressively in the semi-darkness. No mountain of ore
waited to greet the fire, no crowd of technicians stood ready to
fine-tune the process of reducing tons of rubble to slag. The flames
seared the sides of the pit and nothing more.

Tears ran slowly down Ripley's cheeks as she stared at the controlled
conflagration. She was silent in her sorrow and remembrance, making no
noise, issuing no sounds. 55 There were only the tears. Clemens looked
on sympathetically. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her, comfort
her. But there were others present, Andrews among them. He stayed where
he was.

?The child and the man have gone beyond our world,?Andrews droned on.
?Their bodies may lie broken, but their souls are forever eternal and
everlasting.?

?We who suffer ask the question: Why??Eyes shifted from the
superintendent to Dillon. ?Why are the innocent punished? Why the
sacrifice? Why the pain???There are no promises,?the big prisoner
intoned solemnly. ?There is no certainty. Only that some will be called.
That some will be saved.?

Up on the crane the rising heat from the furnace finally became too much
for the men stationed there. They rocked several times and heaved their
burden into the pit, beating a hasty retreat for cooler climes. The
sacks fell, tumbling a few times, before being swallowed by the inferno.
There was a brief, slightly higher flicker of flame near the edge of the
pit as the bags and their contents were instantly incinerated.

Ripley staggered slightly and clutched at Clemens's arm. He was startled
but held his ground, giving her the support she needed. The rest of the
men looked on. There was no envy in their expressions; only sympathy.
Dillon took no notice. He was still reciting.

?But these departed spirits will never know the hardships, the grief and
pain which lie ahead for those of us who remain. So we commit these
bodies to the void with a glad heart. For within each seed there is the
promise of a flower, and within each death, no matter how small, there
is always a new life. A new beginning.? 56

There was movement in the abattoir, a stirring amid the dangling
carcasses and balletic wraiths of frozen air. The massive corpse of the
ox twitched, then began to dance crazily in its chains.

There was no one to witness the gut swelling and expanding until the
dead skin was taut as that of a crazed dirigible. No one to see it burst
under the pressure, sending bits of flesh and fat flying. Internal
organs, liver and stomach, coils of ropy intestines tumbled to the
floor. And something else.

A head lifted, struggling upward with spasmodic, instinctive confidence.
The compact nightmare turned a slow circle, scanning its surroundings.
Hunting. Awkwardly at first but with astonishingly rapid assurance it
began to move, searching. It found the air duct and inspected it briefly
before vanishing within.

From the time it had emerged from the belly of the ox until its studied
disappearance, less than a minute had elapsed.

Upon concluding his speech Dillon bowed his head. The other prisoners
did likewise. Ripley glanced at them, then back to the pit where the
fires were being electronically banked. She reached up and scratched at
her hair, then one ear. A moment later again. This time she looked down
at her fingers.

They were coated with what looked like dark, motile dust.

Disgusted, she frantically wiped them clean against her borrowed
jumpsuit, looked up to find Clemens eying her knowingly.

?I warned you.?

?Okay, I'm convinced. Now what do I do about it?? 57

57

?You can live with it,?he told her, ?or...?He rubbed his naked pate and
smiled regretfully.

Her expression twisted. ?There's no other way??

He shook his head. ?If there was we'd have found it by now. Not that
there's been much impetus to do so. Vanity's one of the first casualties
of assignment to Fiorina. You might as well be comfortable. It'll grow
back after you leave, and if you don't do anything in the meantime the
bugs'll eat the stuff right down to the roots anyway. They may be tiny,
but they have large appetites and lousy table manners. Believe me,
you'll look worse if you try to ignore it, and you'll scratch yourself
silly.?

She slumped. ?All right. Which way to the beauty parlor??

The tech was apologetic. ?I'm afraid you're talking to it.?

The line of shower stalls was stark and sterile, pale white beneath the
overheads. Presently all were deserted save one. As the hot, chemically
treated water cascaded down her body, Ripley studied herself in the
mirror that formed part of one wall.

Strange to be without hair. It was such a slight, ephemeral part of
one's body. The only aspect of one's appearance that could be altered
easily and at will. She felt herself physically diminished somehow, a
queen suddenly bereft of her crown. Yet it would grow back. Clemens had
assured her of that. The prisoners had to shave themselves regularly.
There was nothing about the bugs or the air that rendered the condition
permanent.

She soaped her bare scalp. It was a strange sensation and she felt
chilled despite the roaring hot water. The old mining and smelting
facility might be short of many things, but water wasn't one of them.
The big desalinization plant

r 58

down on the bay had been built to provide water for all installation
functions and its full complement of personnel as well. Even at minimal
operational levels it provided more than enough water for the prisoners
to waste.

She shut her eyes and stepped back under the full force of the heavy
spray. As far as she was concerned the past ten thousand years of human
civilization had produced three really important inventions: speech,
writing, and indoor plumbing.

Outside the stalls, old death and new problems awaited, though the
latter seemed insignificant compared to what she'd already been through.
Clemens and Andrews and the rest didn't, couldn't, understand that, nor
did she feel it incumbent upon herself to elaborate for them.

After what she'd endured, the prospect of being forced to spend a few
weeks in the company of some hardened criminals was about as daunting as
a walk in the park.

The prisoners had their meals in what had been the supervisors' mess
when the mine had been in operation. The room still exceeded their
modest requirements. But while the facility was impressive despite
having been stripped of its original expensive decor, the food was
something else again. Still, complaints were infrequent and mild. If not
precisely of gourmet quality, at least there was plenty of it. While not
wishing to pamper its indentured caretakers, neither did the Company
wish them to starve.

Within certain prescribed and well known temporal parameters the men
could eat when they wished. Thanks to the extra space they tended to
cluster in small groups. A few chose to eat alone. Their solitude was
always respected. In Fiorina's restricted environment enforced
conversation was threatening conversation. 59

Alien 3

59

Dillon picked up his preheated tray and scanned the room. Men were
chatting, consuming, pretending they had lives. As always, the
superintendent and his assistant ate in the same hall as the prisoners,
though off to one side. Wordlessly he homed in on a table occupied by
three men displaying particularly absorbed expressions. No, not
absorbed, he corrected himself. Sullen.

Well, that was hardly a unique situation on Fiorina. Nevertheless, he
was curious.

Golic glanced up as the new arrival's bulk shadowed the table, looked
away quickly. His eyes met those of his friends Boggs and Rains. The
three of them concentrated on their bland meals with preternatural
intensity as Dillon slid into the empty seat. They did not object to his
presence, but neither did they welcome him.

The four ate in silence. Dillon watched them closely, and they were
conscious of his watching them, and still no one said anything.

Finally the big man had had enough. Pausing with his spoon halfway to
his mouth, he settled on Boggs.

?Okay. This is eating time, interacting time. Not contemplation seminar.
Lotta talk goin' round that we got some disharmony here. One of you guys
want to tell me what the problem is??

Boggs looked away. Golic concentrated on his mash. Dillon did not raise
his voice but his impatience was evident nonetheless.

?Speak to me, brothers. You all know me and so you know that I can be
persistent. I sense that you are troubled and I wish only to help.?He
placed a massive, powerful fist gently on the table next to his tray.
?Unburden your spirits. Tell me what's the matter.?

Rains hesitated, then put down his fork and pushed his 60

tray toward the center of the table. ?All right, you want to know what's
wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong. I've learned how to get along here. I
never thought that I would but I have. I don't mind the dark, I don't
mind the bugs, I don't mind the isolation or all the talk of ghosts in
the machinery. But I mind Golic.?He waved at the individual in question,
who blissfully continued scarfing down his food.

Dillon turned to Boggs. ?That the way you feel about it??

Boggs continued to stir his food nervously, finally looked up. ?I ain't
one to start something or cause trouble. I just want to get along and
serve my time like everybody else.?

The big man leaned forward and the table creaked slightly beneath his
weight. ?I asked you if that's the way you feel about it.?

?All right, yeah. Yeah. Hey, the man is crazy. I don't care what Clemens
or the 'official' reports say. He's nuts. If he wasn't like this when he
got here then he is now. The planet or the place or both have made him
like that. He's running on smoke drive, and he smells bad. I ain't goin'
outside with him anymore. Not to the beach, not to check the shafts, not
nowhere. And ain't nobody can make me,?he finished belligerently. ?I
know my rights.?

?Your rights??Dillon smiled thinly. ?Yes, of course. Your rights.?He
glanced to his left. ?You got anything to say for yourself??

Golic looked up, particles of food clinging to his thick lips, and
grinned idiotically. He essayed an indifferent shrug before returning to
his meal.

Dillon regarded the other two steadily. ?Because Golic doesn't like to
talk doesn't mean he's crazy. Just nonverbal. Frankly, from everything
I've seen he manages to express 61

61

what he's feeling as well as anybody else. There are no orators here.?

?Get to the point,?Boggs mumbled unhappily.

?The point is that he's going with you. He's part of your work team and
until further notice or unless he does something more threatening than
keep his mouth shut, that's the way it stays. You all have a job to do.
Take it from me, you will learn not to mind Golic or his little
idiosyncrasies. He's nothing more than another poor, miserable,
suffering son of a bitch like you and me. Which means he's no crazier
than any of the rest of us.?

?Except he smells worse,?Rains snapped disgustedly.

?And he's crazy,?Boggs added, unrepentant.

Dillon straightened in his seat. ?Look, you're making far too much out
of this. I've seen it before. It happens when there isn't a whole
helluva lot else to do. You start picking on the food, then the bugs,
then each other. Golic's different, that's all. No better and no worse
than the rest of us.?

?He stinks,?Rains muttered.

Dillon shot the other man a cautionary look. ?None of us is a walking
bouquet down here. Knock this shit off. You have a job to do. The three
of you. It's a good job.?

?Didn't ask for it,?Boggs muttered.

?Nobody asks for anything here. You take what's given to you and make
the best of it. That way lies survival. For you and for everybody else.
This ain't like some Earthside prison. You riot here and no citizen
media comes runnin' to listen to your complaints. You just get a lot
more uncomfortable. Or you die.?Boggs shuffled his feet uneasily.

?Now, listen to me. There's others who'd be willing to take on foraging
duty. But in case you ain't noticed, Andrews ain't in a very
accommodating mood right now. I wouldn't 62

be asking him about switching assignments and changing rosters.?The big
man smiled encouragingly. ?Hey, you get to work at your own speed, and
you're out of sight of the superintendent and his toady. Maybe you'll
get lucky, find some good stuff you can try and keep to yourselves.?

?Fat chance of that.?Rains was still bitter, but less so. Dillon had
reminded him of possibilities.

?That's better,?said the big man. ?Just keep your mind on your work and
you won't even notice Golic. You are foragers. You know what that
entails. Hunting for overlooked provisions and useful equipment. As we
all know from previous scavenging expeditions, Weyland-Yutani's noble,
upstanding miners had the useful habit of appropriating their employers'
supplies and hoarding them in little private storerooms and cubbies they
cut out of the rock in the hopes they could smuggle some of the stuff
out and sell it on the open market. They were trying to supplement their
incomes. We're interested in supplementing our lives.

?I don't want to hear anymore objections and I don't want to discuss it
further. There's tougher duty needs doing if you insist on pressing the
matter. You are to do this to help your fellow prisoners. You are to do
this to prove your loyalty to me. And I don't want to hear another word
about poor Golic.?

?Yeah, but-?Rains started to argue. He broke off before he could get
started, staring. Boggs looked up. So did Golic. Dillon turned slowly.

Ripley stood in the doorway, surveying the mess hall, which had gone
completely silent at her entrance. Her eyes saw everything, met no
one's. Stepping over to the food line she studied the identical trays
distastefully. The prisoner on serving duty gaped at her unashamedly,
his manipulator dangling limp from one hand. Taking a chunk of cornbread 63

63

from a large plastic basket, she turned and let her gaze rove through
the room one more time, until it settled on Dillon.

Andrews and his assistant were as absorbed in the silent tableau as the
prisoners. The superintendent watched thoughtfully as the lieutenant
walked over to the big man's table and stopped. His knowing expression
was resigned as he turned back to his food.

?As I thought, Mr. Aaron. As I thought.?

His second-in-command frowned, still gazing across the room at Ripley.
?You called it, sir. What now??

Andrews sighed. ?Nothing. For now. Eat your food.?He picked up a fork
and dug into the steaming brown mass in the center of his tray.

Ripley stood opposite Dillon, behind Boggs. The four men picked at their
meals, resolutely indifferent to her presence.

?Thanks for your words at the funeral. They helped. I didn't think I
could react like that anymore to anything as futile as words, but I was
wrong. I just want you to know that I appreciated it.?

The big man gazed fixedly at his plate, shoveling in food with a
single-minded determination that was impressive to behold. When she
didn't move away he finally looked up.

?You shouldn't be here. Not just on Fiorina ... you didn't have much
choice about that. But in this room. With us. You ought to stay in the
infirmary, where you belong. Out of the way.?

She bit off a piece of the cornbread, chewed reflectively. For something
with a dehy base it was almost tasty.

?I got hungry.?

?Clemens could've brought you something.?

?I got bored.? 64

Frustrated, he put down his fork and glanced up at her. ?I don't know
why you're doing this. There's worse things than bein' bored. I don't
know why you're talking to me. You don't wanna know me, Lieutenant. I am
a murderer and a rapist. Of women.?

?Really.?Her eyebrows, which she had thinned but not shaved completely,
rose. ?I guess I must make you nervous.?

Boggs's fork halted halfway to his mouth. Rains frowned, and Golic just
kept eating, ignoring the byplay completely. Dillon hesitated a moment,
then a slow smile spread across his hardened face. He nodded and Ripley
took the remaining empty chair.

?Do you have any faith, sister??

?In what??She gnawed on the cornbread.

?In anything.?

She didn't have to pause to consider. ?Not much.?

He raised a hand and waved, the expansive gesture encompassing the mess
hall and its inhabitants. ?We got lots of faith here. Not much else,
it's true, but that we got. It doesn't take up much space, the Company
and the government can't take it away from us, and every man watches
over his own personal store of the stuff. It's not only useful in a
place like this, it's damn necessary. Otherwise you despair and in
despairing you lose your soul. The government can take away your freedom
but not your soul.

?On Earth, in a place like this, it would be different. But this ain't
Earth. It ain't even the Sol system. Out here people react differently.
Free people and prisoners alike. We're less than free but more than
dead. One of the things that keeps us that way is our faith. We have
lots, Lieutenant. Enough even for you.? 65

65

?I got the feeling that women weren't allowed in your faith.?

?Why? Because we're all men here? That's a consequence of our
population, not our philosophy. If women were sent they'd be invited in.
Incarceration doesn't discriminate as to gender. Reason there ain't no
women in the faith is that we never had any sent here. But we tolerate
anyone. Not much reason to exclude somebody when they're already
excluded from everything else by the simple fact of being sent here. We
even tolerate the intolerable.? His smile widened.

?Thank you,?she replied dryly.

He noted her tone. ?Hey, that's just a statement of principle. Nothing
personal. We got a good place here to wait. Up to now, no temptation.?

She leaned back in the chair. ?I guess if you can take this place for
longer than a year without going crazy, you can take anybody.?

Dillon was eating again, enjoying the meal. ?Fiorina's as good a place
to wait as any other. No surprises. More freedom of movement than you'd
have on an inhabited world. Andrews doesn't worry about us going too far
from the installation because there's no place to go. It's hard out
there. Not much to eat, rotten weather. No company. We're all
long-termers here, though not everyone's a lifer. Everyone knows
everyone else, what they're like, who can be depended on and who needs a
little extra help to make it.?He chewed and swallowed.

?There's worse places to serve out your time. I ain't been there, but
I've heard of 'em. All things considered, Fiorina suits me just fine. No
temptation here.?

Ripley gave him a sideways look. ?What exactly are you waiting for?? 66

Alan Dean Foster

The big man didn't miss a beat. Or a forkful. ?We are waiting,?he told
her in all seriousness, ?for God to return and raise his servants to
redemption.?

She frowned. ?I think you're in for a long wait.? 67

Later Clemens showed her the assembly hall, pointing out inconsequential
he thought she might find of interest. Eventually they sat, alone in the
spacious room. Prisoner Martin quietly swept up nearby.

?How much of the story of this place do you know??

?What you've told me. What Andrews said. A little that I heard from some
of the prisoners.?

?Yeah, I saw you talking to Dillon.?He poured himself a short whiskey
from the metal flask he carried. The distant ceiling loomed above them,
four stories high.

?It's pretty interesting, from a psychosocial point of view. Dillon and
the rest of them got religion, so to speak, about five years ago.?

?What kind of religion??

Clemens sipped at his liquor. ?I don't know. Hard to say. Some sort of
millenarian apocalyptic Christian fundamentalist brew.? 68

?Ummmm.?

?Exactly. The point is that when the Company wanted to close down this
facility, Dillon and the rest of the converts wanted to stay. The
Company knows a good thing when it sees it. So they were allowed to
remain as custodians, with two minders and a medical officer.? He
gestured at the deserted assembly hall. ?And here we are.

?It's not so bad. Nobody checks on us, nobody bothers us. Regular supply
drops from passing ships take care of the essentials. Anything we can
scavenge we're allowed to make use of, and the company pays the men
minimal caretaker wages while they do their time, which is a damn sight
better than what a prisoner earns doing prison work Earthside.

?For comfort the men have view-and-read chips and their private
religion. There's plenty to eat, even if it does tend to get monotonous;
the water's decent, and so long as you shave regular, the bugs don't
bother you. There are few inimical native life-forms and they can't get
into the installation. If the weather was better, it would almost be
pleasant.?

She looked thoughtful as she sipped at her drink. ?What about you? How
did you happen to get this great assignment??

He held his cup between his fingers, twirling it back and forth, side to
side. ?I know you'll find this hard to believe, but it's actually much
nicer than my previous posting. I like being left alone. I like being
ignored. This is a good place for that. Unless somebody needs attention
or gets hurt, which happens a lot less than you might think, my time
here is pretty much my own. I can sit and read, watch a viewer, explore
the complex, or go into a holding room and scream my head off.?He smiled
winningly. ?It's a 69

69

helluva lot better than having some sadistic guard or whiny prisoner
always on your case.?He gestured at her bald pate.

?How do you like your haircut??

She ran her fingers delicately across her naked skull. ?Feels weird.
Like the hair's still there but when you reach for it, there's nothing.?

He nodded. ?Like someone who's lost a leg and thinks he can still feel
his foot. The body's a funny thing, and the mind's a heck of a lot
funnier.?He drained his glass, looked into her eyes.

?Now that I've gone out on a limb for you with Andrews over the
cremation, damaging my already less than perfect relationship with the
good man, and briefed you on the humdrum history of Fury 161, how about
you telling me what you were looking for in that dead girl? And why was
it necessary to cremate the bodies??She started to reply and he raised
his hand, palm toward her.

?Please, no more about nasty germs. Andrews was right. Cold storage
would have been enough to render them harmless. But that wasn't good
enough for you. I want to know why.?

She nodded, set her cup aside, and turned back to him. ?First I have to
know something else.?

He shrugged. ?Name it.?

?Are you attracted to me??

His gaze narrowed. As he was wondering how to respond, he heard his own
voice answering, as though his lips and tongue had abruptly chosen to
operate independent of his brain. Which was not, he reflected in mild
astonishment, necessarily a bad thing.

?In what way??

?In that way.?

The universe, it appeared, was still full of wonders,

70

even if Fiorina's perpetual cloud cover tended to obscure them. ?You are
rather direct. Speaking to someone afflicted with a penchant for
solitude, as I have already mentioned, I find that more than a little
disconcerting.?

?Sorry. It's the only way I know how to be. I've been out here a long time.?

?Yes,?he murmured. ?So have I.?

?I don't have time for subterfuges. I don't have time for much of
anything except what's really important. I've had to learn that.?

He refilled both cups, picked up his own, and swirled the contents,
studying the uninformative eddies which appeared in the liquid.

The fan blades were each twice the size of a man. They had to be, to
suck air from the surface and draw it down into the condensers which
scrubbed, cleaned, and purified Fiorina's dusty atmosphere before
pumping the result into shafts and structures. Even so, they were
imperfect. Fiorina's atmosphere was simply too dirty.

There were ten fans, one to a shaft. Eight were silent. The remaining
pair roared at half speed, supplying air to the installation's western
quadrant.

Murphy sang through the respiratory mask that covered his nose and
mouth, filtering out surface particles before they were drawn off by the
fan. Carbon deposits tended to accumulate on the ductway walls. He
burned them off with his laser, watched as the fan sucked them away from
his feet and into the filters. It wasn't the best job to have, nor the
worst. He took his time and did the best he could. Not because he gave a
damn or anticipated the imminent arrival of Company inspectors, but
because when he finished with the ducts they'd give him something else
to do. Might as 71

71

well go about the cleaning as thoroughly as possible so it would kill as
much time as possible.

He was off tune but enthusiastic.

Abruptly he stopped singing. A large deposit had accumulated in the
recess off to his left. Damn storage areas were like that, always
catching large debris that the surface filters missed. He knelt and
extended the handle of the push broom, winkling the object out. It moved
freely, not at all like a clump of mucky carbon.

It was flat and flexible. At first he thought it was an old uniform, but
when he had it out in the main duct he saw that it was some kind of
animal skin. It was dark and shiny, more like metal foil than flesh.
Funny stuff.

Stretching it out on the floor he saw that it was big enough to enclose
two men, or a young calf. What the hell ...?

Then he knew. There were a few large native animals on Fiorina; poor,
dirt-hugging primitive things with feeble nervous systems and slow
response times. Obviously one had somehow stumbled into an air intake
and, unable to get out again, had perished for lack of food and water.
It couldn't use the ladders, and the roaring fan constituted an
impenetrable barrier. He poked at the empty skin. This desiccated husk
was all that remained of the unfortunate visitor. No telling how long it
had lain in the recess, ignored and unnoticed.

The skin looked awfully fresh to have contained an old, long since dried
out corpse. The bugs, he reminded himself. The bugs would make short
work of any flesh that came their way. It was interesting. He hadn't
known that the bugs would eat bone.

Or maybe there'd been no bones to dispose of. Maybe it had been a...
what was the word? An invertebrate, yeah. 72

Alan Dean Foster

Something without bones. Wasn't Fiorina home to those too? He'd have to
look it up, or better yet, ask Clemens. The medic would know. He'd
bundle the skin up and take it to the infirmary. Maybe he'd made a
discovery of some kind, found the skin of a new type of animal. It would
look good on his record.

Meanwhile he wasn't getting any work done.

Turning, he burned off a couple of deposits clinging to the lower
right-hand curve of the duct. That's when he heard the noise. Frowning,
he shut off the laser and flicked on the safety as he turned to look
behind him. He'd about decided that his imagination was starting to get
to him when he heard it again-a kind of wet, lapping sound.

There was a slightly larger recess a few meters down the duct, a
sometime storage area for supplies and tools. It should be empty now,
cleaned out, the supplies stocked elsewhere and the tools salvaged by
the departing maintenance personnel. But the gurgling noise grew louder
the nearer he crept.

He had to bend to see inside. Wishing he had a light, he squinted in the
reflected glow from the duct. There was something moving, an indistinct
bulk in the darkness. The creature that had shed its skin? If so and he
could bring it out alive he was sure to receive an official Company
commendation. Maybe his unanticipated contribution to the moribund state
of Fiorinan science would be worth a couple of months off his sentence.

His eyes grew accustomed to the weak illumination. He could see it more
clearly now, make out a head on a neck. It sensed his presence and
turned toward him.

He froze, unable to move. His eyes widened.

Liquid emerged suddenly in a tight, concentrated stream from the
unformed monster's mouth, striking the paralyzed 73

73

prisoner square in the face. Gas hissed as flesh melted on contact with
the highly caustic fluid. Murphy stumbled backward, screaming and
clawing at his disintegrating face.

Smoke pouring through his clutching fingers, he staggered away from the
recess, bouncing off first one wall then the other. He had no thought of
where he was going, or where he was. He thought of nothing save the
pain. He did not think of the fan.

When he stumbled into the huge blades they shredded him instantly,
sending blood and ragged chunks of flesh splattering against the
metalwork of the duct. It would have taken some time for his erstwhile
friends to have found him if his skull hadn't been caught just right
between one blade and the casing. Fouled, the safeties took over and
shut down the mechanism. The motor stopped and the blades ground to a
halt. Down the main corridor a previously quiet fan automatically picked
up the slack.

Then it was quiet again in the side shaft except for the distant, barely
audible noise which emerged from the old storage recess, a perverse
mewling hiss there was no longer anyone present to overhear.

Clemens's quarters were luxurious compared to those of the other
prisoners. He had more space and, as the facility's medical technician,
access to certain amenities denied his fellow Fiorinans. But the room
was comfortable only by comparison. It would not have passed muster on
the most isolated outpost on Earth.

Still, he was aware of his unique position, and as grateful as he could
be under the circumstances. Recently those circumstances had become a
great deal better than normal.

Ripley shifted beneath the bedsheets of the cot, stretching 74

and blinking at the ceiling. Clemens stood across the floor, near the
built-ins. A narcostick smoked between his lips as he poured something
dark and potent from a canister into a glass. For the first time she saw
him with his official cowl down. The imprinted code on the back of his
shaven skull was clearly visible.

Turning, he saw her looking at him and gestured with the container.

?Sorry I can't offer you a drink, but you're on medication.?

She squinted. ?What is it this time??

?It would surprise you.?

?I don't doubt it.?She smiled. ?You've already surprised me.?

?Thanks.?He held the glass up to the light. ?The medical instrumentation
the Company left behind is rudimentary, but sophisticated enough in its
way. Since we can't always rely on supply drops I have to be able to
synthesize quite a range of medications. The program that synthesizes
rubbing alcohol doesn't take much adjusting to turn out something
considerably more palatable.? He sipped at the contents of the glass,
looking pleased with himself.

?A small hobby, but a rewarding one.?

?Does Andrews know??she asked him.

?I don't think so. I sure as hell haven't told him. If he knew, he'd
order me to stop. Say it was bad for morale and dangerous if the other
men knew I could do it. I couldn't disagree with him there. But until he
does find out, I'll go on happily rearranging ethyl molecules and their
stimulating relations to suit my own personal needs.?He held the
canister over an open tumbler. ?Don't worry. I'll save you some. For later.?

?That's thoughtful of you.? 75 ?Don't mention it. When I was in school
recombinant synthetic chemistry was one of my better subjects.?He
hesitated. ?Speaking of thoughtfulness, while I am deeply appreciative
of your attentions, I also realize that they manifested themselves at
just the right moment to deflect my last question. In the best possible
way, of course. I wouldn't want you to think for a minute that I'd have
had it any other way. But the damn thing has a grip on me and won't let
loose.?

She stared up at him, his glass held delicately in one hand. ?You're
spoiling the mood.?

?That's not my intention. But I'm still a medical officer and one does
have a job to do, and frankly, the more effort you put into avoiding the
issue, the more curious I am to find out why. What were you looking for
in the girl? Why were you so insistent on having the bodies cremated??

?I get it. Now that I'm in your bed, you think I owe you an answer.?

He replied patiently. ?Trying to get me mad isn't going to work either.
No, you owe me an answer because it's my job to get one and because I
stuck my neck out for you to give you what you wanted. Being in my bed
has nothing to do with it.?He smiled thinly. ?Your nonresponsiveness in
this matter is likely to complicate our future relationship no end.?

She sighed resignedly and turned onto her side. ?It's really nothing.
Can't we just leave it at that? When I was in deep sleep I had a real
bad dream.?She shut her eyes against the gruesome memory. ?I don't want
to talk about it. I just had to be sure what killed her.?

She looked back up at the medic. ?You have no idea what my recent life
has been like or what I've been through. It would make your wildest
nightmares seem like the fuzzy

76

musings of an innocent five-year-old. I know that I'll never forget any
of it. Never! But that doesn't keep me from trying. So if I seem a
little irrational or unreasonably insistent about certain things, try to
indulge me. Believe me, I need that. I need someone to be concerned
about me for a change. As far as Newt... as far as the girl is
concerned, I made a mistake.?

His thumb caressed the side of the small glass he held as he nodded
slowly, tight-lipped and understanding. ?Yes, possibly.?

She continued to stare at him. ?Maybe I've made another mistake.?

?How's that??

?Fraternizing with the prisoners. Physical contact. That's against the
rules, isn't it??

?Definitely. Who was the lucky fellow??

?You, dummy.?

Clemens eyed her uncertainly. ?I'm not a prisoner.?

She gestured. ?Then what about the code on the back of your head??

His hand went reflexively to the back of his skull. ?I suppose that does
demand an explanation. But I don't think this is the moment for it.
Sorry. We are rather spoiling things, aren't we?? The intercom buzzed
for attention. He looked apologetic as he moved to acknowledge the call.

?Got to respond. I'm not allowed the luxury of refusing calls. This
isn't Sorbonne Centrale.?He flicked on the two-way. A thin, poorly
reproduced voice filtered through.

?Clemens??

The medic shot her a resigned look. ?Yes, Mr. Aaron.?

' ?Andrews wants you to report to Vent Shaft Seventeen in the Second
Quadrant. ASAP. We've had an accident.?

Suddenly involved, he turned to make certain the 77

77

omnidirectional mike built into the unit got a good dose of his reply.
?Something serious??

?Yeah, you could call it that,?the assistant told him. ?One of the
prisoners on work detail got diced.?The unit clicked off abruptly.

?Damn.?Clemens drained his glass and set it down on the console, turning
back to his guest. ?I'm sorry. I have to go. Official duties.?

Ripley tensed slightly, fingering the glass. ?I was just starting to
enjoy the conversation. As opposed to other things.?

?How do you think I feel??he muttered as he popped a closet and began
removing clothes.

?Maybe I should come along.?

He glanced back at her. ?Better that you don't. It's one thing if I'm
seen as treating you as part of my regular rounds. If everyone starts
noticing us together all the time with you looking decidedly healthy, it
might inspire questions. And talk. Among these guys, the less talk the
better.?

?I understand. I don't like it, but I understand.?

He stepped into work trousers. ?Those are the two things you have to do
to survive on Fiorina. Also, I don't think your presence would be
appreciated by Superintendent Andrews. Wait here and take it easy.?He
smiled reassuringly. ?I'll be back.?

She said nothing further, looking distinctly unhappy.

There wasn't much to examine. Hell, Clemens thought as he surveyed the
carnage inside the air duct, there wasn't much to bury. Cause of death
was a foregone conclusion. There were as many stains on the motionless
fan as on the walls.

It didn't make a lot of sense. Men regularly stepped on

78

or brushed against ragged metal edges and cut themselves, or fell off
catwalks, or injured themselves trying to body surf in the choppy bay,
but they knew intimately the potential dangers of the mothballed mine
and studiously avoided them. The giant fan was a threat impossible to
dismiss or overlook.

Which didn't necessarily mean the unfortunate and now deceased Murphy
was innocent of fooling around. He could have been running, or sliding
on the slick ductwork, or just teasing the blades with his broom. He
must have slipped, or had part of his clothing caught up in the works.
They'd never know, of course. No reason to assign two men to duct
cleaning duty. Murphy had been working alone.

Aaron was evidently of similar mind. The assistant was staring grimly at
the fan. ?He was a nutter. I gave him the assignment. I should've known
better, should've sent somebody else, or at least paired him up with
someone a little more stable.?Behind them prisoner Jude continued to mop up.

Andrews was quietly furious. Not because Murphy was dead, but because of
the circumstances. They would not reflect favorably on him. Besides
which it would mean more paperwork.

?No apologies, Mr. Aaron. It wasn't your fault. From the look of it, it
wasn't anybody's fault except perhaps Mr. Murphy's, and he paid for
it.?He looked to his medic. ?Your observations, Mr. Clemens??

The tech shrugged. ?Not really much to say, is there? Cause of death is
unarguably obvious. I doubt he felt any discomfort. I'm sure it was
instantaneous.?

?No shit.?Aaron surveyed the widely scattered human debris with
unconcealed distaste.

?I am trying to concoct a scenario,?the superintendant 79

79

continued. ?For the report, you understand. I find it difficult to
believe that he simply stumbled into so blatant a danger, one in whose
proximity he had spent some time working. Perhaps he was pulled in??

Clemens pursed his lips. ?Possible. I'm neither physicist nor mechanic-?

?None of us are, Mr. Clemens,?Andrews reminded him. ?I am not asking you
to render judgment, but simply to offer your opinion on the matter.?

The medic nodded. ?A sudden rush of air might do it, I would imagine.
Power surge resulting in exceptional suction. Only-?

?Right,?Aaron said quickly. ?Almost happened to me once, in the main
quadrant. Four years ago. I always tell people, keep an eye out for the
fans. They're so damn big and solid and steady, you don't think of the
unexpected happening in their vicinity.?He shook his head steadily.
?Doesn't matter how much I talk. Nobody listens.?

?That's fine,?Clemens agreed, ?except that before I came down I checked
the programming, and the fan was blowing. A power surge should've sent
him spinning up the duct, not flying into the blades.?

Aaron's gaze narrowed, then he shrugged mentally. Let the superintendent
and the medic work it out. It was their responsibility. Meant nothing to
him. He'd offered his reasoning, done the best he could. He was sorry
for Murphy, but what the hell. Accidents happened.

Clemens strolled up the duct tunnel, studying the walls. The bloodstains
diminished gradually.

There was a large recess in the left side of the tunnel and he knelt to
peer inside. It was a typical ancillary storage chamber, long since
cleaned out. As he started to rise and 80

move on, something caught his eye and caused him to hesitate.

It looked like a spill. Not blood. Some kind of chemical discoloration.
The normally smooth metal surface was badly pitted.

Andrews had moved up silently to stand nearby. Now he joined the medic
in studying the recess. ?What's that??

Clemens straightened. ?I really don't know. I just thought it looked
funny. Probably been like that ever since the ductwork was
installed.?His indifference was somewhat forced and the superintendent
picked up on it immediately, pinning the medic with his gaze. Clemens
looked away.

?I want to see you in my quarters in, say, thirty minutes,?he said
evenly. ?If you please, Mr. Clemens.?

He turned toward the rest of the search party, which was busy gathering
up the remains of the dead man. ?Right. This isn't where I want to spend
the rest of my day. Let's finish up and get out so Mr. Troy can restart
the unit and we can all get back to normal.?He began shepherding the men
toward the exit.

Clemens lingered. As soon as he was certain Andrews was fully occupied
with concluding the grisly cleanup, the medic returned to his
examination of the damaged metal.

It was quiet as a tomb inside the EEV. Shattered consoles clung like
pinned arachnids to the walls. Equipment lay where it had fallen from
braces or spilled from cabinets. The pilot's chair swung at an angle on
its support shaft, like a drunken glove.

A single light illuminated the chaotic interior. Ripley was working
inside the burst bulkhead, alternating the laser cutter with less
intrusive tools. A protective composite plate peeled away reluctantly to
reveal a sealed panel beneath. 81

81

Gratified, she went to work on the panel clips, using a special tool to
remove them one at a time. The panel itself was clearly labeled.

FLIGHT RECORDER

DO NOT BREAK SEAL

OFFICIAL AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED ISA 445

As soon as the last clip was snapped off she removed the panel and set
it aside. Beneath, a smooth-surfaced black box sat snug inside a
double-walled, specially cushioned compartment. The compartment was dry
and clean, with no lingering smell or dampness to suggest that it had
been violated by the intrusive salt water of the bay.

The latch on the side released smoothly and the box face slid aside,
revealing readouts and flush-mounted buttons beneath the protective
shield. She thumbed one and several telltales lit up instantly. Touching
it again, she watched as they shut down.

The box slipped freely out of its compartment. She set it gently on the
deck, next to the light, and let her gaze once more rove the devastated
interior of the emergency vehicle, trying to remember, trying to forget.

Something moved behind her, scrabbling against the torn and broken
superstructure. She whirled, panicky, as her eyes detected movement in
the darkness.

?Damn!?she cried, slumping. ?You trying to scare the life out of me??

Clemens paused in the cramped entrance, an incongruously boyish grin on
his face. ?Sorry, but the doorbell isn't working.?Straining, he stepped
into the chamber. ?You know, wandering about without an escort is really
going to piss Superintendent Andrews off. Whatever you're up to, putting
yourself on his bad side isn't going to help.?

82

?Screw him. What about the accident??Her tone was intent, her expression
earnest.

?Very bad, I'm afraid.?He leaned against some dangling wiring, backed
off hastily when it threatened to come down around him. ?One of the
prisoners has been killed.?

She looked concerned. ?How??

?It wasn't pretty. Sure you want to know??

She made a small noise. ?If you're worried about me fainting on you,
you've got the wrong lady.?

?I thought as much. Just giving you the option. It happened in one of
the operational air shafts.?He shook his head at the memory. ?Poor silly
bastard backed into a working two-meter high-speed fan. Splattered him
all over the place. We had to scrape him off the walls.?

?I get the picture. It happens.?

?Not here it doesn't. Andrews is ticked. It means he has to file a report.?

?By communications beam??

?No. No need for the expense. I imagine it'll go out with the next ship.?

?Then what's he worried about? Nobody'll read it for months.?

?You'd have to know the superintendent to understand. He takes
everything personal.?

?Too bad for him, especially considering his current employment.?

Clemens nodded, looking thoughtful. ?I found something at the accident
site, just a bit away from where it happened. A mark, a burn on the
floor. Discolored, blistered metal. It looked a lot like what you found
on the girl's cryotube.?

She just stared at him, her gaze unblinking, uninformative, her
expression unfathomable. 83

83

?Look, I'm on your side,?the medic insisted when she remained silent.
?Whatever it is you're involved in or trying to do, I want to help. But
I'd like to know what's going on, or at least what you think is going
on. Otherwise I'm not going to be able to be of much use to you. Maybe
you can do whatever it is you're trying to do alone. I can't make you
talk to me. I just think that I can help, make it easier for you. I have
access to equipment. You don't. I have some knowledge that you don't. I
won't interfere and I'll rely entirely on your judgment. I have to,
since I don't have a clue as to what you're up to.?

She paused, considering, while he watched her hopefully. ?I hardly know
you. Why should I trust you??

He forced himself to ignore the hurt, knowing there was nothing personal
in the query. ?No reason. Only that without somebody's help it's going
to be hard for you, whatever it is you're trying to do. I hardly know
you, either, but I'm willing to follow your lead.?

?Why? Why should you? By your own admission you don't have any idea
what's going on, what's at stake.?

He smiled encouragingly. ?Maybe I think I know you a little better than
you think you know me.?

?You're crazy.?

?Is that a hindrance to what you're doing??

She smiled in spite of herself. ?Probably just the opposite. All
right.?She slid the black box out where he could see it clearly. ?I need
to know what happened here in the EEV, why we were ejected from our ship
while still in deep sleep. If you really want to be helpful, find me a
computer with audio and sensory interpretation capabilities so I can
access this flight recorder.?

Clemens looked doubtful. ?We don't have anything like that here. The
Company salvaged all the sophisticated

84

cybernetics. Everything they left us is either basic program and
response or strictly ROM.?He smiled sardonically. ?I imagine they didn't
want a bunch of dumb prisoners messing with their expensive
machinery.??What about Bishop???Bishop??He frowned. ?The droid that
crashed with me.??He was checked and discarded as useless.??Let me be
the judge of that.?A note of concern entered her voice. ?His components
haven't been cannibalized or compacted, have they??

?I told you: nobody here's smart enough to do the first, and there
wasn't any reason to waste the energy to carry out the latter. What's
left of him's in fewer pieces than the prisoner who got killed, but not
many. Don't tell me you think you can get some use out of him??

?All right, I won't tell you. Where is he??Clemens looked resigned.
?I'll point you in the proper direction, but I'm afraid I can't join
you. I have an appointment. Watch your step, okay??

She was unfazed. ?If I wasn't in the habit of doing so, I'd be dead now
twenty times over.? 85 VI

The candleworks was more than a hobby. While the installation's sealed,
self-contained fusion plant generated more than enough energy to light
the entire facility should anyone think it necessary, it provided
nothing in the way of portable energy. Rechargeable lights were a scarce
and precious commodity. After all, the Company techs whose
responsibility it had been to decide what was salvaged and what was left
behind had logically assumed that the prisoners wouldn't want to go
wandering about the surface of Fiorina at night. Within the installation
the fusion plant would provide all the illumination they wanted. And
since fusion plants simply did not fail, there was no need to consider,
nor were substantial provisions made for, backup. But there were
supplies, secreted by miners or forgotten by the evacuation techs, down
in the shafts from which millions of tons of ore had been extracted.
Supplies which could make life for prisoners and staff alike a little
easier.

85

^SN&S*^ 86

Alan Dean Foster

There was plenty of time to hunt them out. All that was wanting was
portable illumination.

The candleworks solved that, in addition to giving the inhabitants of
Fiorina something different to do. There was plenty of the special wax
in storage. One of those bulk supplies not worth the expense of shipping
it offworld, it had originally been used to make test molds for new
equipment. A computer-guided laser Cadcam would model the part and etch
the wax, which would then be filled with plastic or carbon composite,
and hey presto-instant replacement part. No machinery necessary, no
long, drawnout work with lathes and cutters. Afterward the special wax
could be melted down and used again.

The prisoners had no need for replacement parts. What equipment was
necessary for their survival was self-contained and functioned just fine
without their attentions. So they made candles.

They flickered brightly, cheeringly, throughout the works, dangling in
bunches from the ceiling, flashing in lead molds the prisoners had made
for themselves. The industrial wax of an advanced civilization served
perfectly well to mimic the efforts of a technology thousands of years old.

Prisoner Gregor was helping Golic, Boggs, and Rains stuff the special
extra-dense illumination candles into their oversized backpacks. The
inclusion of a few carefully chosen impurities helped such candles hold
their shape and burn for a very long time. They had no choice but to
make use of them, since Andrews would hardly allow use of the
installation's irreplaceable portable lights for frivolous activities.

Not that the men really minded. The technology might be primitive, but
there was no significant difference in the quality of the illumination
provided by the candles and that 87

87

supplied by their precious few rechargeable fuel cells. Light was light.
And there were plenty of candles.

Golic alternated between shoving the squat tapers into his pack and food
into his mouth. Particles spilled from his lips, fell into his pack.
Rains eyed him with distaste.

?There you are.?Gregor hefted one of the bulky packs. ?This'll top you
off. Golic, don't fidget about. What's all this damn food you've got in
here? It's not properly wrapped.? The subject of his query smiled
blankly and continued to stuff food into his mouth.

Boggs eyed him with disgust. ?What the hell does he ever do right??

Rains snorted. ?Eat. He's got that down pretty good.?

Dillon and prisoner Junior appeared in the doorway.

?Hey, Golic,?the bigger man murmured.

The prisoner thus questioned glanced up and replied through his
half-masticated mouthful. ?Yeah??

?Light a candle for Murphy, will you??

Food spilled from his lips as Golic smiled reassuringly. ?Right. I'll
light a thousand.?He was suddenly wistful. ?He was a special friend. He
never complained about me, not once. I loved him. Did his head really
get split into a million pieces? That's what they're saying.?

Dillon helped them slip into the bulky backpacks, giving each man a slap
on the shoulder after checking out his individual harness.

?Watch yourselves down there. You've got adequate maps. Use 'em. You
find anything that's too big to bring back, make damn good and sure you
mark its location so a follow-up team can find it. I remember four years
ago a bunch of guys dug out some miner's personal cache of canned goods.
Enough to sweeten the kitchen for months. 88

Didn't mark it right and we never did find the place again. Maybe you
three'll get lucky.?

Boggs made a rude noise and there were chuckles all around. ?That's me.
Always feeling lucky.?

?Right, then.?Dillon stepped aside. ?Get goin', don't come back till you
find something worthwhile, and watch out for those hundred-meter
dropshafts.?

The big man watched them disappear into the access tunnel, watched until
distance and curves smothered their lights. Then he and Junior turned
and ambled off in the direction of the assembly hall. He had work of his
own to attend to.

Andrews's quarters were spacious, if furnished in Spartan style. As
superintendent, he'd been given the chambers, which had been the former
province of the mine chief. He had plenty of room to spread out, but
insufficient furniture to fill the considerable space. Not being a man
of much imagination or inclined to delusions of grandeur, he'd sealed
most of the rooms and confined himself to three, one each for hygiene,
sleeping, and meeting with visitors.

It was the latter activity which occupied him now, as he sat across the
modest desk from his single medic. Clemens presented a problem.
Technically he was a prisoner and could be treated just like the others.
But no one, the superintendent included, disputed his unique status.
Less than a free man but higher than an indentured custodian, he earned
more than any of the other prisoners. More importantly, they relied on
him for services no one else could render. So did Andrews and Aaron.

Clemens was also a cut above the rest of the prison population
intellectually. Given the dearth of sparkling conversation available on
Fiorina, Andrews valued that ability 89 89

almost as much as the man's medical talents. Talking with Aaron was
about as stimulating as speaking into the log.

But he had to be careful. It wouldn't do for Clemens, any more than for
any other prisoner, to acquire too high an opinion of himself. When they
met, the two men spun cautious verbs around one another, word waltzing
as delicately as a pair of weathered rattlesnakes. Clemens was
continually pushing the envelope of independence and Andrews sealing it
up again.

The pot dipped over the medic's cup, pouring tea. ?Sugar??

?Thank you,?Clemens replied. The superintendent passed the plastic
container and watched while his guest ladled out white granules.

?Milk??

?Yes, please.?

Andrews slid the can across the table and leaned forward intently as
Clemens lightened the heavy black liquid.

?Listen to me, you piece of shit,?the superintendent informed his guest
fraternally, ?you screw with me one more time and I'll cut you in half.?

The medic eased the container of milk aside, picked up his tea, and
began to stir it quietly. In the dead silence that ensued, the sound of
the spoon ticking methodically against the interior of the ceramic cup
seemed as loud and deliberate as a hammer slamming into an anvil.

?I'm not sure I understand,?he said finally.

Andrews sat back in his chair, his eyes cutting into his guest. ?At 0700
hours I received a reply to my report from the Network. I may point out
that to the best of my knowledge this is the first high-level, priority
communication this installation has ever received. Even when Fiorina

90

was a working, functioning mining and refining operation it was never so
honored. You know why??

Clemens sipped his tea. ?High-level priority communications have to go
through subspace to beat the time problem. That costs plenty.?

Andrews was nodding. ?More than you or I'll ever see.?

?So why rail at me??

?It's this woman.?Andrews was clearly troubled. ?They want her looked
after. No, more than looked after. They made it very clear they consider
her to be of the highest priority. In fact, the communication managed to
convey the impression that the rest of the operation here could vanish
into a black hole so long as we made sure the woman was alive and in
good health when the rescue team arrives.?

?Why??

?I was hoping you could tell me.?The superintendent gazed at him intently.

Clemens carefully set his empty cup down on the table. ?I see that it's
time to be perfectly frank with you, sir.?Andrews leaned forward eagerly.

The medic smiled apologetically. ?I don't know a damn thing.?

There was a pause as Andrews's expression darkened. ?I'm glad you find
this funny, Clemens. I'm pleased you find it amusing. I wish I could say
the same. You know what a communication like this does??

?Puts your ass in a sling??Clemens said pleasantly.

?Puts everyone's ass in a sling. We screw up here, this woman gets hurt
or anything, there'll be hell to pay.?

?Then we shouldn't have any trouble arranging compensation, since we all
live there now.? 91 91

?Be as clever as you want. I don't think the urge will be as strong if
something untoward happens and some sentences are extended.?

Clemens stiffened slightly. ?They're that concerned??

?I'd show you the actual communication if it wouldn't violate policy.
Take my word for it.?

?I don't understand what all the fuss is about,?Clemens said honestly.
?Sure she's been through a great deal, but others have survived
deep-space tragedies. Why is the Company so interested in her??

?I have no idea.?Andrews placed his interlocked fingers in front of him.
?Why'd you let her out of the infirmary? It's all related to this
accident with Murphy somehow. I'd bet my pension on it.? He slapped both
hands down on the desk. ?This is what happens when one of these dumb
sons of bitches walks around with a hard-on. Why couldn't you have kept
her bottled up and out of sight??

?There was no reason to. She was healthy, ambulatory, and wanted out. I
didn't have either the reason or the authority to restrain
her.?Clemens's studied savoir faire was beginning to weaken. ?I'm a
doctor. Not a jailer.?

The superintendent's expression twisted. ?Don't hand me that. We both
know exactly what you are.?

Clemens rose and started for the door. Andrews's fingers unlocked and
this time he smacked the table with a heavy fist. ?Sit down! I haven't
dismissed you yet.?

The medic replied without turning, struggling to keep himself under
control. ?I was under the impression I was here at your invitation, not
official order. Presently I think it might be better if I left. At the
moment I find you very unpleasant to be around. If I remain I might say
or do something regrettable.?

?You might??Andrews affected mock dismay. ?Isn't

92

that lovely. Consider this, Mr. Clemens. How would you like me to have
you exposed? Though they are a matter of public record elsewhere, up
till now the details of your life have been your own here on Fiorina.
This personal privilege has facilitated your work with the prisoners,
has indeed given you a certain awkward but nonetheless very real status
among them. That is easily revoked. If that were to occur I expect that
your life here would become rather less pleasant.?He paused to let
everything sink in before continuing.

?What, no witty riposte? No clever jibe? Do I take your silence to mean
that you would prefer not to have your dirty little past made part of
the general conversation here? Of course, it needn't stop there. Perhaps
you'd like me to explain the details of your sordid history to your
patient and new friend Lieutenant Ripley? For her personal edification,
of course. Strictly in the interests of helping her to allot her
remaining time here appropriately.

?No? Then sit the hell down.?

Wordlessly, Clemens turned and resumed his seat. He looked suddenly
older, like a man who'd recently lost something precious and had no hope
of recovering it.

Andrews regarded his guest thoughtfully. ?I've always been straight with
you. I think that's good policy, especially in an environment like we
have here. So you won't be particularly upset or surprised when I say
that I don't like you.?

?No,?Clemens murmured in a soft, flat voice. ?I'm not surprised.?

?I don't like you,?the superintendent repeated. ?You're unpredictable,
insolent, possibly dangerous. You have a certain amount of education and
are undeniably intelligent, which makes you more of a threat than the
average prisoner. You question everything and spend too much time alone. 93

93

Always a bad sign. I've survived in this business a long time and I
speak from experience. I know what to look for. Your typical incarceree
will revolt, sometimes even kill, but it's always the quiet, smart ones
who cause the really serious problems.?He went silent for a moment,
considering.

?But you were assigned to this posting and I have to live with that. I
just want you to know that if I didn't need a medical officer I wouldn't
let you within light-years of this operation.?

?I'm very grateful.?

?How about trying something new, Clemens? Something really different.
Try keeping your sarcasms to yourself.?He squirmed slightly in his
chair. ?Now, I'm going to ask you one more time. As your intellectual
equal. As someone you respect if not like. As the individual ultimately
responsible for the safety and well-being of every man in this facility,
yourself included. Is there anything I should know??

?About what??

Andrews silently counted to five before smiling. ?About the woman. Don't
toy with me anymore. I think that I've made my position clear,
personally as well as professionally.?

?Why should I know anything other than the self-evident about her??

?Because you spend every second you can with her. And I have my
suspicions that not all of your concerns are medical in nature. You are
far too solicitous of her needs. It doesn't fit your personality
profile. You just said yourself that she's fit and able to get around
fine on her own. D'you think I'm blind? Do you think I'd have been given
this post if I wasn't capable of picking up on the slightest deviations
from the norm??He muttered to himself. ?Deviates' deviations.?

94

Clemens sighed. ?What do you want to know??

?That's better.?Andrews nodded approvingly. ?Has she said anything to
you? Not about herself personally. I don't give a damn about that.
Wallow in mutual reminiscence all you want, I don't care. I mean
professionally. About where she's come from. What her mission was, or
is. Most particularly, what the hell was she doing in an EEV with a
busted droid, a drowned six-year-old kid, and a dead corporal, and where
the hell is the rest of her ship's crew? For that matter, where the hell
is her ship??

?She told me she was part of a combat team that came to grief. The last
she remembers was going into deep sleep. At that time the marine was
alive and the girl's cryotube was functioning normally. It's been my
assumption all along that the girl was drowned and the marine killed in
the crash of the EEV.

?I assume beyond that it's all classified. I haven't pressed her for
more. She does carry marine lieutenant rank, you know.?

?That's all??Andrews persisted.

Clemens studied his empty teacup. ?Yes.?

?Nothing more??

?No.?

?You're sure??

The medic looked up and met the older man's eyes evenly. ?Very sure.?

Andrews's gaze dropped to his hands and he spoke through clenched teeth.
It was obvious there was more, something the medic wasn't telling him,
but short of physical coercion there wasn't a damned thing he could do
about it. And physical coercion wouldn't work with someone like Clemens,
whose inherent stubbornness would keep him from admitting that he had no
pride left to defend. 95

95

?Get out of here.?

Clemens rose wordlessly and started a second time for the door.

?One more thing.?The medic paused, looked back to find the
superintendent watching him closely. ?I take comfort in the daily
routine here. So do you. There's a great deal of reassurance to be found
in codified monotony. I'm not going to let it be broken. Systematic
repetition of familiar tasks is the best and safest narcotic. I'm not
going to allow the animals to become agitated. Not by a woman, not by
accidents. Not by you.?

?Whatever you say,?Clemens replied agreeably.

?Don't go getting any funny ideas. Independent action is a valueless
concept on Fiorina. Don't think too much. It'll damage your standing in
our little community, especially with me, and you'll only end up hurting
yourself. You'll do better to keep your long-term goals in mind at all
times.

?Your loyalties are to this operation, and to your employer. Not to
strangers, or to some misguided notions you may happen to erect on the
foundation of your own boredom. She will be gone soon and we will still
be here. You and I, Dillon and Aaron and all the rest. Everything will
be as it was before the EEV crashed. Don't jeopardize your enviable
situation for a temporary abstraction. Do you understand??

?Yes. Your point is quite clear. Even to someone like me.?

Andrews continued to brood uneasily. ?I don't want trouble with our
employers. I don't want trouble of any kind. I get paid to see that
trouble doesn't happen. Our presence here is ... frowned upon by certain
social elements back on Earth. Until the accident we hadn't suffered a
death from other than natural causes since the day this group took 96

Alan Dean Foster

over caretaking duties from its predecessors. I am aware that it could
not have been prevented but it still looks bad in the records. I don't
like looking bad, Mr. Clemens.?He squinted up at the medic. ?You take my
meaning??

?Perfectly, sir.?

Andrews continued. ?Rescue and resupply will be here soon enough.
Meanwhile, you keep an eye on the lieutenant and if you observe
anything, ah, potentially disruptive, I know that I can rely on you to
notify me of it immediately. Right??

Clemens nodded briskly. ?Right.?

Though only partially mollified, the other man could think of nothing
more to say. ?Very well, then. We understand one another. Good night,
Mr. Clemens.?

?Good night, Superintendent.?He shut the door quietly behind him.

The wind of Fiorina rose and fell, dropping occasionally to querulous
zephyrs or rising to tornadic shrieks, but it never stopped. It blew
steadily off the bay, carrying the pungent odor of salt water to the
outer sections of the installation. Sometimes storms and currents
dredged odors more alien from the currents dredged odors more alien from
the depths of the sea and sent them spiraling down through the air
shafts, slipping through the scrubbers to remind the men that the world
they occupied was foreign to the inhabitants of distant Earth, and would
kill them if it could.

They went outside but rarely, preferring the familiar surroundings of
the immense installation to the oppressive spaciousness of the sullen
landscape. There was nothing to look at except the dark waves that broke
on the black sand beach, nothing to remind them of the world they had
once 97

97

known. That was fortunate. Such memories were more painful than any
degree of toil.

The water was cold and home to tiny, disgusting creatures that bit.
Sometimes a few of the men chose to go fishing, but only for physical
and not spiritual nourishment. Inside the facility it was warm and dry.
The wind was no more than distant, discordant music, to be ignored.
Sometimes it was necessary to go outside. These excursions were
invariably brief, and attended to with as much haste as possible, moving
from one refuge to another as quickly as possible.

In contrast, the figure picking through the sheltered mountain of debris
was doing so with deliberation and care. Ripley paced the surface of the
immense pit, her eyes fixed on its irregular surface. The original
excavation had been filled in with discarded, broken equipment. She
wrestled her way past monumental components, punctured storage tanks,
worn-out drill bits the size of small trucks, brightly colored vines of
old wiring and corroded tubes.

Wind whipped around outside and she clutched at the neck of the suit
Clemens had found for her. The ruined mechanical landscape had seemed
endless and the cold was still penetrating her muscles, slowing her and
interfering with her perceptions.

Not to the extent, however, that she failed to see the expensive silvery
filaments protruding from a smaller pimple of recently discarded trash.
Kneeling, she began tearing at the refuse, heaving ruined equipment and
bags of garbage aside to reveal...

Bishop.

Or, more accurately, what was left of him. The android components were
scattered amid the rest of the junk and she

98

had to dig and sort for another hour before she was certain she'd
salvaged absolutely everything that might be of use.

She made a preliminary attempt to correctly position the parts. Not only
was the result unencouraging, it was downright pitiful. Most of the face
and lower jaw was missing, crushed beyond recognition in the EEV or lost
somewhere within the mass of trash outside. Portions of the neck, left
shoulder, and back had somehow survived intact. In addition there were
sensitive related components which had spilled or been torn free from
the exterior shell.

Grim-faced and alone, she began carefully packing them into the sack
she'd brought with her.

That's when the arm coiled around her neck and the hands grabbed hard at
her shoulders. Another hand appeared, clutching feverishly between her
legs, fondling roughly. A man materialized in front of her. He was
grinning, but there was no humor in his expression.

With a cry she broke free of the arms restraining her. The startled
prisoner just gaped as her fist landed in his face and her foot between
his thighs. As he crumpled, prisoner Junior appeared and wrapped his
thick arms around her, lifting her off the ground to the encouraging
sniggers of his companions, throwing her spread-eagled across a corroded
pipe. The other men closed in, their body odor obliterating the smell of
salt, their eyes glittering.

?Knock it off.?

Gregor turned, his gaze narrowing as he isolated a silhouette, close.
Dillon.

Gregor forced a grin. ?Jump in the saddle, man. You wanna go first??

Dillon's voice was low, ominous. ?I said knock it off.?

With his weight resting on the gasping Ripley, Junior 99

99

snarled back over his shoulder. ?Hey, what's it to you, man??

?It's wrong.?

?Fuck you.?

Dillon moved then, deceptively fast. The two men in back went down hard.
Junior whirled and brought a huge fist around like a scythe, only to
have his opponent weave, gut-punch him, and snatch up a metal bar.
Junior staggered and tried to dodge, but the bar connected with the side
of his skull. The second blow was harder, and he dropped like stone.

The other cowered and Dillon whacked them again, just to keep them
thinking. Then he turned to Ripley, his expression solemn.

?You okay??

She straightened, still breathing hard. ?Yeah. Nothing hurt but my
feelings.?

?Take off,?he said to her. He indicated his fellow prisoners. ?I've got
to reeducate some of the brothers. We're gonna discuss some matters of
the spirit.?

She nodded, hefted her bag of Bishop, and started back. As she passed
the men on the ground Gregor glanced up at her. She punched him squarely
in the mouth. Feeling better, she resumed her course.

100 VII

There is night, which is dark. There is the obdurate emptiness of
dreams, whose lights are only imaginary. Beyond all is the void,
illuminated however faintly by a million trillion nuclear furnaces.

True darkness, the utter absence of light, the place where a stray
photon is as impotent as an atomic anomaly, lies only deep within the
earth. ?In caverns measureless to man? as the old stanza rhythmically
declaims. Or in those cracks and crevices man creates in order to
extract the wealth of planets.

A tiny but in and of itself impressive portion of one corner of Fiorina
was honeycombed with such excavations, intersecting and crisscrossing
like the components of a vast unseen puzzle, their overall pattern
discernible only in the records the miners had left behind.

Boggs held his wax-impregnated torch high, waved it around as Rains lit
a candle. To such men the darkness was

101

101

nothing to be feared. It was merely an absence of light. It was also
warm within the tunnels, almost oppressively warm.

Rains placed the long-burning taper on the floor, next to the wall.
Behind them a line of identical flames stretched off into the distance,
delineating the trail they'd taken and the route back to the occupied
portion of the complex.

Golic sat down, resting his back against a door set in the solid rock.
There was a sign on the door, battered and worn by machinery and time.

TOXIC WASTE DISPOSAL

THIS SPACE HERMETICALLY SEALED

ACCESS TO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL PROHIBITED

That was just fine with the explorers. They had no wish to be suitably
authorized.

Rains had unfolded the chart at his feet and crouched, studying the
lines and shafts by the light of his torch. The map was no simple matter
of vertical and horizontal lines. There were old shafts and
comparatively recent ones, fill-ins and reopenings, angle cuts and
reduced diameter accessways to accommodate specialized machinery only.
Not to mention the thousands of intersecting air ducts. Different colors
signified different things.

Numerous earlier expeditions had given the prisoners some idea of what
to expect, but there was always the chance that each new team would run
into something unexpected. A scrambled byte in the storage units could
shift an abyssal shaft ten meters out of line, or into a different
tunnel. The chart was a tentative guide at best. So they advanced
carefully, putting their faith in their own senses and not in dated
printouts.

Boggs leaned close. ?How many??Though he spoke softly, his voice still
echoed down the smooth-walled passage.

102

Rains checked the chart against his portable datapack. ?This makes a
hundred and eighty-six.?

His companion grunted. ?I say we call it a vacation and start back.?

?No can do.?Rains gestured at the seemingly endless length of tunnel
that lay before them. ?We've at least got to check out the rest of this
stretch or Dillon'll pound us.?

?What he don't know won't irritate him. I won't tell. How about you,
Golic??The third member of the trio was digging through his backpack.
Hearing his name he looked up, frowned, and uttered a low, vaguely
inquisitive sound. ?That's what I thought.?

Golic approached an ancient cigarette machine. Kicking the lock off, he
yanked open the door and began loading packs of preserved narcosticks
into his duffel. Naturally he chewed as he worked.

On the surface the noise would have been far less noticeable, but in the
restricted surroundings and total silence of the tunnel the third man's
rumbling maceration resounded like a large, improperly lubricated piece
of machinery. Boggs grumbled.

?Can't you chew with your mouth closed? Or better yet, swallow that crap
you're eating whole? I'm trying to figure how big this compartment is so
we can decide if it's legit toxic storage or some miner's private stock,
and I can't think with all the goddamn noise you're making.?

Rains rustled the chart disapprovingly. ?Just because we're away from
the others doesn't mean we, should ignore the precepts. You're not
supposed to swear.?

Boggs's mouth tightened. ?Sorry.?He stared daggers at Golic, who quite
naturally ignored them. Finally he gave up and rose to squint down the
tunnel. ?We've circled this entire section once. That's all anyone could
ask. How many 103 candles, again??There was no reply from the floor.
?Rains, how many candles??

His companion wasn't listening. Instead he was scratching himself
furiously, an intense nervous reaction that had nothing whatsoever to do
with the bugs, who didn't live in the shafts anyway. It was so
uncharacteristic, so atypical, that it even managed the daunting task of
drawing Golic's attention away from his food. Boggs found himself
staring fixedly back the way they'd come.

One by one, the candles which traced their path back to the surface were
going out.

?What the shit is doing that??

Golic pursed his lips, wiping food crumbs from his mouth with the back
of one hand. ?You're not supposed to swear.?

?Shut up!?Not fear-there was nothing to fear in the tunnels-but concern
had crept into Boggs's voice. ?It's okay to say 'shit.' It's not against
God.?

?How do you know??Golic muttered with almost childlike curiosity.

?Because I asked him the last time we talked and he said it was okay.
Now shut up.?

?Dillon'll scream if we don't come back with anything,?Golic pointed
out. The mystery was making him positively voluble. Boggs decided he
preferred it when the other man did nothing but eat.

?Let him scream.?He waited while Rains lit another torch. Reluctantly,
Golic repacked his remaining food and rose. All three stared back down
the tunnel, back the way they'd come. Whatever was snuffing out the
candles remained invisible.

?Must be a breeze from one of the vent shafts. Backwash from the nearest
circulating unit. Or maybe a storm on 104

the surface. You know what those sudden downdrafts can do. Damn! If all
the candles go out, how're we going to know where we are??

?We've still got the chart.?Rains fingered the sturdy printout.

?You want to rely on that to get us back??

?Hey, I didn't say that. It's just that we're not lost. Only
inconvenienced.?

?Well, I don't wanna be inconvenienced, and I don't wanna be stuck down
here any longer than absolutely necessary.?

?Neither do I.?Rains sighed resignedly. ?You know what that means.
Somebody will have to go back and relight 'em.?

?Unless you just want to call it quits now??Boggs asked hopefully.

Rains managed a grin. ?Huh-uh. We finish this tunnel, then we can go back.?

?Have it your way.?Boggs crossed his arms and succeeded in projecting
the air of a man intending to go nowhere fast. ?It's your call; you get
to do the work.?

?Fair enough. Guess I'm nominated.?

Boggs gestured at Golic. ?Give him your torch.?

The other man was reluctant. ?That just leaves us here with the one.?

?There's nothing wrong with it.?Boggs waved the light around to
illustrate his point. ?And we have the rest of the candles. Besides,
Rains'll be right back. Won't you, buddy??

?Quick as I can. Shouldn't take too long.?

?Right, then.?

Reluctantly, Golic passed the taller man his light. Together, he and
Boggs watched as their companion moved 105

105

off up the line of candles, pausing to relight each one as he came to
it. Each rested where it had been set on the floor. There was nothing to
indicate what had extinguished them.

Just a sudden downdraft, Rains told himself. Had to be. Boggs's voice
reverberated down the passageway, faint with increasing distance.

?Hey, Rains, watch your step!?They'd marked the couple of vertical
shafts they'd passed, but still, if the other man rushed himself in the
darkness, disaster was never very far away.

Rains appreciated the caution. You live in close quarters with a very
few people for a comparatively long time, you learn to rely on one
another. Not that Boggs had reason to worry. Rains advanced with
admirable care.

Ahead of him another candle went out and he frowned. There was no hint
of a breeze, nothing to suggest the presence of the hypothesized
downdraft. What else could be extinguishing the tapers? Very few living
things were known to spend much time in the tunnels. There was a kind of
primitive large insect that was big enough to knock over a candle, but
why a whole row? He shook his head dolefully though there was no one
near to observe the gesture. The insect wouldn't move this fast.

Then what?

The tapers he'd reignited burned reassuringly behind him. He
straightened. There were no mystical forces at work here. Raising the
torch, he aimed it up the tunnel, saw nothing.

Kneeling, he relit the next candle and started toward the next in line.
As he did so the light of his torch bounced off the walls, off
smooth-cut rock. Off something angular and massive.

It moved.

106

Very fast, oh, so very fast. Shards of reflection like chromed glass
inlaid in adamantine black metal. It made an incongruously soft gurgling
sound as it sprang soundlessly toward him. He was unable to identify it,
had never seen anything like it, except perhaps in some especially bad
dreams half remembered from childhood.

In an instant it was upon him, and at that moment he would gratefully
have sought comfort in his worst nightmares.

A hundred meters down the tunnel Golic and Boggs listened to their
companion's single echoing shriek. Cold sweat broke out the back of
Boggs's neck and hands. Horribly, the scream did not cut off sharply,
but instead faded away slowly and gradually like a high-pitched whistle
receding into the distance.

Suddenly panicked, Boggs grabbed up the remaining light and took off
running, down the passageway, away from the scream. Golic charged after him.

Boggs wouldn't have guessed that he could still move so fast. For a few
moments he actually put some distance between them. Then his lack of
wind began to tell and he slowed, the torch he clutched making mad
shadows on the walls, ceiling, floor. By the time Golic ran him down he
was completely exhausted and equally disoriented. Only by sheer good
luck had they avoided stumbling into an open sampler pit or down a
connecting shaft.

Staggering slightly, he grabbed the other man's arm and spun him around.

Golic gaped in dumb terror. ?Didn't you hear it? It was Rains! Oh, God,
it was Rains.?

?Yeah.?Boggs fought to get his breath. ?I heard it. He's hurt
himself.?Prying the torch from the other man's trembling fingers he
played it up and down the deserted passageway. ?We've got to help him.? 107

107

?Help him??Golic's eyes were wide. ?You help him. I wanna get out of here!?

?Take it easy. So do I, so do I. First we've got to figure out where we
are.?

?Isn't that a candle??

Turning, Boggs advanced a few cautious steps. Sure enough, the line of
flickering tapers was clearly visible, stretching off into the distance.

?Damn. We must've cut through an accessway. We ran in a circle. We're back-?

He stopped, steadying the light on the far wall. A figure was leaning
there, stiff as anything to be found in cold storage.

Rains.

Staring not back at them but at nothing. His eyes were wide open and
immobile as frozen jelly. The expression on his face was not a fit thing
for men to look upon. The rest of him was ... the rest of him was ...

Boggs felt a hot alkaline rush in his throat and doubled over, retching
violently. The torch fell from his suddenly weakened fingers and Golic
knelt to pick it up. As he rose he happened to glance ceilingward.

There was something up there. Something on the ceiling. It was big and
black and fast and its face was a vision of pure hell. As he stared
open-mouthed, it leaned down, hanging like a gigantic bat from its
clawed hind legs, and enveloped Boggs's head in a pair of hands with
fingers like articulated cables. Boggs inhaled sharply, gagging on his
own vomit.

With an abrupt, convulsive twist the arachnoid horror jerked Boggs's
head right off his shoulders, as cleanly as Golic would have removed a
loose bolt from its screw. But not as neatly. Blood fountained from the
headless torso,

108

splattering the creature, Rains's body, the staring Golic. It broke his
paralysis but in the process also snapped something inside his head.

With ghastly indifference the gargoyle tossed Boggs's decapitated skull
to the floor and turned slowly to confront the remaining bipedal
life-form. Its teeth gleamed like the platinum ingots which had been
torn from Fiorina's bowels.

Howling as if all the legions of the damned were after him, Golic
whirled and tore down the tunnel. He didn't look where he was going and
he didn't think about what he'd seen, and most of all he didn't look
back. He didn't dare look back.

If he did, he knew he might see something.

Bishop's remains had been carefully laid out on the worktable. Bright
overhead lights illuminated each component. Tools rested in their
holders, ready to be called upon. The profusion of torn hair-thin
fiber-optic cables was staggering.

Some Ripley had simply tied off as best she could. Her experience did
not extend to making repairs on the microscopic level. She'd spent a lot
of time wiring the parts together as best she could, sealing and taping,
making the obvious connections and hoping nothing absolutely critical
lay beyond her limited talent for improvisation.

She wiped her eyes and studied her handiwork. It looked promising, but
that meant nothing. Theoretically it stood a chance of working, but then
theoretically she shouldn't be in the fix she was in.

No way to know without trying it. She tested the vital connections, then
touched a switch. Something sizzled briefly, making her jerk back in the
chair. She adjusted a connection, tried the switch again. This time
there was no extraneous flash. 109

109

Carefully she slipped one bundle of fiber-optic filaments into what she
hoped was still a functional self-sorting contact socket. A red digital
readout on the test unit nearby immediately went from zero to between
seven and eight. As she threw another switch the numbers wavered but
held steady.

The android's remaining intact eye blinked. Ripley leaned forward.
?Verbal interaction command. Run self-test sequence.?Then she wondered
why she was whispering.

Within the battered artificial skull something whined. Other telltales
on the test unit winked encouragingly. A garbled burbling emerged from
the artificial larynx and the collagenic lips parted slightly.

Anxiously she reached into the open throat, her fingers working inside.
The burbling resolved itself as the single eye fixed on her face.

?Ripley.?

She took a deep breath. She had visual, cognition, coordination, and
memory. The external ears looked pretty good, but that signified
nothing. All that mattered was the condition of the internal circuits.

?Hello, Bishop.?She was surprised at the warmth in her tone. After all,
it wasn't as if she were addressing a human being. ?Please render a
preliminary condition report.?

There was a pause, following which, astonishingly, the single eye
performed an eloquent roll in its socket. ?Lousy. Motor functions are
gone, extracranial peripherals nonresponsive, prospects for carrying out
programmed functions nil. Minimal sensory facilities barely operative.
Not an optimistic self-diagnosis, I'm afraid.?

?I'm sorry to hear that,?she told him honestly. ?I wish it could be
otherwise.?

?Not as much as I do.?

110

Alan Dean Foster

?Can you feel anything??

?Yes. My legs hurt.?

Her lips tightened. ?I'm sorry that-?

?It's okay. Pain simulation is only data, which from the rest of my
present condition I infer is probably inaccurate. Confirm??

?I'm afraid so.?She managed a weak smile. ?I'm afraid that your legs,
like most of the rest of you, has gone the way of all flesh.?

?Too bad. Hate to see all that quality work lost. Not that it matters in
the scheme of things. After all, I'm just a glorified toaster. How are
you? I like your new haircut. Reminds me of me before my accessories
were installed. Not quite as shiny, though.?

?I see that your sense of humor's still intact.?

The eye blinked. ?Like I said, basic mental functions are still
operative. Humor occupies a very small portion of my RAM-interpretive
capacity.?

?I'd disagree.?Her smile faded. ?I need your help.?

A gurgle emerged from between the artificial lips. ?Don't expect
anything extensive.?

?It doesn't involve a lot of analysis. More straightforward probing.
Where I am right now they don't have much in the way of intrusive
capability. What I need to know is, can you access the data bank on an
EEV flight recorder??

?No problem. Why??

?You'll find out faster from the recorder than I could explain. Then you
can tell me.?

The eye swiveled. ?I can just see it. You'll have to use a direct
cranial jump, since my auxiliary appendages are gone.?

?I know. I'm all set... I hope.?

?Go ahead and plug in, then.? 111

111

She picked up the filament running from the black box and leaned toward
the disembodied skull. ?I've never done this before. It won't hurt or
anything??

?On the contrary, I'm hoping it'll make me feel better.?

She nodded and gently inserted the filament into one of several
receptacles in the back of his head, wiggling it slightly to make sure
the fit was tight.

?That tickles.?She jerked her fingers back. ?Just kidding,?the android
told her with a reassuring smile. ?Hang on.? His eyes closed and the
remnants of his forehead wrinkled in concentration. It was, she knew
admiringly, nothing more than a redundant bit of cosmetic programming,
but it was encouraging to see that something besides the android's
basics still functioned.

?I'm home,?Bishop murmured several minutes later. ?Took longer than I
thought. I had to run the probe around some damaged sectors.?

?I tested the recorder when I first found it. It checked out okay.?

?It is. The damaged sectors are in me. What do you want to know??

?Everything.?

?McNary Flight Recorder, model OV-122, serial number FR-3664874, installed-?

?Are all your language intuition circuits gone? You know what I mean.
From the time it was emergency activated. What happened on the Sulaco?
Why were the cryotubes ejected??

A new voice emerged from the android's larynx. It was female and
mechanical. ?Explosive gasses present in the cryogenic compartment. Fire
in the cryogenic compartment. All personnel report to evacuation
stations.?Bishop's voice returned. ?There are a large number of repeats
without

112

significant deviation in content. Do you wish to hear them all??

Ripley rubbed her chin, thinking hard. ?No, that's sufficient for now.
Explosive gases? Where did they come from? And what started the
fire??When no response was forthcoming she became alarmed. ?Bishop? Can
you hear me??

There was gurgling, then the android's silky faux voice. ?Sorry. This is
harder than I thought it would be. Powering up and functioning are
weakening already damaged sectors. I keep losing memory and response
capability. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. You'd
better keep your questions brief.?

?Don't null out on me yet, Bishop,?she said anxiously. ?I was asking you
about the report of fire.?

?Fire ... -*crackle-* ... yes. It was electrical, in the subflooring of
the cryogenics compartment. Presence of a catalyst combined with damaged
materials to produce the explosive gas. Ventilation failed completely.
Result was immediately life-threatening. Hence ship's decision to
evacuate. EEV detected evidence of explosion on board subsequent to
evacuation, with concomitant damage to EEV controls. That's why our
landing here was less than perfect. Present status of Sulaco unknown.
Further details of flight from Sulaco to present position available.?

?Skip 'em. Did sensors detect any motile life-forms on the Sulaco prior
to emergency separation??

Silence. Then, ?It's very dark here, Ripley. Inside. I'm not used to
being dark. Even as we speak portions of me are shutting down. Reasoning
is growing difficult and I'm having to fall back on pure logic. I don't
like that. It's too stark. Not anything like what I was designed for.
I'm not what I used to be.? 113

113

?Just a little longer, Bishop,?she urged him. She tried tweaking the
power up but it did nothing more than make his eye widen slightly and
she hastily returned to prescribed levels. ?You know what I'm asking.
Does the flight recorder indicate the presence of anything on the Sulaco
besides the four survivors of Acheron? Was there an alien on board? Bishop!?

Nothing. She fine-tuned instrumentation, nudged controls. The eye rolled.

?Back off. I'm still here. So are the answers. It's just taking longer
and longer to bring the two together. To answer your question. Yes.?

Ripley took a deep breath. The workroom seemed to close in around her,
the walls to inch a little nearer. Not that she'd felt safe within the
infirmary. For a long while now she hadn't felt safe anywhere.

?Is it still on the Sulaco or did it come down with us on the EEV??

?It was with us all the way.?

Her tone tightened. ?Does the Company know??

?The Company knows everything that happened on the ship, from the time
it left Earth for Acheron until now, provided it's still intact
somewhere out there. It all goes into the central computer and gets fed
back to the Network.?

A feeling of deadly deja vu settled over her. She'd battled the Company
on this once before, had seen how it had reacted. Any common sense or
humanity that faceless organization possessed was subsumed in an
all-encompassing, overpowering greed. Back on Earth individuals might
grow old and die, to be replaced with new personnel, new directors. But
the Company was immortal. It would go on and on. Somehow she doubted
that time had wrought any

114

significant changes in its policies, not to mention its corporate
morals. In any event, she couldn't take that chance.

?Do they still want an alien??

?I don't know. Hidden corporate imperatives were not a vital part of my
programming. At least, I don't think they were. I can't be sure. I'm not
feeling very well.?

?Do me a favor, Bishop; take a look around and see.?

She waited while he searched. ?Sorry,?he said finally. ?There's nothing
there now. That doesn't mean there never was. I am no longer capable of
accessing the sectors where such information would ordinarily be stored.
I wish I could help you more but in my present condition I'm really not
good for much.?

?Bull. Your identity program's still intact.?She leaned forward and
fondly touched the base of the decapitated skull. ?There's still a lot
of Bishop in there. I'll save your program. I've got plenty of storage
capacity available here. If I ever get out of this I'll make sure you
come with me. They can wire you up again.?

?How are you going to save my identity? Copy it into standard chip-ROM?
I know what that's like. No sensory input, no tactile output. Blind,
deaf, dumb, and immobile. Humans call it limbo. Know what we androids
call it? Gumbo. Electronic gumbo. No, thanks. I'd rather go null than nuts.?

?You won't go nuts, Bishop. You're too tough for that.?

?Am I? I'm only as tough as my body and my programming. The former's
gone and the latter's fading fast. I'd rather be an intact memory than a
desiccated reality. I'm tired. Everything's slipping away. Do me a favor
and just disconnect. It's possible I could be reworked, installed in a
new body, but there'd be omphalotic damage, 115

115

maybe identity loss as well. I'd never be top of the line again. I'd
rather not have to deal with that. Do you understand what it means, to
look forward only to being less than you were? No, thanks. I'd rather be
nothing.?

She hesitated. ?You're sure??

?Do it for me, Ripley. You owe me.?

?I don't owe you anything, Bishop. You're just a machine.?

?I saved you and the girl on Acheron. Do it for me.. as a friend.?

Reluctantly, she nodded. The eye winked a last time, then closed
peacefully. There was no reaction, no twitching or jerking when she
pulled the filaments. Once more the head lay motionless on the worktable.

?Sorry, Bishop, but you're like an old calculator. Friendly and
comfortable. If you can be repaired, I'm going to see to it that that
comes to pass. If not, well, sleep peacefully wherever it is that
androids sleep, and try not to dream. If things work out, I'll get back
to you later.?

Her gaze lifted and she found herself staring at the far wall. A single
holo hung there. It showed a small thatched cottage nestled amid green
trees and hedges. A crystalline blue-green stream flowed past the front
of the cottage and clouds scudded by overhead. As she watched, the sky
darkened and a brilliant sunset appeared above the house.

Her fingers fumbled along the tabletop until they closed around a
precision extractor. Flung with all the considerable force of which she
was capable and accelerated by her cry of outrage and frustration, it
made a most satisfying noise as it reduced the impossibly bucolic
simulation to glittering fragments.

116

Alan Dean Foster

Most of the blood on Golic's jacket and face had dried to a thick,
glutinous consistency, but some was still liquid enough to drip onto the
mess hall table. He ate quietly, spooning up the crispy cereal. Once, he
paused to add some sugar from a bowl. He stared straight at the dish but
did not see it. What he saw now was very private and wholly internalized.

The day cook, who's name was Eric, entered with a load of plates. As he
started toward the first table he caught sight of Golic and stopped. And
stared. Fortunately the plates were unbreakable. It was hard to get
things like new plates on Fiorina.

?Golic??he finally murmured. The prisoner at the table continued to eat
and did not look up.

The sound of the crashing dishes brought others in: Dillon, Andrews,
Aaron, Morse, and a prisoner named Arthur. They joined the stupefied
cook in staring at the apparition seated alone at the table.

Golic finally noticed all the attention. He looked up and smiled.

Blankly.

Ripley was sitting alone in the rear of the infirmary when they brought
him in. She watched silently as Dillon, Andrews, Aaron, and Clemens
walked the straightjacketed Golic over to a bed and eased him down. His
face and hair were spotted with matted blood, his eyes in constant
motion as they repeatedly checked the ventilator covers, the ceiling,
the door.

Clemens did his best to clean him up, using soft towels, mild solvent,
and disinfectant. Golic looked to be in much worse shape than he
actually was. Physically, anyway. It was left to Andrews, Aaron, and
Dillon to tie him to the cot. His mouth remained unrestrained.

?Go ahead, don't listen to me. Don't believe me. It 117

117

doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. You pious assholes are all
gonna die. The Beast has risen and it feeds on human flesh. Nobody can
stop it. The time has come.? He turned away from the superintendent,
staring straight ahead. ?I saw it. It looked at me. It had no eyes, but
it looked at me.?

?What about Boggs and Rains??Dillon asked evenly. ?Where are they?
What's happened to them??

Golic blinked, regarded his interrogators unrepentantly. ?I didn't do
it. Back in the tunnel. They never had a chance, not a chance. There was
nothing I could do but save myself. The dragon did it. Slaughtered 'em
like pigs. It wasn't me. Why do I get blamed for everything? Nobody can
stop it.?He began to laugh and cry simultaneously. ?Not a chance, no,
no, not a chance!?Clemens was working on the back of his head now.

Andrews studied the quivering remains of what had once been a human
being. Not much of a human being, true, but human nonetheless. He was
not pleased, but neither was he angry. There was nothing here to get
angry at.

?Stark raving mad. I'm not saying it was anyone's fault, but he should
have been chained up. Figuratively speaking, of course.?The
superintendent glanced at his medic. ?Sedated. You didn't see this
coming, Mr. Clemens??

?You know me, sir. I don't diagnose. I only prescribe.?Clemens had
almost finished his cleaning. Golic looked better, but only if you
avoided his eyes.

?Yes, of course. Precognitive psychology isn't your specialty, is it? If
anyone should have taken note, it was me.?

?Don't blame yourself, sir,?said Aaron.

?I'm not. Merely verbalizing certain regrets. Sometimes insanity lurks
quiet and unseen beneath the surface of

118

Alan Dean Foster

a man, awaiting only the proper stimulus for it to burst forth. Like
certain desert seeds that propagate only once every ten or eleven years,
when the rains are heavy enough.?He sighed. ?I would very much like to
see a normal, gentle rain again.?

?Well, you called it right, sir,?Aaron continued. ?He's mad as a fuckin'
hatter.?

?I do so delight in the manner in which you enliven your everyday
conversation with pithy anachronisms, Mr. Aaron.?Andrews looked to his
trustee. ?He seems to be calming down a little. Permanent
tranquilization is an expensive proposition and its use would have to be
justified in the record. Let's try keeping him separated from the rest
for a while, Mr. Dillon, and see if it has a salutary effect. I don't
want him causing a panic. Clemens, sedate this poor idiot sufficiently
so that he won't be a danger to himself or to anyone else. Mr. Dillon,
I'll rely on you to keep an eye on him after he's released. Hopefully he
will improve. It would make things simpler.?

?Very well, Superintendent. But no full sedation until we know about the
other brothers.?

?You ain't gonna get anything out of that.?Aaron gestured disgustedly at
the straightjacket's trembling inhabitant.

?We have to try.?Dillon leaned close, searching his fellow prisoner's
face. ?Pull yourself together, man. Talk to me. Where are the brothers?
Where are Rains and Boggs??

Golic licked his lips. They were badly chewed and still bled slightly
despite Clemens's efficient ministrations. ?Rains??he whispered, his
brow furrowing with the effort of trying to remember. ?Boggs?? Suddenly
his eyes widened afresh and he looked up sharply, as if seeing them for
the first time. ?I didn't do it! It wasn't me. It was... it was...?He
started sobbing again, bawling and babbling hysterically. 119

119

Andrews looked on, shaking his head sadly. ?Hopeless. Mr. Aaron's right.
You're not going to get anything out of him for a while, if ever. We're
not going to wait until we do.?

Dillon straightened. ?It's your call, Superintendent.?

?We'll have to send out a search party. Sensible people who aren't
afraid of the dark or each other. I'm afraid we have to assume that
there is a very good chance this simple bastard has murdered them.?He
hesitated. ?If you are at all familiar with his record, then you know
that such a scenario is not beyond the realm of possibility.?

?You don't know that, sir,?said Dillon. ?He never lied to me. He's
crazy. He's a fool. But he's not a liar.?

?You are well-meaning, Mr. Dillon, but overly generous to a fellow
prisoner.?Andrews fought back the sarcasm which sprang immediately to
mind. ?Personally I'd consider Golic a poor vessel for your trust.?

Dillon's lips tightened. ?I'm not naive, sir. I know enough about him to
want to keep an eye on him as much as help him.?

?Good. I don't want any more people vanishing because of his ravings.?

Ripley rose and approached the group. All eyes turned to regard her.

?There's a chance he's telling the truth.?Clemens gaped at her. She
ignored him. ?I need to talk to him about this dragon.?

Andrews's reply was crisp. ?You're not talking to anyone, Lieutenant. I
am not interested in your opinions because you are not in full
possession of the facts.?He gestured toward Golic. ?This man is a
convicted multiple murderer, known for particularly brutal and ghastly
crimes.?

120

?I didn't do it!?the man in the straightjacket burbled

helplessly.

Andrews looked around. ?Isn't that right, Mr. Dillon???Yeah,?Dillon
agreed reluctantly, ?that part's right.?Ripley gazed hard at the
superintendent. ?I need to talk to you. It's important.?

The older man considered thoughtfully. ?When I have finished with my
official duties I'll be quite pleased to have a little chat. Yes??

She looked as if she wanted to say something further, but simply nodded.
121

A

Aaron took charge of the water pitcher, making sure the glasses were
filled. He needn't have bothered. Once Ripley started talking, no one
noticed irrelevant details such as thirst.

She explained carefully and in detail, leaving nothing out, from the
time the original alien eggs had been discovered in the hold of the
gigantic ship of still unknown origin on Acheron, to the destruction of
the original crew of the Nostromo and Ripley's subsequent escape, to the
later devastating encounter on Acheron and her flight from there in the
company of her now dead companions.

Her ability to recall every relevant incident and detail might have
struck an observer as prodigious, but remembering was not her problem.
What tormented her daily was her inability to forget.

It was quiet in the superintendent's quarters for quite a

122

Alan Dean Foster

while after she finished. Ripley downed half her glass of purified
water, watching his face.

He laced his fingers over his belly. ?Let me see if I have this correct,
Lieutenant. What you say we're dealing with here is an eight-foot-tall
carnivorous insect of some kind with acidic body fluids, and that it
arrived on your spaceship.?

?We don't know that it's an insect,?she corrected him. ?That's the
simplest and most obvious analog, but nobody knows for sure. They don't
lend themselves to easy taxonomic study. It's hard to dissect something
that dissolves your instruments after it's dead and tries to eat or
impregnate you while it's alive. The colony on Acheron devoted itself
frantically to such studies. It didn't matter. The creatures wiped them
out before they could learn anything. Unfortunately, their records were
destroyed when the base fusion planet went critical. We know a little
about them, just enough to make a few generalizations.

?About all we can say with a reasonable degree of assurance is that they
have a biosocial system crudely analogous to the social insects of
Earth, like the ants and the bees and so forth. Beyond that, nobody
knows anything. Their intelligence level is certainly much greater than
that of any social arthropod, though at this point it's hard to say
whether they're capable of higher reasoning as we know it. I'm almost
certain they can communicate by smell. They may have additional
perceptive capabilities we know nothing about.

?They're incredibly quick, strong, and tough. I personally watched one
survive quite well in deep interstellar vacuum until I could fry it with
an EEV's engines.?

?And it kills on sight and is generally unpleasant,?Andrews finished for
her. ?So you claim. And of course 123

123

you expect me to accept this entire fantastic story solely on your word.?

?Right, sir,?said Aaron quickly, ?that's a beauty. Never heard anything
like it, sir.?

?No, I don't expect you to accept it,?Ripley replied softly. ?I've dealt
with people like you before.?

Andrews replied without umbrage. ?I'll ignore that. Assuming for the
moment that I accept the gist of what you've said, what would you
suggest we do? Compose our wills and wait to be eaten??

?For some people that might not be a bad idea, but it doesn't work for
me. These things can be fought. They can be killed. What kind of weapons
have you got??

Andrews unlocked his fingers and looked unhappy. ?This is a prison. Even
though there's nowhere for anyone to escape to on Fiorina, it's not a
good idea to allow prisoners access to firearms. Someone might get the
idea they could use them to take over the supply shuttle, or some
similar crackbrained idea. Removing weapons removes the temptations to
steal and use them.?

?No weapons of any kind??

?Sorry. This is a modern, civilized prison facility. We're on the honor
system. The men here, though extreme cases, are doing more than just
paying their debts to society. They're functioning as active caretakers.
The Company feels that the presence of weapons would intimidate them, to
the detriment of their work. Why do you think there are only two
supervisors here, myself and Aaron? If not for the system, we couldn't
control this bunch with twenty supervisors and a complete arsenal.?He
paused thoughtfully.

?There are some large carving knives in the abattoir, a few more in the
mess hall and kitchen. Some fire axes scattered about. Nothing terribly
formidable.? 124

Alan Dean Foster

Ripley slumped in her chair, muttering disconsolately. ?Then we're fucked.?

?No, you're fucked,?the superintendent replied calmly. ?Confined to the
infirmary. Quarantined.?

She gaped at him. ?But why??

?Because you've been a problem ever since you showed up here, and I
don't want that problem compounded. It's my responsibility to deal with
this now, whatever it is, and I'll rest easier knowing where you are at
all times. The men are going to be nervous enough as it is. Having you
floating around at your leisure poking into places you shouldn't will be
anything but a stabilizing influence.?

?You can't do this. I've done nothing wrong.?

?I didn't say that you had. I'm confining you for your own safety. I'm
in charge here and I'm exercising my discretion as installation
superintendent. Feel free to file an official complaint with a board of
inquiry when you get back.?He smiled paternally.

?You'll have it all to yourself, Lieutenant. I think you'll be safe from
any large nasty beasts while you're there. Right? Yes, that's a good
girl. Mr. Aaron will escort you.?

Ripley rose. ?You're making a bad decision.?

?Somehow I think I'll manage to live with it. Aaron, after escorting the
lieutenant to her new quarters, get going on organizing a search party.
Fast. Right now all we have to go on is that babbling Golic. Boggs and
Rains may only be injured and waiting for help.?

?Right, sir.?

?You're all wrong on this, Andrews,?Ripley told him. ?All wrong. You're
not going to find anybody alive in those tunnels.? 125

125

?We'll see.?He followed her with his eyes as his assistant guided her out.

She sat on the cot, sullen and angry. Clemens stood nearby, eyeing her.
Aaron's voice sounding over the intercom system made her look up.

?Let's all report to the mess hall. Mr. Andrews wants a meeting. Mess
hall, right away, gang.?A subtle electronic hum punctuated the
second-in-command's brief announcement.

Ripley looked over at the medical officer. ?Isn't there any way off
Fiorina? An emergency service shuttle? Some damned way to escape??

Clemens shook his head. ?This is a prison now, remember? There's no way
out. Our supply ship comes once every six months.?

?That's it??She slumped.

?No reason to panic. They are sending someone to pick you up and
investigate this whole mess. Quite soon, I gather.?

?Really? What's soon??

?I don't know.?Clemens was clearly bothered by something other than the
unfortunate Murphy's death. ?No one's ever been in a hurry to get here
before. It's always the other way 'round. Diverting a ship from its
regular run is difficult, not to mention expensive as hell. Do you want
to tell me what you and Andrews talked about??

She looked away. ?No, I don't. You'd just think I was crazy.?Her
attention wandered to the far corner where the catatonic Golic stood
staring blankly at the wall. He looked a lot better since Clemens had
cleaned him up.

?That's a bit uncharitable,?the med tech murmured. ?How are you
feeling?? 126

Ripley licked her lips. ?Not so hot. Nauseous, sick to my stomach. And
pissed off.?

He straightened, nodding to himself. ?Shock's starting to set in. Not
unexpected, given what you've been through recently. It's a wonder
you're not over there sharing a blank wall with Golic.?Walking over, he
gave her a cursory examination, then headed for a cabinet, popped the
catch, and began fumbling with the contents.

?I'd best give you another cocktail.?

She saw him working with the injector. ?No. I need to stay alert.?Her
eyes instinctively considered possible entrances: the air vents, the
doorway. But her vision was hazy, her thoughts dulled.

Clemens came toward her, holding the injector in one hand. ?Look at you.
Call that alert? You're practically falling over. The body's a hell of
an efficient machine, but it's still just a machine. Ask too much of it
and you risk overload.?

She shoved back a sleeve. ?Don't lecture me. I know when I'm pushing
things. Just give me the stuff.?

The figure in the corner was mumbling aloud. ?I don't know why people
blame me for things. Weird, isn't it? It's not like I'm perfect or
something but, sweet William, I don't see where some people come off
always blaming others for life's little problems.?

Clemens smiled. ?That's quite profound. Thank you, Golic.?He filled the
injector, checking the level.

As she sat there waiting to receive the medication she happened to
glance in Golic's direction and was surprised to see him grinning back
at her. His expression was inhuman, devoid of thought-a pure idiot's
delight. She looked away distastefully, her mind on matters of greater
import. 127

127

?Are you married??the straightjacketed hulk asked unexpectedly.

Ripley started. ?Me??

?You should get married.?Golic was utterly serious. ?Have kids... pretty
girl. I know lots of 'em. Back home. They always like me. You're gonna
die too.?He began to whistle to himself.

?Are you??Clemens inquired.

?What??

?Married.?

?Why??

?Just curious.?

?No.?He came toward her, the injector hanging from his fingers. ?How
about leveling with me??

He hesitated. ?Could you be a little more specific??

?When I asked you how you got assigned here you avoided the question.
When I asked you about the prison ID tattoo on the back of your head you
ducked me again.?

Clemens looked away. ?It's a long sad story. A bit melodramatic, I'm
afraid.?

?So entertain me.?She crossed her arms over her chest and settled back
on the cot.

?Well, my problem was that I was smart. Very smart. I knew everything,
you see. I was brilliant and therefore thought I could get away with
anything. And for a while I did.

?I was right out of med school, during which time I had managed the
extraordinary accomplishment of finishing in the top five percent of my
class despite having acquired what I confidently believed to be a
tolerable addiction to Midaphine. Do you know that particular
pharmaceutical??Ripley shook her head slowly.

?Oh, it's a lovely chain of peptides and such, it is.

128

Makes you feel like you're invincible without compromising your
judgment. It does demand that you maintain a certain level in your
bloodstream, though. Clever fellow that I was, I had no trouble
appropriating adequate supplies from whatever facility I happened to be
working in at the time.

?I was considered most promising, a physician-to-be of exceptional gifts
and stamina, insightful and caring. No one suspected that my primary
patient was always myself.

?It happened during my first residency. The center was delighted to have
me. I did the work of two, never complained, was almost always correct
in my diagnoses and prescriptions. I did a thirty-six-hour stretch in an
ER, went out, got high as an orbital shuttle, was crawling into bed to
lose myself in the sensation of floating all night, when the 'com buzzed.

?A pressure unit had blown on the center's fuel station. Everyone they
could get hold of was called in to help. Thirty seriously injured but
only a few had to be sent to intensive care. The rest just needed quick
but rote attention. Nothing complicated. Nothing a halfway competent
intern couldn't have managed. I figured I'd take care of it myself and
then hiphead it back home before anyone noticed that I was awfully
bright and cheery for someone who'd just been yanked out of the sack at
three in the morning.?He paused a moment to gather his thoughts.

?Eleven of the thirty died when I prescribed the wrong dosage of
painkiller. Such a small thing. Such a simple thing. Any fool could've
handled it. Any fool. That's Midaphine for you. Hardly ever affects your
judgment. Only once in a while.?

?I'm sorry,?she said softly.

?Don't be.?His expression was unforgiving. ?No one else was. I got seven
years in prison, lifetime probation, and 129

129

my license permanently reduced to a 3-C, with severe restrictions on
what and where I could practice. While in prison I kicked my wonderful
habit. Didn't matter. Too many relatives around who remembered their
dead. I never had a chance of getting the restrictions revised. I
embarrassed my profession, and the examiners delighted in making an
example of me. After that you can imagine how many outfits were eager to
employ someone with my professional qualifications. So here I am.?

?I'm still sorry.?

?For me? Or about what happened? If it's the latter, so am I. About the
prison sentence and subsequent restrictions, no. I deserved it. I
deserved everything that's happened to me. I wiped out eleven lives.
Casually, with a dumb smile on my face. I'm sure that the people I
killed had promising careers as well. I destroyed eleven families. And
while I can't ever forget, I've learned to live with it. That's one
positive thing about being assigned to a place like this. It helps you
learn how to live with things that you've done.?

?Did you serve time here??

?Yes, and I got to know this motley crew quite well. So when they
stayed, I stayed. Nobody else would employ me.?He moved to give her the
injection. ?So, will you trust me with an injector??

As he was leaning toward her the alien hit the floor behind him as
silently as it fell from the ceiling, landing in a supportive crouch and
straining to its full height. It was astonishing and appalling how
something that size could move so quietly. She saw it come erect,
towering over the smiling medic, metallic incisors gleaming in the pale
overhead light.

Even as she fought to make her paralyzed vocal cords function, part of
her noted that it was slightly different in 130

Alan Dean Foster

appearance from every alien type she had encountered previously. The
head was fuller, the body more massive. The more subtle physical
discrepancies registered as brief, observational tics in the frozen
instant of horror.

Clemens leaned toward her, suddenly more than merely concerned. ?Hey,
what's wrong? You look like you're having trouble breathing. I can-?

The alien ripped his head off and flung it aside. Still she didn't
scream. She wanted to. She tried. But she couldn't. Her diaphragm pushed
air but no sound.

It shoved Clemens's spurting corpse aside and gazed down at her. If only
it had eyes, a part of her thought, instead of visual perceptors as yet
unstudied. No matter how horrible or bloodshot, at least you could
connect with an eye. The windows of the soul, she'd read somewhere.

The alien had no eyes and, quite likely, no soul.

She started to shiver. She'd run from them before, and fought them
before, but in the enclosed confines of the tomblike infirmary there was
nowhere to run and nothing to fight with. It was all over. A part of her
was glad. At least there would be no more nightmares, no more waking up
screaming in strange beds. There would be peace.

?Hey, you, get over here!?Golic suddenly shouted. ?Lemmee loose. I can
help you. We can kill all these assholes.?

The Boschian vision turned slowly to regard the prisoner. Then it looked
once more at the immobile woman on the bed. With a singular leap it
flung itself at the ceiling, cablelike fingers grasping the edge of the
gaping air duct through which it had arrived, and was gone. Skittering
sounds echoed from above, quickly fading into the distance.

Ripley didn't move. Nothing had happened. The beast hadn't touched her.
But then, she understood virtually nothing 131

131

about them. Something about her had put it off. Perhaps they wouldn't
attack the unhealthy. Or maybe it had been something in Golic's manner.

Though still alive, she wasn't sure whether to be grateful or not. 132 IX

Andrews stood before his charges in the mess hall, silently surveying
their expectant, curious faces while Dillon prepared to give his
traditional invocation. Aaron sat nearby, wondering what his boss had on
his mind.

?All rise, all pray. Blessed is the Lord.?The prisoners complied,
striking reverent attitudes. Dillon continued.

?Give us the strength, O Lord, to endure. We recognize we are poor
sinners in the hands of an angry God. Let the circle be unbroken, until
the day. Amen.?Each prisoner raised his right fist, then took a seat.

As Dillon surveyed them his formerly beatific expression twisted with
appalling suddenness.

?What the fuck is happening here? What is this bullshit that's coming
down? We got murder! We got rape! We got brothers in trouble! I don't
want no more bullshit around here! We got problems, we stand together.?

Andrews let the silence that followed Dillon's outburst

133

133

linger until he was confident he had everyone's attention. He cleared
his throat ceremoniously.

?Yes, thank you, Mr. Dillon,?he began in his usual no-nonsense tone.
?All right. Once again this is rumor control. Here are the facts.?

?At 0400 hours prisoner Murphy, through carelessness and probably a good
dose of stupidity on his part, was found dead in Vent shaft Seventeen.
From the information gathered on the spot it would appear that he was
standing too close to the ventilator fan when a strong downdraft struck,
and was consequently sucked or blown into the blades. Medical Officer
Clemens acted as coroner on the occasion and his official report is as
straightforward as you might expect as to cause of death.?

Several of the prisoners murmured under their breath. Andrews eyed them
until they were quiet once more.

He began to pace as he spoke. ?Not long thereafter prisoners Boggs,
Rains, and Golic left on a routine forage and scavenge mission into the
shafts. They were well equipped and presumably knew what they were about.?

?I can confirm that,?Dillon put in.

Andrews acknowledged the big man's comment with a glance, resumed his
declamation. ?At about 0700 hours prisoner Golic reappeared in a
deranged state. He was covered with blood and babbling nonsense.
Presently he is physically restrained and receiving medical treatment in
the infirmary. Prisoners Boggs and Rains are still missing. We are
forced to consider the possibility that they have met with foul play at
the hands of prisoner Golic.?He paused to let that sink in.

?The history of the prisoner in question is not incompatible with such a
suspicion. While no one is sent here who has not first been treated and
cleared by Rehabilitation 134

Alan Dean Foster

i

Central on Earth, not every program of treatment is perfect or everlasting.?

?I heard that,?said Dillon.

?Just so. However, until prisoners Rains and Boggs, or their bodies, are
located and the reason for their absence resolved, any conclusions are
necessarily premature. They may be sitting in one of the tunnels,
injured and unable to move, waiting for help to arrive. Or they may have
gotten lost trying to find their way out. Obviously there is an urgent
need to organize and send out a search party. Volunteers will be
appreciated and the offer appropriately noted in your records.?He
stopped in front of the north wall, which had been fashioned of locally
poured lead.

?I think it's fair to say that our smoothly running facility has
suddenly developed a few problems. It is no cause for panic or alarm and
in fact is to be occasionally expected in a situation like this.
Whatever the eventual resolution of this particular unfortunate incident
I think that I may safely say a return to normal operations can be
anticipated within a very short while.

?In the meantime we must all keep our wits about us and pull together
for the next few days, until the rescue team arrives to pick up
Lieutenant Ripley. I may even go so far as to say that her unplanned
arrival here, while creating some problems of its own, has likewise
caused the Company to divert a ship to Fiorina. That means the
possibility of obtaining extra supplies and perhaps a few luxuries well
ahead of schedule. It is something to look forward to. So we should all
be looking to the days ahead with anticipation.?

The door to his right slammed open to admit Ripley. 135

135

Out of breath and anxious, she ignored the stares of everyone present.

?It's here! It got Clemens!?She was glancing around wildly, her eyes
inspecting the dark corners and distant corridors of the assembly hall.

The veins bulged in Andrews's neck. ?Lieutenant, I've had about enough
of you. Stop this raving at once! Stop it! You're spreading panic
unnecessarily and without proof, and I won't have it, you hear me? I
won't have it!?

She glared at him. ?I'm telling you, it's here!?

?And I'm telling you, get control of yourself, Lieutenant!?He looked
sharply to his right. ?Mr. Aaron, get that foolish woman under control
at once. Get her back to the infirmary!?

?Yes, sir.?Aaron took a step toward Ripley. Her expression made him
hesitate. She looked no less physically capable than the average prisoner.

As he considered what to do next the lights suddenly flickered wildly.
Prisoners shouted, ran into one another, looked around in confusion.
Andrews shook his head dolefully.

?I won't have this kind of nonsense in my facility. Do you all hear me?
I will not put up with it.?A faint scraping noise caused him to glance
upward.

The alien reached down and nipped the superintendent off the floor as
neatly as a spider trapping a fly. In an instant both predator and prey
were gone. In the ensuing hysteria only Ripley and prisoner Morse
actually saw the monster drag the quiescent form of Andrews into an open
air shaft.

Ripley took up a seat in a corner and lit a narcostick. She found
herself remembering Clemens. Her expression 136

Alan Dean Foster

*

X

hardened. Clemens: better not to think of him, just as she'd learned to
quickly forget several other men with whom she'd formed attachments,
only to have them snatched away and destroyed by other representatives
of the seemingly indestructive alien horde.

Except that they were not indestructible. They could be killed. And so
long as she was alive, that seemed to be her destiny. To wipe them out,
to eliminate them from the face of the universe. It was a calling she
would gladly, oh, so gladly, have bequeathed to another.

Why her? It was a question she had pondered on more than one occasion.
Why should she have been singled out? No, she reflected, that wasn't
right. Nothing was singling her out. Fate hadn't chosen her to deal with
a lifetime of horror and devastation. Others had confronted the aliens
and perished. Only she continued to suffer because only she continued to
survive.

It was a destiny she could abandon at any time. The infirmary was well
stocked, its contents clearly labeled. A single, simple injection could
wipe away all the pain and the terror. Easy enough to put an end to it.
Except that she was a survivor. Perhaps that was her task in life,
simply to survive. No, fate hadn't singled her out for special
mistreatment. She wasn't responsible for the fact that she was tougher
than anyone else. It was just something she'd have to learn to live with.

Another man gone. One she hadn't been especially fond of this time. She
regretted it nonetheless. Andrews was human, and if nothing else
deserved to die a decent death.

The alien had left dead silence in the wake of its astonishingly swift
attack. In its aftermath the men had resumed sitting or standing, each
staring into the distance, 137

137

at his neighbor, or inwardly. As usual it was left to Dillon to kneel
and begin the prayer.

?We have been given a sign, brothers. How we deal with it will determine
our fates.?

?Amen,?several of the prisoners chorused. The comments of several others
were fortunately unintelligible.

Dillon continued. ?We give thanks, O Lord, your wrath has come and the
time is near that we be judged. The apocalypse is upon us. Let us be
ready. Let your mercy be just.?

Near the back of the hall the prisoners had begun to whisper to one
another, Dillon's prayer notwithstanding.

?It was big,?prisoner David muttered. ?I mean, big. And fast.?

?I saw it, asshole.?Kevin was gazing intently at the place on the
ceiling from which the alien had hung. ?I was there. Y'think I'm blind??

?Yeah, but I mean it was big.?So intent were they on the memory of what
had just happened that they even forgot to stare at Ripley.

Prisoner William rose and surveyed his comrades. ?Okay, so what do we do
now, mates??A couple of the men looked at one another but no one said
anything. ?Well, who's in charge? I mean, we need to get organized here,
right??

Aaron swallowed, glanced around the room. ?I guess I'm next in line.?

Morse rolled his eyes ceilingward. ?Eighty-five's gonna be in charge.
Jesus, give me a break!?

?Don't call me that!?Aaron glared at the prisoner who'd spoken. ?Not
now, not ever!?Rising, he advanced to confront them.

?Look, no way I can replace Andrews. I'm not even 138

Alan Dean Foster

gonna pretend that I can. You guys didn't appreciate him. I know he was
a hardass sometimes, but he was the best man I ever worked with.?

Dillon was less than impressed. ?I don't want to hear that shit.?His
gaze shifted from the assistant to the lanky figure seated on the far
side of the hall. ?What about you? You're an officer. How about showing
us a little leadership??

Ripley glanced briefly in his direction, took a puff on her narcostick,
and looked away.

Williams broke the ensuing silence, gesturing at Dillon. ?You take over.
You run things here anyway.?

The bigger man shook his head quickly. ?No fuckin' way. I ain't the
command type. I just take care of my own.?

?Well, what's the fuckin' beast want??The discouraged Williams inquired
aloud. ?Is the fucker gonna try and get us all??

The narcostick eased from Ripley's lips. ?Yeah.?

?Well, isn't that sweet??Morse growled sarcastically. ?How do we stop it??

Disgusted, Ripley tossed the remains of her narcostick aside and rose to
confront the group.

?We don't have any weapons, right? No smart guns, no pulse rifles, nothing??

Aaron nodded reluctantly. ?Right.?

She looked thoughtful. ?I haven't seen one exactly like this before.
It's bigger, its legs are different. The other ones were afraid of fire,
or at least respectful of it. Not much else.?

She let her gaze roam the hall. ?Can we seal off this area??

?No chance,?Aaron told her. ?The developed mine 139

139

complex is ten miles square. There's six hundred air ducts that access
the surface. This goddamn place is big.?

?What about video? We could try to locate it that way. I see monitors
everywhere.?

Again the assistant superintendent shook his head. ?Internal video
system hasn't worked in years. No reason to keep an expensive hi-tech
system just to monitor a lousy twenty-five caretaker prisoners who
aren't going anywhere anyhow. Fact is, nothin' much works here anymore.
We got a lot of technology, but no way to fix it.?

?What eight-five's tryin' to tell you-?Morse started to say.

?Don't call me that!?Aaron snapped.

The prisoner ignored him. ?-is that we got no entertainment centers, no
climate control, no viewscreens, no surveillance, no freezers, no
fuckin' ice cream, no guns, no rubbers, no women. All we got here is shit.?

?Shut up,?Dillon said warningly.

?What the hell are we even talkin' to her for??Morse continued. ?She's
the one that brought the fucker here. Let's run her head through the wall.?

Ripley shrugged ever so slightly. ?Sounds good to me.?

Dillon walked over to confront Morse. ?I won't say it again,?he said
softly. ?Keep your mouth shut.?

Morse considered, then dropped his gaze and backed off. For the time being.

The assistant super eyed Ripley. ?All right. What do we do now??

She was aware that not just the three men at the table but the majority
of the prisoners were watching her, waiting.

?On Acheron we tried to seal ourselves off and 140

Alan Dean Foster

establish a defensive perimeter. It worked, but only for a little while.
These things always find a way in. First I need to see, not hear, what
our exact physical situation is.?

?It's fucked,?Morse growled, but under his breath.

Aaron nodded. ?Come with me.?He looked to Dillon. ?Sorry, but you know
the regs.?

The big man blinked slowly by way of acknowledgment. ?Just don't be too
long, okay??

Aaron tried to grin, failed. ?Look at this way: no work detail today.?

Dillon let his gaze sweep the upper level of the library. ?Then why is
it I don't feel relaxed??

They moved along the main passageway, Aaron holding the schematic map,
Ripley shifting her attention from the printout to the corridor and
walls. There was overhead light, but dim. Morse was wrong. Some of the
complex's basic life support system still functioned.

She tapped the plastic sheet. ?What's this??

?Access serviceway. Connects the infirmary to the mess hall.?

?Maybe we can go in, flush it out.?

He stayed close. ?Come on. There's miles and miles of tunnels down there.?

She traced lines on the sheet. ?It won't go far. It'll nest in this area
right around here, in one of the smaller passageways or air shafts.?

His expression twisted. ?Nest? Don't you mean 'rest'??

She glanced over at him. ?I mean what I say. Just don't ask me for
details. If we can kill or immobilize it, remind me and I'll explain.
Otherwise you don't want to know.? 141

141

He held her stare a moment longer, then dropped his eyes back to the
map. ?How do you know that??

?It's like a lion. It sticks close to the zebras.?

?We don't have any zebras here.?

She halted and gave him a look.

?Oh, right,?he said, subdued. ?But running around down there in the
dark? You gotta be kiddin'. We got no overheads once you get out of the
main shaft here.?

?How about flashlights??

?Sure. We got six thousand of them. And rechargeable batteries. But no
bulbs. Somebody forgot that little detail. I told ya, nothin' works.?

?What about torches? Do we have the capability of making fire? Most
humans have enjoyed that privilege since the Stone Age.?

The old vertical shaft stretched up and down into darkness, the ladder
welded to its interior filthy with carboniferous grime and accumulated
gunk. Damp air ascended languidly from the black depths, thick in
Ripley's nostrils as she leaned out of the corridor and aimed her torch
downward. No bottom was visible, not had she expected to see one.

They'd started in through the tunnel where Murphy had been killed, past
the huge ventilator blades, which Aaron had shut down prior to their
departure. She sniffed, wrinkled her nose. The rising air was more than
damp; it was pungent with rotting vegetation and the sharp tang of
recycled chemicals.

?What's down there??

Aaron crowded close behind her. ?Air and water purification and
recirculation.?

?Which explains the stink. Fusion?? 142

Alan Dean Foster

?Yeah, but sealed away. Everything operates on automatics. A couple of
techs from the supply ship run a status check every six months.?He
grinned. ?You don't think they'd trust the maintenance details of a
functioning fusion plant to the delicate ministrations of a bunch of
prisoners and a couple of prison administrators with general degrees, do
you??

She didn't smile back. ?Nothing the Company does would surprise
me.?Holding on to the edge of the opening she aimed the torch upward,
played the light over the smooth metal walls. ?What's upstairs??

?Low-tech stuff. Storage chambers, most of 'em empty now. Cleaned out
when Weyland-Yutani closed down the mine. Service access ways. Power and
water conduits. All the tunnels and shafts are bigger then they need to
be. With all the drilling and coring equipment at hand the engineers
were able to make it easy on themselves. They built everything
oversized.?He paused. ?You think it might have gone up there somewhere??

?It would naturally choose a large, comfortable chamber for a nest, and
it likes to keep above its ... prey. Drop down from above rather than
come up from below. Also, the upper levels are closer to the prison
habitat. That's where it'll expect us to be holed up. If we're lucky we
might be able to come up behind it. If we're unlucky...?

?Yeah??Aaron prompted,

?We might be able to come up behind it.?She swung out onto the ladder
and began climbing.

Not only was the ladder thick with encrusted grime, but the moist air
rising from below had stimulated the growth of local algae and other
microorganisms. The rungs were slippery and uneven. She made sure to
grip the side of the ladder firmly with her free hand as she ascended. 143

143

The shaft intersected one or more cross-corridors approximately every
three meters. At each level she shoved her torch inside, illuminating
each tunnel for a respectable distance before resuming her ascent.

While he was trying to watch Ripley, Aaron's concentration slipped along
with his foot. Behind him Dillon quickly looped his left arm around the
ladder and caught the flailing ankle with his other hand, shoving the
assistant super's boot back onto the nearest rung.

?You all right up there??he inquired in a terse whisper.

?Fine,?Aaron replied, albeit a little shakily. ?Just keep that torch out
of my ass.?

?Funny you should mention that,?the big man replied in the half
darkness. ?I've spent years dreaming of doing just that.?

?Save it for another time, okay??Aaron hurried himself, not wanting
Ripley to get dangerously far ahead.

?One thing more, man,?Dillon murmured.

The assistant superintendent glanced back down. ?What now??

?Anytime you want to trade places, you let me know.?

?In your dreams.?Despite their circumstances each man mustered a
fraternal grin of understanding. Then they resumed climbing, the brief
feeling of camaraderie swept away in the desperation and anxiety of
their situation.

Ripley glanced down, wondering what they were talking about. It was good
that they could manage to smile under such conditions. She wished she
could share in their amusement, but knew she could not. She was much too
conscious of what might lie ahead of them. Inhaling resignedly, she
ascended the next step and aimed her light into still another opening.

Straight into the face of the creature. 144

If her fingers hadn't contracted in terror she surely would have fallen
off the ladder as she screamed. Reflexively she swung her torch. It
struck the horror square atop the gleaming black head... which crumbled
into pieces on contact.

?What... what is it??Aaron was yelling below her.

She ignored him as she fought to regain her equilibrium. Only then did
she pull herself up the ladder and step off into the tunnel.

Together the three stared at the collapsed, dried-out husk of the adult
alien.

?Ugly sucker, ain't it??Dillon volunteered.

Ripley knelt to examine the cast-off shell. Her fingers trembled
slightly as she touched it, then steadied. It was perfectly harmless, a
shadow of an enigma. There was nothing there. The skull where her torch
had struck had been empty inside. Experimentally she gave the remainder
of the shell a light push and the massive, streamlined form tumbled over
onto its side. She straightened.

?What is it??Aaron asked her. He prodded the husk with his foot.

?It's shed its skin, molted somehow.?She looked sharply up the tunnel.
?This is a new one. I've never seen this before. Not at this stage of
development.?

?What's it mean??Dillon muttered.

?Can't say. No precedent. One thing we can be sure of, though. It's
bigger now.?

?How much bigger??Aaron joined her in peering up the dark passageway.

?That depends,?Ripley murmured.

?On what??

?On what it's become.?She started forward, holding her light out in
front of her as she pushed her way past him. 145

145

Something inside her urged her on, making her increase rather than slow
the pace. She hardly paused long enough to shine her torch down the side
passages that branched off the main tunnel. The discovery of the alien
husk had charged her with the same sort of relentless determination that
had enabled her to survive the devastation of Acheron. Determination,
and a growing anger. She found herself thinking of Jonesy. No one wonder
she and the cat had survived the Nostromo. Curiosity and a talent for
survival were two of the skills they'd shared.

Jonesy was gone now, a victim of the time distortions made necessary by
space travel. No more cat-nightmares for him. Only she was left to deal
with life, and all the memories.

?Slow up.?Aaron had to break into a jog to catch up with her. He held up
the map, then gestured ahead. ?Almost there.?

She looked at him. ?I hope this was worth the climb. What happened to
all the damn lifts in this place??

?You kidding? Deactivated when the installation was closed down. Why
would a bunch of prisoners need to be in this sector anyway??He started
forward, taking the lead.

They walked another hundred meters before the tunnel opened up into a
much larger passageway, one wide and high enough to accommodate vehicles
as well as men. The assistant superintendent stopped next to the far
wall, holding his torch out to illuminate a sign welded to the metal.

TOXIC WASTE STORAGE

THIS CHAMBER HERMETICALLY SECURED

NO ACCESS WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION

rating B-8 or Higher Required 146

Alan Dean Foster

?Well, well. What do we have here??For the first time in days Ripley
allowed herself to feel a twinge of hope.

?There's more than a dozen of these scattered around the facility.?Aaron
was bending to study the detailed inscription below the plate. ?This is
the closest one to our living quarters.? He tapped the wall with his
torch and sparks dribbled to the floor.

?They were gonna shove a lot of heavy-duty waste in here. Refining
by-products, that sort of thing. Some of these are full and permanently
sealed, others partially filled. Cheaper, easier, and safer than
stuffing the junk into drums and dumping it out in space.

?This one's never been used. Maybe because it's so close to the habitat
areas. Or maybe they just never got around to it, closed up shop before
they needed the room. I've been inside. It's clean as a whistle in there.?

Ripley studied the wall. ?What's the access like??

?Pretty much what you'd expect for a storage facility carrying this
rating.?He led her around to the front.

The door was scratched and filthy, but still impressive. She noted the
almost invisible seams at the corners. ?This is the only way in or out??

Aaron nodded. ?That's right. I checked the stats before we came down.
Entrance is just big enough for a small loader-transporter with driver
and cargo. Ceiling, walls, and floor are six feet thick, solid
ceramocarbide steel. So's the door. All controls and active components
are external, or embedded in the matrix itself.?

?Let's make sure we've got this right. You get something in there and
close the door, no way it can get out??

Aaron grunted confidently. ?Right. No fuckin' way. That sucker is tight.
According to the specs it'll hold a perfect vacuum. Nothin' bigger than
a neutrino could slip 147

147

through. That ceramocarbide stuff even dissipates lasers. You'd need a
controlled nuclear explosion to cut your way in.?

?You sure this thing is still operational??

He indicated a nearby control box. ?Why don't you find out??

She moved forward and broke the thin seal that covered the enclosure.
The lid flipped down, exposing several controls. She studied them for a
moment, then thumbed a large green button.

The immense door didn't so much slide aside as appear to vanish silently
into the wall. She cycled it again, admiring the smooth play of forces
that could shift so much mass with such speed and ease. The prisoners
were similarly impressed. The efficiency of the long-dormant technology
lifted their spirits considerably.

Beyond the open barrier was a slick-walled, empty chamber. An ephemeral
coating of dust covered the floor. It would accommodate several
full-grown aliens with ease.

?Let me see the map.?Aaron handed her the sheet and her index finger
drew patterns on the plastic. ?We're here??He leaned close and nodded.
?Administration's here, assembly hall up this corridor??

?You got it. Fast, too,?he added admiringly.

?I owe the fact that I'm still alive to an understanding of spatial
relationships.?She tapped the sheet. ?If we can get it to chase us down
these passageways, here and here, then close these off one at a time, we
might get it inside.? The three of them stared into the storage chamber.

Dillon looked back at her. ?Lemme get this straight. You wanna burn it
down and outta the pipes, force it here, slam the door, and trap its ass??

She spoke without looking up from the map. ?Ummm.? 148

Alan Dean Foster

?And you're looking for help from us Y-chromo boys.?

?You got something better to do??

?Why should we put our asses on the line for you??

She finally glanced up at him, her eyes steely. ?Your asses are already
on the line. The only question is what you're going to do about it.? 149 X

Accompanied by prisoner David, Aaron showed Ripley through the vast
storage chamber. When they reached the section where the drums were
stored, he paused and pointed.

?This is where we keep it. I don't know what this shit's called.?

?Quinitricetyline,?David supplied helpfully.

?I knew that,?the assistant superintendent grumbled as he checked his
notepad. ?Okay. I'm off to work out the section assignments with Dillon
for the paintbrush team. David, you get these drums organized, ready to
move.?He turned and headed in the direction of the main corridor.

?Right, Eight-five,?David called after him.

?Don't call me that!?Aaron vanished into the darkness of the distant
corridor.

Ripley examined the drums. They were slightly corroded

150

Alan Dean Foster

and obviously hadn't been touched in some time, but otherwise appeared
intact.

?What's this 'Eight-five' thing??

David put gloved hands on the nearest container. ?Lot of the prisoners
used to call him that. We got his personnel charts out of the computer a
few years ago. It's his IQ.?He grinned as he started to roll the drum.

Ripley stood and watched. ?He seems to have a lot of faith in this
stuff. What's your opinion??

The prisoner positioned the drum for loading. ?Hell, I'm just a dumb
watchman, like the rest of the guys here. But I did see a drum of this
crap fall into a beachhead bunker once. Blast put a tug in dry dock for
seventeen weeks. Great stuff.?

In another part of the storage chamber prisoners Troy and Arthur sorted
through the mass of discarded electronics components. Troy shoved a
glass bead into the cylinder he was holding, thumbed the switch, then
disgustedly wrenched the bead free and began hunting for another.

?Goddamn it. One fucking bulb in two thousand works.?

His companion looked up from his own search. ?Hey, it could be a lot
worse. We mighta got the paintbrush detail.?He tried a bead in his own
tube, hit the switch. To his astonishment and delight, it lit.

The two men filled the air duct with little room to spare, slathering
the interior surface with the pungent quinitricetyline.

?This shit smells awful,?Prisoner Kevin announced for the hundredth
time. His companion barely deigned to reply. 151

151

?I've told you already; don't breathe it.?

?Why not??

?Fuckin' fumes.?

?I'm in a fuckin' pipe with it. How can I keep from breathing it??

Outside the toxic waste storage chamber other men were dumping buckets
of the QTC and spreading it around as best they could, with brooms and
mops and, where those were lacking, with their booted feet.

In the corridor Dillon was waiting with Ripley. Everything was
proceeding according to plan, though whether the plan would proceed
according to plan remained to be seen.

He glanced toward her, analyzed the expression on her face. Not that he
was particularly sensitive, but he'd seen a lot of life.

?You miss the doc, right??

?I didn't know him very well,?she muttered by way of reply.

«g ?I thought you two got real close.?

Now she looked over at him. ?I guess you've been looking through some
keyholes.?

Dillon smiled. ?That's what I thought.?

The nausea didn't slip up on her; it attacked hard and fast,
overwhelming her equilibrium, forcing her to lean against the wall for
support as she gagged and coughed. Dillon moved to support her but she
shoved him away, fighting for air. He eyed her with sudden concern.

?You okay??

She took a deep breath and nodded.

?Whatever you say. But you don't look okay to me, sister.? 152

Alan Dean Foster

Aaron surveyed the convicts who'd accompanied him- some nearby, others
on the walkway above. All carried primed emergency flares which would
ignite on hard contact.

?Okay, listen up.?All eyes turned to regard him attentively. ?Don't
light this fire till I give you the signal. This is the signal.?He
raised his arm. ?You guys got it? Think you can remember that??

They were all intent on him. So intent that the man nearest the vertical
air duct dropped the flare he'd been holding. He clutched at it, missed,
and held his breath as it slid to the ledge near his feet.

His companion hadn't noticed. Straining, he knelt to retrieve it, let
out a sigh of relief ...

As the alien appeared behind the grate on which the flare lay poised
precariously, and reached for him.

The man managed to scream, the flare flipping from his fingers to fall
to the ground below.

Where it flowered brightly.

Aaron heard and saw the explosion simultaneously. His eyes widened. ?No,
goddamn it! Wait for the fucking signal! Shit!?

Then he saw the alien and forgot about the flames.

They spread as rapidly as the desperate planners had hoped, shooting
down QTC-painted corridors, licking up air vents, frying soaked floors
and walkways. In her own corridor Ripley heard the approaching flames
and pressed herself against unpainted ground as the air vents overhead
caught. A convict nearby wasn't as fast. He screamed as heat ignited his
clothing.

Morse rolled wildly away from the licking flames, in time to see the
alien scuttle past overhead. 153

153

?It's over here! Hey, it's here!?No one had the inclination or ability
to respond to his alarm.

It was impossible to keep track of half of what was happening. Injured
men flung themselves from burning railings or dropped from the hot
ceiling. Prisoner Eric saw the fire reaching for him and darted at the
last possible instant into the safety of an uncoated service pipe,
barely squeezing through in time to avoid the blast of fire that seared
the bottoms of his feet. Another man died as the alien emerged from a
steaming ventilation duct to land directly on him.

Running like mad, Aaron and one of the convicts raced for the waste
disposal chamber, trying to stay ahead of the flames. The assistant
superintendent made it; his companion wasn't quite as fast... or as
lucky. The fire engulfed but did not stop him.

As they stumbled into the storage chamber junction, Ripley, Dillon, and
prisoner Junior managed to knock the burning man to the floor and beat
at the flames on his back. Aaron fought to catch his breath. As he did
so a scuttling sound overhead caught his attention. With unexpected
presence of mind he grabbed a QTC-soaked mop and jabbed it into the
nearby flames. Holding the makeshift torch aloft, he jammed it into the
gaping overhead duct port. The scuttling noise faded.

The prisoner died in Junior's arms, his mouth working without producing
words. Junior rose and charged into the smoke and fire, screaming.

?Come and get me, chino! Come and get me!?

In the main access corridor smoke inhalation toppled another man. The
last thing he saw as he went down was the alien rising before him,
silhouetted by the flames and the incredible heat. He tried to scream
too, but failed. 154

Alan Dean Foster

Junior turned a corner and skidded to a halt. As he did so the alien
whirled.

?Run, run!?The grieving prisoner charged past the monster, which gave
chase without hesitation.

They all converged near the entrance to the toxic storage facility;
Ripley and Dillon, Aaron and Morse, the other surviving prisoners. As
the alien turned to confront them they emulated Aaron's example,
lighting mops and heaving the makeshift missiles at the beast. Junior
took the opportunity to move up close behind it.

?Here! Take a shot, fucker!?

Where quarry was concerned the alien once again demonstrated its
inclination to choose proximity over proliferation. Whirling, it pounced
on Junior. The two tumbled backward ... into the storage chamber.

Struggling to ward of the intense heat, Dillon continued to extinguish
flaming companions. When the last man was merely smoldering, he turned
and tried to penetrate the flames to reach the back wall.

Ripley reached the control box and fumbled for the red button as Aaron
jammed still another flaming mop into the entrance. A moment later
Dillon managed to activate the sprinkler system.

Junior uttered a last, faint, hopeless cry as the heavy door slammed
shut in front of him, sealing off the storage chamber. At the same time
the showers opened up. Exhausted, terrified men, all with varying
degrees of smoke or burn damage, hovered motionless in the corridor as
the water poured down.

A noise from behind the door then, a distant skittering sound. Things
that were not hands exploring, not-fingers scraping at their
surroundings. The trapped alien was hunting, searching, for a way out.
Gradually the noise ceased. 155 155

A couple of the survivors looked at one another as if about to burst
into cheers. Ripley anticipated them curtly.

?It's not over.?

One of the men retorted angrily, ?Bullshit. It's inside, the door
worked. We've got it.?

?What are you talking about??Aaron challenged her. ?We got the bastard
trapped, just like you planned it.?

Ripley didn't even look at him. She didn't have to explain herself
because the silence was suddenly rocked by an ear-splitting concussion.
A few of the men winced and a couple turned to run.

The rest gaped in amazement at the door, in which a huge convex dent had
suddenly appeared. The echo of contact continued to cannonade along the
multiple corridors. Before it had faded entirely a second thunderous
boom reverberated through the antechamber and a second bulge appeared in
the door.

?Son of a bitch,?Aaron muttered aloud, ?that's a ceramocarbide door.?

Dillon wasn't listening to him. A survivor of another kind, he was
watching Ripley. She hadn't moved, so neither did he. If she started
running he'd follow close on her heels, without any intention of stopping.

But she continued to hold her ground as a third dent manifested itself.
His ears rang. This is a lady I wish I'd known before, he mused
silently. A lady who could change a man, alter the course and direction
of his life. She could have changed mine. But that was before. Too late
now. Been too late for a long time.

No more concussive vibrations rattled his eardrums. No fourth bulge
appeared in the barrier. Dead silence ruled the corridor. Gradually
everyone's attention shifted from 156

Alan Dean Foster

that no longer perfect but still intact doorway back to the single woman
in their midst.

When she slowly sat down and closed her eyes, back against one wall, the
unified sigh of relief that filled the room was like the last failing
breeze that marks the passing of a recent storm.

157 XI -

The survivors gathered in the assembly hall, reduced in number but
expanded in spirit. Dillon stood before them, waiting to make sure all
were present. Only then did he begin.

?Rejoice, brothers! Even for those who have fallen this is a time of
rejoicing. Even as we mourn their passing we salute their courage.
Because of their sacrifice, we live, and who is to say which of us, the
living or the dead, has the better deal?

?Of one thing we are certain: they have their reward. They are in a far
better place because there can be no worse one. They will live forever.
Rejoice. Those who are dead but go on, freed of their restraints, free
from the excoriations of a thoughtless society. It abandoned them, and
now they have abandoned it. They have moved up. They have moved higher.
Rejoice and give thanks!?

158

Alan Dean Foster

The men bowed their heads and began to murmur softly to themselves.

Ripley and Aaron watched from the gallery above. Eventually the
assistant superintendent glanced over at his companion. Both had spent
time in the showers. They were far from refreshed, but at least they
were clean. Ripley had delighted in the hot, pounding spray, knowing
that this time she could enjoy it without having to keep a wary eye on
the sealtight or the vents.

?What do you think of this??He indicated the ragged, makeshift
assemblage below.

She'd been listening with only half a mind, the rest of her thoughts
elsewhere. ?Not much. I guess if they take pleasure in it...?

?You got it right there. Fuckers are crazy. But it keeps 'em quiet. The
super and I were in agreement on that. Andrews always said it was a good
thing Dillon and his meatballs were hung up on this holy roller crap.
Makes 'em more docile.?

She glanced back at him. ?You're not the religious type.?

?Me? Shit, no. I got a job.?He looked thoughtful. ?I figure rescue team
gets here in four, five days. Six, tops. They open the door, go in there
with smart guns, and kill the bastard. Right??

?Have you heard anything from them??Her tone was noncommittal.

?Naw.?He was feeling pretty good about the situation. And about himself.
Out of this mess there was sure to come some good things.

?We only got a 'message received.' No details. Later we got something
that said you were top priority. Again, no 159

159

explanation. They don't cut us in on much. We're the ass-end of the
totem pole out here.?

?Look,?she began guardedly, ?if the Company wants to take the thing back-?

?Take it back? Are you kiddin'? They aren't lunatics, you know. They'll
kill it right away.?He frowned at her, then shrugged mentally. Sometimes
he thought he understood this unusual woman perfectly, and then she'd
throw him a complete curve.

Well, it wasn't his business to understand her; only to keep her alive.
That was what Weyland-Yutani wanted. With Andrews gone and the alien
safely contained, he was beginning to see some possibilities in the
situation. Not only was he now the one in charge, it would be up to him
to greet and explain things to the Company representative. He could
render himself, as well as recent events, memorable in the eyes of his
superiors. There might be a bonus in it for him or, even better, early
retirement from Fiorina. It was not too much to hope for.

Besides, after years of toadying to Andrews and after what he'd been
through the past couple of days, he'd earned whatever came his way.

?Hey, you're really concerned about this, aren't you? Why? What's there
to be worried about? The damn thing's locked up where it can't get at us.?

?It's not the alien. It's the Company. I've gone around with them on
this twice before.?She turned to him. ?They've coveted one of these
things ever since my original crewmates discovered them. For bioweapons
research. They don't understand what they're dealing with, and I don't
care how much data they've accumulated on it. I'm concerned that they
might want to try and take this one back.?

He gaped at her, and she found his honest disbelief

160

Alan Dean Foster

reassuring. For the moment, at least, she was not without allies.

?Take it back? You mean alive? To Earth??

She nodded.

?You've got to be kidding.?

?Look into my eyes, Aaron. This isn't a real humorous subject with me.?

?Shit, you mean it. That's insane. They gotta kill it.?

Ripley smiled tightly. ?Right. So I take it that we're agreed on this
point??

?You're damn right,?he said fervently.

He was with her, then, she mused. For now. The Company had a way of
swaying people, inducing them to reassess their positions. Not to
mention their values.

The infirmary was quiet. Peace had returned to the installation, if not
to some of its inhabitants. Concerned that in Clemens's absence certain
of the prisoners whose presence on Fiorina stemmed at least in part from
their personal misapplication of certain proscribed Pharmaceuticals
might attempt to liberate them or their chemical cousins from their
designated repository, Aaron sent Morse to keep an eye on them, as well
as on the infirmary's sole occupant.

Morse sat on one of the cots, perusing a viewer. He was not one of those
despondent over the dearth of entertainment material available on
Fiorina, since he'd never been much of one for casual diversions. He was
a man of action, or had been in his younger, more active days. Now he
was a spieler, dealing in reminiscences.

Despite the fact that they'd known each other and had worked side by
side for years, Golic had offered no greeting at his arrival, nor a
single word since. Now the hulking 161

161

prisoner finally turned his face away from the wall, his arms still
buried inside the archaic restraining jacket.

?Hey, Morse.?

The older man looked up from his viewer. ?So you can still talk. Big
deal. You never had nothin' to say anyhow.?

?C'mon, brother. Let me out of this thing.?

Morse grinned unpleasantly. ?Oh, so now that you're all wrapped up like
a holiday roast suddenly I'm a 'brother'? Don't give me any shit.?

?Come on, man. Don't be like that. This thing's uncomfortable as hell.
Gimme a break.?

?No fucking way. I got my orders.?

?C'mon, man, it hurts.?

?Sorry.?Morse turned back to his viewer. ?Aaron says to let you go, I'll
let you go. Until then you stay tied up. I don't wanna get in no
trouble. Not with a Company ship coming.?

?I didn't do nothing. I mean, I understand I was a little crazy for a
while. Shit, who wouldn't be after what I saw? But I'm okay now. The doc
fixed me. Just ask him.?

?Can't do that. The doc bought it. You heard.?

?Oh, yeah. That's right. I remember now. Too bad. He was a good guy,
even if he did slap me in this.?

?Don't talk to me.?Morse made a disgusted face.

Golic continued to plead. ?What'd I do? Just tell me, what'd I do??

Morse sighed and set the viewer aside, eying his fellow prisoner. ?I
dunno, but I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm gonna guard your ass
just like I was ordered.?

Golic sniffed derisively. ?You afraid of that pissant Aaron??

?No, I ain't, even if he is the unofficial superintendent 162

Alan Dean Foster

now. I just don't want no trouble with Dillon, and if you're smart,
which I doubt, neither do you.?

The bigger man sniffed glumly. ?All I did was tell about the dragon.
About what it did to Boggs and Rains. Nobody believed me, but I wasn't
lying. I should be the last one to be tied up. It ain't fair. You know
what I'm sayin' is true. You saw it.?

Morse remembered. ?Fuckin' A I saw it! It was big. And fast. Man, it was
fast. And ugly.?He shuddered slightly. ?There's cleaner ways to die.?

?Hey, that's right.?Golic struggled futilely against his restraints.
?Let me loose, man. You got to let me loose. What if it gets in here? I
couldn't even run. I'd be dead meat.?

?You'd be dead meat anyway. I saw enough to know that. But it doesn't
matter because it ain't gonna get in here.?He smiled proudly. ?We got it
trapped. Me and the others. Locked up tight. I'll bet it's good and mad.
The Company'll deal with it when the ship gets here.?

?That's right,?Golic agreed readily. ?And the way I hear it, they'll be
here soon. So what's the big deal? Why should I have to hang around like
this? By the time the ship shows orbit my arms'll be dead. I'll need
surgery, and all for nothin'. Come on, man. You know they ain't gonna
take me offworld for no surgery, and we may not get a new medic for
months. I'll have to suffer all that time, and it'll all be your fault.?

?Hey, lay off. I didn't put you in that.?

?No, but you're keepin' me in it, and the guy that gave the order's dead
now. Aaron doesn't give a shit. He's too busy trying to make that lady
lieutenant. Has he even asked about me??

?Well, no,?Morse admitted guardedly. 163

163

?See?? Golic's face was full of pathetic eagerness. ?I won't cause you
no trouble, Morse. I'll lay low until the ship gets here. Aaron won't
even know I'm around. Come on, lemme loose. I'm hungry. What's the big
deal? Didn't I always give you free ciggies before anybody else??

?Well... yeah.?

?You're my friend. I love you.?

?Yeah, I love you too.?Morse hesitated, then cursed softly. ?Fuck it,
why not? Nobody deserves to be tied up like an animal all day. Not even
a big dumb schmuck like you. But you're gonna behave yourself. No
fuckin' around or I'll get nothin' but shit.?

?Sure, Morse. Anything you say.?He turned to present his back and Morse
began undoing the seals on the straps. ?No problem. Trust me, buddy. I'd
do it for you.?

?Yeah, but I ain't crazy enough to get myself in a sack like this. They
know I'm sane,?the other man said.

?C'mon, don't make fun of me. Do I sound like I'm crazy? 'Course not.
It's just that everybody likes to make fun of me because I like to eat
all the time.?

?It's not that you like to eat, it's your table manners, man.?Morse
guffawed at his own humor as he undid the strap. ?That's got it.?

?Gimme a hand, willya? My arms are so numb I can't move 'em.?

?Shit. Bad enough they ask me to keep an eye on you, now I gotta play
nursemaid too.?He reached up and pulled the jacket off Golic. The bigger
man helped as best he could.

?Where they got it??

?Up in the nearest waste tank on Level Five. Man, did we get that sucker
nailed down! I mean tight.?He fairly preened. ?Fuckin' marines couldn't
do it, but we did.? 164

Alan Dean Foster

Golic was swinging his arms. Back and forth across his expansive chest,
then up and around in ever-widening circles, getting the circulation back.

?But it's still alive??

?Yeah. Too bad. You oughta see the dents it put in the door.
Ceramocarbide door, man!?He shook his head wonderingly. ?One tough-ass
organism. But we got it.?

?I gotta see it again.?The big man's gaze was focused on a point beyond
Morse, on something visible only to Golic. His expression was impassive,
unwavering. ?Got to see it again. He's my friend.?

Morse took a sudden, wary step backward. ?What the fuck you talkin'
about??His gaze whipped to the infirmary entrance.

Golic calmly ripped a small fire extinguisher off the nearby wall and
the other man's eyes widened. He made a leap for the door... too slow.
The extinguisher came down once, a second time, and Morse crumpled like
a misplaced intention.

Golic looked down at him thoughtfully, his face full of idiot sadness,
his tone apologetic. ?Sorry, brother, but I had a feeling you wouldn't
understand. No more ciggies for you, mate.?

Silently he stepped over the unconscious form and exited the room. 165 -xII

Aaron fussed with the deep-space communicator. He was checked out on the
equipment-it was a requirement of his rating-but he hadn't had occasion
to make use of it since his assignment to Fiorina. Andrews had always
handled things on the rare occasions when expensive near instantaneous
communication between the installation and headquarters had been
required. He was both pleased and relieved when the readouts cleared for
use, indicating that contact with the necessary relays had been established.

Ripley hovered over him as he worked the keyboard. She offered no
suggestions, for which he felt an obscure but nonetheless real
gratitude. The message appeared on the main screen as he transmitted,
each letter representing an impressive amount of sending power.
Fortunately, with the fusion plant operating as efficiently as ever,
there was no dearth of the necessary energy. As to the cost, another

166

Alan Dean Foster

matter entirely, he opted to ignore that until and unless the Company
should indicate otherwise.

FURY 361-CLASS C PRISON UNIT, FIORINA

REPORT DEATH OF SUPT. ANDREWS, MEDICAL OFFICER CLEMENS, EIGHT PRISONERS.
NAMES TO FOLLOW...

When he'd finished the list he glanced back up at her. ?Okay, we got the
first part. All nice and formal, the way the Company likes it. Now what
do I say??

?Tell them what happened. That the alien arrived on the EEV and escaped
into the complex, that it was hunting down the local population one man
at a time until we devised a plan of action, and that we've trapped it.?

?Right.?He turned back to the keyboard, hesitated. ?What do we call it?
Just 'the alien'??

?That'd probably do for the Company. They'd know what you were referring
to. Technically it's a xenomorph.?

?Right.?He hesitated. ?How do you spell it??

?Here.?She elbowed him aside impatiently and leaned over the keyboard.
?With your permission??

?Go ahead,?he said expansively. Impressed, he watched as her fingers
flew over the keys.

HAVE TRAPPED XENOMORPH. REQUEST PERMISSION TO TERMINATE.

Aaron frowned up at her as she stood back from the board. ?That was a
waste. We can't kill it. We don't have any weapons here, remember??

Ripley ignored him, concentrating on the lambent screen. ?We don't have
to tell them that.?

?Then why ask??He was obviously confused, and she was in no hurry to
enlighten him. Just then there were more important things on her mind.

Sure enough, letters began to appear on the readout. 167 167

She smiled humorlessly. They weren't wasting any time replying, no doubt
for fear that in the absence of a ready response she might simply proceed.

TO FURY 361-CLASS C PRISON UNIT

FROM NETWORK COMCON WEYLAND-YUTANI

MESSAGE RECEIVED

Aaron leaned back in the chair and rubbed his forehead tiredly. ?See?
That's all they ever tell us. Treat us like shit, like we're not worth
the expense of sending a few extra words.?

?Wait,?she told him.

He blinked. Subsequent to the expected official acknowledgment, letters
continued to appear on the screen.

RESCUE UNIT TO ARRIVE YOUR ORBIT 1200 HOURS. STAND BY TO RECEIVE.
PERMISSION DENIED TO TERMINATE XENOMORPH. AVOID CONTACT UNTIL RESCUE
TEAM ARRIVES. REPEAT

IMPERATIVE-PERMISSION DENIED.

There was more, in the same vein, but Ripley had seen enough. ?Shit.?She
turned away, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully. ?I knew it.?

Aaron's gaze narrowed as he tried to divide his attention between Ripley
and the screen. ?What do you mean, you knew it? It doesn't mean
anything. They know we don't have any weapons.?

?Then why the 'imperative'? Why the anxious insistence that we don't do
something they must realize we're not capable of doing??

He shrugged uncomprehendingly. ?I guess they don't want to take any
chances.?

?That's right,?she murmured tightly. ?They don't want to take any
chances.? 168

Alan Dean Foster

?Hey,?he said, suddenly alarmed, ?you're not thinking of countermanding
Company policy, are you??

Now she did smile. ?Who me? Perish the thought.?

The vestibule outside the toxic storage chamber was dimly illuminated,
but he inadequate light did not trouble the three prisoners on duty.
There was nothing in the shafts and tunnels that could harm them, and no
noise from within. The three dents stood out clearly in the heavy door.
They had not been expanded, nor had they been joined by a fourth.

One man leaned casually against the wall, cleaning the dirt from under
his nails with a thin sliver of plastic. His companion sat on the hard,
cold floor, conversing softly.

?And I say the thing's gotta be dead by now.?The speaker had sandy hair
flecked with gray at the temples and a large, curving nose that in
another age and time would have given him the aspect of a Lebanese merchant.

?How you figure that??the other man asked.

?You heard the boss. Nothin' can get in or out of that box.?He jerked a
thumb in the direction of the storage chamber. ?Not even gases.?

?Yeah. So??

The first man tapped the side of his head with a finger. ?Think, stupid.
If gas can't get out, that means air can't get in. That sucker's been in
there long enough already to use up all the air twice over.?

The other glanced at the dented door. ?Well, maybe.?

?What d'you mean, maybe? It's big. That means it uses a lot of air. A
lot more than a human.?

?We don't know that.?His companion wore the somber 169 169

air of the unconvinced. ?It ain't human. Maybe it uses less air. Or
maybe it can hibernate or something?

?Maybe you oughta go in and check on how it's doin'.?The nail-cleaner
looked up from his work with a bored expression. ?Hey, did you hear
something??

The other man suddenly looked to his right, into the dim light of the
main tunnel.

?What's the matter??His companion was grinning. ?The boogeyman out there??

?No, dammit, I heard something.?Footsteps then, clear and coming closer.

?Shit.?The nail-cleaner moved away from the wall, staring.

A figure moved into view, hands clasped behind its back. The two men
relaxed. There was some uneasy laughter.

?Dammit, Golic.?The man resumed his seat on the floor. ?You might've let
us know it was you. Whistled or something.?

?Yeah,?said his companion. He waved at the chamber. ?I don't think it
can whistle.?

?I'll remember,?the big man told them. His expression was distant and he
swayed slightly from side to side.

?Hey, you okay, man? You look weird,?said the nail-cleaner.

His companion chuckled. ?He always looks weird.?

?It's okay,?Golic muttered. ?Let's go. Off and on. I gotta get in
there.?He nodded toward the chamber.

The two men on the floor exchanged a puzzled glance, one carefully
slipping his nail cleaner into a pocket. He was watching the new arrival
closely. 170

Alan Dean Foster

?What the hell's he talkin' about??the theory-spinner wondered.

?Fucker's crazy,?his companion declared with conviction.

?What you want here, man? When did they let you out of the infirmary,
anyway??

?It's all right.?Golic's face shone with beatific determination. ?I just
need to go in there and see the Beast. We got a lot of shit to talk
over.?he added, as if that explained everything. ?I gotta go in there.
You understand.?

?No, I don't understand. But I do know one thing. Neither you nor anyone
else is goin' in there, dickhead. Big motherfucker'd eat you alive.
Plus, you let that fucker out, and you can kiss our collective ass
good-bye. Don't you know nothin', brother??

?You wanna commit suicide,?declared his companion, ?go jump down a mine
shaft. But you're not doin' it here. The super'd have our butts.?He
started toward the intruder.

?The Superintendent is dead,?Golic announced solemnly as he brought out
the club he'd been holding behind his back and used it to mash the skull
of the man coming toward him.

?What the fuck?... Get him-!?

Golic was much faster and far more agile than they imagined, but then
this time he was driven by something a good deal more powerful than a
simple lust for food. The two men went down beneath the club, their
heads and faces bloodied. It was all over very quickly. Golic didn't
pause to see if his companions were still alive because he didn't really
care. All that mattered to him now was the obsession which had taken
complete control of his mind, his emotions, his very being. 171 171

He regarded the two bodies sprawled at his feet. ?I didn't really want
to do that. I'll talk to your mothers. I'll explain it.?

Dropping the club, he walked up to the door and ran his fingers over the
dented alloy. Pressing one ear to the smooth surface, he listened
intently. No sound, no scraping, nothing. He giggled softly and moved to
the control box, studying it thoughtfully for a long moment, much as a
child would examine a complex new toy.

Chuckling to himself, he began fiddling with the controls, running his
fingers playfully over the buttons until one clicked home. Deep within
the surrounding ceramocarbide, mechanisms whined, metal brushed against
metal. The door started to slide aside.

Only to halt as one of the big dents banged up against the jamb.

Frowning, Golic put his body into the narrow gap and pushed against the
reluctant barrier, straining with his bulk. Motors hummed in confusion.
The door opened a little wider, then stopped completely. The whir of the
motor died. Silence reigned once more.

His body blocking the opening, Golic turned to peer into the blackness
within. ?Okay, I'm here. It's done. Just tell me what you want. Just
tell me what to do, brother.?He smiled.

The darkness ahead was silent as a tomb. Nothing moved within.

?Let's get this straight. I'm with you all the way. I just want to do my
job. You just gotta tell me what to do next.?

Though it lingered in the still air for quite some time, the two
unconscious, bleeding men sprawled on the floor did not hear the
singular high-pitched scream. 172

Alan Dean Foster

Dillon relaxed on his cot, engaged in his thousandth or ten thousandth
game of solitaire. Idly he turned over another card and fingered his one
long dreadlock as he spoke to the woman who stood before him.

?You're tellin' me they're comin' to take this thing away??

?They'll try,?Ripley assured him. ?They don't want to kill it.?

?Why? It don't make no sense.?

?I agree completely, but they'll try anyway. I've gone around with them
on this before. They look on the alien as a potential source of new
bioproducts, perhaps even a weapons system.?

Dillon chuckled, a deep, rich sound. But he was clearly disturbed at the
idea. ?Man, they're crazy.?

?They won't listen. They think they know everything. That because
nothing on Earth can touch them, this thing can't either. But it doesn't
care how much power, how many politicians the Company controls. They try
to take it back for study and it'll take over. The risk is too great.
We've got to figure out some way to finish it off before they get here.?

?From what you're tellin' me they ain't gonna like that much.?

?I don't give a damn what they think. I know better than anyone, better
than any of their so-called specialists, what these things can do. Sure
you can build a cell that'll hold one. We've proven that here. But these
things are patient. And they'll exploit the slimmest opportunity. Make
one slip with them and it's all over. That doesn't mean a lot here, or
on an isolated little outcolony like Acheron. But if 173 173

these things ever get loose on Earth, it'll make Armageddon seem like a
school picnic.?

The big man fingered his dreadlock as he puffed away on his relaxer.
?Sister, I lost a lot of the faithful trappin' the motherfucker. Men I'd
known and lived with for some long, hard years. There weren't many of us
here to begin with and I'm gonna miss them.?He looked up. ?Me and my
brothers ain't gonna be the ones goin' in there and hittin' it with a stick.

?Why do we have to kill it anyway, if the Company's coming for it? Let
them worry about it.?

She held her temper. ?I told you. They're going to try to take it back
to Earth.?

He shrugged indifferently. ?What's wrong with that??

?It'll destroy them. They can't control it. I told you, it'll kill them
all. Everyone.?

He lay on his back, eying the ceiling and puffing contentedly. ?Like I
said, what's wrong with that??

Footsteps came pounding down the corridor outside the big man's room. He
sat up curiously as Ripley turned.

Morse halted, breathing hard. His gaze darted from one to the other.
Clearly he hadn't expected to find Ripley there. 'Hey, Dillon!?

The big man removed the smoker from his lips. ?You're interrupting a
private discussion, brother.?

Morse glanced anew at Ripley, then back to his fellow prisoner. ?Put it
on hold. I think we got a very large fucking problem, mate.?

Aaron was no medical tech, but it didn't take a doctor to see how the
two men had been killed. Their heads had been bashed in. That wasn't the
alien's technique. The bloody club lying nearby only confirmed his
suspicions. As 174

Alan Dean Foster

for the one who'd killed them, he hadn't profited by his deed. Golic's
mutilated corpse lay nearby.

Aaron rose to join the others in gazing numbly at the gap in the toxic
storage chamber's doorway. Dillon had stuck a torch inside, confirmed
that it was empty.

?This cuts it,?the acting superintendent muttered angrily. ?Miserable
son of a bitch let it loose. Crazy fucker. Got what he deserved, by God.
Now what the fuck are we gonna do? Andrews was right. We should've kept
the dumb shithead chained up or sedated. Stupid-ass rehab 'experts'.?He
paused, eying Ripley with some concern. ?What's the matter? Side effects
again??

She was leaning against the wall for support, sucking air in long,
awkward gasps and holding her stomach with her other hand.

?Piss on her,?Morse growled. ?The fuckin' thing's loose out there.?He
looked around wildly. ?Now what the fuck are we gonna do??

?I just said that,?Aaron growled. ?You're the dumb prick that let Golic
go. You miserable little shit, you've killed all of us!?

For a man of undistinguished physique he packed an impressive punch.
Morse went down hard, blood streaming from his nose. As the acting
superintendent loomed over him he was grabbed from behind. Dillon easily
lifted him off the floor and set him aside. Aaron glared back at the big
man, panting.

?Cut that shit out,?Dillon warned him.

?Watch yourself, Dillon! I'm still in charge here.?

?I ain't disputing it. But you don't be doin' that. You get me? You
don't be beating on the brothers. That's my job.?

They regarded each other a moment longer. Then 175

175

Aaron took a deep breath and looked away, back down at the cringing
Morse. ?Then tell your fuckin' bozo to shape up. All this shit is his
fault!?

Dillon ignored both of them as he turned to Ripley. ?What do you think?
We took care of it once. We still got a chance??

She was still leaning against the wall, breathing hard, her expression
twisted. Her head was killing her. When she finally looked up her face
was knotted with pain and nausea.

?I need... I need to get to the EEV.?

?Yeah, sure, but first we got to decide what to do about the creature.?

?No.?She shook her head sharply, her eyes watering slightly. ?EEV
first... now.?

Aaron watched her anxiously. ?Yeah, okay. No problem. Whatever you say.
But why??

?The neuroscanner. I need to use one of the scanners that are built into
every cryotube. I don't know if you've got anything similar in the
infirmary but it wouldn't matter if you did. Clemens is gone, and I only
know how to operate the instrumentation on the EEV. If it's still
functional.?She winced, bending forward and clutching at her belly.

Dillon took a step toward her, beating Aaron to her side. This time she
didn't object to the hands that helped steady her. She leaned against
the big man for support until her breathing slowed.

?What the hell's wrong with you? You don't look so good.?

?Side effects from medication Clemens was giving her,?Aaron told him.
His gaze narrowed uncertainly. ?I think.? 176

Alan Dean Foster

?Who gives a shit what's wrong with her??Morse snapped. ?What are we
gonna do??

Aaron glared at him. ?You want to hit your back again, you little dork?
Shut the fuck up and quit causin' panic.?

Morse didn't back off. ?Panic! You're so goddam dumb, you couldn't spell
it. Don't tell me about panic! We ought to panic! We're screwed!?

?Yeah! And who's fault is it??

?Both of you, shut up!?Dillon roared.

For a moment there was silence as each man glared at his neighbor but
did not speak. Eventually Aaron shrugged.

?Okay, I'm out of ideas. What do we do??

?What about the beach??Morse opined hopefully.

?Right,?the acting superintendent responded sarcastically. ?The sun
won't be up for another week, and when it's down it's forty below zero
outside. The rescue team is ten hours away, so that makes a lot of sense.?

?Wonderful,?Morse grumbled as Ripley turned and wandered off. ?So you
just want us to stay here and let this fuckin' beast eat us for lunch.?

?Get everybody that's still left together,?Dillon told him abruptly.
?Get 'em to the assembly hall. Lieutenant, you can-?He looked around,
puzzled. ?Where'd she go??

Within the vast unloading bay the Emergency Escape Vehicle rested where
it had been left, undisturbed and looking lonely in the flickering
industrial gloom. Footsteps echoed along walkways, precise and finite in
the metalwalled pit. Faint illumination preceded feet, lighting the way
through the semi-darkness.

Ripley stripped down in the cramped quarters, carefully 177

177

setting her clothes aside. Naked, she sat down opposite a small
keyboard. Several attempts were required before it flickered to life.

Her fingers worked the keyboard. She paused, played the keys again, then
sat staring thoughtfully at the information displayed on the small
screen. Rising, she left the readout and turned to the cryotube that had
conveyed her to Fiorina.

It was an effort to squeeze back inside, and when she turned to work on
the keyboard her hand barely reached.

?You need some help??

She stared at Aaron's sudden appearance.

?Hey, didn't mean to scare you. Look, you shouldn't be wandering around
alone.?

?I've heard that one before. Do me a favor. Run the keyboard. I can't
reach over and see what I'm doing.?

He nodded and took the seat as she settled back into the tube. ?What do
you want me to do??

?Very little, I hope. The procedure's pretty straightforward. You
ready??she asked, not turning her head to face him.

He gazed at the screen, willing but baffled by the multiple options and
instructions. ?I guess so. What do I do now??

?Ignore the technospeak. There's an option menu at the bottom.?

His eyes dropped and he found himself nodding. ?I see it. What next??

?Hit either B or C. What's C??

He studied the glowing print. ?Display biofunctions.?

?That's it.?

On his command the screen was replaced by another, 178

Alan Dean Foster

no less complicated than its predecessor. ?Okay, now I've got a whole
page of new turkeytalk.?

?Same procedure. Menu at the bottom. There should be a V command, for
visual display. Hit it.?

He complied, glancing back toward the cylinder.

Within the claustrophobic confines of the tube a small motor began to
hum. Ripley shifted uncomfortably on the cushioned pallet, feeling very
much like a bug under a microscope. Her surroundings suddenly pressed
close around her, the wall and ceiling of the EEV threatening to
collapse and pin her forever in place. She concentrated on keeping her
heartbeat regular, her breathing steady as she closed her eyes. It
helped, a little.

The display monitor in front of Aaron flickered. The incomprehensible
technical information vanished, to be replaced by an in-depth medical
percep scan of the inside of Ripley's head.

?Okay,?he told her, ?we're hot. I'm looking at your brain. The scanner's
also printing a lot of information next to the image, and there's all
sorts of option switches at the bottom of the screen.?

?They're to make the scan system-specific,?she heard herself telling
him. ?You know-nervous system, circulatory. Like that. Let's keep it as
general as possible. Leave everything alone.?

?No problem there.?He stared in fascination at the screen. ?What am I
supposed to be looking for? I don't know how to read this stuff.?

?Ignore the printouts and concentrate on the visuals,?she told him.
?Where is it now??

?Moving down your neck. Am I supposed to see something??

?If it's there, you'll know it when you see it.? 179

179

?Okay, but it all looks normal to me so far. Of course, I'm not Clemens.?

?Don't worry about it,?she told him. ?You won't have to be.?

She could hear the soft whine of the scanner as it moved down her body,
sliding smoothly on its hidden track somewhere deep within the
instrument-packed cryotube. Even though there was no actual physical
contact between her and the instrument, she found herself twitching
slightly at its perceived presence. Whoever said there was no link
between imagination and physicality had never spent any time in
cryogenic deep sleep.

?Upper chest now,?Aaron was saying. ?I can see the tops of your lungs.
Heart coming into view.?

Despite her determination she found herself tensing uncontrollably. The
muscles of her right forearm began to twitch spasmodically. The acting
superintendent's voice buzzed in her ears, a lethal drone.

?Full chest view, at least according to what it says here. Heart and
lungs seem to be functioning normally. Moving down.?

The twitching stopped, her breathing eased. ?Are you sure??

?Hey, I don't see anything. If you'd give me an idea what I'm supposed
to be looking for... maybe I missed it.?

?No.?Her mind was working furiously. ?No, you didn't miss it.?

?How do we get some enhancement??

?Try B.?

He complied, to no avail. ?Nothing.?He tried again, muttering to
himself. ?I gotta get a better angle.?

The instrumentation hummed. Suddenly he paused. 180

Alan Dean Foster

?Holy shit-?He broke off, eyes bulging as he leaned toward the screen.

?What??she demanded. ?What is it??

?I don't know how to tell you this. I think you got one inside you.?

He stared at the screen in disbelief. The embryonic creature was
definitely kin to the monster that had destroyed the men... and yet it
was also distinctively, subtly different.

It wasn't fair, she thought. She'd known, she'd more than suspected, for
days. Then her chest scan had come through clean, giving her hope. Now
this, the ultimate morbid revelation. Still, it wasn't a shock.

Now that her suspicions were confirmed she felt oddly liberated. The
future was no longer in doubt. She could proceed, confident in the
knowledge that she was taking the right course. The only course.

?What's it look like??

?Fucking horrible,?Aaron told her, at once repelled and fascinated by
what he was seeing. ?Like one of them, only small. Maybe a little
different.?

?Maybe? Are you sure??

?I'm not sure of anything. I didn't hang around to take pictures of the
big one.?

?Keyboard,?she told him. ?Hit the pause button.?

?Already did. The scanner's stopped moving.?

?Now move the screen. I've got to take a look.?

The acting superintendent hesitated, looking toward the cryotube and its
recumbent occupant. ?I don't think you want to.?

?It's my choice. Do it.?

His lips tightened. ?Okay. If you think you're ready.?

?I didn't say I was ready. Just do it.? 181

181

He adjusted the viewscreen, waiting while she took a long, unblinking look.

?Okay. That's enough.?Aaron instantly deactivated the scanner.

?I'm sorry,?he murmured as gently as he could. ?I don't know what to
say. Anything I can do-?

?Yeah.?She started struggling against the confines of the tube. ?Help me
get out of here.?Her arms were extended upward, reaching toward him. 182
XIII -

The assembly hall looked emptier than ever with its reduced population
of prisoners. The men muttered and argued among themselves as Dillon's
fist slammed into the transparent window on the wall. Reaching in, he
ripped free the loosely secured fire axe within and turned to hold it
over his head.

?Give us strength, O lord, to endure. Until the day. Amen.?

Fists rose into the air. The men were uncertain, but; determined. Dillon
surveyed them intently.

?It's loose. It's out there. A rescue team is on the way with the guns
and shit. Right now there isn't anyplace that's real safe. I say we stay
here. No overhead vent shafts. If it comes in, it's gotta be through the
door. We post a guard to let us know if it's comin'. In any case, lay
low. Be ready and stay right, in case your time comes.? 183 183

?Bullshit, man,?said prisoner David. ?We'll all be trapped in here like
rats.?

Dillon glared at him. ?Most of you got blades stashed away. Get 'em out.?

?Right.?William grunted. ?You think we're gonna stab that motherfucker
to death??

?I don't think shit,?Dillon told him. ?Maybe you can hurt it while
you're checkin' out. It's something. You got any better ideas??

William did not. Nor did anyone else.

?I'm tellin' you,?Dillon continued, ?until that rescue team gets here,
we're in the shit. Get prepared.?

?I ain't stayin' here.?William was already backing away. ?You can bet on
it.?

Dillon turned, spat to his left. ?Suit yourself.?

Aaron tapped out the necessary code, then ran his thumb over the
identiprint. The inner door which protected central communications slid
aside, telltales coming to life on the board, the screen clearing
obediently as the system awaited input.

?Okay,?he told the woman hovering nearby, ?what do you want to send??

?You got a line back to the Network??

His brows furrowed as he checked the readouts. ?Yeah, it's up. What do
you want to say??

?I want to tell them the whole place has gone toxic. I think they'll buy
it. There's enough refining waste lying around to make it believable.?

He gaped at her. ?Are you kidding? Tell them that and they won't come
here. Not until they can run and check out the results of a remote
inspection, anyway. The rescue team'll turn back.? 184

Alan Dean Foster

?Exactly.?

?What are you talking about? We're like dead fish in a market waiting
here. Our only hope is that they arrive in time to kill this fucker
before it gets the rest of us. And maybe they can do something for you.
You think of that? You're so sure this thing can beat anything they've
got, but you don't know that for a fact. Maybe they can freeze you, do
some kind of operation.

?You said that they've been accumulating information on it. You think
they'd be coming to try and take one back if they didn't think they
could contain it? Hell, we contained it and we weren't even ready for
it. They'll be all set up to try a capture. They got the technology.?

She remained adamant. ?All the Company's got is greed for brains. I
know. I've dealt with them and I've dealt with the aliens and frankly
I'm not so sure that in the long run the Company isn't the greater
threat. I can't take the chance. All I know for certain is that if one
of these things gets off this planet it'll kill everything. That's what
it's designed to do: kill and multiply.

?We can't let the Company come here. They'll do everything in their
power to take it back with them.?She made a disgusted noise. ?For profit.?

?Fuck you. I'm sorry as hell you got this thing inside you, lady, but I
want to get rescued. I guess I've got more confidence in the Company
than you. As it happens, I don't think you're looking at the situation
rationally, and I suppose you've got plenty of reasons not to. But that
doesn't mean I have to see things the same way, and I don't.

?I don't give a shit about these meatball prisoners. They can kill the
thing or avoid it and howl holy hosannas to the heavens until they drop
dead, but I got a wife and kid. Married real young so that despite the
time distortions we'd 185

still have quality time together when I finished my tour here. I was set
to go back on the next rotation. Because of all this I can maybe claim
extenuating hazards and go back with the rescue ship. I'll collect
full-term pay and probably a bonus. If that happens you could say that
your xenomorph's done me a favor.?

?I'm sorry. Look, I know this is hard for you,?she told him, trying to
keep a rein on her temper, ?but I've got to send a message back. There's
a hell of a lot more at stake here than your personal visions of happy
suburban retirement. If the alien gets loose on Earth your sappy
fantasies won't be worth crap.?

?I'll put my trust in the Company,?he said firmly.

?Dammit, Aaron, I need the code!?

He leaned back in the seat. ?Sorry, mum. It's classified. Can't expect
me to violate the regs, can you??

She knew she didn't have much time and she was starting to lose it. Here
she was, dealing with the Company attitude again-that closed, restricted
corporate world where ethics and morals were conveniently masked by
regulations.

?Look, shithead, you can screw your precious regulations. It's got to be
done. Give it to me!?

?No fuckin' way, lady. You don't get the code out of me without killing
me first.?

She bent toward him, then forced herself to ease off. Once again she
found herself tired beyond imagining. Why was she driving herself like
this? She didn't owe anybody anything, least of all the representatives
of the Company. If they took the alien on board their ship and it killed
all of them, what was that to her?

?Nothing personal, you understand,?he was saying even as he was watching
her carefully, alert for any sudden moves. He didn't think she posed him
any real danger, but 186

Alan Dean Foster

in the short time that he'd seen her operate he'd learned enough to know
that it would be dangerous to underestimate her. ?I think you're okay.?

?Thanks.?Her tone was flat, dulled.

?So that's settled. We're working together again.?He was inordinately
pleased. ?Got any ideas??

She turned and he tensed momentarily, but she kept going past him to the
service counter and drew herself a glass of water. Her thirst was
constant and not due to tension and nerves. Her body was supplying
fluids for more than one.

?The worker-warrior won't kill me,?she told him as she halted nearby.

His eyebrows rose. ?Oh, yeah? Why not??

She sipped at the glass. ?It can't nail me without risking the health of
the embryonic queen. And while I know that one of them can reproduce
others of its kind, it may not be able to produce more than a single
queen. Not enough of the right genetic material or something. I don't
know that for a fact, but the proof is that it hasn't tried to kill me
so far.?

?You really want to bet this thing's that smart??

?Smarts may not have anything to do with it. It may be pure instinct.
Damage the host and you risk premature damage to the unborn queen. It
makes sense.?She met his gaze. ?It could've killed me twice already, but
it didn't. It knows what I'm carrying.?She rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

?I'm going to find it,?she announced suddenly. ?We'll see how smart it is.?

He gaped at her. ?You're gonna go look for it??

?Yeah. I got a pretty good idea where it is. It's just up there in the
attic.?

He frowned. ?What attic? We don't have an attic.? 187

187

?It's a metaphor.?She finished the water.

?Oh.?He was staring at her.

?Wanna come??

He shook his head. She smiled, put the glass back in its holder, and
turned to exit the communications room. Aaron followed her with his eyes.

?Fuck me,?he murmured to no one in particular. 188 XIV

The access corridor was empty. Pausing, she jammed the torch she'd been
carrying into a seam in the wall, studying the line of aged, rusting
pipes nearby. Grabbing the nearest, she braced herself and yanked hard.
The metal snapped and bent toward her. A second yank broke it free.
Satisfied, she continued on.

The infirmary seemed more deserted than ever. She paused for a look
around, half expecting to see Clemens bent over his workstation,
glancing up to grin in her direction. The computer was dark and silent,
the chair empty.

It was hard to pull herself up into the overhead air duct while
manipulating both the five-foot length of pipe and the flashlight, but
she managed. The duct was dark and empty. Adjusting the battered
flashlight for wide beam, she flashed it behind her before starting off
in the opposite direction.

Exactly how long or how far she crawled before she started calling, she
didn't know; only that the faint light from

189

189

the infirmary had long since faded behind her. Her shouts were muted at
first, then louder as fear gave way to anger. Her fate was inevitable.
She just had to know. She had to see that thing face-to-face.

?Come on! I know you're here!?She advanced on hands and knees. ?Come on.
Just do what you do.?

The air vent bent sharply to the left. She kept moving, alternately
muttering and shouting. ?Come on, you shithead. Where are you when I
need you??

Her knees were getting raw when she finally paused, listening intently.
A noise? Or her own imagination, working overtime?

?Shit.?She resumed her awkward, uncomfortable advance, turning another
corner.

It opened into an alcove large enough to allow her to stand. Gratefully
she climbed to her feet, stretching. The alcove was home to a decrepit,
rusting water purification unit consisting of a thousand-gallon tank and
a maze of neglected pipes.

Behind the tank the ventilation duct stretched off before her, an
endless, difficult-to-negotiate tube of darkness. As she stared a fresh
wave of nausea overcame her and she leaned against the tank for support.

As she did so an alien tail flicked out and knocked the flashlight from
her fingers.

It landed on the concrete floor, spinning but staying lit. Ripley
whirled, a feeling of desperation creeping up her spine.

The alien peered out at her from within the network of pipes and
conduits where it had been resting. It regarded her.

?You fucker,?she muttered as she gathered her strength. Then she rammed
the metal pipe directly into its thorax. 190

Alan Dean Foster

With an echoing roar it exploded from behind the maze, metal pipes
giving way like straws. Fully aroused and alert, it crouched directly in
front of her, thick gelatinous saliva dripping from its outer jaws.

She held her ground, straightening. ?Come on, fucker. Kill me!?When it
didn't react she slammed at it again with the pipe.

With a roar it reached out and slapped the pipe away, stood glaring at
her. Sweat pouring down her face, she continued to stare back.

Then it whirled and bolted into the darkness. She slumped, gazing after it.

?Bastard.?

Dillon found the lieutenant in the assembly hall, seated by herself in
the huge, deeply shadowed room. She sat with her head in her hands,
utterly exhausted, utterly alone. The fire axe dangling from his right
hand, he walked over and halted nearby. She must have been aware of his
presence, but she did nothing to acknowledge it.

Ordinarily he would have respected her silence and moved on, but
conditions had passed beyond ordinary.

?You okay??She didn't reply, didn't look up.

?What are you doin' out here? You're supposed to be lyin' low like
everybody else. What happens if that thing shows up??

Her head rose. ?It's not going to kill me.?

?Why not??

?Because I've got one of them inside of me. The big one won't kill its own.?

Dillon stared at her. ?Bullshit.?

?Look, I saw it an hour ago. I stood right next to it. I 191

191

could've been lunch, but it wouldn't touch me. It ran away. It won't
kill its future.?

?How do you know this thing's inside you??

?I saw it on the cat-scan. It's a queen. It can make thousands like the
one that's running around out there.?

?You mean like a queen bee??

?Or ant. But, it's just an analogy. These creatures aren't insects. They
just have a crudely analogous social structure. We don't know a great
deal about them. As you may have noticed, they don't make for an easy
study.?

?How do you know it's a queen??he found himself asking.

?For one thing, the shape of the skull is very distinct. It's backed by
a large, upsweeping frill. The beginnings of that were clearly visible
in the scanner images. For another, the gestation period for the
warrior-worker analogs is quite short, in some cases only a day or so.
They mature through their different stages with incredible speed.? She
looked rueful. ?Very effective survival trait.

?If this was an ordinary worker it would have come out by now, emerging
through the sternum region. Also, it's gestating in the uterine cavity
instead of the chest. Since a queen is a much more complex organism it
apparently requires both more space and time to mature. Otherwise I'd be
dead by now.

?I've seen how they work. It's not very pretty. When full grown this
thing is enormous, much bigger than the one we've been fighting here.
It's definitely going to be a queen, an egg layer. Millions of eggs.
It's not going to be anything like the one that's out there running
around loose.?Her voice fell. ?Like I said, nobody's had any experience
with a larval queen. I don't know how long a gestation 192

Alan Dean Foster

period it requires, except that it's self-evidently a lot longer than an
ordinary worker.?

He gazed down at her. ?Still sounds like bullshit to me. If you got this
thing inside you, how'd it get there??

She was staring down at her hands. ?While I was in deep sleep. I guess
the horrible dream I had wasn't exactly a dream. I got raped, though I
don't know that that's a wholly accurate term. Rape is an act of
premeditated violence. This was an act of procreation, even if my
participation wasn't voluntary. We would call it rape, but I doubt that
the creature would. It would probably find the concept... well,
alien.?She looked thoughtful, thinking back.

?The one that got loose on my first ship, the Nostromo, was making
preparations to reproduce itself, but it wasn't a queen either. At least
some of them must be hermaphroditic. Self-fertilizing, so that even one
isolated individual can perpetuate the species. A warrior-worker is
capable of producing eggs, but only slowly, one at a time, until it can
develop a queen to take over the job. That's how this one was able to
start a queen inside me. At least, that's the best scenario I can come
up with. I'm no xenologist.?

She hesitated. ?Great, huh? I get to be the mother of the mother of the
apocalypse. I can't do what I should. So you've got to help. You've got
to kill me.?

He took a step backward. ?What the fuck you talkin' about??

?You don't get it, do you? I'm finished. I'm dead the minute it's born
because I'll no longer be necessary to its continued survival. I've seen
it happen. That I can live with, if it's not too strict a contradiction
in terms. I've been ready to die ever since I encountered the first one
of these things. But I will be damned if I'm going to let those idiots
from Weyland-Yutani take it back to Earth. They just might

193

193

succeed, and that would be it for the rest of mankind. Maybe for all
life on the planet. I don't see why these things wouldn't be able to
reproduce in any animal of a size larger than, say, a cat.

?It has to die, and in order for that to happen somebody's got to kill
me. You up to it??

?You don't have to worry about that.?

?It's kind of funny, in a way. I've done so much killing lately and now
I find I can't manage just one more. Maybe because I've had to
concentrate so hard on surviving. So you've got to help me.? She met his
gaze unwaveringly.

?Just do it. No speeches.?She turned her back on him. ?Come on,?she
urged him, ?do it! You're supposed to be a killer... kill me. Come on,
Dillon. Push yourself. Look back. I think you can do it, you big, ugly
son of a bitch.?

He studied her slim form, the pale neck and slumped shoulders. A single
well-directed blow would do it, cut through her spinal cord and
vertebrae quick and clean. Death would be almost instantaneous. Then he
could turn his attention to her belly, to the monstrous organism growing
inside. Drag the corpse to the smelter and dump it all in the furnace.
It would all be over and done with in a couple of minutes. He raised the
axe.

The muscles in his face and arms tightened convulsively and the axe made
a faint whooshing sound as it cut through the stale air. He brought it
down and around full force... to slam into the wall next to her head.
She jerked at the impact, then blinked and whirled on him.

?What the hell is this? You're not doing me any favors.?

?I don't like losin' a fight, not to nobody, not to nothin'. The big one
out there's already killed half my guys, 194

Alan Dean Foster

got the other half scared shitless. As long as it's alive,

you're not saving any universe.?

?What's wrong? I thought you were a killer.?

?I want to get this thing and I need you to do it. If it won't kill you,
then maybe that helps us fight it.?She stared at him helplessly.
?Otherwise, fuck you. Go kill yourself.?

?We knock its ass off, then you'll kill me??

?No problem. Quick, painless, easy.?He reached up to tear the axe out of
the wall.

The remaining men had assembled in the main hall. Aaron stood off to one
side, sipping something from a tumbler. Dillon and Ripley stood side by
side in the center, confronting the others.

?This is the choice,?the big man was telling them. ?You die sitting here
on your ass, or maybe you die out there. But at least we take a shot at
killing it. We owe it one. It's fucked us over. Maybe we get even for
the others. Now, how do you want it??

Morse eyed him in disbelief. ?What the fuck are you talkin' about??

?Killin' that big motherfucker.?

Aaron took a step forward, suddenly uneasy. ?Hold it. There's a rescue
team on the way. Why don't we just sit it out??

Ripley eyed him narrowly. ?Rescue team for who??

?For us.?

?Bullshit,?she snapped. ?All they want's the beast. You know that.?

?I don't give a damn what they want. They aren't gonna kill us.?

W 195

195

?I'm not so sure. You don't know the Company the way I do.?

?Come on. They're gonna get us out of here, take us home.?

?They ain't gonna take us home,?Dillon observed.

?That still doesn't mean we should go out and fight it,?Morse whined.
?Jesus Christ, give me a break.?

Aaron shook his head slowly. ?You guys got to be fucking nuts. I got a
wife. I got a kid. I'm going home.?

Dillon's expression was hard, unyielding, and his tone smacked of
unpleasant reality. ?Get real. Nobody gives a shit about you,
Eight-five. You are not one of us. You are not a believer. You are just
a Company man.?

?That's right,?Aaron told him. ?I'm a Company man and not some fucking
criminal. You keep telling me how dumb I am, but I'm smart enough not to
have a life sentence on this rock, and I'm smart enough to wait for some
firepower to show up before we get out and fight this thing.?

?Right. Okay. You just sit here on your ass. It's fine.?

Morse's head jerked. ?How about if I sit here on my ass??

?No problem,?Dillon assured him. ?I forgot. You're the guy that's got a
deal with God to live forever. And the rest of you pussies can sit out
too. Me and her?-he indicated Ripley-?we'll do all the fighting.?

Morse hesitated, found some of the others gazing at him. He licked his
lower lip. ?Okay. I'm with you. I want it to die. I hate the fucker. It
killed my friends, too. But why can't we wait a few hours and have the
fuckin' company techs with guns on our side? Why the shit do we have to
make some fucking suicide run??

?Because they won't kill it,?Ripley informed him. 196

Alan Dean Foster

?They may kill you just for having seen it, but they won't kill it.?

?That's crazy.?Aaron was shaking his head again. ?Just horseshit. They
won't kill us.?

?Think not??She grinned wolfishly. ?The first time they heard about this
thing it was crew expendable. The second time they sent some marines:
they were expendable. What makes you think they're gonna care about a
bunch of double-Y chromos at the back end of space? Do you really think
they're gonna let you interfere with advanced Company weapons research?
They think you're crud, all of you. They don't give a damn about one
friend of yours that died. Not one.?There was silence when she'd
finished. Then someone in the back spoke up.

?You got some kind of plan??

Dillon studied his companions, his colleagues in hell. ?This is a
refinery as well as a mine, isn't it? The' thing's afraid of fire, ain't
it? All we have to do is get the fuckin' beast into the big mold, pour
hot metal on it.?

He kicked a stool across the floor. ?You're all gonna die. Only question
is when. This is as good a place to take your first step to heaven as
any. It's ours. It ain't much, but it's ours. Only question in life is
how you check out. Now, you want it on your feet, or on your knees
beggin'? I ain't much for beggin'. Nobody never gave me nothin'. So I
say, fuck it. Let's fight.?

The men looked at one another, each waiting for someone else to break
the silence that ensued. When it finally happened, the responses came
fast and confident.

?Yeah, okay. I'm in.?

?Why not? We ain't got nothin' to lose.?

?Yeah ... okay ... right... I'm in.?

A voice rose higher. ?Let's kick its fuckin' ass.? 197

197

Someone else smiled. ?You hold it, I'll kick it.??Fuck it,?snapped Morse
finally. ?Let's go for it.?

Somehow they got some of the lights on in the corridors. It wasn't a
question of power; the central fusion plant provided plenty of that. But
there were terminals and switches and controls that hadn't been
maintained for years in the damp climate of Fiorina. So some corridors
and access ways had light while others continued to dwell in darkness.

Ripley surveyed the molding chamber thoughtfully as Dillon and prisoner
Troy crowded close. Troy was the most technically oriented of the
survivors, having enjoyed a brief career as a successful engineer before
having the misfortune to find his wife and superior in the sack
together. He'd murdered both of them, with all the technical skill he'd
been able to muster. Faint howls of temporary insanity had bought him a
ticket to Fiorina.

Now he demonstrated how the controls worked, which instruments were
critical to the chamber's operation. Ripley watched and listened, uncertain.

?When was the last time you used this thing??

?We fired it up five, six years ago. Routine maintenance check. That was
the last time.?

She pursed her lips. ?Are you sure the piston's working??

It was Dillon who replied. ?Nothin's for sure. Includin' you.?

?All I can say is that the indicators are all positive.?Troy shrugged
helplessly. ?It's the best we've got.?

?Remember,?Dillon reminded them both, ?we trap it here first. We hit the
release, start the piston, then the piston will shove the motherfucker
right into the mold. This is a high-tech cold-stamp facility. End of his
ass. End of story.?

Ripley eyed him. ?What if someone screws up?? 198

Alan Dean Foster

?Then we're fucked,?Dillon informed her calmly.

?We've got one chance. One shot at this, that's all. You'll never have
time to reset. Remember, when you hit the release, for a few seconds
you're gonna be trapped in here with that fucking thing.?

She nodded. ?I'll do it. You guys don't drop the ball, I won't.?

Dillon studied her closely. ?Sister, you'd better be right about that
thing not wanting you. Because if it wants out, that's how it's gonna
go. Right through you.?

She just stared back. ?Save you some work, wouldn't it??Troy blinked at
her, but there was no time for questions.

?Where you gonna be??she asked the big man.

?I'll be around.?

?What about the others? Where are they??

?Praying.?

The survivors spread out, working their way through the corridors,
head-butting the walls to pump themselves up, cursing and whooping. They
no longer cared if the monster heard them. Indeed, they wanted it to
hear them.

Torchlight gleamed off access ways and tunnels, throwing nervous but
excited faces into sharp relief. Prisoner Gregor peered out of an alcove
to see his buddy William deep in prayer.

?Hey Willie? You believe in this heaven shit??

The other man looked up. ?I dunno.?

?Me neither.?

?Fuck it. What else we gonna believe in? Bit late, now we're stuck here.?

?Yeah, ain't that the truth? Well, hey, what the fuck, right??He laughed
heartily and they both listened to the echoes as they boomed back and
forth down the corridor, amplified and distorted. 199

199

Morse heard them all: distant reverberations of nervous laughter, of
terror and near hysteria. He pressed the switch that would activate the
door he'd been assigned to monitor. It whined ... and jammed partway
open. Swallowing nervously, he leaned through the gap.

?Hey, guys? Hold it, hold it. I don't know about this shit. Maybe we
should rethink this. I mean, my fuckin' door ain't workin' right. Guys??

There was no response from down the corridor.

Farther up, Gregor turned to face his companion. ?What the fuck's he
saying??

?Shit, I dunno,?said William with a shrug.

Prisoner Kevin held the long-burning flare out in front of him as he
felt his way along the corridor wall. There was another man behind him,
and behind him another, and so on for a substantial length of the
tunnel. None were in sight now, though, and his nerves were jumping like
bowstrings.

?Hey, you hear something??he murmured to anyone who might happen to be
within earshot. ?I heard Morse. Sounded kinda-?

The scream silenced him. It was so near it was painful. His legs kept
moving him forward, as though momentary mental paralysis had yet to
reach the lower half of his body.

Ahead, the alien was dismembering a friend of his named Vincent, who no
longer had anything to scream with. He hesitated only briefly.

?Come and get me, you fucker!?

Obligingly, the monster dropped the piece of Vincent it was holding and
charged.

Kevin had been something of an athlete in his day. Those memories
returned with a rush as he tore back up the corridor. Couple years back
there wasn't a man he'd met he 200

couldn't outrun. But he wasn't racing a man now. The inhuman apparition
was closing fast, even as he accelerated to a sprint. The slower he
became, the faster his hellacious pursuer closed.

He all but threw himself at the switch, whirling as he did so, his back
slamming into the corridor wall, his chest heaving like a bellows. The
steel door it controlled slammed shut.

Something crashed into it a bare second after it sealed, making a huge
dent in the middle. He slumped slightly and somehow found the wind to
gasp aloud, ?Door C9 ... closed!?

At the other end of the recently traversed passageway prisoner Jude
appeared, no mop in hand now. Instead he held his own flare aloft,
illuminating the corridor.

?Yoo-hoo. Hey, fuckface, come and get me. Take your best shot.?

Confounded by the unyielding door, the alien pivoted at the sound and
rushed in its direction. Jude took off running, not as fast as Kevin but
with a bigger head start. The alien closed fast. Once again, seconds
were the difference. The closing doorway separated it from its prey.

On the other side of the barrier Jude struggled to regain his wind.
?Over in the east wing: door B7. Safe.?

An instant later an alien foreleg smashed through the small glass window
set in the steel. Screaming, Jude scrabbled backward along the wall,
away from the clutching, frantic claws.

Dillon stood alone in the corridor he'd chosen to patrol and muttered to
himself, ?It's started.?

?It's in tunnel B,?Morse was yelling as he ran down his own private
passageway. ?Must be heading over to channel A!?

At an intersection, William nearly ran over Gregor as 201

201

the two men joined up. ?I heard it,?Gregor muttered. ?Channel E, dammit.?

?Did you say B??

?No, E.?

William frowned as he ran. ?We're supposed to stay-?

?Move your fucking ass!?In no mood to debate what their theoretical
relative positions ought to have been, Gregor accelerated wordlessly.
William trailed in his wake.

In a side corridor Jude linked up with Kevin, and they glanced knowingly
at the other. ?You too??

?Yeah.?Kevin was fighting for air.

?Okay. Over to E. Everybody.?

Kevin made a face, trying to remember. ?Where the fuck's E??

His companion gestured impatiently. ?This way. Get a fuckin' move-on.?

David was still alone, and he didn't relish the continuing solitude.
According to plan, he should have linked up with someone else by now. He
did, however, find what remained of Vincent. It slowed but did not halt him.

?Kevin? Gregor? Morse? I found Vincent.?There was no response. He kept
moving, unwilling to stop for anyone or anything. ?Let's shut this
fucker down.?The section of tunnel directly ahead was darker than the
one he'd just vacated, but at least it was empty.

In the main corridor Dillon glanced at Troy. ?Help them.?

The other prisoner nodded and headed into the maze of corridors, hefting
his map.

Prisoner Eric stood nearby, his gaze shifting constantly from Dillon to
Ripley. He chewed his lower lip, then his fingernails. 202

Alan Dean Foster

She studied the monitor panel. It showed Gregor going one way, Morse the
other. Her expression twisted.

?Where the fuck is he going? Why don't they stick to the plan??

?You're immune,?Dillon reminded her. ?They're not.?

?Well, what the hell are they doin'??

Dillon's attention was focused on the dimly lit far end of the corridor.
?Improvising.?

She rested her hand on the main piston control, saw Eric staring at her.
He was sweating profusely.

David stumbled through the darkened corridor, holding his flare aloft
and trying to penetrate the blackness ahead.

?Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Here-?He broke off. The alien was clearly
visible at the far end, pounding ineffectually on the door through which
Jude had recently vanished.

He cocked his arm as the alien turned. ?Here, pussycat. Playtime!?He
heaved the hissing flare. The alien was already coming toward him before
the flare struck the floor.

Turning, he raced at high speed back the way he'd come. The distance to
the next barrier was relatively short and he felt confident he'd make
it. Sure enough, he was through in plenty of time. His hand came down
hard on the close button. The door slipped downward... and stopped.

His eyes widened and he made a soft mewling noise as he stumbled
backward, one faltering step at a time.

As he stared, the door continued to descend in halting jerks. He
quivered as the alien slammed full speed into the door. Metal buckled
but continued to descend in its uneven, herky-jerky fashion.

An alien paw punched through the gap and made a grab at David's leg.
Screaming, he leapt onto a ledge in the

203

corridor wall. The hand continued to flail around, hunting for him, as
the door jerked down, down. At the last instant the foreleg withdrew.

There was silence in the corridor.

It took him a long moment to find his voice and when he did, what
emerged was little more than a terrified whimper.

?Door 3, channel F. Shut...I hope.?

Morse didn't hear him as he continued to stumble blindly down his own
corridor. ?Kevin? Gregor? Where the fuck are you? Where is everybody? K,
L, M, all locked and secured.?He glanced at a plate set into the wall.
?I'm back in A.?

In a side passageway Gregor was likewise counting panels. ?Channel V
secure. Channel P holding.?

Behind him William struggled to keep pace. ?Did you say P or D??he
shouted. ?For fuck's sake-?

Gregor turned without stopping. ?Shut the fuck up! Move!?

Unsure of his position, Kevin discovered that he'd doubled back on
himself. ?Shit. I'm in R. That's safe. That's safe. Isn't it??

Jude overheard, raised his voice so his companion could hear. ?You
forgot, man. R leads back into F. I'm moving through F right now. Gonna
shut it down.?

Disoriented, Troy halted at an intersection. He'd moved too fast,
ignoring the map and trusting to memory. Now he found himself appraising
the multiple tunnels uncertainly.

?Channel F? Where the fuck- There ain't no fuckin' Channel F.?

He moved forward, hesitated, and chose the corridor to his immediate
right, instead. 204

Alan Dean Foster

That corridor, however, was already occupied by another frustrated
inhabitant.

Dillon and Ripley heard the distant screams. As usual, the screams
didn't last for very long.

?Morse??Dillon called out. ?Kevin, Gregor??

Ripley strained to see past him. ?What's going on back there??

The big man glanced tensely back at her. ?All they have to do is run
down the damn corridors.?He hefted his axe and started forward. ?Stay here.?

The side corridor from which they expected their visitor remained
deserted. No alien. No people. Only distant, echoing voices, some
distinctly panicky.

Behind him, Eric voiced his thoughts aloud. ?Where in hell is it??Dillon
just glanced at him.

Sucking up his courage, David moved back to the door and peered through
the small window. The corridor beyond was empty. He raised his voice.

?I've lost him. Don't know where the fucking thing is. Not gonna open
the door. I think it went up in the fucking air vent.?He turned slowly
to inspect the single air vent in the tunnel above him.

He was right.

Ripley waited until the last of the echoes faded to silence. Eric had
been moving forward, his eyes harbingers of imminent collapse. If
someone didn't do something he was going to break and take off running.
There was nowhere to run to. She moved toward him, caught his gaze,
trying to stare him down, to transfer some of her own confidence into him.

Dillon had disappeared down the side corridor. It didn't take him long
to find Troy's remains. After a quick look around he retreated back the
way he'd come.

205

205

Morse and Jude had finally linked up. They ran along side by side ...
until Jude slipped and went down hard. His fingers fumbled at the warm,
sticky mess which had tripped him up.

?For fuck's sake... yuck.?

When Jude lifted it toward the flare for a better look, Morse recoiled
in horror. Then he got a good look at what he'd picked up, and they
screamed in unison.

Ripley listened intently, momentarily forgetting Eric. The screams were
close now-immediate, not echoes. Suddenly the prisoner whirled and
rushed back toward the piston control. She ran after him...

As the alien appeared, racing across the corridor.

Eric's fingers started to convulse on the control and she barely had
time to grab his hand.

?Wait! It's not in position yet!?With an effort of will she managed to
block him from releasing the piston.

That was all it took. Defeated mentally as well as physically, he
slumped back, exhausted and trembling.

Kevin moved slowly through the corridor. He was getting close to the
piston alcove now, as safe a place as any. He'd done everything that had
been asked of him. They couldn't ask for more, not now.

Something made him look up. The alien positioned in the vent above
didn't bother to drop. Instead it reached down and snatched him up as
easily as if it had been fishing for a frog. Blood splattered.

At the far end of the passageway Dillon appeared. Spotting Kevin's
jerking legs he rushed forward and threw both arms around the twitching
knees. It was something the alien wasn't prepared for and the two men
dropped.

Ripley saw Dillon drag the wounded prisoner into the 206

Alan Dean Foster

main corridor. With a glance at the useless Eric she started forward to
help.

Blood spurted from the injured man's neck. Whipping off her jacket, she
wrapped it around the wound as tightly as she could. The blood slowed,
but not enough. Dillon held the man close, murmuring.

?No death, only-?

There was no time to finish the prayer. The alien emerged from the side
access. Ripley rose and started backing away.

?Leave the body. Draw it in.?

Dillon nodded and joined her, the two of them retreating toward the
control alcove.

The alien watched. They were moving slowly, with nowhere to retreat to.
There was still life in the damaged figure on the floor. The alien
jumped forward to finish the job.

Spinning, Ripley made a slashing gesture in Eric's direction. Eric
erupted from his hiding place and slammed his hand down on the control.

The piston shot forward, sweeping up both Kevin's body and that of the
alien, shunting them toward the gap which led to the furnace. Heat and
howling air filled the corridor.

But the alien had vanished.

Sweating, Ripley took a step forward. ?Where the hell's it gone??

?Shit!?Dillon tried to peer around the machinery. ?It must be behind the
fucking piston.?

?Behind it??She gaped at him.

?Seal the doors,?he bellowed. ?We gotta get it back!?They exchanged a
glance, then took off in opposite directions.

207 207

?Jude, Morse!?Dillon pounded down the corridor he'd chosen, searching
for survivors. Meanwhile Ripley went in search of Eric and William.
Found them, too, all mixed up together and no longer worrying. About
anything. She continued on.

Morse was creeping now, no longer running. Hearing a noise, he paused to
check the side access way from which it had come, exhaled at the sight
of nothing. He began retracing his steps, keeping his eyes forward.

Until he dumped into something soft and animate.

?What the-!?

It was Jude. Equally startled, the other man whirled, displaying the
scissors he carried like a weapon. Simultaneously relieved and furious,
Morse grabbed the twin blades and angled them upward.

?Not like this. Like this, moron.?He whacked the other man on the side
of the head. Jude blinked, nodded, and started off in the other direction.

Dillon was back in the main corridor, yelling. ?Jude, Jude!?The other
man heard him, hesitated.

The alien was right behind him.

He ran like hell, toward Dillon, who urged him on.

?Don't look back. As fast you fucking can!?

Jude came on, trying, trying for his life. But he wasn't Kevin, or
Gregor. The alien caught him. Blood exploded against the door that
Dillon desperately sent slamming shut.

In the next corridor Ripley heard, growled to herself. Time was ticking
away as the piston continued its inexorable and currently useless slide
forward.

Gregor screamed for help, but there was no one around to hear him. He
raced blindly down the passageway, ricocheting off the corners like a
pinball until he slammed into Morse, running hard the other way.
Nervous, then half 208

Alan Dean Foster

laughing, they picked themselves up, staring in relief at one another.

Until the alien flashed past and smashed into Gregor in midlaugh,
tearing him apart.

Blood and pulp showering his face and torso, Morse fought to scramble
away, screaming for mercy to something that neither understood nor cared
about his desperation. He could only stare as the creature methodically
eviscerated Gregor's corpse. Then he crawled frantically.

He bumped into something unyielding and his head whipped around. Feet.
His head tilted back. Ripley's feet.

She threw the flare she was holding at the alien as it tried to duck
into an air vent. The burning magnesium alloy forced it to drop Gregor's
ravaged body.

?Come on, you bastard!?

As Morse looked on in fascination, the alien, instead of rushing forward
to decapitate the lieutenant, coiled up against the far wall. She
advanced, ignoring its cringing and spitting.

?Come on. I got what you want. Follow me. I want to show you something.
Come on, damn you!?

The alien's tail flicked out and lashed at her. Not hard enough to kill;
just enough to fend her off.

At that moment Dillon arrived in the doorway, staring. She whirled on
him. ?Get back! Don't get in the way!?

The alien resumed its attack posture, turning to face the newcomer.
Desperately Ripley inserted herself between it and Dillon, who suddenly
realized not only what was happening but what she was trying to do.

Moving up behind, he grabbed her and held her tight.

The alien went berserk, but kept its distance as the two humans
retreated, Ripley tight in Dillon's grasp.

It followed them into the main corridor, keeping the

209 209

distance between them constant, waiting. Dillon glanced toward the
waiting mold, called out.

?In here, stupid!?

The alien hesitated, then leapt to the ceiling and scuttled over the
doorjamb.

?Shut it!?Ripley said frantically. ?Now!?

Dillon didn't need to be told. He activated the door in front of her. It
slammed tight, imprisoned them both in the main corridor with the creature.

Morse appeared behind it, saw what was happening. ?Get out! Get the fuck
out now!?

Ripley yelled back at him. ?Close the door!?The other man hesitated. As
he did so, the alien turned toward him. ?Now!?

Morse jerked forward and hit the switch. The door rammed down, sealing
them off from his position. A moment later the piston appeared,
continuing on its cleansing passage and obscuring them from view.

He turned and ran back the way he'd come.

Within the main corridor the piston crunched into the alien, knocking it
backward. Forgetting now about the two humans, it turned and sought to
squeeze a leg past the heavy barrier. There was no room, no space at
all. The piston continued to force it toward the mold.

Dillon and Ripley were already there. End of the line. Nowhere else to go.

Morse scrambled up the ladder which lead to the crane cab, wondering if
he remembered enough to activate it. He'd have to. There was no time to
consult manuals, and no one left to ask.

The massive landing craft disdained the use of the mine's ill-maintained
landing port. Instead it set down on 210

Alan Dean Foster

the gravel outside, the backwash of its maneuvering engines sending dirt
and rocks flying. Moments later heavily armed men and women were rushing
toward the facility's main entrance.

From within the lock Aaron watched them disembark, a broad smile on his
face. They had smart guns and armor piercers, thermoseeking rails and
rapid-fire handguns. They knew what they'd be up against and they'd come
prepared. He straightened his uniform as best as he could and prepared
to pop the lock.

?I knew they'd make it.?He raised his voice. ?Hey,!; over here! This
way!?He started to activate the lock mechanism.

He never got the chance. The door exploded inward, six commandos and two
medical officers rushing through even before the dust had settled. All
business, the commandos spread out to cover the lock area. Aaron moved
forward, thinking as he did so the captain in their midst was a dead
ringer for the dead android that had been on the lieutenant's lifeboat.

?Right, sir,?he announced as he stopped in front of the officer and
snapped off a crisp salute. ?Warder Aaron,

137512.?

The captain ignored him. ?Where is Lieutenant Ripley? Is she still alive??

A little miffed at the indifference but still eager to be of help, Aaron
replied quickly. ?Right, sir. If she's alive, she's in the mold. They're
all in the leadworks with the beast, sir. Absolute madness. Wouldn't
wait. I tried to tell 'em-?

The officer cut him off abruptly. ?You've seen this beast??

?Right, sir. Horrible. Unbelievable. She's got one inside her.? 211 3 211

?We know that.?He nodded tersely in the direction of the commandos.
?We'll take over now. Show us where you last saw her.?

Aaron nodded, eagerly led them into the depths of the complex.

Ripley and Dillon continued retreating into the mold until there was
ceramic alloy at their backs and nowhere else to stand. A grinding of
gears caught her attention and her head jerked back. Overhead she could
see machinery moving as the refinery responded inexorably to its
programmed sequence.

?Climb,?she told her companion. ?It's our only chance!?

?What about you??Dillon spoke as the alien entered the back part of the
mold, forced along by the massive piston.

?It won't kill me.?

?Bullshit! There's gonna be ten tons of hot metal in here!?

?Good! I keep telling you I want to die.?

?Yeah, but I don't-?

Soon the alien would be on top of them. ?Now's your chance,?Ripley
shouted. ?Get going!?

He hesitated, then grabbed her. ?I'm taking you with me!?He shoved her
bodily upward.

Despite her resistance he managed to climb. Seeing that he wasn't going
to go without her she reluctantly started to follow suit, moving in
front of him up the side of the mold. The alien turned away from the
piston, spotted them, and followed.

At the top of the mold Ripley secured herself on the edge and reached
down to help Dillon. The pursuing alien's 212

Alan Dean Foster

inner jaws shot out, reaching. Dillon kicked down, slashing with the
fire axe.

Ripley continued her ascent as Dillon fought off the pursuit. More noise
drew her attention to the now functioning gantry crane. She could see
Morse inside, cursing and hammering at the controls.

The Company squad appeared on the crest of the observation platform,
their leader taking in all of what was happening below at a glance.
Morse saw them shouting at him, ignored them as he frantically worked
controls.

The container of now molten alloy bubbled as it was tipped.

?Don't do it!?the captain of the new arrivals shouted. 'No!?

The alien was very close now, but not quite close enough. Not quite.
White-hot liquid metal poured past Ripley and Dillon, a torrent of
intense heat that forced both of them to cover their faces with their
hands. The metallic cascade struck the alien and knocked it screeching
back into the mold, sweeping it away as flames leaped in all directions.

High above, Morse stood and stared down through the window of the crane,
his expression a mask of satisfaction.

?Eat shit, you miserable fucker!?

Dillon joined Ripley on the edge of the mold, both of them staring
downward as they shielded their faces against the heat rising from the
pool of bubbling metal. Suddenly her attention was drawn by movement
across the way.

?They're here!?She clutched desperately at her companion. ?Keep your
promise!?

Dillon stared at her. ?You mean it.?

?Yes! I've got it inside me! Quit fucking around!?

Uncertainly, he put his hands around her throat.

She stared at him angrily. ?Do it!? 213 213

His fingers tightened. A little pressure, a twist, and her neck would
snap. That was all it would take. A moment of effort, of exertion. It
wasn't as if he didn't know how, as if he hadn't done it before, a long
time ago.

?I can't!?The denial emerged from his throat half cry, half croak. ?I
can't do it!?He looked at her almost pleadingly.

His expression turned to one of horror as he turned around, only to
confront the burning and smoking alien. Resigned, he allowed himself to
be pulled into its embrace, the two of them vanishing beneath the
roiling surface of the molten metal. Ripley looked on in astonishment,
at once repelled and fascinated. An instant later the curving alien
skull reappeared. Dripping molten metal, it began to haul itself out of
the mold.

Looking around wildly, she spotted the emergency chain. It was old and
corroded, as might be the controls it activated. Not that it mattered.
There was nothing else. She wrenched on it.

Water erupted from the large bore quencher that hung over the lip of the
mold. She found herself tangled up in the chain, unable to get loose.
The torrent of water drenched her, sweeping her around in tight spirals.
But the chain would not let her go.

The cold water struck the alien and its hot metal coat. The head
exploded first, then the rest of the body. Then the mold, vomiting
chunks of supercooled metal and steam. Morse was thrown to the floor of
the crane's cab as it rocked on its supports, while the commando unit
ducked reflexively for cover.

Warm water and rapidly cooling metal rained down on the chamber.

When the deluge ended, the commando team resumed 214

Alan Dean Foster

its approach. But not before Ripley had swung herself up onto the crane
platform, Morse reaching out to help her.

Once aboard, she leaned against the guard rail and gazed down into the
furnace. Time again to be sick. The attacks of nausea and pain were
coming more rapidly now.

She spotted the Company men coming up the stairs from below, heading for
the crane. Aaron was in the forefront. She tried to escape but had no
place to go.

?Don't come any closer,?she shouted. ?Stay where you are.?

Aaron halted. ?Wait. They're here to help.?

She stared at him, pitying the poor simpleton. He had no idea what the
stakes were, or what was likely to happen to him when the Company
finally obtained what it was after. Except that that was not going to
happen.

Another wave of nausea swept over her and she staggered against the
railing. As she straightened, a figure stepped out from behind the
heavily armed commandos. She gaped, uncertain at first of what she was
seeing. It was a face she knew.

?Bishop??she heard herself mumbling uncertainly.

He stopped, the others crowding close behind him, waiting for orders.
The figure indicated they should relax. Then he turned to her, smiling
reassuringly.

?I just want to help you. We're all on the same side.?

?No more bullshit!?she snapped. Weak as she was, it took an effort to
make the exclamation sound convincing. ?I just felt the damn thing move.?

As everyone present watched, she stepped farther out on the gantry
platform. Something smacked into her lungs and she winced, never taking
her eyes off the figure before her.

It was Bishop. No, not Bishop, but a perfect duplicate 215 215

of him. A completely in control, perfect down to the pores on his chin
double of the sadly dismembered and cybernetically deceased Bishop.
Bishop II, she told herself numbly. Bishop Redux. Bishop to pawn four;
Bishop takes Queen.

Not as long as this lady's alive, she thought determinedly.

?You know who I am,?the figure said.

?Yeah. A droid. Same model as Bishop. Sent by the fucking Company.?

?I'm not the Bishop android. I designed it. I'm the prototype, so
naturally I modeled its features after my own. I'm very human. I was
sent here to show you a friendly face, and to demonstrate how important
you are to us. To me. I've been involved with this project from the
beginning. You mean a lot to me, Lieutenant Ripley. To a great many
people. Please come down.

?I just want to help you. We have everything here to help you,
Ripley.?He gazed anxiously up at her. Now she recognized the outfits two
of Bishop 2's companions wore: they were biomedical technicians. It made
her think of Clemens.

?Fuck you. I know all about 'friendly' Company faces. The last one I saw
belonged to an asshole named Burke.?

The man's smile faded. ?Mr. Burke proved to be a poor choice to
accompany your previous mission, an individual rather more interested in
his own personal aggrandizement than in good Company policy. I assure
you it was a mistake that will not be repeated. That is why I am here
now instead of some inexperienced, overly ambitious underling.?

?And you, of course, have no personal ambitions.?

?I only want to help you.?

?You're a liar,?she said quietly. ?You don't give a shit about me or
anyone else. You just want to take it back. 216

Alan Dean Foster

These things have acid for blood where you Company people just have
money. I don't see a lot of difference.?

Bishop II studied the floor for a moment before again raising his eyes
to the solitary figure atop the crane platform. ?You have plenty of
reasons to be wary, but unfortunately not much time. We just want to
take you home. We don't care anymore what happens to it. We know what
you've been through. You've shown great courage.?

?Bullshit!?

?You're wrong. We want to help.?

?What does that mean??

?We want to take the thing out of you.?

?And keep it??

Bishop II shook his head. ?No. Destroy it.?

She stood, swaying, wanting to believe him. Sensing her hesitation, he
hurried on. ?Ripley, you're exhausted, worn out. Give yourself a moment.
Stop and think. I have only your best interests at heart. The ship I
came in, the Patna, is equipped with a state-of-the-art surgical
facility. We can remove the fetus, or larva, or whatever you want to
call it. We don't have a name for the different developmental stages
yet. The operation will be successful! You're going to have a long,
productive life.?

She looked down at him, calm now, resigned. ?I've had a life, thanks.
One I didn't have to ask anybody about or answer to anybody for.?

He held up a hand, imploring. ?You're not thinking straight, Ripley! We
admit we made mistakes. We didn't know. But we can make it up to you.
All the potential lost, all the time. You can still have children. We'll
buy out your contract. You'll get everything you deserve. We owe you.?

She wavered. ?You're not going to take it back??

?No. We realize now what we've been up against. 217

You've been right all along. But time is running out. Let us deal with
it. The surgery on the ship is ready to go.?

The biotech immediately behind him stepped forward. ?It's very quick.
Painless. A couple of incisions. You'll be out for two hours-that's all.
Then back on your feet, good as new. Whole again.?

?What guarantee do I have that once you've taken this thing out you'll
destroy it??

Bishop II advanced another step. He was quite close now, looking across
at her. ?You're just going to have to trust me.?He extended his hand in
friendship. ?Trust me. Please. We only want to help you.?

She considered, taking her time. She saw Aaron watching her, and Morse.
Her gaze went back to Bishop II.

She slid shut the gate between them. ?No-?

A nod to Morse and he hit the control panel, putting the crane in
motion. It rumbled away from the stairs, out over the furnace. As it did
so, Bishop II lunged, grabbing at Ripley. She broke free and stumbled
away from him.

The commandos responded and Morse took a bullet in the shoulder,
dropping down behind the crane's control panel.

Aaron picked up a chunk of broken pipe, muttering, ?You fucking
droid!?The pipe landed hard on Bishop 2's head.

The impact was spongy. Then man staggered, twitching, as his troops shot
the acting superintendent down. Real blood poured from Bishop II's
cracked skull.

?I am... not a... droid,?the bleeding figure mumbled in surprise as it
crumpled to the floor.

Ripley clutched at her chest. ?It's moving.?Company men rushed to the
fallen Bishop II. He turned on his side, watching her.

?You owe it to us. You owe it to yourself.?

A beatific smile crossed her face. Then she almost 218

Alan Dean Foster

snarled. ?No way!?The crane platform was now directly over the caldron.
Her stomach thumped and she staggered. Calmly, in complete control, she
stepped to the edge. Below her feet boiled a lake of molten metal, the
proximate inferno raising blisters on her skin, rising tendrils of heat
reaching up invitingly.

?It's too late!?

?It's not!?Bishop II pleaded with her.

Staggering, she clutched both hands to her chest over the rising heat.

?Good-bye.?

?Nooo!?Bishop II howled.

She stepped off the platform and vanished into the bubbling caldron below.

Morse had staggered erect in time to see her fall. Clutching at his
wounded shoulder, he watched, murmuring.

?Those who are dead are not dead. They have moved up. Moved higher.?

Having nothing else to do now, the biotechs bandaged Morse up. Other
Company men, silent, not talking even among themselves, went about the
business of methodically shutting down the furnace, the refinery, the
rest of WeylandYutani Work Correctional Facility Fury 161.

Out there messages linger. Ghosts of radio transmissions drifting
forever, echoes of words preceding and lives gone before. Occasionally
they're detected, picked up, transcribed. Sometimes they mean something
to those who hear; other times not. Sometimes they're lengthy, other
times brief. As in ...

?This is Ripley, last surviving member of the Nostromo, signing off.?