Alien

XII

The four surviving members of the Nostromo's crew reassembled in the mess. It was no longer cramped, confining. It had acquired a spaciousness the four loathed, and held memories they struggled to put aside.

Parker held two flamethrowers, dumped one onto the bare tabletop.

Ripley gazed sadly at him. 'Where was it?'

'We just found it lying there, on the floor of the mixing chamber below the walkway,' the engineer said dully. 'No sign of him. No blood. Nothing.'

'What about the alien?'

'The same. Nothing. Only a hole torn through to the central cooling complex. Right through the metal. I didn't think it was that strong.'

'None of us did. Dallas didn't either. We've been two steps behind this creature since we first brought the handstage aboard. That's got to change. From now on, we assume it's capable of anything, including invisibility.'

'No known creature is a natural invisible,' Ash insisted.

She glared back at him. 'No known creature can peel back three-centimetre-thick ship plating, either.' Ash offered no response to that. 'It's about time we all realized what we're up against.' There was silence in the mess.

'Ripley, this puts you in command.' Parker looked straight at her. 'It's okay with me.'

'Okay.' She studied him, but both his words and attitude were devoid of sarcasm. For once he'd dropped his omnipresent bullshit.

What now, Ripley, she asked herself? Three faces watched hers expectantly, waited for instructions. She searched her mind frantically for brilliance, found only uncertainty, fear, and confusion-precisely the same feelings her companions were no doubt experiencing. She began to understand Dallas a little better, and now it didn't matter.

'That's settled, then. Unless someone's got a better idea about how to deal with the alien, we'll proceed with the same plan as before.'

'And wind up the same way.' Lambert shook her head. 'No thanks.'

'You've got a better idea, then?'

'Yes. Abandon ship. Take the shuttlecraft and get the hell out of here. Take our chances on making Earth orbit and getting picked up. Once we get back in well-travelled space someone's bound to hear our SOS.'

Ash spoke softly, words better left unsaid. Lambert had forced them out of him now. 'You are forgetting something: Dallas and Brett may not be dead. It's a ghastly probability, I'll grant you, but it's not a certainty. We can't abandon ship until we're sure one way or the other.'

'Ash is right,' agreed Ripley. 'We've got to give it another try. We know it's using the air shafts. Let's take it level by level. This time we'll laser-seal every bulkhead and vent behind us until we corner it.'

'I'll go along with that.' Parker glanced over at Lambert. She said nothing, looked downcast.

'How are our weapons?' Ripley asked him.

The engineer took a moment to check levels and feedlines on the flamethrowers. 'The lines and nozzles are still plenty clean. From what I can see they're working fine.' He gestured at Dallas's incinerator on the table. 'We could use more fuel for that one.' He turned somber. 'A fair amount's been used.'

'Then you better go get some to replace it. Ash, you go with him.'

Parker looked at the science officer. His expression was unreadable. 'I can manage.' Ash nodded. The engineer cradled his own weapon, turned, and left.

The rest of them stood morosely around the table, awaiting Parker's return. Unable to stand the silence, Ripley turned to face the science officer.

'Any other thoughts? Fresh ideas, suggestions, hints? From you or Mother.'

He shrugged, looked apologetic. 'Nothing new. Still collating information.'

She stared hard at him. 'I can't believe that. Are you telling me that with everything we've got on board this ship in the way of recorded information we can't come up with something better to use against this thing?'

'That's the way it looks, doesn't it? Keep in mind this is not your average, predictable feral we're dealing with. You said yourself it might be capable of anything.

'It possesses a certain amount of mental ammunition, at least as much as a dog and probably more than a chimpanzee. It has also demonstrated an ability to learn. As a complete stranger to the Nostromo, it has succeeded in quickly learning how to travel about the ship largely undetected. It is swift, powerful, and cunning. A predator the likes of which we've never encountered before. It is not so surprising our efforts to deal with it have met with, failure.'

'You sound like you're ready to give up.'

'I am only restating the obvious.'

'This is a modern, well-equipped ship, able to travel through hyperspace and execute a variety of complex functions. You're telling me that all its resources are inadequate to cope with a single large animal?'

'I'm sorry, Captain. I've given you my evaluation of the situation as I see it. Wishing otherwise will not alter facts. A man with a gun may hunt a tiger during the day with some expectation of success. Turn out his light, put the man in the jungle at night, surround him with the unknown, and all his primitive fears return. Advantage to the tiger.

'We are operating in the darkness of ignorance.'

'Very poetic, but not very useful.'

'I'm sorry.' He did not appear to care one way or the other. 'What do you want me to do?'

'Try and alter some of those "facts" you're so positive about. Go back to Mother,' she ordered him, 'and keep asking questions until you get some better answers.'

'All right. I'll try. Though I don't know what you expect. Mother can't hide information.'

'Try different questions. If you'll remember, I had some luck working through ECIU. The distress signal that wasn't?'

'I remember.' Ash regarded her with respect. 'Maybe you're right.' He left.

Lambert had taken a seat. Ripley moved and sat down next to her.

'Try to hang on. You know Dallas would have done the same for us. No way he would've left the ship without making sure whether or not we were alive.'

Lambert didn't look mollified. 'All I know is that you're asking us to stay and get picked off one by one.'

'I promise you. If it looks like it won't work out, I'll bail us out of here fast. I'll be the first one on the boat.'

She had a sudden thought. It was a peculiar one, oddly out of place and yet strangely relevant in some inexplicable way to all her present concerns. She glanced over at Lambert. Her companion had to answer truthfully or there'd be no point in asking the question. She decided that while Lambert might be queasy where other matters were involved, on this particular subject Ripley could trust her reply.

Of course, an answer one way or another probably wouldn't mean a thing. It was just a perverse little mind bubble that would grow and continue to dominate her thoughts until she popped it. No real meaning.

'Lambert, did you ever sleep with Ash?'

'No.' Her reply was immediate, leaving no room for hesitation or second thoughts. 'What about you?'

'No.' Both went quiet for a few minutes before Lambert spoke up voluntarily.

'I never got the impression,' she said casually, 'he was particularly interested.'

That was the end of it as far as the navigator was concerned. It was almost the end of it as far as Ripley was concerned. She could not have said why she continued to mull over the thought. But it hung maddeningly in her mind, tormenting her, and for her life's blood she couldn't imagine why.

Parker checked the level on the first methane cylinder, made sure the bottle of highly compressed gas was full. He did the same with a second, resting nearby. Then he hefted the two heavy containers and started back up the companionway.

It was as lonely on B deck as it had been below. The sooner he rejoined the others, the better he'd feel. In fact, he wished now he'd let Ash accompany him. He'd been an idiot to run off for the cylinders by himself. Everyone who'd been taken by the alien had been alone. He tried to jog a little faster, despite the awkward weight of the bottles.

He turned a bend in the corridor, stopped, nearly dropping one of the containers. Ahead lay the main airlock. Beyond it, but not far beyond, something had moved. Or had it? It was time for imagining things and he blinked, trying to clear mind and eyes.

He'd almost started ahead again when the shadow movement was repeated. There was a vague suggestion of something tall and heavy. Looking around, he located one of the ubiquitous wall 'coms. Ripley and Lambert should still be on the bridge. He thumbed the switch beneath the grid.

Something indecipherable drifted out from the speaker set in Ripley's console. At first she thought it was only localized static, then decided she recognized a word or two.

'Ripley here.'

'Keep it down!' the engineer whispered urgently into the pickup. Ahead of him, the movement in the corridor had suddenly ceased. If the creature had heard him. .

'I can't hear you' Ripley exchanged a puzzled look with Lambert, who looked blank. But when she spoke into her pickup again, she kept her voice down as requested. 'Repeat. . why the need for quiet?'

'The alien.' Parker whispered it, not daring to raise his voice. 'It's outside the starboard lock. Yes, right now!' Open the door slowly. When I give the word, close it fast and blow the outer hatch.'

'Are you sure. .?'

He interrupted her quickly. 'I tell you, we've got it! Just do as I tell you.' He forced himself to calm down. 'Now open it. Slowly.'

Ripley hesitated, started to say something, then saw Lambert nodding vigorously. If Parker was wrong, they had nothing to lose but a minuscule amount of air. If he knew what he was doing, on the other hand. . She threw a switch.

Below, Parker tried to become part of the corridor wall as a low whinesounded. The inner airlock door moved aside. The creature came out of the shadows and moved toward it. Several lights were flashing inside the lock. One was an especially bright emerald green. The alien regarded it with interest, moved to stand on the threshold of the lock.

Come on, damn you, the engineer thought frantically. Look at the pretty green light! That's right. Wouldn't you like to have the pretty green light all to yourself? Sure you would. Just step inside and take the beautiful greenness. Just a couple of steps inside and it can be yours forever. Just a couple of steps, God, just a couple of steps.

Fascinated by the steadily pulsing indicator, the alien stepped into the lock. It was completely inside. Not by much, but who could tell when it might suddenly grow bored, or suspicious?

'Now,' he husked into the pickup, 'now.'

Ripley prepared to throw the emergency close. Her hand was halfway to the toggle when the Nostromo's emergency Klaxon wailed for attention. She and Lambert froze. Each looked to the other, saw only her own personal shock mirrored in her companion's face. Ripley threw the toggle over.

The alien heard the Klaxon too. Muscles contracted and it sprang backward, clearing the threshold of the lock in a single incredible leap. The hatch door slammed shut just a fraction faster. One appendage was pinned between wall and door.

Liquid boiled out of the crushed member. The alien made a noise, like a moan or bellow made underwater. It wrenched itself backward, leaving the trapped limb pinned between metal. Then it turned and rushed down the corridor, blind with pain, hardly seeing the paralyzed engineer as it lifted and threw him aside before vanishing around the nearest corner. Above the crumpled Parker a green light was flashing and the words INNER HATCH CLOSED showed on a readout.

The metal of the lock continued to bubble and melt as the outer hatch swung open. A puff of frozen air appeared outside the lock as the atmosphere that had been contained within rushed into space.

'Parker?' Ripley spoke anxiously into the pickup, jabbed a switch, adjusted a slide. 'Parker? What's happening down there?' Her attention was caught by a green light winking steadily on her console.

'What's going on?' Lambert leaned out of her seat. 'Did it work?'

'I'm not sure. The inner hatch is scaled and the outer hatch has been popped.'

'That should do it. But what about Parker?'

'I don't know. I can't get a response out of him. If it worked, he should be screaming fit to bust the speakers.' She made a decision. 'I'm going down to see. Take over.' She slipped out of her chair, raced for B corridor.

She nearly fell a couple of times. Once she stumbled into a bulkhead and nearly knocked herself out. Somehow she kept her balance and staggered on. The alien was not uppermost in her mind. It was Parker, another human being. A rare enough commodity on board the Nostromo now.

She raced down the companionway onto B corridor, headed up toward the airlock. It was empty, except for a limp form sprawled across the deck: Parker.

She bent over him. He was groggy and half conscious. 'What happened? You look like hell. Did. .?'

The engineer was trying to form words, had to settle for gesturing feebly toward the airlock. Ripley shut up, looked in the indicated direction, saw the bubbling hole in the lock door. The outer hatch was still open, ostensibly after blowing the alien out into nothingness. She started to rise.

The acid ate completely through.

There was a bang of departing air, and a small hurricane enveloped them. Air screamed as it was sucked into a vacuum. A flashing red sign appeared in several recesses in the corridor walls.

CRITICAL DEPRESSURIZATION.

The Klaxon was sounding again, more hysterically now and with better reason. Emergency doors slammed shut all over the ship, beginning with the breached section. Parker and Ripley should have been safely sealed in a section of corridor. . except that the airtight door separating them from the airlock vestibule had jammed on one of the methane cylinders.

Wind continued to tear at her as she hunted for something, anything, to fight with. There was only the remaining tank. She raised it, used it to hammer at the jammed cylinder. If either one of them cracked, a slight spark from metal banging on metal could set off the contents of both bottles. But if she didn't knock it free, quickly, the complete depressurization would kill them anyway.

Lack of air was already weakening her. Blood frothed at her nose and ears. The fall in pressure made Parker's existing wounds bleed afresh.

She heaved the bottle at the trapped cylinder a last time. It popped free as easily as a clean birth. The door slammed the rest of the way shut behind it, and the howl of disappearing wind vanished. Confused air continued to swirl around them for several minutes more.

On the bridge, Lambert had seen the ominous readouts appear on her console: HULL BREACHED–-EMERGENCY BULKHEADS CLOSED. She hit the 'com.

'Ash, get some oxygen. Meet me at the main lock by the last of the sealed doors.'

'Check. Be right there.'

Ripley staggered to her feet, fighting for every breath in the atmosphere-depleted chamber. She headed for the emergency release set inside every bulkhead door. There was a stud there that would slide the door back, opening onto the next sealed section and fresh air.

At the last instant, as she was about to depress the red button, she saw to her horror that she was fumbling against the door leading not down B corridor, but to the empty vestibule outside the lock. She turned, tried to aim herself, and fell as much as walked to the opposite door. It took precious minutes to locate the panel on it. Thoughts swam in her brain, broke apart like oil on water. The air around her was turning foggy, full of the smell of roses and lilac.

She thumbed the stud. The door didn't move. Then she saw she was pushing the wrong control. Sagging against the door for support, trying to give her rubbery legs some badly needed assistance, she fought to gather her strength for another try. There wasn't much air left worth breathing.

A face appeared at the port set in the door. It was distorted, bloated, yet somehow familiar. It seemed that she knew that face from sometime long ago. Someone named Lambert lived behind that face. She was very tired now and started to slide slowly down the door.

She thought distant, angry thoughts as her last support was taken away. The door slid into the roof and her head struck the deck. A rush of clean air, ineffably sweet and refreshing, swept over her face. The mist began to fade from her eyes, though not yet from her starved brain.

A horn sounded the return of full internal pressurization as Lambert and Ash joined them. The science officer hurried to administer to Parker, who had collapsed again from lack of oxygen and was only now beginning to regain consciousness.

Ripley's eyes were open and working, but the rest of her body was dysfunctional. Hands and feet, legs and arms were sprawled in ungainly positions across her body and the deck, like the limbs of a slim, not particularly well-crafted doll. Her breath came in labored, shallow gasps.

Lambert set one of the oxygen tanks down next to her friend. She placed the transparent mask over Ripley's mouth and nose, opened the valve. Ripley inhaled. A wonderful perfume filled her lungs. Her eyes closed from sheer pleasure. She stayed that way, unmoving, sucking in long, deep draughts of pure oxygen. The only shock to her system was of delight.

Finally she moved the respirator aside, lay for a moment breathing normally. Full pressure had been restored, she noted. The bulkhead doors had automatically retracted with the return of standard atmosphere.

To replenish that atmosphere, she knew, the ship had been forced to bleed their storage tanks. They'd deal with that new problem when they were forced to, she thought.

'Are you all right?' Ash was querying Parker. 'What finally happened here?'

Parker wiped a crust of dried blood from his upper mouth, tried to shake the webs from his brain. 'I'll live.' For the moment, he ignored the science officer's last question.

'What about the alien?' Ash tried again.

Parker shook his head, wincing at some sudden pain. 'We didn't get it. The warning Klaxon went off and it jumped back into the corridor. It caught an arm, or whatever you'd like to call it, in the closing inner door. Just pulled itself free like a lizard shedding its tail.'

'Why not,' commented Ash, 'with its inbuilt talent for regeneration?'

The engineer continued, sounding every bit as disappointed as he felt. 'We had the bastard. We had him.' He paused, added, 'When it pulled free of its limb, it bled all over the place. The limb did. I guess the stump healed over fast, lucky for us. The acid ate right through the hatch. That's what caused the depressurization.' He pointed shakily toward the door sealing off the airlock vestibule from the rest of the corridor.

'You can probably see the hole in the hatch from here.'

'Never mind that now.' Ash looked up curiously. 'Who hit the warning siren?'

Ripley was staring over at him. 'You tell me.'

'What does that mean?'

She wiped blood from her nose, sniffed. 'I guess the alarm went off by itself. That would be the logical explanation, wouldn't it? Just a temporary, slightly coincidental malfunction?'

The science officer rose, looked at her from beneath lowered lids. She'd made certain the remaining methane cylinder was within reach before she'd spoken. But Ash made no move toward her. She still couldn't figure him.

If he was guilty, he ought to jump her while she was weakened and Parker was worse. If he was innocent, he ought to be mad enough to do the same. He was doing nothing, which she hadn't prepared for.

At least his first words in response were predictable. He did sound angrier than usual. 'If you've got something to say, say it. I'm getting sick of these constant, coy insinuations. Of being accused.'

'Nobody's accusing you.'

'Like hell.' He lapsed into sullen silence. Ripley said nothing for a long moment, then gestured at Parker. 'Take him to the infirmary and get him patched up. Leastwise we know the autodoc can handle that.'

Ash gave the engineer a hand up, slipped Parker's right arm over his shoulders, and helped him down the corridor. Ash walked past Ripley without looking back at her.

When he and his burden had disappeared around the first turn, Ripley reached up with a hand. Lambert took it, leaned back, and watched with concern as Ripley swayed a little on her feet. Ripley smiled, released the steadying hand.

'I'll be okay.' She brushed fitfully at the stains on her pants. 'How much oxygen did that little episode cost us? I'll need an exact reading.' Lambert didn't reply, continued to stare speculatively at her.

'Something wrong with that? Why are you looking at me that way? Oxygen readings no longer for public consumption?'

'Don't bite my head off,' Lambert replied, without rancor. Her tone was disbelieving. 'You were accusing him. You actually accused him of sounding the alarm to save the alien.' She shook her head slowly. 'Why?'

'Because I think he's lying. And if I can get into the tape records, I'll prove it.'

'Prove what? Even if you could somehow prove that he was responsible for the alarm going off, you can't prove that it wasn't an accident.'

'Mighty funny time for that sort of accident, wouldn't you say?' Ripley was silent for a bit, then asked softly, 'You still think I'm wrong, don't you?'

'I don't know.' Lambert looked more tired than argumentative. 'I don't know anything anymore. Yeah, I guess I have to say I think you're wrong. Wrong or crazy. Why would Ash, or anyone, want to protect the alien? It'll kill him as dead as it did Dallas and Brett. If they are dead.'

'Thanks. Always like to know who I can depend on.' Ripley turned away from the navigator, strode purposefully down the corridor toward the companionway.

Lambert watched her go, shrugged, and started gathering up the cylinders. She handled the methane with as much care as the oxygen. It was equally vital to their survival. .

'Ash, you in there? Parker?' When no response was forthcoming, Ripley cautiously entered the central computer annex. For an indeterminate time, she had the mind of the Nostromo completely to herself.

Taking a seat in front of the main console, she activated the board, rammed a thumb insistently against the identification plate. Data screens flickered to life.

So far it had been easy. Now she had to work. She thought for a moment, tapped out a five-digit code she thought would generate the response she needed. The screens remained blank, waiting for the proper query. She tried a second, little-used combination, with equal lack of success.

She swore in frustration. If she was reduced to trying random combinations she'd be working in the annex until doomsday. Which, at the rate the alien was reducing the crew, would not be far in the future.

She tried a tertiary combination instead of a primary and was stunned when the screen promptly cleared, ready to receive and disseminate. But it didn't print out a request for input. That meant the code had been only half successful. What to do?

She glanced over at the secondary keyboard. It was accessible to any member of the crew, but not privy to confidential or comment information. If she could remember the interlock combination, she could use the second keyboard to place questions with the main bank.

Quickly she changed seats, entered the hopefully correct interlock code, and typed out the first question. The key would be whether or not the interlock was accepted without question. Acceptability would be signified by the appearance of her question on the screen.

Colours chased one another for a second. The screen cleared.

WHO TURNED ON AIRLOCK 2 WARNING SYSTEM?

The response was flashed below.

ASH.

She sat digesting that. It was the reply she'd expected, but having it printed out coldly for anyone to read brought the real import of it down on her heavily. So it had been Ash. The critical question now was: Had it been Ash all the time? She entered the follow-up query:

IS ASH PROTECTING THE ALIEN?

This seemed to be Mother's day for brief responses.

YES.

She could be brief in turn. Her fingers moved on the keys.

WHY?

She leaned forward tensely. If the computer chose not to reveal further information, she knew of no additional codes that could pry answers free. There was also the possibility that the computer truly had no explanation for the science officer's bizarre actions.

It did, though.

SPECIAL ORDER 937 SCIENCE PERSONNEL EYES ONLY RESTRICTED INFORMATION.

Well, she'd managed this long. She could work around those restrictions. She was starting to when a hand slammed down next to her, sinking up to the elbow in the computer terminal.

Spinning in the chair, her heart missing a beat, she saw, not the creature, but a form and face now become equally alien to her.

Ash smiled slightly. There was no humor in that upturning of lips. 'Command seems a bit too much for you to handle. But then, proper leadership is always difficult under these circumstances. I guess you can't be blamed.'

Ripley slowly backed out of her chair, carefully keeping it between them. Ash's words might be conciliatory, even sympathetic. His actions were not

'The problem's not leadership, Ash. It's loyalty.' She kept the wall at her back, started circling toward the doorway. Still grinning, he turned to face her.

'Loyalty? I see no lack of that.' He was all charm now, she thought. 'I think we've all been doing our best. Lambert's getting a little pessimistic, but we've always known she's on the emotional side. She's very good at plotting the course of a ship, not so good at planning her own.'

Ripley continued to edge around him, forcing herself to smile back. 'I'm not worried about Lambert right now. I'm worried about you.' She started to turn to face the open doorway, feeling her stomach muscles tightening in anticipation.

'All that paranoia coming up again,' he said sadly. 'You just need to rest a little.' He took a step toward her, reached out helpfully.

She bolted, ducking just beneath his clutching fingers. Then she was out in the corridor, sprinting for the bridge. She was too busy to scream for help, and she needed the wind.

There was no one on the bridge. Somehow she got around him again, throwing emergency switches as she ran. Bulkhead doors responded by dropping shut behind her, each one just a second too late to cut him off.

He finally caught her in the mess chamber. Parker and Lambert arrived seconds later. The signals set off by the closing bulkhead doors had alerted them that something was wrong in the vicinity of the bridge, and they'd been on their way there when they encountered pursuer and pursued.

While it was not the type of emergency they'd expected to find, they reacted well. Lambert was first in. She jumped on Ash's back. Annoyed, he let go of Ripley, grabbed the navigator, and threw her across the room, then returned to what he'd been doing a moment before, trying to squeeze the life out of Ripley.

Parker's reaction was less immediate but better thought out. Ash would have appreciated the engineer's reasoning. Parker hefted one of the compact trackers and stepped behind Ash, who single-mindedly continued to choke Ripley. The engineer swung the tracker with all his strength.

There was a dull thunk. The tracker continued through its arc while Ash's head went a different way.

There was no blood. Only multihued wires and printed circuits showed, protruding from the terminated stump of the science officer's neck.

Ash released Ripley. She collapsed on the floor, choking and holding her throat. His hands performed a macabre pantomime above his shoulders while hunting for the missing skull. Then he, or more properly, it, stumbled backward, regained its balance, and commenced searching the deck for the separated head. .