Alien Resurrection

by A. C. Crispin

  Ripley looked over her shoulder at the armed man and his partner, her expression glazing over, changing back to the dispassionate mannequin. For half a second no one moved, as Distephano’s trigger finger tightened imperceptibly. Then the woman opened her hands almost casually, as if she’d just lost interest in Wren, and dismounted from his back. The scientist collapsed against the floor and struggled for air.

  Gediman glanced at his senior officer, wanting to go to him, offer first aid, make sure she hadn’t crushed his larynx or broken his ribs, but he was afraid to move, afraid any motion on his part would set Ripley off again, or draw the fire of the two soldiers.

  Wren suddenly drew in a ragged, harsh breath, his color quickly going from blue to red again. He sucked in air desperately, gratefully.

  Distephano moved forward boldly, shoving Ripley, who was standing once more, to the middle of the room. “On the floor! On your face! Now!” he ordered, still shouting, still in cold command.

  She stood her ground, every bit as tall as he, and met his gaze defiantly, eye to eye.

  He shot her where she stood, the electrical charge slamming into her, sending her hurtling into equipment and specimens.

  “NO!” Gediman heard himself scream, his voice high-pitched, shrill—hysterical. Had that stupid grunt killed her?

  Both soldiers closed in on the prone woman where she lay sprawled, her limbs twisted, useless. They were ready for another shot—a killing shot.

  Before Gediman could do anything, Wren struggled to his knees, waved at the soldiers. His voice was ragged as he called out, “No! No! I’m not hurt! Back off…

  It’s too late! Gediman thought, wanting to cry. Too late! All that work. Now, she’s dead. Dead or so badly damaged…

  Ripley groaned, rolled slowly onto her back, panting, looking around the room as if she’d never seen it before. Somehow, her eyes found Gediman, held him. He stared back, amazed. She was still functioning! Her mind still worked! After taking a charge like that!

  She stared unflinchingly at Gediman, finally murmuring one word. “Why…?”

  Across the room, Gediman heard her quiet question, and felt a stirring of fear. What would happen when she found out?

  * * *

  Surreptitiously, she tested the restraints again. They held solidly, unyielding. She relaxed. The man sitting in front of her, talking, never noticed, never realized what she was doing even though she was only one good stride away from him. Neither did the armed, alert guard behind her. They were dull, these humans. Dull, and soft, and slow. But they could build effective devices, devices that gave them advantages in spite of their dullness, their softness, their slow speed. Like the device that contained her now. It was comfortable, and stronger than it appeared. Once forced to sit in it, she could not leave. She could not free her body, her arms. When she was locked inside it, they could move her around at will, take her anywhere, do whatever they wanted.

  And all she could do was sit. Sit and wait. She was good at waiting. Better at it, she suspected, than these humans.

  The man before her was talking. Talking, talking, talking. He’d been talking for so long she would’ve happily crushed his throat just to shut him up. He was trying to get her to speak, now that they knew she could. He was trying to get her to recognize simple images and repeat their names. They’d been at this for almost an hour. She was bored to death.

  He held up a simple drawing of a building and spelled out its name. “H-O-U-S-E.” She didn’t answer, so he spelled it again with infinite patience, his voice gentle, modulated. “H-O-U-S-E.” She stared straight at him and said nothing, just to make him uncomfortable. He spelled it again.

  The name on his white garment read “Kinloch.” The name on the guard’s helmet said “Vehrenberg.” The sign over the mechanism that opened the door read, “You must summon the guard on duty before the door will be opened.” It said the same thing in six other languages including Arabic and Japanese. She knew that because she could read those languages. She didn’t question how she could do those things, any more than she questioned how she could breathe, or think, or eliminate. She just did them.

  Kinloch held up another drawing. “B-O-A-T.”

  She wondered if his bones were as brittle as those of the man behind the glass, the man who’d been working on her with the robot arms. Those thoughts entertained her through several more spellings. The fifth time he spelled the same word, she decided she’d had enough. Wearily, she muttered, “Boat.”

  The man’s expression was so pleased, she instantly regretted it. He showed her another picture. This time she repeated the word instantly, just to curtail the repetition. “Dog.”

  The drawings all had associations in her mind, but none that triggered specific memories. They were things that had names, easy names, names she knew. It was a pointless exercise. She glanced at the pile of drawings Kinloch had in front of him and nearly groaned. It was such a thick pile!

  * * *

  In the experimental lab, General Martin Allahandro Carlos Perez stood ramrod straight, arms crossed across his broad chest as he stared at the video monitor that displayed the woman’s testing session. He watched, but he was not sure he approved. Maintaining the host after the subject had been retrieved had never been part of the original plan. It had never even been considered. When the two scientists, Wren and Gediman, and the two soldiers, Distephano and Calabrese, had made their individual reports after the host’s attack on Wren, Perez had hauled the two doctors into his office for a good old-fashioned chewing out. But, in spite of the fact that they were military, just like he was, they weren’t really soldiers. In spite of their training, they were still doctors. While science required the same kind of rigid disciplines that military service did, historically, doctors were always the least conventional of soldiers, forever defying orders and creating havoc during their service. Perez knew it was because their first fealty was to the pursuit of knowledge, while a true soldier’s was to his commander, and his unit, and the twin gods of discipline and order. Science and martial order were often incompatible masters, and this host—this woman—was proof of that.

  She took a full charge at point-blank range and it merely stunned her. What the hell is she? And what the hell do these two want with her? Perez knew one thing. He didn’t like the idea of her staying on his ship. No, he didn’t like that, not at all.

  The two scientists, still trying to appease him after being forced to admit that they’d maintained the host’s life without officially notifying him of their intent to do so—never mind securing his permission—hovered around like a pair of nervous moths looking for a safe place to land. Perez frowned, remembering that they’d found grain moths in the mess stores today. How the tenacious little bastards survived processing he’d never understand.

  “It’s unprecedented,” Wren interjected, as the woman routinely identified the images on the child’s flashcards.

  “Totally!” his pet doctor, Gediman, parroted right after him. “She’s operating at a completely adult capacity!”

  The two scientists exchanged eye contact as if they had some sort of telepathic rapport.

  Perez frowned. “And her memories?”

  A look passed between them. “There are gaps,” Wren said finally, reluctantly. “And there’s some degree of cognitive dissonance.”

  Perez wondered if Wren really knew, or if he were guessing. Or if she were pulling the wool over his eyes. She’d already caught them off guard with two unprovoked acts of violence—if a predator’s attack can ever be considered unprovoked. What else might she be capable of? Perez was responsible for every person on this ship, even these two damned fools. Could he justify keeping this… this… What the hell is she anyway? Did he dare keep her alive and endanger everything, just because she gave these two overgrown kids some extra time to play doctor?

  Wren was clearly uncomfortable with Perez’s lack of enthusiasm. He wiped a bit of dirt off the video screen, as the doctor working with the host held
up the picture of a big orange cat. She looked at it, hesitated, then looked away, frowning, as if searching her memory.

  That’s interesting, Perez thought, wondering why that particular image—

  “She’s freaked!” Gediman decided.

  Wren glared at him disapprovingly. Perez knew he had no patience for that sort of unprofessional subjective language. It amused Perez to see the frayed edges of their alliance. No discipline. No loyalty. No focus. Just curiosity. Maybe that’s what killed that cat she didn’t want to look at.

  Wren spoke decisively. “‘It’ has some connective difficulties. A kind of low-level emotional autism. Certain reactions…”

  Perez tuned him out. Wren had a tendency to remind him of a politician—his vocabulary might be more complicated, but it was just as empty. He kept his focus on the woman. Whatever she was, she was still that. At least outwardly. He didn’t really approve of Wren’s attempts to deny that. Whether they decided to terminate her or not, labeling her with a lot of scientific jargon wouldn’t eliminate her individuality, her will to survive.

  The scientist in the room with Ripley gave up on the cat picture, and pulled up a different one. It was a simple cartoon-like drawing of a little girl with blond hair.

  The restrained woman’s body suddenly stiffened. The bored expression vanished, and her face changed, grew attentive. She stared at the picture, clearly surprised. Then her brow furrowed, her eyes softened. For a moment, it almost looked as if she might cry. The change was startling, and revealed, for a moment, her true humanity. Even the scientist in the room was taken aback and sat silent, no longer prodding her with the spelling of the word he wanted. For a moment, none of them said anything. None of them could.

  * * *

  The cartoonish picture of the child wavered before her eyes as her body jerked upright in the restraints. Her child! Her young! No, not hers… Yes, mine! My young! The picture meant everything and nothing all at the same time. Her mind swam with tumbled, chaotic scenes and memories she could not sort out.

  The steaming warmth of the crèche. The strength and safety of her own kind. The aloneness of individuality. And the driving need to find—

  Small, strong arms wrapped around her neck, small, strong legs wrapped around her waist. There was chaos, and she was that chaos. The warriors screamed and died. There was fire.

  I knew you would come.

  The sweeping pain of loss—sickening, irretrievable loss—flooded her mind, her entire body. Her eyes filled with liquid until she could not see, then emptied, clearing her vision, then filled again. It meant nothing—it meant everything.

  Mommy! Mommy!

  She searched for the connection to her own kind, she searched to find the strength and safety of the crèche, but it was not there. And in its place was nothing but this pain, this terrible loss. She was hollow. Empty. As she would ever be.

  She looked at the doctor holding the picture and longed to ask him the question she had asked the others. The question she knew they would not answer.

  Why? Why?

  Someday, she would have her answer. If not here and now, then soon. As the echoes of her young’s voice ricocheted around her brain, she determined she would have the answer. She would take it from them. In spite of their guns, in spite of their restraints. She would take it by force.

  * * *

  On the video screen, the woman blinked rapidly, and in spite of himself, Perez felt moved. She remembers the child, the little girl she saved. How is that possible?

  “But ‘it’ remembers,” he murmured to Wren, conceding, if reluctantly, to his scientist’s language. Then he looked straight at the doctor. “Why?”

  Wren was surprised as well. He couldn’t hide it. He turned away from the video screen and fumbled for an explanation. “Well, I’m guessing… collective memory. Passed down generationally, at a genetic level, by the Aliens. Almost like a highly evolved form of instinct. Perhaps it’s a survival mechanism to keep them unified, keep their species intact, regardless of the differing characteristics they might have to adopt from their varied hosts.” He mustered a tight smile. “An unexpected benefit of the genetic drift.”

  Does he think I’m as big an ass as he is? Perez stared at him unflinching, one wolf challenging another. The scientist dropped his eyes.

  Perez snorted mockingly. “‘Benefit’…?”

  He stared at the tortured expression on the woman’s face one last time. I’ve seen enough! Turning smartly on his heel, he left the room.

  Marching out of the lab and down the hallway, the two doctors trailed in his wake, still trying to win him over, placate him.

  “You’re not thinking termination…?” Gediman asked timorously.

  “Oh, boy, am I thinking termination!” Perez blurted. Gediman’s pained expression pleased him in a perverse way.

  Wren interjected quickly, assertively, trying to reassert his status as chief scientist. “We don’t perceive this as a problem. The host… It…”

  Perez halted, and turned to face Wren, moving right into his personal space. The two men stood toe to toe. “Ellen Ripley died trying to wipe this species out of existence, and for all intents and purposes she succeeded.” He jabbed a finger into Wren’s sternum. “I’m not anxious to see her picking up her old hobbies.” Especially not if she’s been the recipient of the “unexpected benefits of genetic drift!”

  To Perez’s surprise, Wren didn’t flinch, but stood his ground. “It won’t happen.”

  Gediman, that little gnat, had to interject in a conversation between two men. Grinning, he babbled, “Comes down to a fight, I’m not sure whose side she’d be on!”

  Perez spun on him, scowling. “And I’m supposed to take comfort in that?” The scientist took two steps back and schooled his expression.

  Perez continued down the hall, the two close behind him, conferring, muttering with each other, exchanging those looks like two schoolboys getting ready to raid the girls’ dorm. Perez fumed.

  There were so many other things happening here that were so much more important. Had they completely forgotten their goals? The entire reason for this operation?

  Save me from scientists! They can’t keep this station insect-free, but they can find all kinds of time to waste work hours and money on the one individual that could endanger this entire project.

  Finally, he stopped in front of a secured door. Punching in a code from memory, he paused while the computer digested it, then extended a breath analyzer toward him. He exhaled into the gauge. It would not only use the specific molecules of his breath to determine his unique identity, and would prevent anyone without the proper clearance to enter, it would forbid entry to anyone with approved clearance if they were under the influence of drugs or alcohol, something that retinal analysis couldn’t detect.

  Irritably, he sensed the two doctors still muttering behind him. In spite of his displeasure, they seemed amused, as if they knew he’d end up giving in, if only on a day-to-day basis. He shook his head slightly as the doors parted, admitting them to the inner observation area. It was dark in the small booth, and abnormally quiet. The men themselves grew still as if this place called for stillness. Two fully armed guards stood at complete attention, arms at the ready, as they flanked a large observation port. The general did not acknowledge the soldiers or tell them to be at ease. As long as they stood at this station, they would not be at ease. Not here.

  Perez stepped up to the observation port. He stared into another chamber, that one even darker than this one, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness.

  “Bottom line is,” he finally said softly to the two doctors, “she looks at me funny and I put her to sleep. The way I see it, number Eight is a meat by-product.” It irked him to concede that much, knowing they would see it as their victory. But that was because they didn’t understand him, understand the way he thought. It didn’t matter how long Ripley lived on board his ship, if she crossed the line he had drawn, no appeals from her fan club w
ould save her. He would do—had already done—everything necessary to make this project a success. He wasn’t about to let one woman change that.

  Perez narrowed his eyes, seeing something move in the shadows of the other chamber. He smiled tightly. “This girl here is the money.” Oh, Ripley, if you could see your little girl now.

  The shadows shifted, moved, turned in their direction—drew closer to the glass.

  “How soon before she’s producing?” Perez asked the scientists.

  “Days,” said Wren, his tone just as quiet as the general’s. “Less, maybe.” His voice dropped even lower. “We’ll need the cargo…”

  “It’s on its way,” Perez said abruptly, annoyed that the doctor had mentioned that in front of the soldiers on guard. Had the man no sense? Did he even understand what classified meant?

  He squinted, straining to see into the darkened chamber, to see the real prize of all their work. There. There she is! Yes, that’s my girl!

  Like a nightmare shadow, Regina horribilis—the Queen Alien—stepped into the light just enough to be seen.

  * * *

  Surreptitiously, she tested the confined space again, but it held solidly, unyielding. It was an Alien environment of unnatural smoothness with one transparent wall that permitted her to see out. But all she could see was another environment just like this one. There were two humans always in place on the other side of the transparency, two humans and their pain-inducing devices. They never made sounds, never turned to look at her, merely stood there. At regular intervals that she could measure they were replaced with two others that were so identical she could not tell them from the originals. She could not smell them through the transparency, though certain scents did come to her from the air supply system.

  Now, three other humans stood at the transparency, viewing her. Two of them she recognized. They had been present at her bizarre birth. She somehow sensed they were responsible for it—that, and her entrapment.

  She examined and tested the environment again, but the humans watching her never noticed, never realized what she was doing even though she was only one good stride away from them. Neither did the two guards standing with their backs to her. They were dull, these humans. Dull, and soft, and slow. But they could build effective devices, devices that gave them advantages in spite of their dullness, their softness, their slow speed. Like the device that contained her now. It was comfortable, and stronger than it appeared. Once forced inside it, she could not leave. When she was locked inside it, they could move her around at will, take her anywhere, do whatever they wanted.