Alien Resurrection

by A. C. Crispin

  Thinking about Wren, even briefly, fueled her rage. No doubt, he was on his way to take the Betty and escape, leaving them to negotiate with the Aliens.

  Distephano and Purvis were both watching her, waiting for her to come up with some answers. She sighed in frustration and wondered why they thought she might have the answers. Then she wondered when she’d started caring about what they thought.

  To compound the matter, Johner finally got to the top of the ladder and, to her dismay, looked right at her and asked, “And now what do we do?”

  Not him, too!

  Before she could respond that the door was locked, and that she was out of ideas, the portal began to beep loudly. Startled, Ripley nearly lost her balance. She turned and realized that the keypad was flashing some intermittent signal, and then lights began to blink on the sealed shaft doors.

  Everyone froze, then brought up their weapons all at once, aiming for the doors. No one breathed.

  Did Wren have second thoughts and come back for us? Ripley wondered, then dismissed that ridiculous notion. Especially when there was another, more likely scenario. They’ve learned how to open the doors, something I can’t figure out.

  She was weaponless herself, and just stood frozen on the narrow crawl space, hugging the wall, waiting for the bad news. What else could it be?

  She glanced at the doors and realized that there was water seeping under the seal. Water…?

  Then, finally, the doors opened with a whoosh, and Ripley stared, disbelieving. As did everyone else.

  Call? No, that’s not possible…

  The small woman was drenched, dripping wet from head to toe, but other than that, she seemed none the worse for wear. She wasn’t even breathing hard! She looked at them all hanging in the shaft, staring wide-eyed at her, and said, matter-of-factly, “This way.”

  But no one moved. They were all too stunned, totally uncomprehending. They stood rooted, their guns still absurdly aimed at her.

  “Get on!” she snapped at them, trying to motivate them.

  They finally responded as a group and scrambled over the crawl space one by one to get through the doors. The group went out the other side, emerging into the ship’s corridor.

  Vriess had finally reached the top of the ladder and Purvis and Distephano grabbed his arms and hoisted him the rest of the way. Vriess sprawled in the hallway, with the others semicollapsed around him, leaning on walls, taking a minute to catch their breaths.

  Vriess regarded Call with stunned surprise. “Baby, am I glad to see you! I was sure that asshole got you. Are you hurt?” He held a hand out to her, and waited for her to take it.

  But she only turned her back on them all, muttering, “I’m fine.”

  Ripley glanced at each of them in turn, and they met her eyes with the same questions she had, even Vriess.

  Quietly, Distephano asked, “You got body armor on?”

  “Yeah,” Call said dismissively. “Come on.”

  But Ripley wasn’t buying it. She’d seen Call with her vest open down at the bottom of the shaft. Her thin, wet T-shirt had clung to her ribs clearly. There’d been no body armor. She moved over to the woman.

  “You took it in the chest,” she said softly. “I saw.”

  Call stared at her defiantly. “I’m fine!”

  Ripley met the dark eyes with her own piercing gaze, looking for the truth, looking for the answers. Call couldn’t hold her stare. Her chin quivered slightly, then suddenly she completely broke down, and the tough mechanic started crying like a lost child.

  Her tears touched Ripley in a very visceral way. Even so, she gently opened and spread the ends of Call’s sealed vest.

  She’d taken it directly in the chest, all right—but instead of showing blood and bone and lung tissue, the ugly, gaping wound revealed a confusing tangle of computer parts, manufactured organs, memory components, and synthorganic wiring and tubing.

  “A robot,” Ripley said, dead-voiced.

  From somewhere deep inside her, a memory flashed. I prefer the term ‘artificial person.’ She closed her eyes wearily.

  “Son of a bitch,” Johner muttered, amazed. “Little Annalee’s just full of surprises.”

  Ripley dropped her hands, talking now almost to herself. “I should have known. All that crap about being human. There’s no one so zealous as a Born Again.”

  Distephano had drawn closer and seemed to be examining the blue and white liquid Call used for blood. It was splashed over her chest and clothes, but she’d obviously gotten it under control. She must have. She was still functioning.

  “I thought synthetics were supposed to be all logical and shit,” Johner said to the group. “She’s a big ol’ psycho!”

  Ripley had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. How easily Johner recognized one of his own.

  “A terrorist?” Purvis said nervously. “Then she wasn’t here to protect us?”

  Ripley tried to find answers in Call’s eyes, her expression, but the woman—the robot—wasn’t giving her any.

  Vriess’s voice nearly broke. “You’re a Second Gen, aren’t you?”

  Ripley searched her memory, but couldn’t find any references for that term. After her time, and before this one?

  “Leave me alone,” Call said tiredly, having gotten her tears under control. Her tears, perhaps, but not her voice. Her vocal track was slipping, revealing the effects of the damage. Her words were a bit slow with a strange, mechanical echo. It was eerie.

  “Call…?” Vriess pressed, wanting his answer. Feeling, perhaps, that he deserved it.

  Bitterly, she whispered, “Yes.”

  “Second Gen?” Johner barked, laughing. “Shit, that explains a lot.”

  Ripley didn’t recognize the term. But she didn’t ask questions, just listened and waited.

  “You’re an Auton, aren’t you?” Distephano asked. He sounded oddly curious, not condemning. No doubt, he was remembering how Call had saved his life in the mess hall when Johner would’ve cheerfully killed him in cold blood.

  Distephano must’ve noted the confusion on Ripley’s face and realized she’d have no way to follow any of this. He explained to her, “Robots designed by robots. Highly ethical and emotional. They were supposed to revitalize the synthetic industry. Instead—they buried it.”

  Ripley looked back at Call. She thought of Bishop. Then, she thought of Ash. She understood now. “They were too good.”

  Distephano nodded. “They didn’t like being told what to do. The government ordered a recall.” His voice grew soft. “Fucking massacre. I’d always heard there were a few that got out intact, but, man… I never thought I’d see one.”

  Ripley observed Vriess from the corner of her eye. He looked disappointed and sad, nearly broken, like a man who’d lost everything.

  Purvis glanced from one to the other, nervous. “Great. It’s great. She’s a toaster oven. Can we leave now?”

  The rude remark was the slap they all needed to shake off this latest surprise. Everyone seemed to stand a little straighter.

  “How much time till we land?” Johner asked the soldier,

  “Under two hours,” Distephano told him.

  “And we’re already off track,” Johner mumbled. “We should go now.”

  Call had turned away from the group, ostensibly to effect more repairs in her cavity. The men suddenly all started talking, interrupting each other. Once more, Ripley stood apart from them, observing them, feeling the group dynamics shift once more. Only now, Call, like herself, was outside the group, separate from them. Never to rejoin.

  She remembered Call handing her the flamethrower in the clone lab.

  In a sudden lull in conversation, she noticed Vriess glancing over in Call’s direction. He still looked sorrowful, disappointed. She heard him mutter disgustedly, “Jesus…”

  “Yeah,” Johner agreed, “get your socket wrench. Maybe she just needs an oil change. Can’t believe I almost fucked the thing.”

  Vriess looked at him
with contempt. “Yeah, like you never fucked a robot.”

  They were falling apart, thinking individually again, no longer a unit. Ripley didn’t want to assume the leadership, but she couldn’t see any other way. Christie was dead. Stepping forward, she asked, “Where are we exactly, Distephano?”

  “Upper decks,” he said. “Storage… The chapel’s up here, not much else.”

  “Can we get to the ship from here?”

  “It’s down a few levels,” he said, thinking. “It’s doable.”

  Johner had a thought, a negative one. “What if the good doctor reaches the Betty first?”

  “Shit!” cursed Vriess.

  Ripley looked at the soldier. “Another way? Faster?”

  He thought about it. “Uh… yes. Through the wall. We’ll have to unblock the door. It’ll take awhile.” He glanced down at Vriess. “You got tools?”

  They all remembered the abandoned chair.

  Vriess shook his head. “Tools, yeah. But no torch.”

  “Just blow the door!” Johner decided simply.

  Distephano pointed to the ceiling. “We’re at the top of this shaft. That’s outer hull.”

  “And if Wren gets to the computer,” Ripley realized, “he can really screw us.” And would. Without hesitation.

  “We’ve gotta find a terminal,” Johner announced.

  “There’s no console on this level,” Distephano explained. “We have to go back.”

  Back? Ripley stared at him. “No way.”

  The soldier sighed, disgusted. “And I don’t have Wren’s access codes.”

  What else? Any more bad news? Ripley ran a hand through her hair distractedly, thinking, trying to come up with—

  She turned and looked at Call, standing apart, still fiddling with her cavity. She took a step nearer the robot. “Call.”

  The robot never looked at her, never indicated that she’d heard. Her voice sounding a little clearer, she said, “No. I can’t.”

  Johner seized on it. “Bullshit! She damn well can talkie machinie.”

  “Shit,” muttered Vriess. “That’s right. You’re a new model droid. You can access the mainframe on remote.”

  Call shook her head resolutely, still not looking at them. “I can’t. I burned my modem drive. We all did.”

  Vriess leaned toward her. “You can still patch in manually. You know that.” His voice had gone soft again.

  That tone must’ve touched something inside Call, because she finally looked up, staring at each of them. Her expressive, oh-so-human-face showed contempt, anger, disgust. She knew she had no choice. It was an agreement of sorts. Ripley felt bad that she’d been forced to make it this way.

  Like any of us have had any choices in this?

  “There’s ports in the chapel,” Distephano said, flat-voiced.

  Ripley placed a gentle hand on the robot’s shoulder. “Come on,” she urged quietly. Realizing the others were all staring at them, she looked over her shoulder. “You,” she addressed the rest of the group, “get started on that wall.”

  They immediately set to work as if she’d lit a fire under them.

  * * *

  As Ripley and Call entered the small chapel, Call wondered at the difference in Ripley and how it might be reflected in the difference in herself. Even after she’d decimated the clone lab, Ripley’s cold distance had remained unthawed, or so Call had thought. But clearly, all the difficulties they’d been through, their swim through the flooded kitchen, then the climb up the elevator shaft, had finally touched her. Maybe those experiences had finally resurrected the real Ripley. Perhaps this clone of the woman who’d fought so hard to destroy the Aliens was now fully human.

  Resurrected just in time to save her people again.

  At least she has a people to save, Call thought bitterly, remembering, now and forever, the look on Vriess’s face when he saw her wound, realized what she was. She wondered distantly what Christie would’ve thought if he’d lived. Poor Vriess. He’s lost everything, everyone he ever cared about, even me. He’ll never look at me the same way again… Losing his regard meant more to her than she ever thought it would.

  Oh, Ripley, she thought, you were better off when you didn’t give a shit about anything. I wish I could find those connections inside myself and turn them off. But she was hardwired for that—human emotional sympathetic response. Big words to explain away a robot’s genuine heartache.

  She looked around the small room. It was a classic chapel, scrupulously clean and very small. There was an altar, a variety of religious symbols that could be interchanged for the denomination being represented—a Star of David, a plain silver cross, a green banner with a crescent moon, a Wiccan staff of rowan, and—ironically—the white dove of peace. It almost made her laugh to see that symbol here on a military vessel whose sole purpose was to master the most deadly bioweapon ever discovered.

  The only religious symbol missing is a computer chip with divine rays coming out of it, for those like Wren and Perez who only worship technology.

  Behind the small altar was a false stained-glass window, bolted to the wall and lit by lights. The last service here must’ve been Christian, because the cross was perched before the window on the altar. Without thinking about it, Call crossed herself.

  Ripley blinked in surprise. “You programmed for that?”

  Call just gave her a bitter glance. No, I’m not programmed for it. I have a working brain. I’ve examined the topic. I happen to believe. But there’s no point in discussing that with you. You haven’t been alive long enough to develop philosophy, clone.

  She immediately felt guilty. Who was she to disparage any real human being, anyone who possessed a true soul? When she was finally terminated, there would be no afterlife experience for her, any more than there would be for a lightbulb!

  Call looked around the pews and found a Bible. Pulling it out of the rack, she flipped the electronic device open. Under the fake leather flap of the cover was a small screen. It read: “HOLY BIBLE. PRESS START.” Reverently, Call touched the screen, thinking how much comfort some of the words in this book had been to her after she’d been told about this mission, after she’d decided to take the assignment, regardless of the risks.

  Though I walk in the valley of darkness, I shall fear no evil. Thy rod and thy staff shall comfort me…

  Leaning over, Ripley pulled the cord from the Bible’s port, and held it out to her.

  “Don’t make me do this,” Call whispered, her voice still uneven.

  “Don’t make me make you,” Ripley answered.

  Both their voices were low, respectful. After all, they were in church.

  Call dared to meet the clone’s eyes. The sympathy there nearly undid her. Still, she protested. “I don’t want to go in there. My insides are liquid. It’s not as if they’re real.”

  What she wanted to say is, I’ve been pretending to be human for so long, I’ve been accepted as human for so long, I don’t remember what it’s like to be Auton! And this will remind me. It will make me a machine again! I don’t think I can face that.

  Ripley gripped her wrist, her face growing determined. With a shock, Call realized that she finally looked human. She finally looked like the real Ellen Ripley who’d died over two hundred years ago.

  “Get over it,” Ripley said gently. Then she added the one thing calculated to get through to Call in spite of her damage, in spite of her loss. “You can blow the ship. Before it reaches Earth. Kill the Aliens. Kill them all.”

  It was the reminder Call needed, why she’d come here in the first place. Her mission. Her purpose.

  “Just give us time to get out first,” Ripley added as an afterthought.

  This is why it was you, Call realized. This is why you always survived, why you always defeated them. Your focus. Your determination. Genetics? Environment? Personal fortitude? Doesn’t matter. You are Ripley. You.

  Call nodded, feeling as if some of Ripley’s strength—Ripley’s humanity—was in
her now. She pulled up her sleeve, found a beauty mark on her forearm, and opened it like a little hatch. Under it were two ports.

  Taking the cable from Ripley, she plugged it in, then waited for the automatic connections to start their dance. At first, nothing happened. Had the Aliens actually sabotaged the main computer? No, that wasn’t possible. She cocked her head, listening, waiting, feeling. “Dammit,” she whispered.

  “Anything?” Ripley asked, concerned.

  “Wait a minute…”

  When it happened, it happened all at once.

  One instant she was still Annalee Call, outwardly human, if damaged, and the next instant, she was the Auriga. Massive. Moving. Invaded. Yet, strangely unable to care. It was as impersonal to her as it would’ve been to the core memory of Annalee Call that had been created in a robot factory. While Call had had feelings and ethics implanted in her, she’d had to be taught how to use them like any newborn child. The ship did not have to deal with that issue, it only had problems and solutions to contend with. All issues were black and white, no gray areas. Invasion was just a problem to solve. A problem it had yet to solve. But it was working on it.

  As the Auriga, she knew all, saw all, heard all. She could see herself, her Annalee self, sitting next to Ripley in the Chapel. Call looked like an abandoned doll, her eyes wide and unseeing, the pupils hugely dilated. Beside her, Ripley looked concerned, worried.

  It touched her somehow, that this woman, this human, would worry about her. Of course, Ripley wasn’t really human… No, her matrixes dismissed that notion. Ripley was totally human. Her blood type, her fingernails, her ability to last underwater, her strength—all of it meant nothing in the long run. Ripley was human. And hurting for Call. It touched the ship in a new, startling way. The ship would have to think about that.