Ripley continued staring, still trying to understand what she was seeing.
The Queen was trapped on her back, her legs, tail, and arms half submerged. Her head thrashed back and forth, her extremities waving feebly. Was she in pain? And what was that on her abdomen…?
Then Ripley realized the true horror of what she was seeing. The Queen had a huge, distended belly, fleshy looking, with thick black veins snaking over it. The belly moved, as with a life of its own. The Queen’s huge mouth opened, and she hissed furiously.
Ripley stared, whispered, “No eggs. Just…”
An oddly familiar voice spoke up excitedly. “Our greatest achievement!”
Ripley was afraid to turn, afraid to see the owner of the voice, but she was compelled to. As she looked up, she saw Dr. Gediman, cocooned neatly among other researchers and soldiers. His eyes were wide, glowing. He was clearly poised on the edge of sanity—with his toes hanging over.
“A secondary reproductive cycle,” he babbled cheerily. “Asexual. Mammalian. No host!”
Ripley almost moaned. “That’s not possible.”
Gediman grinned hugely. “We thought we could alter its reproductive system. Obviate the egg-laying cycles. But the beast doesn’t trade.” He giggled. “It just added a second cycle. It’s wonderful!”
A keening shriek from the Queen shook Ripley, as she glanced back at the creature. She was thrashing, obviously in unrelieved pain. The Aliens tending her backed off slightly, chattering wildly, their insectile hum almost musical to Ripley.
“But how…?” Ripley muttered, confused.
“Genetic crossover,” Gediman supplied helpfully. Then he looked at her, eyes wide, grinning maniacally. “From the host DNA.”
“No…!” Ripley couldn’t, wouldn’t accept that.
“Look at it!” he chortled, gleefully. “It’s you! It’s you!”
She could barely stand it, but, fighting back tears of horror and frustration, she forced herself to look at the Queen. In despair, all she could think was, this was her terrible child.
The bulge in the Queen’s belly grew noticeably larger, then started moving, rippling.
Ripley found her motivation. Struggling to rise from the floor of the tank, she found her body traitorously slow, sluggish. She didn’t care; she pushed up from the floor, swearing, “I’m getting out of here. Goddamn it, I’m getting out of here!”
Gediman was still watching her, grinning. As Ripley watched, the last glimmer of his sanity vanished. “Don’t you want to see what happens next?” he asked joyfully.
13
Call unplugged herself from the Betty and watched as Vriess prepared to separate them from the Auriga. She felt terrible about Ripley, but they still had to get the rest of them to safety. Vriess smiled at her once he had his flight plan in place, and she allowed herself to smile back tentatively.
There were still things to do. She moved away from the command console to join Johner and Purvis. Looking up at the scarred man, she murmured, “Johner, take Purvis to the freezer.”
Johner was clearly relieved to be safe aboard the Betty. Agreeably, he patted Purvis’s back, and said, “All right. Nap time, buddy.”
Purvis, looking incredibly tired and drained, nodded and followed along.
Call moved ahead of them to help Johner with the cryomix. It’d be faster if she did it, and they were on borrowed time with Purvis already. She started down the dark hallway, waiting for the lights to go on ahead of her, but they didn’t. She frowned. She hadn’t noticed any mechanical problems while she’d been plugged into the ship, but she hadn’t really gone looking for anything minor, either. Still, these lights should’ve come on when they first entered the vessel. She turned to Johner, concerned.
Before she could speak, a hand appeared from the darkness near her, light glinting off the barrel of the gun it held. A deafening explosion in the small space rocked Call as the gun went off. Purvis took the bullet in the shoulder. He screamed, and hit the floor.
As Johner reached for his own weapon, an arm snaked around Call’s throat roughly, and the hard metal barrel of the still smoking gun was shoved into her cheek. She froze.
Who…? What…? How…?
As the man holding her shoved her forward, out of the shadows and into the light, she heard a familiar voice.
“You move,” the man said to Johner, “and I put a bullet where her brain is!”
Wren!
Call saw Vriess spin in his chair to face them, his expression one of rage and frustration as he sat there, trapped, unable to help.
Johner was tense, collected. This was a conflict he understood, an enemy he could deal with. The scarred man stood with his feet apart, hands away from his sides, trying to appear nonthreatening. But Call had seen Johner in action. If Wren had any understanding of men like him, the doctor would kill him now, with no discussion. Call also suspected that Wren’s knowledge did not lie in those areas.
“Distephano!” Wren barked at the soldier. “Take their weapons.”
Call looked right at the soldier. Would he? She’d saved his life in the mess hall riot. Would he turn on them now?
Distephano stood tall, as if ready to salute. “Begging your pardon, sir, but… fuck you.” He made no move to yield his own weapon or disarm Johner.
Wren pulled her harder against him, strangling her. She could feel the terrible tension in his body, his trembling as he grew more desperate. He ground the gun muzzle harder into Call’s face. “Drop it!” he screamed at the others. “Drop it, or we all die together!”
A sudden, high-pitched shriek made them all turn. Purvis jerked upright, eyes wide, grabbing at his chest.
No one moved, not even Wren.
* * *
Frantically, Ripley tried to figure out how to escape from the waste tank, but from where she knelt she could see no doors, no exits of any kind. They’d gotten her in here, there had to be a way out!
The Queen was thrashing more wildly, shrieking steadily. The other Aliens were more and more agitated, humming, twittering, darting through the muck.
One particular cry from the Queen was especially piercing, and Ripley froze in place. The Queen’s belly heaved, alive, something clearly writhing inside it.
Ripley tensed as a memory surfaced.
This happened to me. I gave birth. I was a mother once, a real mother. I lay in my own bed, and my husband was there. And a nurse, and doctor. I cried out as my belly heaved.
She could feel it now, the memory was that strong. Instinctively, her hands rubbed her own belly.
I was sweating hard, but I didn’t want drugs, even when my husband begged me to take them. I was worried about all those years of cryodrugs, and wouldn’t take anything as I delivered. In my own bed. My own home.
She watched the Queen thrash and scream in the slime and the muck and this travesty, this obscene parody of her own experience, made her sick.
I had a girl, a beautiful little girl. She looked like both her parents. We called her Amy.
Ellen Ripley blinked at the flood of human memories crashing in on her, while she remained trapped here in Alien hell.
You told Amy you’d be back for her eleventh birthday. You promised. That was the first time you defeated them. But your escape pod wasn’t found for fifty-seven years. Amy died never knowing why you didn’t come home for her birthday.
Ripley closed her eyes for a moment, her daughter’s face clear before her. Other memories surged up.
Newt.
Hicks.
Even Jonesy…
All of them gone, lost to the years.
Beside her, Gediman watched, amazed, wide-eyed, grinning like a lunatic, chuckling with a low “he-he-he” that was almost as disturbing as the Aliens’ sounds.
The Queen screamed again, and reached toward Ripley, as if the clone, her own “mother,” could somehow help her through this experience, somehow coach her birth. The Alien female bellowed, struggling to pull herself out of her fetid bed.
Remembering her own pain, Ripley moaned along with the Queen, her gut contracting in reflex.
And inside her, inside her genes, she felt the Queen’s pain on a visceral level. The telepathic link forced it on her, forced her to be the Queen in her terrible travail. The swollen, rippling belly, the tearing, burning pain, the inexorable pressure. The complete rebellion of her body forcing her to perform a function she no longer wanted to perform. Ripley moaned along with the Queen, suffering with her out of effort and sympathy.
At the same time, she could feel the concern of the warriors as they moved closer to the helpless Queen. She could feel their anxiety. All of them—her husbands, all—longed to help their Queen, but not one knew how.
Suddenly, a spout of blood spurted like a geyser from the Queen’s heaving belly. The blood dribbled and seeped from that first eruption, tracing acid rivers over the rotund mound of flesh. Ripley tried to turn away, not wanting to witness this any longer, this ugly mockery of human birth.
Then the Queen shrieked again, lifting her head, staring at Ripley, as if she were her midwife. Ripley curled in on herself, gripping her own stomach, and screamed in concert with the Queen.
The writhing creature collapsed back into the mire, and the warriors surrounding her suddenly backed off, as if sensing something imminent.
Ripley blinked wearily, dazedly, staring at the pulsating stomach. Another gout of blood spurted, and then something pressed upward against the thinning tissue of the Queen’s belly. It kept pushing up, up, until the flesh took on the shape of the form beneath it as it resisted.
Ripley blinked. It looked like a skull—a human skull—was struggling to emerge from the torn belly of the Queen.
The baby… Ripley thought distractedly. The baby’s crowning. I see her head…
There was a final shriek, a terrible tearing sound, and suddenly The Newborn emerged, unfolding itself from the cramped confines of its mother’s womb. The creature was pale, not black, its skin looking more like human flesh than the hard silicon exoskeleton of the Aliens. Its head had the classic, elongated skull, but the face… The face…
Beside her, Gediman babbled, weeping with mad joy. “Beautiful! Beautiful butterfly…!”
The Newborn’s face clearly had something human about it, all too human. It looked like a skull, with massive eye sockets, long, gleaming white teeth, a chiseled jawbone, and the hollows where a human nose belonged. The Newborn’s face was the very image of Death.
“So beautiful,” Gediman muttered.
Ripley glanced at him. He looked beatific, as if he’d given the universe the finest gift science could bestow.
Ripley felt like she was on the verge of joining him in his madness. She turned away from the scientist and tried to get a grip on her seesawing emotions.
The Newborn uncurled its massive body from its mother’s innards.
The Queen, no longer in such immediate pain, moaned softly now, her thrashing slower. She reached for her child with a trembling hand. Ripley envisioned herself making that same gesture, remembered her husband lifting their daughter and resting her on her mother’s stomach. She remembered bursting into tears, then near hysterical laughter, as all of them rejoiced in the wet, squalling, healthy baby.
As the Queen reached for her child, the Newborn turned toward her.
It’s not even full grown, Ripley realized, not knowing how she knew. It’ll double, maybe triple in size, all within a day. And its appetite is boundless. As is its ferocity and hostility. The perfect organism.
As the Newborn extricated itself from the womb, Ripley saw its hands. They were as strong and massive as the Aliens’ hands usually were, but there were only five fingers. The long nails and pale skin made the thing’s hands look…
…Just like mine! Ripley thought, sickened.
In a parody of human tenderness, the Newborn crawled up its mother’s body to her head. The Queen was making soft, cooing sounds now, maternal sounds, examining her young, clearly proud of what she’d accomplished. The Newborn drew nearer, and for a moment it looked as if the young might actually kiss its mother.
Then, in one massive, abrupt movement, the Newborn slapped out with a huge hand and ripped the Queen’s head off, sending blood spraying everywhere.
Ripley, still connected telepathically with the Queen, felt the Alien female’s death screams deep in her marrow.
The Newborn didn’t stop, but attacked its mother’s quivering body with its massive teeth, ripping the Queen to shreds, devouring huge chunks of her. Immune to the acid blood, the Newborn feasted on its parent’s flesh.
Ripley felt the Queen’s death as the telepathic link was severed. It was a painful break, as sharp as a broken bone, its jagged edges grinding horribly in her head, her soul. Her brain reached out, fumbling for more contact with the warriors, needing the link. But the connection with the warriors was fraught with terror and confusion as the Aliens milled frantically, not knowing what to do as their Queen, their entire focus, was destroyed.
Ripley felt as if she were surrounded by the screaming souls of hell as the Aliens whistled and chittered in pain as the Newborn continued to devour its mother. Then Ripley realized it wasn’t just the warriors who were making noise. She turned. Gediman was still gibbering to himself, and his whimpers quickly dissolved into terrified screaming.
Gediman’s eyes widened and he began to thrash, then flail, harder, more wildly. He began shrieking hysterically, fighting frantically with the resin holding him prisoner.
Ripley sagged back against the tank, trying, again, to summon the strength to escape, but she was so tired. The loss of her telepathic link with the Queen made her feel empty, disoriented.
The Newborn, covered in its mother’s blood, suddenly froze, then cocked its head as if listening. Slowly, it turned, and Ripley had her first chance to really look into the creature’s face. Deep within the depths of its massive eye sockets, the human saw two eyes, not unlike her own, shining out.
She stared. Amy had my eyes, too, she thought, feeling a bubble of hysterical laughter welling in her chest.
Gediman saw the eyes, too, shining in the terrible Death’s head of the Newborn, and screamed louder, more frantically.
Awkwardly, the Newborn rose.
It’s bigger already! Ripley realized.
Standing on two spindly, shaky legs, the two-meter-high baby took its first steps as it toddled toward the scientist.
As the Newborn drew near him, its massive, terrible appearance made Gediman grow still. He snapped his mouth shut, and froze, his eyes bulging, his awareness of his danger pushing him clearly beyond terror. The Newborn sniffed the man, and Ripley could see his frame trembling as if in a seizure.
Then the Newborn’s massive jaws opened, and opened, wider and wider. Like a snake about to devour its prey, the powerful jaws seemed to unhinge themselves as they loomed over the trapped man. Ripley could see no fanged tongue in this creature, just the massive jaws, and horribly long, shining white teeth.
With shocking suddenness, the Newborn struck, sinking its massive fangs into the top of Gediman’s skull. The man found his voice again, shrieking more horribly than before, as rivulets of blood ran down his forehead into his eyes, his ears, his own mouth.
Oh, God! Oh, no. NO! Ripley thought, praying that she could connect with the Newborn and somehow stop what it was about to do. But the creature ignored her.
With a sickening wrench and the crunching sound of bones breaking, the Newborn ripped off the top of Gediman’s skull as easily as a human would pop the top off a hard-boiled egg. His brain was exposed, glistening pink and throbbing.
Ripley moaned in horror and turned away. She could hear soft tissue tearing, the wet sounds of chewing, swallowing, along with the dying researcher’s moans and gurgles. She smelled the metallic scent of fresh blood as the man finally went limp, still suspended in his prison of resinous tendrils. The last of his blood dripped into the morass below him.
The only thing
Ripley could do was shut her eyes.
She did not see the Newborn turn, stare meaningfully at her, then hungrily lick its bloody teeth with a long, serpentine tongue…
* * *
Purvis was in agony, so much agony, he could barely isolate what hurt worse. His shoulder was on fire, in terrible pain from the bullet lodged there. It throbbed so bad he could barely think. But the pain in his gut—God, the pain in his gut was really horrible. It was like something was walking around in there, moving like a snake, like it was looking for a way out. He felt sick, nauseated, and in so much raw pain—
In spite of his agony, he managed to focus on the tableau in front of him.
Wren, freaking out, was gripping Call so tight she was nearly choking. Her chest wound glittered and blinked bizarrely where telltales had been exposed. Wren was shoving the muzzle of his gun hard into Call’s face. Purvis knew he was hurting her. Call, who’d tried so hard to save them all. Especially Larry Purvis.
Wren was shouting. “This synthetic bitch is going to plug back into the Auriga and land it according to standard operational procedures.”
Call struggled to speak, her voice gritty. “No, she’s not!”
Distephano confronted his superior officer. “You’re nuts! You still want to bring those things back to Earth?”
“Have you been paying any attention today?” Johner asked sarcastically.
Purvis felt something uncoiling inside him and moaned, both arms wrapped around his stomach.
Wren was losing it, that was obvious. “The Aliens will be contained by the base quarantine troops.” Suddenly, Wren swung his weapon, aiming at the others, pulling it off Call’s face.
“For about five seconds,” she growled.
Alien Resurrection Page 20
