Alien Resurrection

by A. C. Crispin

  Call heard a voice shout, “Hey!”

  The creature holding Call tensed, then turned, growling in annoyance.

  Ripley stood with the cockpit door closed securely behind her. She stood tall, steady, her legs shoulder width apart, her stance as confident as Call remembered. But the robot’s eyes were keen, and she could see the weariness etched on the woman’s face. She’d been through so much. It was clear she was at her limit.

  The Alien’s growls lessened as she stared at Ripley.

  Quietly, the woman said to the creature, “I can’t let you do that.”

  The big animal’s tail lashed in impatience, and suddenly it spun, still hanging securely onto Call. The small woman found herself held as a shield, her back pressed tight against the monster’s front. Call blinked, trying to regain her sense of self-preservation. This was such a human thing for the beast to do.

  Ripley stood rock steady, her eyes meeting Call’s.

  There’s got to be something you can do to help her, Call thought frantically, even as the creature gripped her tightly. In the distance, she glanced at Distephano’s abandoned gun, lying where it had fallen. Could Ripley get to it?

  We’re far enough from the stabilizer, Call thought, still there’s so much shit back here… What would happen if Ripley spattered this thing to kingdom come? The trembling of the ship told her they were fighting atmosphere, approaching land. Could they make it with severe damage? Suddenly, she didn’t know. She didn’t know anything.

  The Alien’s tail lashed wildly, and it hissed angrily, its hot breath rushing by Call’s ear.

  Ripley’s eyes quickly scanned the area, glanced over the military weapon, then returned to Call’s face.

  She knows, the robot realized. Sure, she’s flown ships before. She’s remembering. Maybe she even recognizes some of the equipment.

  But then the taller woman only looked doubtful.

  That seemed to snap Call out of it. They were on their way to Earth with this monster in their hold. What did it matter if they were all destroyed, as long as the Alien was? But she knew, instinctively, that Ripley would have trouble shooting through Call even to kill this beast.

  Galvanized, Call strained forward, needing to convey everything to Ripley, to make her understand.

  “Shoot!” she shouted frantically. “Come on, shoot! I’m used to it!” She didn’t care if the bullets ripped her to shreds, as long as they destroyed the nightmare holding her. This was, after all, her mission, wasn’t it? To save humanity from the beast. Remembering that helped.

  But Ripley only looked anguished, and to Call’s dismay, made no attempt to retrieve Distephano’s gun.

  The ship rocked and the three of them, locked in their bizarre tableau, struggled to stay on their feet.

  * * *

  In the cockpit, Vriess was frantically working switches, struggling to keep the Betty from shaking completely apart. His eyes were everywhere on the board, trying to keep track of too many things at once. He didn’t dare even glance at the monitor that showed one of those things holding Call as a hostage. He couldn’t let himself think about it.

  Beside him Johner was working just as furiously, gripping the controls, fighting to manually steady the crazed ship.

  They passed from nighttime into daylight, the sunlight stabbing its way into the cockpit.

  “We’re shorting out…” Vriess warned his copilot.

  “I’ve got it,” Johner reassured him.

  “Ten minutes until impact,” the computer voice announced calmly. For the first time, Vriess realized the voice belonged to Call.

  * * *

  As the Newborn hissed and screeched and clutched the terrified Call to its body, Ripley realized that the only way she could kill it now would be to do as Call had wanted, to snatch up Distephano’s gun and shoot the monster repeatedly through the robot’s body. But Ripley could no sooner do that than she could have done it to Newt. No, shooting the beast was clearly not the answer.

  But what was the answer?

  Ripley stared at the creature and struggled against her own creeping despondency. Everything hurt, everything. She was so spent, so exhausted, she just wanted to lie down and die. Oh, God, why couldn’t she just lie down and die?

  Maybe I’m really a robot, she thought crazily. A robot with only one programming—no matter what, just keep going. God, I hate this.

  The Newborn screeched its fury, its teeth grazing the top of Call’s head—but it didn’t strike. Had it figured out that Call wasn’t human, that Call had no organic brain, no hemoglobin in her blood? Had it finally smelled the Alienness of Call’s robot body?

  Ripley had a sudden shocking memory of Bishop being torn in half by an enraged Queen and knew that the Newborn could just as easily damage Call. Ripley had not been able to save Bishop then, and—since Call was the only one of her kind in this time period—she would be unable to salvage Call, either.

  She had to do something—wasn’t that always her fate? With a sigh of despair, Ripley held her hands out in a gesture of surrender, Ripley forced herself to once again search for the telepathic contact she’d felt back in the crèche.

  There’s something… tenuous… guarded… but something… I feel it—

  It was inhuman, repellent, but somehow familiar. It was everything Ripley could do not to shudder. She made herself meet the creature’s gaze, meet the eyes that were exactly her color.

  The contact was cold, but hungry. Enraged, yet achingly lonely.

  The crèche was destroyed. All the others gone. The Newborn was truly alone now. The only one left that had even some small spark of connection to it was the human woman standing before it.

  Ripley understood that suddenly, and realized it was the only card she had left to play.

  Well, baby, she thought ironically, I’m the only mother you’ve got!

  She held her hands out in supplication, and filled her mind with comforting thoughts, with the connectedness that had once existed between them. Mentally, she saw the image of herself holding Newt, small, blond, trusting Newt. She saw the child’s arms and legs entwined around her, clinging, knowing Ripley wouldn’t let her go, wouldn’t release her. Newt, who understood with a child’s unshakable trust that Ripley would come back for her. She held the image in her mind as she murmured, “Come on. Yes.”

  Slowly, the Newborn grew calmer, stopped lashing its tail and began relaxing its grip.

  Ripley watched Call watching her. She could clearly see the confusion on the smaller woman’s face. Call didn’t move. Couldn’t move. When the Newborn finally released her, she was so unprepared, she collapsed on the floor. Ripley couldn’t afford to meet Call’s gaze, or try to answer the question in her eyes. Her eyes stayed locked on the Newborn, luring it, willing it to abandon the robot and come to her.

  As the huge creature shuffled toward Ripley, she saw, in her peripheral vision, Call silently creep away from them.

  Yes, Ripley thought, yes! She was nearly distracted by a memory of herself hissing at Newt, Run! Hide! If she dared, she would’ve shouted the same to Call, but she was still too close to the Newborn.

  Without looking at Call, Ripley said to her quietly, “Get out.” Then Ripley moved toward the Newborn, meeting it halfway.

  “Come on,” she bade the monster, holding out her arms.

  Two steps, three. The Newborn loomed over her now, close enough to touch, as Call crept farther and farther away. Ripley continued to stand with hands open, mind open, showing the monster the motherly image in her mind. She thought of the Alien Queen reaching out to touch her mutant child just before the Newborn ripped her head off. Could this thing even understand a concept like comfort? Trust? Forcing herself to maintain that one single image in her mind, Ripley held her place, offering a gesture of submissiveness with her posture, her stance. She held her breath as the creature drew closer.

  Then the Newborn made a small sound, as if it were in pain, in need. The childlike noise startled Ripley, made her look
up. The death’s head face left little room for emotion, but she thought she could sense the creature’s aloneness. Remembering her own gesture to the Newborn in the crèche, and the tenderness Ripley had shown to Call—the robot who’d come to kill her—she reached up now, and slowly, gently, stroked the Newborn’s elongated head.

  Behind her, still crawling toward the cockpit door, Call stared back, horrified and fascinated by the interactions of the two beings that were both Alien to each other, yet genetically bonded. As Ripley stroked the Newborn gently, the monster’s long, serpentine tongue reached out and lapped the sweat trickling down the side of Ripley’s face.

  As the creature cleaned her, Ripley’s eyes scanned past it, searching the cargo bay, even as she kept her mind firmly on the image of loving motherhood that had pulled the beast to her. Directly behind the Newborn, she spied a moderately sized porthole that showed the dark, Australian night sky now brightened to dawn as they moved farther and farther away from the impact site and closer to land.

  Ripley continued stroking the Newborn’s head, running her hand tenderly over the wide eye ridges, down over the jaw, forward toward the chin. The lips drew back automatically in the death’s head rictus she was so terribly familiar with. Her fingers found the massive teeth, touched them cautiously. Still lapping at her face, the Newborn opened its mouth, permitting Ripley’s curious examination of its human/Alien teeth.

  Slowly, Ripley ran her palm along the edge of the monster’s teeth, then pressed down sharply, not even allowing herself to wince.

  When she pulled her hand away and looked at it, her palm filled quickly with thick, red blood. Her blood. Human blood. Mostly.

  Her eyes met the Newborn’s, her face still calm, her mind still controlled. With a sudden gesture, she waved her arm, flinging the palm full of blood directly at the porthole.

  The glob of blood hit the center of the port with a splat. At first there was no reaction, but then, seconds later, the porthole began to sizzle where the blood touched it. Then it began to smoke. Then melt.

  In her mind, along the fragile link, Ripley sensed a change in the creature’s attitude. The sense of childlike trust, the chilling aloneness was suddenly gone. In its place was one emotion: betrayal!

  Immediately, the creature drew itself up tall, hissing as if in warning.

  * * *

  The Newborn watched the Ripley’s defiant gesture with surprise. The only thing it had any interest in right now was the slow, painful death of this one frail being who was standing before it. Even though this place they were in trembled and shook, even though the Newborn suspected they were in grave danger, it did not care. The Newborn would not be distracted.

  It loomed over its victim and contemplated the joy it would feel when its teeth broke through this skull. The Newborn would devour this brain slowly, savoring it, and wondered if it would be able to absorb the Ripley’s memories by doing so. It would be wonderful that the Ripley’s blood would feed its burning, eternal hunger.

  Slowly, so as to enjoy the moment, the Newborn unfurled its tongue.

  * * *

  Ripley froze, keeping the sudden flood of fear off her face.

  The Newborn opened its huge maw, and its slithery tongue—the same tongue that had so gently cleaned Ripley, the tongue that made this creature so different from the Queen who bore her—slithered out obscenely. Ripley watched in sickening dread as it stiffened, grew rigid, just like its forebears. As the tongue metamorphosed, small, sharp teeth appeared at its tip, opening and closing as if trying out their new abilities.

  Ripley groaned. The Newborn leaned over her, ready to drive its rigid tongue right through her forehead. The woman couldn’t even make herself shut her eyes as she stared in horrified fascination at the creature’s change.

  Oh, God, help me! Ripley thought, realizing that this was the first prayer she had ever uttered in this lifetime.

  Tiny, white teeth gnashed at the end of the tongue as silvery mucus dripped off it. The tongue advanced, approached her face—

  The woman shuddered uncontrollably, but wouldn’t allow herself to retreat, knowing that would cause the predator to pounce.

  Distantly, past the Newborn’s shoulder, Ripley spied Call creeping along the floor, reaching finally for Distephano’s lost gun. Then her gaze moved up—

  To see the viewport directly behind the Newborn. In its center, the blood she’d spilled bubbled and melted away, filling the air with that unique burning plastic scent. They were in the stratosphere, she guessed. Almost home.

  Ripley stared in fascination at the port, knowing the view of the disintegrating window would keep her from seeing the gnashing teeth in the tongue edging toward her face.

  Suddenly, in her mind, the image of herself holding Newt safely in her arms changed—

  There were memories. Of unexpected chaos. Warriors screaming and dying. And fire. And herself, Ripley, standing firm, holding her own young in her arms. Causing death and destruction to the crèche.

  * * *

  The Newborn leaned closer for the final kiss—and was suddenly startled by the change in the mental contact. There was no submissiveness in the Ripley now, no fear, no remorse. Only defiance! The memory of her destruction of the crèche rang through the link, enraging the Newborn. Mocking it.

  The Newborn growled before striking, then—

  There was a loud sound and a powerful, lurching pull, as if the Newborn had been grabbed by some invisible force. The pull grew stronger, until the Newborn was drawn inexorably back, back, away from its prey. The creature didn’t understand! How could this be happening?

  The Newborn screamed in rage, as the Ripley moved farther out of reach. The beast flew backward, faster, faster, then slammed into something hard, sticking to it. Roaring in fury, it reached wildly for the Ripley with its claws. The Newborn could not believe that it was trapped, not when its prey was still so close.

  * * *

  There was a sudden BANG as the security of the window was breached by the acid eating away at the port, and smoke and small objects began hurtling around the hold in the instant windstorm.

  Ripley saw Call react quickly, grabbing hold of the ends of some hanging chains and straps, which she unclasped from where they were tethered and secured around her own chest.

  Dozens of small objects were being sucked through the hole in the port, while Ripley’s acid blood kept eating away at the edges. The hole grew bigger and the power of the decompression was greater. Even as its arms reached for Ripley, the Newborn was drawn back, sucked away from Ripley and yanked toward the port at the same time that Call latched onto Ripley’s jumpsuit to keep her from being pulled forward.

  The Newborn hit the window with a crash, and screamed in rage and pain as its body was held in place by the force of the rushing atmosphere.

  The sudden cessation of the decompression caused Ripley to fall to the floor, out of Call’s grip. The robot held out her hand and yelled at the woman, “COME ON!” as Ripley clambered to reach her.

  The Newborn fought the pull of space, its great strength actually allowing it to push away slightly from the drawing window, and the resulting rush of decompression pulled Ripley back toward it.

  The deafening screech of the Newborn grew louder as it fought to capture its ancestor. But all its rage was futile against the power of the rushing atmosphere. Ripley could sense the beast’s growing fatigue, its confusion, and realized that for the first time in its short, horrific life, the Newborn was actually afraid.

  Afraid to die? Ripley thought at it. Well, get used to the idea!

  She started to laugh and wondered when she would stop finding humor in such strange things.

  Then, finally, the Newborn lost its futile struggle against the force of the decompression, and it was pulled against the still-widening hole with a loud THUMP! The impact ruptured the creature’s skin, and Ripley could see its acid blood explode into the upper atmosphere.

  The insectile shriek of the monster rattled th
rough Ripley’s bones, and she screamed a cry of pain of her own, as she scrambled on the floor to reach Call, as if attaching herself to the robot was the only way she could cling to her own humanity.

  It was true; Call was only a robot. But the whole purpose of the original robot program was to use the androids in places where it was too dangerous for human beings. The only reason they existed was to save the lives of real people.

  Through the years, came the whispered memory…

  I prefer the term ‘artificial person.’

  I can’t lie to you about your chances… but you have my sympathy.

  Bishop and Ash—only robots. One nearly sacrificed his own life to save her and her child. The other would’ve happily killed her for interfering with his plans…

  Ripley closed her eyes as the crowded, conflicted memories chattered so loudly in her mind she couldn’t think.

  * * *

  At first the Newborn was aware of nothing but the inexorable, terrible vacuum, pulling it away from the Ripley, the creature it was determined to destroy. But then it hit the porthole hard and felt the burning, freezing cold. The skin over its back and kidneys began to solidify, then suddenly burst outward in an abrupt, terrible explosion of tissue and blood. It screamed shrilly, grimacing in hideous agony as acidlike blood, organs, and entrails blew out into space, freezing almost instantly while still connected to the creature.

  It was dead, really, but its brain would not accept that. In a desperate fight for survival, the Newborn plastered its palm against the glass, struggling to pull away. But the port was partially dissolved there, too, and the original hole grew bigger still as the Ripley’s acid blood—and now the Newborn’s, too—continued to eat away at it. As the Newborn pushed frantically, the original hole melted into this weakened place, and the whole area dissolved. Its arm was immediately sucked out into space, freezing solid and breaking its shoulder almost at the same time.

  The Newborn opened its eyes wide in horror, the pain more excruciating than anything it could ever have imagined, and stared helplessly at the Ripley. It could not speak, could only scream, but surely this being would understand what it wanted. How could the Newborn’s own mother watch it die like this and not help?