Alien

by Alan Dean Foster

  'I'm okay,' he told her. 'Just tired. Out of shape. Too many weeks in hypersleep, you lose your muscle tone no matter what the freezers do for you.' He wriggled into a new position, gained a better view ahead.

  'I don't think this shaft goes much farther. It's getting hot in here.' That was to be expected, he told himself. The accumulated effect of multiple blasts from his flamethrower would tax the internal cooling capacity of the shaft's thermostats.

  'Continuing on now. Stay ready.'

  An onlooker could easily have read the relief in Dallas's face when he finally emerged from the cramped tunnel. It opened into one of the Nostromo's main air ducts, a two-tiered tunnel split by a catwalk. He crawled out of the shaft and stood on the railless walkway, stretched gratefully.

  A careful inspection of the larger passage proved negative. The only sound he heard was the patient throbbing of cooling machinery. There was a repair junction partway down the walk and he strolled out to it, repeated his inspection there. As far as he could see, the huge chamber was empty.

  Nothing could sneak up on him here, not while he was standing in the centre of the room. It would be a good place to grab a couple of minutes of much needed rest. He sat down on the catwalk, casually examining the level floor below the junction, and spoke toward the throat mike.

  'Lambert, what kind of reading are you getting? I'm in one of the central mixing chambers, at the repair station in the centre. Nothing here but me.'

  The navigator glanced at her tracker, looked suddenly puzzled. She glanced worriedly at Parker, thrust the device under his gaze. 'Can you make any sense out of this?'

  Parker studied the needle and readout. 'Not me. That's not my toy, it's Ash's. Confusing, though.'

  'Lambert?' Dallas again.

  'Here. I'm not sure.' She jiggled the tracker. The reading remained as incomprehensible as before. 'There seems to be some kind of double signal.'

  'That's crazy. Are you getting two separate, distinct readings for me?'

  'No. Just one impossible one.'

  'It may be interference,' he told her. The way the air's shifting around in here, it could confuse the hell out of a jury-rigged machine designed to read air density. I'll push on ahead. It'll probably clear up as soon as I move.'

  He rose, not seeing the massive, clawed hand rising slowly from the catwalk under him. The groping paw just missed his left foot as he continued onward. It drifted back beneath the walkway as silently as it had appeared.

  Dallas had walked halfway to the end of the chamber. Now he stopped. 'Is that better, Lambert? I've moved. Am I registering any clearer now?'

  'It's clear, all right.' Her voice was strained. 'But I'm still getting a double signal, and I think they're distinct. I'm not sure which one is which.'

  Dallas whirled, his eyes darting around the tunnel, canvassing ceiling, floor, walls, and the large shaft opening he'd just emerged from. Then he looked back down the catwalk to the repair junction, his gaze settling on the spot where he'd been sitting just seconds ago.

  He lowered the nose of the flamethrower. If he was now the front signal, having moved down the catwalk, then the cause of the double signal ought be . . . his finger started to tense on the incinerator's trigger.

  A hand reached up from below and behind, toward his ankle.

  The alien was the front signal.

  Ripley stood alone by the duct, watching it and thinking of the open airlock standing ready nearby. There was a distant ringing sound. At first she thought it was inside her head, where funny noises often originated. Then it was repeated, louder, and followed by an echo this time. It seemed to be coming from deep within the shaft. Her hands tensed on the flamethrower.

  The ringing ceased. Against her better judgment she moved a little closer to the opening, keeping the nozzle of the flamethrower focused on it.

  There came a recognizable sound. A scream. She recognized the voice.

  Forgetting all carefully laid plans, all sensible procedure, she ran the rest of the way to the opening. 'Dallas. . . Dallas!'

  There were no more screams after the first. Only a soft, far-off thumping, which rapidly faded away. She checked her tracker. It displayed a single blip, the red colour also fading fast. Just like the scream.

  'Oh my God. Parker, Lambert!' She rushed toward the pickup, yelled into the grid.

  'Here, Ripley,' responded Lambert. 'What's going on? I just lost my signal.'

  She started to say something, had it die in her throat. She suddenly remembered her new responsibilities, firmed her voice, straightened though there was no one around to see. 'We just lost Dallas. . . .'

  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 aro
und 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 flashin
g 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.'