A flash of Kane's lightbar revealed still more of the peculiar objects attached to the floor of the chamber, in the centre of the room. He moved toward them, circled them while examining individual specimens in turn. Each was roughly a third of a metre high, oval in shape, and leathery in appearance. Choosing one at random, he turned his light on it, kept it focused there. The steady illumination revealed nothing new, nor did it seem to have any effect on the ovoid.
'It's like some kind of storage area, for sure.' There was no response from his helmet speakers. 'I said it's definitely a storage area. Anybody read me?'
'Loud and clear,' Dallas said quickly. 'We were listening, that's all. You say you're pretty sure it's a storage room?'
'That's right.'
'Anything to support that premise besides its size and shape?'
'Sure is. Those protrusions on the wall are also on the floor, and they're not part of the ship. This whole place is stocked with 'em. Leathery things. Matter of fact, they kind of resemble that urn you found above, only these are much softer looking. And these seem to be sealed, where yours was empty. They're all arranged according to somebody's concept of order, though there seems to be a lot of wasted space.'
'Funny-sounding kind of cargo, if that's what it is. Can you see if anything's in them?' Dallas was remembering the hollow urn shape he'd found.
'Hang on. I'll give it a closer look.' Leaving the lightbar on, he approached the particular specimen he'd been studying, reached out a gloved hand, and touched it. Nothing happened. Leaning over he tugged at the sides, then the top. There was nothing resembling a catch or break on the smooth surface.
'Got a funny feel to it, even through the gloves.'
Dallas sounded suddenly concerned. 'I just asked if you could see what was in it. Don't try to open it. You don't know what it might hold.'
Kane peered close at the object. It hadn't changed and showed no effect from his pulling and tugging. 'Whatever it contains, it's sealed in tight.' Turning away, he played his light over the rows of ovoids. 'Maybe I can find one that's cracked or has split a little.'
In the faint backwash of his suit lights, a small bump appeared silently on the taut surface of the ovoid he'd touched. A second eruption appeared, then others, until there were raised spots across the smooth top.
'All the same,' he reported to Dallas and Lambert. 'Not a seam or break in any of them.' He turned his light absently back to the one he'd experimented with, leaned forward, and squinted uncertainly at what he saw.
The opaque surface of the ovoid had become translucent. As he continued to stare, eyes widening, the surface continued to clear, becoming transparent as glass. Moving closer, he shined his light on the base of the object, stared hard, barely breathing as a shape within the oval container became visible. Jesus. .
'What, Kane, what's going on down there?' Dallas forced himself not to shout.
A tiny nightmare was now clearly visible within the ovoid. It lay neatly coiled and folded about itself, compact and delicate and all made of a rubbery, filigreed flesh. It looked to Kane like a fraction of someone's delirium tremens plucked from the mind and given solidity and shape.
The thing was basically in the shape of a hand, many-fingered, with the long, bony fingers curled into the palm. It looked very much like the hand of a skeleton, save for the extra fingers. Something protruded from the centre of the palm, a short tube of some kind. A muscular tail was coiled beneath the base of the hand. On its back he could just make out a dim, convex shape that looked like a glazed-over eye.
That eye. . if it was an eye and not simply some shiny excrescence. . deserved a closer look. Despite the feeling of repugnance churning in his belly, he moved still closer and raised the light for a better view.
The eye moved and looked at him.
The ovoid exploded. Propelled outward by the sudden release of energy contained in the coiled tail, the hand opened and leaped at him. He raised an arm to ward it off, too late. It fixed itself to his faceplate. He had a horribly close glimpse of the weaving tube in the centre of the palm stroking the front of the glass, centimetres from his nose. Something started to sizzle and the material of the faceplate began to deliquesce. He panicked, tried to tear the creature away.
It was through the plate. Alien atmosphere, cold and harsh, mixed with breathable air. He felt faint; continued to pull weakly at the hand. Something was pushing insistently at his lips.
Beyond all horror now, he staggered about the chamber, trying to wrench the abomination from him. The long, sensitive fingers had slipped through the open faceplate. They reached over his skull and around the sides of his head, while the thick tail slid inside to wrap itself snake-like around his neck.
Barely getting air, the awful tube feeling like a fat worm sliding down his throat, he stumbled over his own feet, tripped, and fell over backward.
'Kane. . Kane, can you hear me?' Dallas was sweating inside his suit. 'Kane, answer me!' Silence. He thought a moment. 'If you can't use your communicator, give me two beeps off your tracking unit.' He looked to Lambert, who could receive the signal. She waited a proper interval, waited longer before shaking her head slowly.
'What do you think's the matter?' she asked.
'I don't know, I don't know. Maybe he's fallen and damaged his power cells.' He hesitated. 'He can't or won't answer. I think we'd better haul him out.'
'Isn't that a bit premature? I'm concerned too, but. .'
Dallas had a slightly wild look in his eyes. When he caught Lambert staring at him he calmed himself.
'I'm okay. I'm okay. This place,' and he gestured at the cold walls, 'got to me for a moment, that's all. I still say we bring him up.'
'It'll yank him right off his feet if he's not expecting it. Could hurt him, especially if he has fallen and he's lying in a twisted position. If there's nothing really wrong you'll never hear the end of it'
'Try him again.'
Lambert thumbed her own communicator. 'Kane. . Kane. Goddamn it, answer us!'
'Keep trying.' While Lambert continued to call, alternately pleading and threatening, Dallas reached across the shaft opening and examined the cable. It moved easily in his hand. Too easily. He tugged, and a metre of line came up in his grasp without the expected resistance.
'Line's slack.' He glanced back at her.
'He still doesn't answer. Can't or won't. Do you think he could have gone and unhooked himself? I know what you told him, but you know how he is. Probably thought we wouldn't notice a temporary reduction in cable tension. If he spotted something and was afraid of the cable getting snagged or not reaching, I wouldn't put it past him to go and unlatch.'
'I don't care what he might've found. I do care that he doesn't answer.' Dallas adjusted the winch motor, switched it on. ''Too bad if it upsets him. If there's nothing wrong with him or his equipment, I'll make him wish he had unhooked.'
A flip of another switch and the winch began to reel in cable. Dallas watched it intently, relaxed a little when he saw the line snap taut after a couple of metres had been rewound. As expected, the cable slowed.
'There's weight on the end. It caught'
'Is it hooked on something?'
'Can't be. It's still coming up, only slightly different speed. If it had gotten caught and was dragging something besides Kane, the different weight would make it rise slower or faster. I think he's still there, even if he can't answer.'
'What if he objects and tries to use his chest unit to try to descend?'
Dallas shook his head curtly. 'He can't do it.' He nodded toward the winch. 'The cable override's on the unit there, not the portable he's wearing. He'll come up whether he likes the idea or not.'
Lambert gazed expectantly down the shaft. 'I still can't see anything.'
A lightbar illuminated a portion of the hole. Dallas played it across smooth walls. 'Neither can I. But the line's still coming up.'
It continued its steady rise, both suited figures waiting anxiously for something to ap
pear in the waiting circle of Dallas's light. It was several minutes before the cone of illumination was interrupted by something rising from below.
'Here he comes.'
'He's not moving.' Lambert searched nervously for a gesture of some kind from the nearing shape. An obscenity, anything. . but Kane did not move.
The tripod bent slightly downward as the last few metres of cable were reeled in.
'Get ready to grab him if he swings your way.' Lambert readied herself on the opposite side of the shaft.
Kane's body appeared, swinging slowly on the end of the cable. It hung limp in the dim light.
Dallas reached across the gap, intending to grab the motionless executive officer by his chest harness. His hand had almost made contact when he noticed the grey, equally motionless creature inside the helmet, enveloping Kane's head. He pulled back his groping hand as if burnt.
'What's the matter?' wondered Lambert.
'Watch out. There's something on his face, inside his helmet.'
She walked around the gap. 'What is. .,' then she got her first glimpse of the creature, neatly snugged inside the helmet like a mollusc in its shell. 'Oh, Jesus!'
'Don't touch it.' Dallas studied the limp form of his shipmate. Experimentally, he waved a hand at the thing attached to Kane's face. It didn't budge. Bracing himself, ready to jerk back and run, he reached toward it. His hand moved close to the base, then toward the eye bulge on its back. The beast took no notice of him, exhibited no sign of life except a slow pulsing.
'Is it alive?' Lambert's stomach was turning slowly. She felt as though she'd just swallowed a litre of the Nostromo's half-recycled wastes.
'It's not moving, but I think it is. Get his arms, I'll take his legs. Maybe we can dump it off him.'
Lambert hurried to comply, paused, and looked back at him uncertainly. 'How come I get the arms?'
'Oh, hell. You want to switch?'
'Yeah.'
Dallas moved to trade places with her. As he did so he thought he saw one finger of the hand move, ever so slightly, but he couldn't be sure.
He started to lift under Kane's arms, felt the dead weight, hesitated. 'We'll never get him back to the ship this way. You take one side and I'll take the other.'
'Fair enough.'
They carefully turned the body of the exec onto his side. The creature did not fall off. It remained affixed to Kane's face as securely as it had been when the latter had been lying untouched on his back.
'No good. Wishful thinking. I didn't think it would fall off. Let's get him back to the ship.'
He slipped an arm behind Kane's back and raised him to a sitting position, then got one of the exec's arms across his shoulders. Lambert did the same on the other side.
'Ready now?' She nodded. 'Keep an eye on the creature. If it looks like it's fixing to fall away, drop your side and get the hell clear.' She nodded again. 'Let's go.'
They stopped just inside the entrance to the alien ship. Both were breathing heavily. 'Let him down,' Dallas told her. Lambert did so, gladly. 'This won't work. His feet will catch on every rock, every crevice. Stay with him. I'm going to try to make a travois.'
'Out of what?' Dallas was already headed back into the ship, moving toward the chamber they'd just left.
'The winch tripod,' she heard him say in her helmet. 'It's strong enough.'
While waiting for Dallas to return, Lambert sat as far away from Kane as she could. Wind howled outside the derelict's hull, heralding the approaching nightfall. She found herself unable to keep her gaze from the tiny monster attached to Kane, unable to keep from speculating on what had happened.
She was able to prevent herself from thinking about what it might be doing to him. She had to, because hysteria lay down that particular mental path.
Dallas returned, sections of the disassembled tripod under his right arm. Spreading the pieces out on the deck, he began to rig a crude platform on which to drag Kane. Fear lent speed to his gloved fingers.
Once the device was finished, he lowered it gingerly to the surface outside. It fell the last couple of metres but did not break. He decided it would hold the unconscious exec until they could reach the Nostromo.
The short day was rapidly rushing to an end, the atmosphere once more turning the colour of blood, the wind rising mournfully. Not that they couldn't haul Kane back or find the tug in the dark, but Dallas now had less desire than ever to be abroad on this windswept world at night. Something grotesque beyond imagining had risen from the depths of the derelict to imprint itself on Kane's face and their minds. Worse terrors might even now be gathering in the dust-impregnated dusk. He longed desperately for the secure metal walls of the Nostromo.
As the sun fell behind rising clouds the ring of floodlights lining the underside of the tug winked on. They did not make the landscape around the ship cheerful, merely served to brighten the dismal contours of the igneous rock on which it rested. Occasional clots of thicker dust would swirl in front of them, temporarily oblitreating even that feeble attempt to keep back the cloying darkness.
On the bridge, Ripley waited resignedly for some word from the silent exploration party. The first feelings of helplessness and ignorance had faded by now. They had been replaced by a vague numbness in body and soul. She could not bring herself to look out a port. She could only sit quietly, take an occasional sip of tepid coffee, and stare blankly at her slowly changing readouts.
Jones the cat was sitting in front of a port. He found the storm exhilarating and had evolved a frenetic game of swatting at the larger particles of dust whenever one struck the port's exterior. Jones knew he could never actually catch one of the flying motes. He understood the underlying physical laws behind the fact of a solid transparency. That lessened the delight of the game but did not obviate it. Besides, he could pretend that the dark fragments of stone were birds, though he'd never seen a bird. But he instinctively understood that concept, too.
Other monitors besides Ripley's were being watched, other gauges regularly evaluated. Being the only noncoffee drinker on the Nostromo, Ash did his work without liquid stimulation. His interest was perked only by new information.
Two gauges that had been motionless for some time suddenly came to life, the fresh numbers affecting the science officer's system as powerfully as any narcotic. He cut in amplifiers and thoroughly checked them out before opening the intercom to the bridge and announcing their reception.
'Ripley? You there, Ripley?'
'Yo.' She noted the intensity in his tone, sat up in her seat. 'Good news?'
'I think so. Just picked up their suit signals again. And their suit images are back on the screens.'
She took a deep breath, asked the frightening but necessary question: 'How many?'
'All of them. Three blips, steady signals.'
'Where are they?'
'Close. . very close. Someone must've thought to switch back on so we could pick them up. They're heading this way at a steady pace. Slow, but they keep moving. It looks good.'
Don't count on it, she thought to herself as she activated her station transmitter. 'Dallas. . Dallas, can you hear me?' A hurricane of static replied, and she fine-tuned. 'Dallas, this is Ripley. Acknowledge.'
'Easy, Ripley. We hear you. We're almost back.'
'What happened? We lost you on the screens, lost suit signals as well when you went inside the derelict. I've seen Ash's tapes. Have you. .?'
'Kane's hurt.' Dallas sounded exhausted and angry. 'We'll need some help getting him in. He's unconscious. Someone will have to give us a hand getting him out of the lock.'
A quick response sounded over the speakers. 'I'll go.' That was Ash.
Back in engineering, Parker and Brett were listening intently to the conversation.
'Unconscious,' repeated Parker. 'Always knew Kane would get himself in trouble someday.'
'Right.' Brett sounded worried.
'Not a bad guy, though, for a ship's officer. Like him better than Dallas. Not so fast w
ith an order. I wonder what the hell happened to them out there?'
'Don't know. We'll find out soon enough.'
'Maybe,' Parker went on, 'he just fell down and knocked himself out.'
The explanation was as unconvincing to Parker as it was to Brett. Both men went quiet, their attention on the busy, crackling speaker.
'There she is.' Dallas had enough strength left to gesture with his head. Several dim, treelike shapes loomed up out of the almost night. They supported a larger amorphous shape: the hull of the Nostromo.
They had almost reached the ship when Ash reached the inner lock door. He stopped there, made sure the hatch was ready to be opened, and touched the stud of the nearest 'com.
'Ripley. . I'm by the inner hatch.' He left the channel open, moved to stand next to a small port nearby. 'No sign of them yet. It's nearly full night outside, but when they reach the lift I ought to be able to make out their suit lights.'
'Okay.' She was thinking furiously, and some of her current thoughts would have surprised the waiting science officer. They were surprising to herself.
'Which way?' Dallas squinted into the dust, trying to make out shipmarks by the light from the floods.
Lambert gestured to their left. 'Over that way, I think. By that first strut. Lift should be just beyond.' They continued on in that direction until they almost tripped over the rim of the lift, firmly placed on hard ground. Despite their fatigue, they wrestled Kane's motionless form off the travois and onto the elevator, keeping the exec supported between them.
'Think you can keep him up? Be easier if we don't have to lift him again.'
She took a breath. 'Yeah, I think so. So long as someone will help us once we get outside the lock.'
'Ripley, are you there?'
'Right here, Dallas.'
'We're coming up.' He glanced over at Lambert. 'Ready?' She nodded.
He pressed a stud. There was a jerk, then the lift rose smoothly upward, stopped even with the lock egress. Dallas leaned slightly, hit a switch. The outer hatch slid aside and they entered the lock.
Alien (aliens universe) Page 8
