Alien (aliens universe)

by Alan Dean Foster

  'Ready starboard airlock.'

  Parker and Lambert reached the section of corridor specified by Dallas, halted. The vent opening, grille-covered and innocent-looking, showed in the wall three quarters of the way up.

  'That's where it'll be coming out, if it tries this way,' Parker observed. Lambert nodded, moved to the nearby 'com pickup to report that they were in position.

  Back in the food locker, Dallas listened intently as Lambert's report followed Ripley's. Dallas asked a couple of questions, acknowledged the answers, and switched off. Ash handed him his flamethrower, Dallas adjusted the nozzle and fired a couple of quick, short bursts.

  'It's still working. Parker's a better applied machinist than even he thinks he is.' He noticed the expression on Ash's face. 'Something the matter?'

  'You've made your decision. It's not my place to comment.'

  'You're the science officer. Go ahead and comment.'

  'This has nothing to do with science.'

  'This is no time to hedge. Say what's on your mind.'

  Ash eyed him with genuine curiosity. 'Why do you have to be the one to go? Why didn't you send Ripley? She was willing, and she's competent enough.'

  'I shouldn't even have suggested anyone but myself.' He was checking the fluid level on the flamethrower. 'That was a mistake. It's my responsibility. I let Kane go down into the alien ship. Now it's my turn. I've delegated enough risk without taking any on myself. It's time I did.'

  'You're the captain,' Ash argued. 'This is a time to be practical, not heroic. You did the proper thing in sending Kane. Why change now?'

  Dallas grinned at him. It wasn't often you could catch Ash in a contradiction. 'You're hardly the one to be talking about proper procedure. You opened the lock and let us back into the ship, remember?' The science officer didn't reply. 'So don't lecture me on what's proper.'

  'It'll be harder on the rest of us if we lose you. Especially now.'

  'You just mentioned that you thought Ripley was competent. I concur. She's next in line of command. If I don't make it back, there's nothing I do that she can't.'

  'I don't agree.'

  They were wasting time. No telling how far ahead of him the creature was by now. Dallas was tired of arguing. 'Tough. That's my decision, and it's final.' He turned, put his right foot into the shaft opening, then slid the flamethrower in ahead of him, making sure it didn't slide on the slightly downwardinclining surface.

  'Won't work like that,' he grumbled, peering in. 'Not enough room to crouch.' He removed his leg. 'Have to crawl it.' He ducked his head and wriggled into the opening.

  There was less room in the shaft than he'd hoped. How something of the size Parker and Ripley had described had squirmed through the tiny crawlspace he couldn't imagine. Well, good! Dallas hoped the shaft would continue to narrow. Maybe the creature, in its haste to escape, would get itself wedged good and tight. That would make things simpler.

  'How is it?' a voice called from behind him.

  'Not too good,' he informed Ash, his voice reverberating around him. Dallas struggled into a crawling posture. 'It's just big enough to be uncomfortable.'

  He switched on his lightbar, fumbled anxiously for a moment before locating the throat mike he'd slipped on. The light showed dark, empty shaft ahead of him, Travelling in a straight metallic line with a slight downward curve. The incline would increase, he knew. He had a full deck level to descend before emerging behind the creature outside the starboard lock.

  'Ripley, Parker, Lambert. . are you receiving me? I'm in the shaft now, preparing to descend.'

  Below, Lambert addressed the wall 'com. 'We read you. I'll try to pick you up as soon as you come within range of our tracker.' Next to her, Parker hefted his flamethrower and glared at the grille covering the duct.

  'Parker,' Dallas instructed the engineer, 'if it tries to come out by you two, make sure you drive it back in. I'll keep pushing it forward.'

  'Right.'

  'Ready by the lock,' Ripley reported. 'She's standing open and waiting for company.'

  'It's on its way.' Dallas started crawling, his eyes on the tunnel ahead, fingers on the controls of the incinerator. The shaft here was less than a metre wide. Metal rubbed insistently at his knees and he wished he'd donned an extra pair of overalls. Too late for that now, he mused. Everyone was ready and prepared. He wasn't going back.

  'How you doing?' a voice sounded over his mike speaker.

  'Okay, Ash,' he told the anxious science officer. 'Don't worry about me. Keep your eyes on that opening in case it's slipped behind me somehow.'

  He turned his first bend in the shaft, fighting to see in his head the exact layout of the ship's ventilating system. The printed schematic back in the mess was fuzzy and indistinct in his memory. The vents were hardly among the ship's critical systems. It was too late to wish that he'd taken more time to study them.

  Several more tight turns showed in the shaft ahead of him. He paused, breathing heavily, and raised the tip of the flamethrower. There was nothing to indicate that anything lay hiding behind those bends, but it was better not to take chances. The incinerator's fuel level read almost full. It wouldn't hurt to let the creature know what was following close behind it, maybe drive it forward without having to face it.

  A touch on the red button sent a gout of flame down the tunnel. The roar was loud in the constricted shaft, and heat rushed back across his protesting skin. He started forward again, taking care to keep his ungloved hands off the now hot metal he was crawling over. A little heat even penetrated the tough fabric of his pants. He didn't feel it. His senses were all concentrated forward, searching for movement and smell.

  In the equipment area, Lambert thoughtfully regarded the tightly screened opening. She reached back, threw a switch. There was a hum and the metal grille slid out of sight, leaving a gaping hole in the wall.

  'Are you crazy?' Parker eyed her uncertainly.

  'That's the one it's got to come out of if it leaves the main shaft,' she told him. 'Let's keep it open. It's too dark behind the grille. I'd like to know if anything's coming.'

  Parker thought to argue, decided his energy would be better spent keeping an eye on the opening, grilled or unblocked. Anyway, Lambert outranked him.

  Sweat was seeping into his eyes, persistent as ants, and Dallas had to stop to wipe it away. Salt burned, impairing his sight. Ahead, the shaft turned steeply downward. He'd been expecting the downturn about now, but the satisfaction of having his memory confirmed gave him little pleasure. Now he'd have to watch his speed and balance in addition to the shaft itself.

  Crawling to the drop, he pointed the flamethrower downward and let loose another fiery discharge. No screams, no aroma of seared flesh drifted back up to him. The creature was still far ahead. He wondered if it were crawling, perhaps angrily, perhaps fearfully, in search of the exit. Or maybe it was waiting, turned to confront its persistent pursuer with inconceivable methods of alien defence.

  It was hot in the shaft, and he was growing tired. There was another possibility, he mused. What if the creature had somehow discovered another way to leave the shaft? In that event he'd have made the tense, agonizing crawl for nothing. There was still only one way to resolve all the questions. He started down the steep slide head first, keeping the flamethrower balanced and pointing forward.

  It was Lambert who first noticed the movement of the tracker needle. She had a nervous minute until some hasty figuring matched the reading with a known quantity.

  'Beginning to get a reading on you,' she informed the distant Dallas.

  'Okay.' He felt better, knowing that others knew exactly where he was. 'Stay on me.'

  The shaft made another turn. He didn't recall there being quite so many twists and sharp bends, but he was positive he was still in the main shaft. He hadn't passed a single side tunnel wide enough to admit anything larger than Jones. Despite the alien's demonstrated aptitude for squeezing into small spaces, Dallas didn't think it could shrink its bulk enou
gh to fit into a secondary vent pipe only a dozen or so centimetres across.

  The present turn confronting him proved especially difficult to negotiate. The long, inflexible barrel of the flamethrower didn't make it any easier. Panting, he lay there and considered how to proceed.

  'Ripley.'

  She jerked at the sharpness in his voice, spoke hurriedly into the 'com pickup. 'I'm here. Reading you clearly. Anything wrong? You sound. .' she caught herself. How else should Dallas sound except nervous'

  '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 flamethr
owers. '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 around 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.