A C Crispin

by Alien Resurrection

  Hillard suddenly went tearing up the hall, heedless of any danger. She was furious, as if this woman were the cause of all their problems. "Leave him alone!" she shouted.

  Christie flinched, wondering how many of those things might be out there, how many might be drawn by their voices.

  Ripley barely spared Hillard a glance. Impassive as always, she discovered a handful of ammo in Elgyn's pockets and appropriated it, putting it in her own. Then she straightened up and loaded her rifle, checking it professionally. The rest of them might as well have been invisible.

  Call suddenly found her voice. Christie could hear her mutter, "Okay... real slow now. What. The. Fuck...?"

  Ripley looked at them all then, for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, without a word, she approached the monster's corpse. Bending over its head she actually reached into its mouth. Its maw was open, oozing a clear, sticky liquid, and the beast was still twitching in its death throes.

  Christie heard a soft sound beside him and realized to his shock that it came from Johner. The scarred man's eyes were wide with revulsion. That's right. Man, Johner hates bugs, and that thing looks like the mutha of all bugs!

  Without warning, Ripley grabbed hold of the Alien's tongue. Bellowing a fierce battle cry, she yanked with inhuman force and ripped the rigid, fanged tongue right out of the monster's head!

  While the rest of them just stood and stared, Ripley walked over to Call and dumped the hideous, dripping thing in the smaller woman's hands.

  "Here," Ripley said casually. "It'll make a great necklace." Then she sauntered a few yards away.

  Call stared in horror at her "gift" and let it fall to the floor. Every last one of them shuddered.

  Wren, Christie suddenly realized, was trying to keep the entire group between himself and Ripley, but she seemed to be paying him no mind.

  In a shaky voice, Johner asked Christie, "What do we do?"

  The black man shrugged. "Same thing we were doing. We get the fuck outta here."

  "What if there's more?" Johner asked, his eyes wide and feverishly bright. "Let's... let's stay here and let the army guys deal with it. Someone will come. ... I mean ... where are the army guys?"

  Christie didn't like seeing Johner this rattled. He was going to need him if they were ever to get out of this.

  "They're dead," Call said. She sounded sure of herself, and Christie wasn't in any position to argue with her. After all, they sure hadn't seen any soldiers since they'd left the mess hall.

  Johner suddenly focused on Wren, and his expression grew grim. He approached the scientist, gun drawn. The soldier, Distephano, stepped in his way, in spite of the fact that he was unarmed. Johner ignored him, his eyes, his anger, his fear, all directed at Wren. Call had said that he was the one responsible for creating the Aliens, and Johner must've just remembered that.

  "We don't need this asshole anymore," Johner growled. "Let's waste him."

  "Step back!" Distephano ordered futilely.

  Johner brought his weapon up, aimed at the soldier's face. Distephano never flinched, but Wren cringed.

  "Stop it!" Call ordered, pushing her way over.

  Johner spun on her, furious, a hair trigger away from exploding. "You got no authority here!"

  The short, slight woman didn't back down. Getting right up in Johner's face, she demanded, "We're not killing anybody, except in self-defense!"

  Reluctantly, Christie realized it was time to get involved. He spoke to Wren. "Doctor. That thing. That's your pet science project?"

  In a small voice, Wren admitted, "Yes."

  "And there's others?" Christie guessed. Wren nodded. "How many?"

  The doctor glanced around nervously, and Christie realized he was still worried about Ripley, who was now crouched on the floor several meters away. In a barely audible voice, he murmured, "Twenty."

  Johner nearly lost it. "Twenty! We're fucked in our pink bottoms if there's twenty of those things!"

  Everyone started talking all at once, nearly panicked, until Ripley's calm voice cut through. "There'll be more. Lots more."

  They all looked at her.

  "They'll breed," she told them. "In a few hours there'll be twice that number. Probably more."

  She rose gracefully from her crouch and approached them. Without showing any more emotion than she had over anything else, she said, "So, who do I have to fuck to get off this boat?"

  None of them answered. She made them edgy, nervous. In spite of the fact that she'd saved them from the beast, none of them felt the least bit comfortable having her around.

  Suddenly Call stepped forward, pointing at Ripley. "Wait a second here. She was the host for these monsters. Wren cloned her 'cause she had one of those inside her."

  "That explains a lot," Christie muttered to Johner. "She's too much of a risk," Call insisted. "Leave her here."

  Johner was nodding. "I gotta go with Call on this one.

  Bad idea, Christie decided. We need her. He didn't know why, he just knew, and he was used to following his gut-level instincts, especially when things got tight. Without Elgyn, they had no leadership. Someone had to make a command decision. They were all looking at him. Man, he didn't want this job!

  Glaring at the whole group, Christie ordered, "She comes."

  Call spun on him, shocked. "She's not human! She's part of Wren's experiment! She could turn on us in a second."

  Christie watched Ripley through it all. Still that same dispassionate cool. And her eyes—those predator eyes.... They were losing valuable time with all this arguing. Twenty of those things?

  He turned on the entire group. "I don't give a good goddamn whether you people can get along or not. If we're gonna survive this mess, we all work together. We all get off this boat. After that, it's every man for his lonesome self." Impulsively, he reached down, picked up Elgyn's rifle, and handed it to Distephano. Johner stared at him in outrage, but Christie ignored him. The soldier nodded at him in gratitude and checked the rounds.

  Call was looking at Ripley. "You can't trust her," she warned Christie one last time.

  Christie looked at Ripley, then at Distephano, then at Call. "I don't trust anyone."

  Hillard, who had been quiet through the whole thing, her attention focused on her dead lover, covered Elgyn's face with her coat.

  Johner suddenly realized they were leaving their old comrade on foreign ground without burial, and his face twisted in an expression that might have been regret. "Vaya con Dios, man."

  Hillard touched Elgyn's hand one last time, then stood up. Call touched her shoulder lightly, trying to comfort her, but Hillard moved away from the gesture, a distrustful look on her face.

  Ripley, Christie noticed, was willing to bring up the rear, Elgyn's last position. She was watching them all with an expression of fascinated detachment. He noted Call glancing back at her, and Ripley giving her a cold smile. The woman's expression made him shiver.

  "Okay, everybody, let's move out," Christie ordered, taking point once more. Leaving their captain and friend behind, they proceeded on to the Betty.

  This is the cell block, Christie thought, as they moved into it. Lotsa doors. Plenty of places for those damn things to hide. Since they'd left the hallway where Elgyn died, they hadn't seen a single Alien. Every place they'd checked had been empty, deserted, but the looming sense of something seemed to be following them. Maybe it was just Ripley, bringing up the rear. Christie didn't know, but by now they were all wired for light and sound, waiting for anything.

  At least they were acting more like a unit instead of a ragtag bunch of stragglers. Behind him, he knew Johner, Hillard, Distephano, and even Call-in spite of the fact that she was weaponless—were checking every door, every space behind every piece of furniture.

  As Christie passed by a closed elevator, he began thinking that maybe, just maybe they would make it. Then, five meters past the elevator, a chime went off.

  The elevator! Christie thought, freezing in place, as did everyone else.<
br />
  Slowly, he readied his weapon, hearing the clicks and whirs as everyone else followed suit.

  As the elevator doors slowly opened, Christie turned to face them. The others were already in position, guns pointing toward the opening elevator doors. No one moved. No one breathed.

  The interior of the elevator was dark, too dark to see.

  Sparks suddenly shot out of the elevator ceiling, making everyone jump, and a light began flickering. In the uneven illumination, Christie saw something folded up, hunkering in the back. At the exact same moment, every person who was armed lifted his weapon.

  With a blast of light, the overhead neon bulbs suddenly ignited, throwing bright white light everywhere.

  Sitting in the elevator was Vriess, a shotgun in his arms, sighted, ready. His eyes were wide in terror, and he was trembling wildly, sweat pouring off him.

  Vriess and the crew all stood there aiming at one another for a long second, each of them not recognizing the other as being human. Then at the same time, the realization hit, and everyone exhaled in relief and lowered their arms.

  Johner gasped, "Oh, man!"

  "Vriess!" Call called out happily, and ran over to him.

  Vriess grinned weakly and said shakily, "Hey, wha'chu guys doin'? Hey, Call."

  Christie wiped sweat off his forehead. "Thought you were toast for certain."

  Vriess's voice told them everything about his experience they'd ever want to know. "You ... you've seen that fucking thing?"

  "We've seen 'em," Christie replied grimly.

  "Shit," Vriess said. "I thought maybe I got 'em all."

  Christie shook his head, noticing the burn marks on Vriess's leg and ear. Yeah, his friend had obviously had a real close encounter.

  Johner turned to Wren and demanded, "Can we track those things?"

  Wren shook his head. "No."

  You tellin' the truth there, Doc, or not? Christie wondered.

  Johner looked at Christie, really worried now. "We could get to the Betty, and they could be all over it! Maybe inside it!"

  Wren decided to be helpful. "All of the activity seems to have been in the aft sector, by the barracks. There's no reason to suppose they'd move."

  Christie watched the doctor doubtfully.

  Then Ripley spoke up. "They won't move."

  There was a certainty in her voice that Christie found himself believing. The crew was looking at her, still nervous about who and what she was.

  "They're breeding," Ripley told them, in that flat, dead voice of hers. "They've got new host bodies to use. They'll stay close. If they send anybody out, it'll be here. Where the ... meat is."

  If they send anybody out. Christie mulled that over. Like they're people who can think, plan—but maybe they can.

  "The 'meat,' " Call said in disgust. "Jesus." Christie wanted to know more. He didn't care about the terms. "They're breeding. How long does that take?" He didn't bother asking Wren. He knew a reliable source when he saw one.

  "Hours," Ripley said.

  "Or less," Wren added. They all looked at him. "The process has accelerated. Something to do with...." He glanced guiltily at Ripley. "... With the cloned cells."

  Her expression closed down even more.

  Okay. Now we know. "Faster we get from here to there, the better," Christie decided.

  Johner spoke directly to him. "Well, if we want to make decent time, I say we ditch the cripple." He cocked a thumb in Vriess's direction, then glanced at the man and grinned shamelessly. "No offense." Vriess grinned back bitterly and flipped his middle finger. "None taken."

  Before Christie could tell Johner to go fuck himself, Hillard moved forward. She'd been morose, mourning Elgyn, and seemed to be blaming both Call and Ripley. Christie had worried that, in a pinch, her depression would be a liability. She was holding her head up now, and some of her spirit seemed to rally.

  "Nobody's left behind," she ordered firmly, "not even you, Johner." Her voice was steady, if quiet and sad. Nobody dared defy her.

  Christie turned to Distephano. "What's the best route?"

  He thought for a second. "The elevators. They run straight from the top of the ship down to engineering. No stops. But if we get in the shaft, there's a maintenance access tunnel that runs above level one deck. It'll take us right to the dock."

  Christie nodded. "Sounds reasonable. How do we reach them?"

  Distephano pointed. "Down this corridor, then we angle over and cut through the labs. We can shortcut through them to the elevators.

  "Right," said Christie. "Let's do it."

  Vriess suddenly started moving in his chair, unhooking and unsnapping parts of it. His weapons. He assembled them quickly, efficiently. Snap, snap, snap. A veritable arsenal was stashed away on the chair, right in plain sight. Christie had to smile.

  Vriess caught his friend's amused look. "They never check the chair."

  Distephano stared, chagrined.

  "Call," Vriess said sharply. She looked up, and he tossed her a small but deadly weapon perfectly suited to her size.

  "How come she gets a piece?" Johner groused. Christie ignored him. "If we're clear, then let's get on it. We'll go by twos."

  Just as they started to move out, that flat, dead voice stopped them as Ripley said simply, "We're moving."

  "What?" Christie asked, confused.

  "The ship is moving," Ripley stated. "I can feel it." She can feel it? Christie thought, nonplussed.

  Wren shook his head. "This ship has stealth-run. Even if we were moving, there's no way she could feel it."

  She glanced at him, and he moved to put someone else between them.

  Before Christie could collect his thoughts, Call looked thoughtful and interjected, "She's right."

  "The ship's been going since the attack," Ripley insisted, staring Wren down.

  All eyes turned to him. He started to sweat, finally admitting, "It's ... uh ... it's standard. I think." Distephano was nodding, looked concerned. "That's right. If the ship suffers any serious damage, it autopilots back to home base."

  Call's jaw clenched and she rounded on Wren. "You were planning to let us know this?"

  He drew away, even more nervous, then dissembled. "I forgot!"

  Yeah, who believes that? Christie wondered in disgust.

  "What's home base?" Hillard wanted to know. Softly, Wren admitted, "Earth."

  Call was furious now, nearly out of control. "Oh, God, you bastard...!"

  Johner looked thoroughly disgusted. "Earth? I don't wanna go to that shithole."

  Call was losing it, yelling at Wren. "If those things get to Earth, it'll be... it'll mean—"

  "The end," Ripley finished for her, sounding totally unconcerned.

  Call shook her head as if she couldn't accept it. "We've got to blow the ship!"

  "We don't have to do anything," Christie told her, "except get off it." He turned to Distephano. "How long till we get to Earth?"

  The soldier was at a console, calling up information on the screen. "Three hours. Almost."

  Call had turned on Christie now, realizing she needed to convince him. "Don't you get it? This thing is gonna put down in the middle of a heavily populated base. No one'll have the slightest idea what's coming. We're gonna be rolling out the red carpet for the end of our species!"

  Hillard moved into the argument. "That's not our problem."

  "Call," Christie told her firmly, "you're not blowing this ship. Not while we're on it. Once we get outta this shit, you can do as you please." He turned to the clone. "You're called Ripley, right? You mind taking point?"

  She nodded, and moved to the front, and once again, they moved out.

  Now Christie was in the rear. In front of him, he could hear Johner still grumbling. "Earth, man.... What a slum."

  Actually, Johner supposed, once he took some time to think about it, there were worse things than ending up on Earth. Yeah, like ending up like Elgyn! He shuddered, trying not to see in his mind's eye that hideous, buglike thin
g coming for them.

  As they walked warily from hall to hall, with Ripley on point, Johner had to admit a grudging admiration for the tall woman. She must have ice water in her for veins, the way she confronted that thing with nothing but a still-warm corpse between them. Sure, she was a clone, but shit, even clones had feelings.

  They came to another juncture, and Ripley stopped, poised. Johner moved nearer, every nerve alert. Finally, she said, "Clear."

  Johner moved up closer and caught her eye. "You've come up against these things before?" he asked bluntly.

  She was concentrating on the task at hand. "Yes," she replied shortly.

  When nothing else was forthcoming, Johner pushed. "So, what'd you do?"

  Her reply was matter-of-fact. "I died."

  She moved ahead, and Johner hung back, aghast. Glancing at Distephano, he muttered, "That wasn't really what I wanted to hear...."

  The soldier just shook his head, grinned, and patted Johner reassuringly on the shoulder. They moved on a little further, until Distephano tapped him, indicating a door.

  "This way," the soldier told the group. "Shortcut through here." He moved back, led them in.

  It was one of the labs. For once, Johner noted, Ripley showed some reaction, glancing at a big tube with the words "Incubator" on it. Home sweet nursery, huh? Johner guessed.

  She steeled her face again and moved on, following the soldier.

  Then they turned a comer and Johner spied something else. Everyone did, too, tensing when he did, totally in tune with each other. In the back of the room, where the shadows grew dark, the structure of the room changed. The dim lighting twisted, taking on grotesque shapes in the darkness. The floors, the walls, the ceiling—the entire room here had been altered. Reconstructed. They had been here, had made this their home for a while. Redesigning this human space to one more to their liking. It was completely Alien, not like anything Johner had ever seen. The walls were no longer smooth, but textured almost like the inside of a body cavity, with evenly spaced ribs, or bones, connected by dark membranes. And up on the walls—

  Johner froze, realizing everyone else had, too, standing their ground with guns held ready. Ripley stood like a statue, not moving, not breathing.