A C Crispin

by Alien Resurrection

  Wren balanced on the narrow ledge, next to a maintenance access door as Call climbed up behind him. He kept glancing down at the others, still climbing up, as he punched codes into a small keypad beside the door.

  "Hurry!" Call urged, unable to see if the Alien was pursuing them.

  "It's jammed!" Wren yelled. He slammed his fist on the pad in frustration. "Shit! Weapon!" He held out his hand to her, not even looking her way, the way any surgeon would for an instrument he trusted his assistant to provide.

  Call glanced down again, wishing she could see more, and automatically handed him the small weapon Vriess had given her. She didn't even think about what she'd done until she looked up and found the muzzle pointed directly at her.

  How could I have been so stupid? she thought disgustedly. She'd been too distracted by Ripley's disappearance, by the oncoming Alien.

  Wren's expression was one of smug satisfaction as he took aim and fired, at point-black range. Call took the projectile right in the chest, and instantly clutched at the wound, staring at Wren in shock. Her extremities went numb, her brain stopped processing, as every organ in her body desperately fought for life. As her consciousness grew dimmer, she fell, plummeting down the long tube of the elevator shaft.

  Dimly, she heard Vriess screaming, "NOOOOOOO!" as she fell past him and Christie, fell past Johner, fell past Ripley—

  Ripley? Ripley? You made it...? Then she hit the water hard and sank, drifting right past the submerged Alien who watched her drift by without making a move.

  Call's last conscious thought was, Ripley made it. Ripley made it.

  Ripley watched Call fall past her and went numb with shock, then felt surprised that she felt that way. She watched as Call's body hit the water and went under, watched as the other woman sank to the bottom, watched as Call drifted right by the shadow of the Alien still beneath the surface of the pool. Something was tugging at the recesses of her mind. Something—

  A little blond girl, walking in waist-deep water, calling her name. "Ripley! Ripley!" Racing to save the girl, racing against time and monsters. "I'm coming! Hold on! I'm coming!" But when she got there, to the water, there was nothing. Nothing but a plastic doll head sinking under the waves, just like Call was sinking. And she was sobbing, screaming, "I've got to save her! They won't kill her. You've got to understand, they won't kill her...."

  She remembered sobbing, she remembered feelings so strong they tore at her, feelings like those she'd had in the lab when she saw her sisters.

  She watched Call's disappearing body, remembering a plastic doll's head disappearing below the waves....

  Ripley looked up. Looked at Wren. Wren who had created her for his own ends. Wren, who had killed Call in cold blood. Colder than the Aliens. The coldest blood of all. The doctor was reworking the code on the keypad that would open the door. Ripley stopped analyzing her feelings and started moving, racing up the ladder, passing Johner, passing Purvis and Distephano, passing Christie and Vriess.

  Vriess started screaming hysterically, "WREN! YOU BASTARD! YOU MUTHA-FUCKER!" Crazed, the paralyzed man loaded his gun and started firing at the doctor, but his position on Christie's back hampered his aim. The bullets ricocheted around the doctor, but the door opened then, and he disappeared inside, just as Ripley got to the ledge.

  She lunged for the door, but it slid shut in her face. She jammed her hands between the panels, just before they sealed together and fought them, trying to force them back open, but finally had to pull her fingers free. The doors slammed tight. Ripley screamed, the same scream of fury she'd screamed over the dead Alien. She pounded the door in frustration.

  Some distant part of her mind wondered if she hadn't been better off before she'd found these feelings.

  Vriess!" Christie shouted to the enraged man on his back, "VRIESS! Quit firing, man! You're gonna hit one of us! Quit, man!"

  Somehow the words got through to the paralyzed man and Vriess stopped. Christie felt Vriess sag against him, spent. "Oh, shit, Christie," he choked, "that bastard killed Annalee. Little Annalee...."

  "Yeah, man," Christie said, feeling his throat tighten up. "She was a fighter. A hell of a woman. I'm sorry, man." Vriess trembled against his back, and Christie hoped he wasn't crying. If Vriess lost it now, Christie was afraid that after all they'd been through, he might, too, and he couldn't afford that. Not while he was still carrying them both.

  Suddenly, Vriess tensed. "Oh, shit, Christie. Move it, move it, MOVE IT!"

  The big man glanced down in time to see the Alien from the pool suddenly spring at the ladder and start clambering up like a monkey. A monkey on joy juice! Dammit, could that thing move!

  Christie went into overdrive, pulling him and Vriess up the ladder hand over hand. "Do somethin', will ya?" he barked at Vriess.

  He could feel Vriess jerking his gun around, wrestling with it. "I'm jammed, dammit!"

  One handed, Christie tried to fire down on the pursuing monster, but couldn't fire low enough with Vriess on his back. The bullets passed harmlessly above the Alien's head, ricocheting off the opposite wall.

  The Alien clambered up higher, then halted. Christie glanced back at it, only to see the creature open its silvery jaws and spit a gob of venom at them, like a monstrous cobra.

  The Alien's aim was perfect; the noxious stuff hit Christie hard right in the eye. The shock and surprise and searing, burning pain were so sudden, so unexpected, that Christie screamed and lost his grip. The two men plummeted toward the creature waiting for them, while all Christie could do was shriek and claw at his dissolving face.

  They jerked to an abrupt halt, forcing Christie to focus on something else besides his own agony. Somehow, Vriess had managed to snag a rung as they fell. The paralyzed man's upper body was incredibly strong, much stronger than his smaller size would imply, but was it strong enough to support them both? Trying to force his mind to concentrate on their survival, instead of the acid still eating away at his skin and face and ruined eye, Christie realized what a liability he'd just become to Vriess. This was pitiful, really. Totally pitiful.

  Vriess managed to grab the rung with his other hand, but Christie could see with his good eye that their feet were dangling temptingly just above the monster's head. With a grunt of effort, Vriess started pulling them up the ladder, but suddenly the Alien's hand shot upward and grabbed Christie's leg in a viselike grip. The big man moaned, repelled by the inhuman touch and all that it implied. He thought of Elgyn. And Hillard.

  The Alien pulled, its strength equal to that of five men, maybe ten. Christie heard Vriess moan, felt him cling to that rung for all he was worth.

  Christie had a sudden memory of Kawlang—

  —of him bending over Vriess in some horribly swampy place, seeing the shrapnel sticking out of his spine. He remembered Vriess sobbing, screaming, "Get out of here! Leave me! You'll all die if you don't leave me!" He remembered Elgyn snarling, "Vriess, will you shut the fuck up?" and nodding at Christie. He remembered Hillard tying the broken man onto his back, with Johner grousing the whole time. "If we all get killed, you bastard, " Johner swore, "I'm gonna haunt you, mutha-fucker. " They were almost out of there clean when they caught that ambush, and Johner got that scar on his face. He blamed Vriess for "losing my damn good looks!" and things were never the same between them.

  But all Christie could remember now was packing Vriess out of there on his back, feeling the solid presence against him, telling Vriess over and over, "Man, don't you die on me. You gotta watch my back, partner. Just keep watchin' my back."

  Funny how the mind could work so fast when there was no time to spare.

  The Alien gave a casual tug, and Christie could swear the beast was smiling at them, toying with them. Vriess gasped, still clinging to the ladder for all he was worth.

  My turn to be back here now, Christie thought, watchin' your back. But, buddy, I think we just ran out of options. And man, I ain't never hurt like this, not this bad, not ever.

  The Alien tugg
ed again, and Vriess groaned. Christie felt his partner's hands start to slip almost as if it were his own on the ladder.

  Johner couldn't believe it when he saw Vriess grab the ladder rung and stop their fall. It was an amazing move, but it looked like the cripple and Christie just ran out of luck. He could see the Alien grappling with them, toying with them. And Johner could see the tortured expression on Vriess's face as he clung for his own life and his old friend's.

  Without a second thought, Johner spread his arms, snapping a weapon into each palm. Hooking his knees over a ladder rung like an aerialist, he dropped upside down with the ladder at his back, leaving his hands free as his legs held him in place. Aiming for the huge black skull perched beneath his crew mates, he fired at the monster.

  The bullets flew down, past the two struggling men, and impacted solidly with the massive Alien head. There was a momentary pause—

  Then the beast's head exploded with a whump, and a huge spattering of blood and tissue. Some of it landed on the ladder, which started to sizzle, but Vriess and Christie seemed to escape without further damage.

  "Got you, you bastard!" Johner shouted, then swung back up to continue his climb.

  However, as soon as he righted himself, he came face-to-face with something on the ladder, something horrible. His face contorted in fear and loathing, and he nearly fell back down, as he discovered two rungs covered in a massive web with a hideous, huge spiderlike ... thing... crouching smack in the center of it.

  With a high-pitched scream, Johner brought his gun up, and blasted the damned insect. Then, realizing what he'd done, how he'd overreacted, he just clung to the ladder and started to shake.

  "Is it dead?" Vriess gasped, still clinging to the ladder.

  "Oh, yeah," Christie wheezed, barely able to get the words out past the pain, "it's dead all right." His agony was nearly all-encompassing, but he was still aware of the lifeless creature that still clung to his ankle. He couldn't shake it off. It swung, a dead weight, permanently fastened to him. Vriess was losing his grip. They were plainly out of options.

  Vriess must've glanced down, realized what had happened. He was muttering a litany of "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...."

  You got that right, ol' buddy, Christie thought, delirious with pain. He felt Vriess's grip slip a little more. Out of options.

  From high above them, the others must've realized what was happening. He heard, dimly, Distephano cursing, heard Ripley suddenly yelling. Maybe they were on their way back down—but they'd never make it in time. Christie knew what he had to do.

  Fumbling in his side pocket, Christie pulled out his knife.

  Ripley's voice drifted down, shrill, demanding. "CHRISTIE, DON'T! DAMMIT, DON'T!"

  How 'bout that! the injured man thought, as he slipped the knife under the bonds that tied him to Vriess. I didn't even think she knew my name.

  Behind him, Vriess realized what his friend was about to do. "Man, what... what the hell are you...? Christie! No! Nooooo!"

  Stop yellin ', man, and save your strength! Christie thought, annoyed. He was so weakened by pain and the

  unyielding pull of the dead weight on his leg that he barely had strength enough to saw through the bonds that held him to his friend. But he had to. Or they both would die. He closed his eyes and forced himself into one final effort.

  He heard his name shouted by his friends, women and men alike, as the ropes suddenly gave. Christie and the Alien plummeted down the elevator shaft, crashing brokenly onto metal beams and the edge of the pool before finally sliding away under the water.

  As the terrible weight of his friend and the monster attached to him dropped away, Vriess gripped the ladder with all the strength left in him. Christie had died to save him; he couldn't dishonor his friend by giving up now. But, yet, how could he go on? Elgyn. Hillard. Call. Now, Christie.

  But Christie had died to save him. He had to live. To live as a tribute to that sacrifice.

  Hand over hand, Vriess climbed the ladder by sheer force of will, crying all the way up.

  11

  Ripley stood on the narrow crawl space that ringed the shaft and tried to figure out what their next option might be. Christie's sacrifice, coming so close after Call's death, had shaken her complacency. But she had no time to feel, to grieve, even to acknowledge that she was having such feelings. She could sense yet another warrior on his way to take the place of the one Johner had killed. She redoubled her efforts at the keypad, trying to get the doors open. Had Wren sabotaged the portal somehow?

  Thinking about Wren, even briefly, fueled her rage. No doubt, he was on his way to take the Betty and escape, leaving them to negotiate with the Aliens.

  Distephano and Purvis were both watching her, waiting for her to come up with some answers. She sighed in frustration and wondered why they thought she might have the answers. Then she wondered when she'd started caring about what they thought.

  To compound the matter, Johner finally got to the top of the ladder and, to her dismay, looked right at her and asked, "And now what do we do?"

  Not him, too!

  Before she could respond that the door was locked, and that she was out of ideas, the portal began to beep loudly. Startled, Ripley nearly lost her balance. She turned and realized that the keypad was flashing some intermittent signal, and then lights began to blink on the sealed shaft doors.

  Everyone froze, then brought up their weapons all at once, aiming for the doors. No one breathed.

  Did Wren have second thoughts and come back for us? Ripley wondered, then dismissed that ridiculous notion. Especially when there was another, more likely scenario. They've learned how to open the doors, something I can't figure out.

  She was weaponless herself, and just stood frozen on the narrow crawl space, hugging the wall, waiting for the bad news. What else could it be?

  She glanced at the doors and realized that there was water seeping under the seal. Water...?

  Then, finally, the doors opened with a whoosh, and Ripley stared, disbelieving. As did everyone else.

  Call? No, that's not possible....

  The small woman was drenched, dripping wet from head to toe, but other than that, she seemed none the worse for wear. She wasn't even breathing hard! She looked at them all hanging in the shaft, staring wide-eyed at her, and said, matter-of-factly, "This way."

  But no one moved. They were all too stunned, totally uncomprehending. They stood rooted, their guns still absurdly aimed at her.

  "Get on!" she snapped at them, trying to motivate them.

  They finally responded as a group and scrambled over the crawl space one by one to get through the doors. The group went out the other side, emerging into the ship's corridor.

  Vriess had finally reached the top of the ladder and

  Purvis and Distephano grabbed his arms and hoisted him the rest of the way. Vriess sprawled in the hallway, with the others semicollapsed around him, leaning on walls, taking a minute to catch their breaths.

  Vriess regarded Call with stunned surprise. "Baby, am I glad to see you! I was sure that asshole got you. Are you hurt?" He held a hand out to her, and waited for her to take it.

  But she only turned her back on them all, muttering, "I'm fine."

  Ripley glanced at each of them in turn, and they met her eyes with the same questions she had, even Vriess.

  Quietly, Distephano asked, "You got body armor on?"

  "Yeah," Call said dismissively. "Come on."

  But Ripley wasn't buying it. She'd seen Call with her vest open down at the bottom of the shaft. Her thin, wet T-shirt had clung to her ribs clearly. There'd been no body armor. She moved over to the woman.

  "You took it in the chest," she said softly. "I saw."

  Call stared at her defiantly. "I'm fine!"

  Ripley met the dark eyes with her own piercing gaze, looking for the truth, looking for the answers. Call couldn't hold her stare. Her chin quivered slightly, then suddenly she completely broke down, and the tough mechanic s
tarted crying like a lost child.

  Her tears touched Ripley in a very visceral way. Even so, she gently opened and spread the ends of Call's sealed vest.

  She'd taken it directly in the chest, all right—but instead of showing blood and bone and lung tissue, the ugly, gaping wound revealed a confusing tangle of computer parts, manufactured organs, memory components, and synthorganic wiring and tubing.

  "A robot," Ripley said, dead-voiced.

  From somewhere deep inside her, a memory flashed. I prefer the term 'artificial person.' She closed her eyes wearily.

  "Son of a bitch," Johner muttered, amazed. "Little Annalee's just full of surprises."

  Ripley dropped her hands, talking now almost to herself. "I should have known. All that crap about being human. There's no one so zealous as a Born Again."

  Distephano had drawn closer and seemed to be examining the blue and white liquid Call used for blood. It was splashed over her chest and clothes, but she'd obviously gotten it under control. She must have. She was still functioning.

  "I thought synthetics were supposed to be all logical and shit," Johner said to the group. "She's a big ol' psycho!"

  Ripley had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. How easily Johner recognized one of his own.

  "A terrorist?" Purvis said nervously. "Then she wasn't here to protect us?"

  Ripley tried to find answers in Call's eyes, her expression, but the woman—the robot—wasn't giving her any.

  Vriess's voice nearly broke. "You're a Second Gen, aren't you?"

  Ripley searched her memory, but couldn't find any references for that term. After her time, and before this one?

  "Leave me alone," Call said tiredly, having gotten her tears under control. Her tears, perhaps, but not her voice. Her vocal track was slipping, revealing the effects of the damage. Her words were a bit slow with a strange, mechanical echo. It was eerie.

  "Call...?" Vriess pressed, wanting his answer. Feeling, perhaps, that he deserved it.