A C Crispin

by Alien Resurrection

  I had a girl, a beautiful little girl. She looked like both her parents. We called her Amy.

  Ellen Ripley blinked at the flood of human memories crashing in on her, while she remained trapped here in Alien hell.

  You told Amy you'd be back for her eleventh birthday. You promised. That was the first time you defeated them. But your escape pod wasn't found for fifty-seven years. Amy died never knowing why you didn't come home for her birthday.

  Ripley closed her eyes for a moment, her daughter's face clear before her. Other memories surged up.

  Newt.

  Hicks.

  Even Jonesy....

  All of them gone, lost to the years.

  Beside her, Gediman watched, amazed, wide-eyed, grinning like a lunatic, chuckling with a low "he-he-he" that was almost as disturbing as the Aliens' sounds.

  The Queen screamed again, and reached toward Ripley, as if the clone, her own "mother," could somehow help her through this experience, somehow coach her birth. The Alien female bellowed, struggling to pull herself out of her fetid bed.

  Remembering her own pain, Ripley moaned along with the Queen, her gut contracting in reflex.

  And inside her, inside her genes, she felt the Queen's pain on a visceral level. The telepathic link forced it on her, forced her to be the Queen in her terrible travail. The swollen, rippling belly, the tearing, burning pain, the inexorable pressure. The complete rebellion of her body forcing her to perform a function she no longer wanted to perform. Ripley moaned along with the Queen, suffering with her out of effort and sympathy.

  At the same time, she could feel the concern of the warriors as they moved closer to the helpless Queen.

  She could feel their anxiety. All of them—her husbands, all—longed to help their Queen, but not one knew how.

  Suddenly, a spout of blood spurted like a geyser from the Queen's heaving belly. The blood dribbled and seeped from that first eruption, tracing acid rivers over the rotund mound of flesh. Ripley tried to turn away, not wanting to witness this any longer, this ugly mockery of human birth.

  Then the Queen shrieked again, lifting her head, staring at Ripley, as if she were her midwife. Ripley curled in on herself, gripping her own stomach, and screamed in concert with the Queen.

  The writhing creature collapsed back into the mire, and the warriors surrounding her suddenly backed off, as if sensing something imminent.

  Ripley blinked wearily, dazedly, staring at the pulsating stomach. Another gout of blood spurted, and then something pressed upward against the thinning tissue of the Queen's belly. It kept pushing up, up, until the flesh took on the shape of the form beneath it as it resisted.

  Ripley blinked. It looked like a skull—a human skull—was struggling to emerge from the torn belly of the Queen.

  The baby.... Ripley thought distractedly. The baby's crowning. I see her head....

  There was a final shriek, a terrible tearing sound, and suddenly The Newborn emerged, unfolding itself from the cramped confines of its mother's womb. The creature was pale, not black, its skin looking more like human flesh than the hard silicon exoskeleton of the Aliens. Its head had the classic, elongated skull, but the face... The face....

  Beside her, Gediman babbled, weeping with mad joy. "Beautiful! Beautiful butterfly...!"

  The Newborn's face clearly had something human about it, all too human. It looked like a skull, with massive eye sockets, long, gleaming white teeth, a chiseled jawbone, and the hollows where a human nose belonged. The Newborn's face was the very image of Death.

  "So beautiful," Gediman muttered.

  Ripley glanced at him. He looked beatific, as if he'd given the universe the finest gift science could bestow.

  Ripley felt like she was on the verge of joining him in his madness. She turned away from the scientist and tried to get a grip on her seesawing emotions.

  The Newborn uncurled its massive body from its mother's innards.

  The Queen, no longer in such immediate pain, moaned softly now, her thrashing slower. She reached for her child with a trembling hand. Ripley envisioned herself making that same gesture, remembered her husband lifting their daughter and resting her on her mother's stomach. She remembered bursting into tears, then near hysterical laughter, as all of them rejoiced in the wet, squalling, healthy baby.

  As the Queen reached for her child, the Newborn turned toward her.

  It's not even full grown, Ripley realized, not knowing how she knew. It'll double, maybe triple in size, all within a day. And its appetite is boundless. As is its ferocity and hostility. The perfect organism.

  As the Newborn extricated itself from the womb, Ripley saw its hands. They were as strong and massive as the Aliens' hands usually were, but there were only five fingers. The long nails and pale skin made the thing's hands look....

  . . . Just like mine! Ripley thought, sickened.

  In a parody of human tenderness, the Newborn crawled up its mother's body to her head. The Queen was making soft, cooing sounds now, maternal sounds, examining her young, clearly proud of what she'd accomplished. The Newborn drew nearer, and for a moment it looked as if the young might actually kiss its mother.

  Then, in one massive, abrupt movement, the Newborn slapped out with a huge hand and ripped the Queen's head off, sending blood spraying everywhere.

  Ripley, still connected telepathically with the Queen, felt the Alien female's death screams deep in her marrow.

  The Newborn didn't stop, but attacked its mother's quivering body with its massive teeth, ripping the Queen to shreds, devouring huge chunks of her. Immune to the acid blood, the Newborn feasted on its parent's flesh.

  Ripley felt the Queen's death as the telepathic link was severed. It was a painful break, as sharp as a broken bone, its jagged edges grinding horribly in her head, her soul. Her brain reached out, fumbling for more contact with the warriors, needing the link. But the connection with the warriors was fraught with terror and confusion as the Aliens milled frantically, not knowing what to do as their Queen, their entire focus, was destroyed.

  Ripley felt as if she were surrounded by the screaming souls of hell as the Aliens whistled and chittered in pain as the Newborn continued to devour its mother. Then Ripley realized it wasn't just the warriors who were making noise. She turned. Gediman was still gibbering to himself, and his whimpers quickly dissolved into terrified screaming.

  Gediman's eyes widened and he began to thrash, then flail, harder, more wildly. He began shrieking hysterically, fighting frantically with the resin holding him prisoner.

  Ripley sagged back against the tank, trying, again, to summon the strength to escape, but she was so tired. The loss of her telepathic link with the Queen made her feel empty, disoriented.

  The Newborn, covered in its mother's blood, suddenly froze, then cocked its head as if listening. Slowly, it turned, and Ripley had her first chance to really look into the creature's face. Deep within the depths of its massive eye sockets, the human saw two eyes, not unlike her own, shining out.

  She stared. Amy had my eyes, too, she thought, feeling a bubble of hysterical laughter welling in her chest.

  Gediman saw the eyes, too, shining in the terrible Death's head of the Newborn, and screamed louder, more frantically.

  Awkwardly, the Newborn rose.

  It's bigger already! Ripley realized.

  Standing on two spindly, shaky legs, the two-meter-high baby took its first steps as it toddled toward the scientist.

  As the Newborn drew near him, its massive, terrible appearance made Gediman grow still. He snapped his mouth shut, and froze, his eyes bulging, his awareness of his danger pushing him clearly beyond terror. The Newborn sniffed the man, and Ripley could see his frame trembling as if in a seizure.

  Then the Newborn's massive jaws opened, and opened, wider and wider. Like a snake about to devour its prey, the powerful jaws seemed to unhinge themselves as they loomed over the trapped man. Ripley could see no fanged tongue in this creature, just the massive jaw
s, and horribly long, shining white teeth.

  With shocking suddenness, the Newborn struck, sinking its massive fangs into the top of Gediman's skull. The man found his voice again, shrieking more horribly than before, as rivulets of blood ran down his forehead into his eyes, his ears, his own mouth.

  Oh, God! Oh, no. NO! Ripley thought, praying that she could connect with the Newborn and somehow stop what it was about to do. But the creature ignored her.

  With a sickening wrench and the crunching sound of bones breaking, the Newborn ripped off the top of Gediman's skull as easily as a human would pop the top off a hard-boiled egg. His brain was exposed, glistening pink and throbbing.

  Ripley moaned in horror and turned away. She could hear soft tissue tearing, the wet sounds of chewing, swallowing, along with the dying researcher's moans and gurgles. She smelled the metallic scent of fresh blood as the man finally went limp, still suspended in his prison of resinous tendrils. The last of his blood dripped into the morass below him.

  The only thing Ripley could do was shut her eyes.

  She did not see the Newborn turn, stare meaningfully at her, then hungrily lick its bloody teeth with a long, serpentine tongue....

  Purvis was in agony, so much agony, he could barely isolate what hurt worse. His shoulder was on fire, in terrible pain from the bullet lodged there. It throbbed so bad he could barely think. But the pain in his gut— God, the pain in his gut was really horrible. It was like something was walking around in there, moving like a snake, like it was looking for a way out. He felt sick, nauseated, and in so much raw pain—

  In spite of his agony, he managed to focus on the tableau in front of him.

  Wren, freaking out, was gripping Call so tight she was nearly choking. Her chest wound glittered and blinked bizarrely where telltales had been exposed. Wren was shoving the muzzle of his gun hard into Call's face. Purvis knew he was hurting her. Call, who'd tried so hard to save them all. Especially Larry Purvis.

  Wren was shouting. "This synthetic bitch is going to plug back into the Auriga and land it according to standard operational procedures."

  Call struggled to speak, her voice gritty. "No, she's not!"

  Distephano confronted his superior officer. "You're nuts! You still want to bring those things back to Earth?"

  "Have you been paying any attention today?" Johner asked sarcastically.

  Purvis felt something uncoiling inside him and moaned, both arms wrapped around his stomach.

  Wren was losing it, that was obvious. "The Aliens will be contained by the base quarantine troops." Suddenly, Wren swung his weapon, aiming at the others, pulling it off Call's face.

  "For about five seconds," she growled.

  The doctor swung the gun back, shoved it roughly into her cheek, making her wince. "Shut up!" he screamed. "I said shut up!"

  Just then, Purvis felt a horrible tearing in the center of his chest, just below his rib cage. He looked down at his own belly. A spot of blood blossomed against his shirt, and he stared at it, uncomprehending.

  Everyone else stopped, too, even Wren.

  Then Purvis understood. The thing inside him. It was time for it to be born. He hadn't been frozen in time and now it was too late. This monster was going to rip its way out of his body and kill him. And this son of a bitch Wren, this motherfucking scientist, was responsible. The Betty crew might've done the kidnapping, they might've delivered him here, but this entire project of spawning these hell creatures inside living human hosts was this man's doing.

  Purvis's rage boiled up in him, stronger even than the Alien who was killing him. Purvis lunged upright, glaring at Wren.

  Wren must've recognized some of what Purvis was feeling on his face, because he swung the gun away from Call, aiming it now at Purvis. Not that Purvis cared. It was just a gun. All it could do was kill him and it would be a gift if it did.

  Purvis forced himself to his feet, lurching like a zombie. He staggered toward Wren, who was frozen with horror. It pleased Purvis inordinately to see that expression of terror on that smug bastard's face. Purvis jerked forward, fighting his agony—literally, a man possessed.

  Terrified, Wren fired.

  The bullet hit Purvis hard in the other shoulder, knocking him back a step, but not stopping him. The creature inside him was moving so frantically now, chewing itself free so urgently, that Purvis couldn't feel anything else, not even bullets hitting him at point-blank range. He was dimly aware of blood seeping over his belly, over his shoulders, down his back. But he was too focused to care. His entire universe had narrowed, and there was only Wren....

  Wren fired again and again, hitting Purvis each time. The doctor's grip on Call loosened, and in one quick, practiced move, she slammed an elbow into his chest, at the same time as she grabbed the pinkie of the hand holding her and wrenched it back so hard it snapped with an audible crunch.

  Wren screamed and released her, and as she fell away from him, his next shot went wild, thudding into a padded chair.

  Then Purvis was on him, driving a fist full into his face so hard he could feel the nose shattering beneath his knuckles. The gun went flying, and dimly, Purvis was aware of Johner diving for it to keep it out of Wren's reach.

  Purvis somehow found the power to hit that hated face again, again, again, until blood flowed freely from the nose, the mouth, the split lips, the broken teeth. Then he hit him some more.

  Struggling to escape the ferocious blows, Wren fell, and flipped over onto his stomach, trying to crawl away from Purvis's unrelenting fury. Purvis straddled his back like a demon obscene lover, and grabbed a fistful of Wren's hair, yanking his head up.

  "NO!" Wren screamed. "No! No! NO!"

  Purvis used the grip on Wren's hair to pound his face into the floor once, twice, three, four times until Wren was sobbing, moaning, helpless in his hands.

  Vriess suddenly shouted, "Call! Johner! Soldier! Heads up!" and tossed the crew rifles that had been secreted beneath the command console.

  Clinging to Wren's hair, and slamming his face into the flooring, Purvis felt the terrible pain in his gut cresting. Burying both hands in Wren's hair, he gripped the feebly struggling doctor's head hard, harder than Wren had ever clutched Call.

  The scream started deep in Purvis's gut, and he wondered if it was the creature's scream, the scream of birth, as the sound pushed its way up through his body and out of his throat. He felt the thing moving, chewing, fierce little teeth eating him from the inside out, gnawing through his organs, up through his diaphragm, his lungs, cracking his very ribs.

  His chest bulged outward, the bloodstain on his chest blooming, growing, erupting in a rush of blood and bones and organs. With one massive, final effort of hatred and vengeance, Purvis yanked Wren's head against himself, pinning it to the bloody spot on his chest. Now both of them, Purvis and Wren, were shrieking.

  Wren swung his arms, trying to dislodge his captor, but Purvis was inexorable in his death throes.

  Purvis felt his ribs snapping outward. He held Wren's head tightly, knowing it was almost over. It would end here. But his way. One thing would end his way.

  Purvis felt its birth. As his lungs were destroyed, he stopped screaming, but Wren's voice was loud enough for them both. The Alien embryo burst out of him, slamming into the back of Wren's skull.

  With his last gasp of consciousness, Purvis watched something small and snakelike burst from Wren's forehead right through his brain. The scientist's screams scaled up and up, resounding like the combined shriek of every hibernator that had been kidnapped, every soldier who'd been captured by the Aliens. To Purvis, Wren's screams were a sweet anthem of vengeance.

  The birth of the Alien sprayed the onlookers with blood and tissue and they recoiled. The translucent creature writhed in Wren's face, trying to free itself from the tight prison of Wren's skull. It shrieked defiance at the armed crew. Wren's scream was a terrible echo.

  Just as everything before him went dim, Purvis watched the Betty's crew engage their wea
pons. He wished he could say "thank you," as they opened fire.

  The four survivors pumped round after round into the dying men and the screeching Alien, making the bodies jerk and dance, spattering the interior of the Betty with blood, both human and Alien.

  But then, finally, the silhouettes of Wren and Purvis collapsed, and the Alien chestburster had been so totally disintegrated there was nothing left of it.

  Call walked over to the bodies, openly sobbing. She kicked the dead Wren out of the way savagely, wanting to shoot him a few more times, but resisting. As Johner would say, it would just be a fucking waste of ammo.

  Then she knelt by Purvis, and touched his face gently. "He ... he looks almost grateful...." she sniffled.

  Johner's big hand gripped her shoulder. "He was, Annalee. He knew we were trying to do him a favor. He trusted us to do it."

  She looked up into the scarred man's face. It had grown soft just for this moment. She patted his hand and nodded.

  "Come on," Distephano said gently. "We gotta get out of here. We can ditch the bodies when we're free of the Auriga. "

  Yeah, Call thought dismally. If we can get free of the Auriga.

  14

  Gediman swung slowly in his webbing, back and forth, back and forth. He looked bizarre, still dripping random fluids into the grisly mire beneath him. His missing skullcap and brain made his face appear inhuman through the streaks of blood. The doctor's eyes were open, but the only thing they might be seeing would have to be the afterlife, if there were one for bastards like him. After all, he'd already died in hell.

  While the Newborn had been devouring his brain tissue like so much pudding, a small chestburster had exploded from Gediman's rib cage—to the Newborn's complete indifference—and skittered off into the pool of blood while Gediman thrashed and twitched in his death throes.

  It was a scene Ripley knew she would never forget. Not in this incarnation, or—she fought back the urge to laugh hysterically—the next.

  Ripley still crouched on the floor of the waste tank, trying to make herself small and unnoticed. She knelt there quietly, perfectly still, as still as the remaining cocooned humans who were, luckily for them, still unconscious. Ripley envied them.