by Steve Perry
Wilks returned the grin. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”
“You didn’t really think some fat old general was going to give us a ship, did you? That was a long shot at best.”
Wilks nodded. “Gonna make us criminals again.”
“Well, sure, it would’ve been nice, but we don’t always get what we want, do we? Time to go to plan B,” Ripley said. “Which was really plan A all along: We swipe what we need.”
“Makes sense to me,” Wilks said. He raised his glass in salute. “Here’s to crime.”
Billie smiled and nodded. Well. It wasn’t as if they’d never done it before. Christ, they were getting to be old hands at stealing ships. The one from Earth to Spears’s military base, the one from there to here, the escape pod. It did make sense. What the hell.
What the hell.
8
Wilks looked over the group they had assembled and nodded. Everyone here had field experience, with the exceptions of Jones, the medic, and Dunston—although he taught hand-to-hand combat in the dojo where they all now stood or sat in small groups, talking. And Dunston looked as if he knew how to handle himself.
Brewster, Carvey, Moto, Adcox, and Captain McQuade were all marines and had fought on Earth at the beginning of the infestation.
Ana Moto was a thin, sad-looking woman with long features and a bright laugh. She was also the only surviving member of a special task force assigned to spot alien nests on Earth before things had gotten bad. She laughed at something Adcox said to her and Billie; the three young women stood together in one corner of the room.
Everyone had arrived early, with the exception of Falk, who walked into the dojo exactly on time. Ripley hadn’t mentioned why he had changed his mind, just that he would be coming after all.
Wilks watched Falk nod at Ripley when he entered, and noted that the big man looked exhausted. He suspected that Falk had decided to go after watching the military ’cast, and figured that he had known one of the soldiers. Just a hunch. Falk sat apart from the others in one of the plastic chairs and stared at the scuffed foam floor. He looked like a man in pain.
Leslie smiled at him from across the room, where she was talking to Ripley and Marla Tully, a friend of hers. Tully was skilled with computers and had lost family on Earth; she would be the electronics tech.
Wilks had mixed emotions about Leslie. On the one hand, he wouldn’t have minded having her along, for personal reasons. On the other hand, his expectations of surviving the mission weren’t all that high. Ultimately he was glad she wasn’t going; he didn’t want anything to happen to her.
Wilks smiled back at her. After meeting with Billie and Ripley in the bar, he had gone to Leslie’s quarters to discuss her part in their mission. Although she wouldn’t be making the trip, her role would still be a major one in helping them get transport.
The room grew quiet as Ripley walked to the front to stand next to him. Billie left her group to join them, although they had both agreed to let Ripley run the session; she was a natural leader, and it was her idea anyhow. Wilks was glad somebody else was in charge for a change. Made things easier on him.
“Well,” she began, “you all know why you’re here. I’m Ellen Ripley, this is Wilks and Billie. Each of you has had certain useful experience, which is why you among the dreamers have been chosen. You have felt the alien presence, the queen—and it’s time we did something about it.”
Ripley had everyone’s full attention; Wilks hoped that they’d still be listening after they heard the bad news.
“Before we work on the specifics of our mission, we need to let you know some of the obstacles we’re looking at here. Wilks?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I talked to General Peters yesterday, and he refused our request for transport.” He paused. “Actually, the man thinks we’re bugfuck.”
Captain McQuade broke in. “Peters is an asshole,” he said. The two marines with him nodded. “I’m surprised you bothered—the man’s so full of shit he farts instead of burping.”
Several people laughed.
Wilks grinned. ‘Yeah, well, be that as it may, we don’t have the official green light. We can try again, but I think the general is a waste of time.”
Ripley took over. “Which is why we’ve decided to borrow a ship,” she said, “and that makes this an entirely different game. I want you all to understand what you’re agreeing to before you make a final decision. If we get caught, we’re in deep. If we fail, coming back here means consequences maybe even if we succeed.”
She met the eyes of each person as she spoke. “We didn’t tell Peters where we were headed specifically, so we probably won’t be chased if we get clear—but stealing a transport wasn’t part of the plan when you agreed to go, and if you want to walk, now’s the time. We’ll understand.”
There was a pause.
“Fuck it,” said Falk from the back of the room in a hoarse voice. “Not doing anything would be worse.”
There were several murmured affirmations from the group.
Wilks looked around the dojo and saw the same kind of determined look on everyone’s face. No one moved.
After a moment, Ripley went on. “Good. Thanks. We want to leave here in a few days, and there’s a lot to do to get ready. We’re looking at ships now, and Leslie”—Ripley nodded at the hacker—“is getting us a read on the security system we’re dealing with. We’ve got a list of shit that needs to be thought out, supplies and weapons to begin with, and we need to work out details of taking the ship…”
As Ripley continued, Wilks watched the expressions of the people they would be working with. Several of them threw out suggestions as the discussion continued, and all of them looked as though they had been bestowed a special privilege in being included on this trip—this trip that could cost them their lives and probably would. Yeah, they were a good crew.
Not too bright, maybe, but he didn’t have any room to talk.
* * *
Billie checked the supply list for the third time, cross-referenced with what was stocked on the Kurtz. The military freighter had been chosen for its large hold, designed to haul toxic liquid byproducts. The containment area could hold up to 10,000 cubic liters of radioactive sludge, was airtight, had interleaved durasteel-and-lead walls half a meter thick, with hatches to match. Anyway, the hold was more than big enough to carry a queen alien. And to keep her from wandering around the ship, too. If they could catch her, if they could get her on board, if they could steal the ship in the first place…
Billie rubbed her eyes and looked around her room. It was late; she knew she should get some sleep. In the morning they would meet back in the dojo to run down the details of taking the ship. Security looked to be minimal, but there was some, and they didn’t want to get caught.
She and Doc Jones had been put in charge of provisions, although the list Leslie had rascaled seemed pretty complete. The Kurtz was built to quarter twenty people comfortably; it carried an APC and the food dispensers were stocked with pastes and concentrates that would be good for another ten years. “Good” being a relative term; they would taste like shit, but they would be edible. The ship was currently fueled and ready to go. All the comforts of home. More than she had here, actually.
In spite of her exhaustion, Billie felt too wired to sleep. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of memories and hopes, all that she had been through and the people she had known. As awful as the dreams that she had experienced at the hospital on Earth had been, they were even worse these days. Wilks. Mitch. Now Ripley. And, of course, Amy.
It seemed to Billie she had been running and fighting her whole life. She was in a place where she didn’t have to do that anymore; she could probably live out her life here on this station and maybe die of old age. But that thought didn’t play. There were people down on Earth being eaten alive and that wasn’t right. Especially since one of those at risk was Amy.
So, maybe she could go and do this thing and somehow survive, and maybe that
would be the end of it.
Amy. The Kurtz probably wouldn’t be equipped to receive Earth ’casts at the distance they would travel, so there would be no way to know if Amy and her family were still alive. The last transmission had been only a few days before, but there was no way to know if it had been on tape or live; Billie wanted to believe it was recent. She could feel that Amy was down there, perhaps praying for a way out.
Ripley’s plan would be the answer.
Billie scanned back to the top of the list, yawned. She knew that there was nothing missing, but wanted to check once more. After all, there would be no second chance—when they got on board, there was no turning back.
Hell. It was already too late to turn back.
* * *
Ripley sat on the floor of the dimly lit dojo, alone. It was early morning. The crew wouldn’t arrive for another half hour and then there would be no time to think.
She knew that they had planned the mission as thoroughly as possible, that they were as ready as they would be. They could probably spend another day or two working out details, but one could always wait; it was time to act. Too much planning raised too many doubts. You did what you could.
She ran down the list of crew members mentally: herself, Billie, and Wilks. Adcox and the other marines: Falk. Dunston. Tully, Leslie’s hacker friend. And Jones…
They were a good group. The trial run had been successful; of course, it would be different in real time, but the crew seemed committed and confident enough to get past any trouble. The only part that worried her was getting past the guard ships—but they were watching for incoming transport mostly, had been posted to ward off a possibly infected ship or one manned by somebody dangerous, like the mad General Spears who had brought Billie and Wilks along as stowaways.
It should work. Ripley hoped it would be as easy as it looked, but she knew from experience that things rarely were as easy as they looked.
She had concentrated so completely on getting the thing together that there hadn’t been time to relax. Not that there had ever been time for that once she’d run into the aliens. For her, it hadn’t been that long. In realtime, it had been the better part of a century. Now the fucking things owned Earth, and humankind was a third-class local power.
Her hatred for the creatures was as much a part of her as her hair color or height. It affected everything she did, was the force behind all she had gone through to get where she was. She smiled wryly. Where was she? Sitting in the dark preparing to lead a group of fighters to steal a ship, fly across the galaxy, capture the queen of queens. And, eventually, use their captive to lure and kill every one of the goddamned aliens.
Ripley sighed. The choices she had made were simple ones, of basic morality, right and wrong. But now it had gone beyond just her. This could cost lives, could mean the end of her own. She usually knew better than to try and take responsibility for the people around her, but this felt different.
Shit, it always felt different.
It helped to know one thing—she didn’t want to die, but if it meant taking that queen bitch out, or taking the bitch’s spawn, she would. That choice had been made after the Nostromo, and it had become everything to her. The things had cost her too much. Her crew. Her family. Her whole life. She had nothing else left.
Ripley closed her eyes and waited for the others.
9
Dunston and Tully walked down the corridor toward the entry of dock D6, loudly discussing station politics. When they turned the corner to the dock, they would be in a position to see any guard who might be present.
Dunston signaled to Ripley, Wilks, and Falk, who were following. No guard.
Wilks was close enough to see Tully pull a small keyboard from her pack and plug it into a panel set in the wall. She crouched down and quickly began to punch in codes.
“I don’t know. I mean, it’s one thing to say you’re going to upgrade the conditions, but they’ve been saying that since I got here…”
Wilks and the others continued slowly toward the door while Tully checked for monitors.
Dunston droned on about the quality of the food served in the dining halls.
According to the deck layout in the computer, there wouldn’t be any guard at this point. Ripley had insisted on a double check.
Tully looked up, grinning. “Clear,” she said quietly.
Wilks felt himself loosen slightly. It was crucial to go unnoticed for as long as possible in order to get past the guard ships. Once an alarm was sounded, their chances fell damn fast.
The Kurtz was docked outside D6; to get to it they needed to open three doors—this one, the entry to the air lock, and the ship itself. All were computer-coded, and the complexity of the entry systems usually meant no human guards, a major selling point for their choice of transport.
They would get into the loading room and call in the rest of the crew; Captain McQuade’s voice-print would be the key to the Kurtz. A licensed military pilot and the proper codes were all they needed to get on board. The codes Leslie and Tully had rascaled up with little trouble.
Maybe too little…
While Tully set up her portable, Wilks moved to the nearest ’com to raise Billie and the others. They were waiting in Brewster’s quarters. The marines had taken all of the carbines and grenades from the armory they could carry, signing them out with General Peters’s personal access code. Wilks had laughed when Leslie had suggested using the general’s code.
Looked like Peters had helped out after all.
Wilks walked quickly down D-corridor to a public ’com and tapped in Brewster’s number.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, Brewster, it’s Wilks. Why don’t you pop on over and have a drink?”
“Sounds great. Meet you at the bar.”
Wilks discommed and walked back down the empty hall. So far, so good. Billie and the marines would be there in two minutes or less, barring complications, and then they would be on their way
“Hey,” came a voice from behind him.
Wilks stopped and turned around. A burly young man in a security uniform approached him slowly, face grim. His hand rested lightly on the butt of his stunner.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
* * *
Brewster nodded at the other marines and they stood, picking up assorted wrapped bundles. Weapons, ammo, various tools. No one spoke. Billie went to help Jones with his equipment, a few bags of med supplies and a small diagnostic unit. He smiled at her, teeth bright against his chocolate-colored skin.
“Guess we’re about to be outlaws,” he said. He looked nervous.
Billie returned his smile. “You get used to it after a while,” she said. “Besides, you already are an outlaw. Conspiracy.”
Adcox went first, as scout. She carried nothing, and would walk a half a minute ahead of the others.
Brewster and McQuade went next.
Billie counted silently to ten.
Carvey and Moto stepped out.
Finally, Billie and Jones walked to the door.
Billie’s heart pounded and she felt a tiny trickle of sweat run between her breasts in spite of the cool air.
Amy, she thought. They stepped out into the corridor.
* * *
Wilks smiled at the guard. “I’m trying to find a biolab, D2—isn’t it down here?”
The guard seemed to relax slightly, but didn’t smile back. “Wrong direction. The labs are back that way,” he said, pointing behind them, “and go left at the first tee.”
Wilks shook his head, still smiling. “Thanks.”
The guard nodded and stepped past him, headed toward D6. Where the others would be waiting for Wilks.
“Are you sure it’s not to the right?” said Wilks loudly, when he had gotten but a few paces away.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Now—”
“Because I went left before, I think, and I think it’s right. I mean, headed back to the lifts is right, right?” He spoke in what he hoped w
as a stupid but friendly tone. And he hoped the others would hear him.
The guard turned and moved closer to Wilks, as if proximity would somehow make his answer plainer.
“Look. Go back. When you get to the tee, go left. Left. Got it?”
“Left. Uh-huh. Got it.”
The guard shook his head. And distracted by Wilks’s stupidity, just as Wilks had hoped he’d be, he walked away from D6.
Which was good, since otherwise Wilks would’ve had to take him out.
Wilks let out a breath and waited for a few seconds before heading back. They were grouped in front of the door, all except for Falk; the large man stepped out from behind a turn farther down the hall, obviously prepared to deal with any interruptions. They had heard him working the guard.
Tully had her finger on the entry button and was waiting for the go.
Ripley arched an eyebrow at Wilks.
“Let’s do it,” he said.
But before Tully could move, the door slid open.
A man in a worker’s coverall stood there, holding what looked like a weapon.
* * *
Billie and Jones walked down the hall side by side, not speaking. They came to the first turn, and Billie caught a glimpse of Moto and Carvey as they turned the corner ahead. She relaxed slightly. Everything seemed to be working as planned, so far. She wondered how Ripley’s team was doing.
* * *
Dunston stepped forward as if to greet the surprised worker. The mechanical device apparently wasn’t a weapon; the man dropped it and raised clenched hands, mouth set. He was surprised, but obviously combative. They weren’t supposed to be here and he knew it.
Dunston reached out, holding his hands so the backs of his wrists faced the worker. Ripley saw the man blink, confused—
The martial arts teacher moved forward quickly on his right foot, almost crouching. He flicked his fingers at the man’s eyes.
The worker raised his arms to cover his face, and—
Dunston dropped flat onto the deck, did something fast with his legs—
