by Steve Perry
Everyone in the room faced the wall ’com. Wilks tightened his hand on Billie’s shoulder.
“She’s okay,” said Jones. “Good as new in no time.”
Falk and Moto jumped up, grinning. McQuade clapped his hand on the edge of his chair and laughed.
Wilks smiled at Billie, whose entire body relaxed as she started to cry. This crew hardly knew each other in real time, but Wilks was as relieved as anybody. Ripley was special. Hell, they were all special. He put his arm around her and she leaned on him, tears flowing. She would cry more about this, he understood. There was relief, and then there was letting go. Not something he had a lot of practice at himself.
* * *
Ripley swam up out of the murk slowly. Someone spoke nearby. She was tired, her head hurt—
“…now, in no time,” said the voice. Far away, someone laughed? Ripley struggled to open her eyes.
“What happened?” That voice was distant, tinny—
The closer voice spoke again. “She sustained a head injury at some point, probably got hit by the queen.”
Ripley faded out again. Too hard to concentrate. But then—“queen.” Queen. She felt her hands clench, hard. Wake up. Wake up.
“…no cerebrospinal draining, no fracture. I was worried about hemorrhage, but there’s no signs of that. Mostly fatigue, I think. Mild concussion. She’s pretty tough. Tougher than she looks.”
Jones. She was on the Kurtz, in medlab, and the queen—
Ripley groaned and rolled her head. She opened her eyes.
Jones stood by a wall ’com. He glanced at her and checked his watch.
“Oops. I have a patient to attend to. I’ll let you know when she feels like visitors.”
Ripley cringed as she looked around. Cold room, funny smell, shiny instruments. It scared her and she didn’t know why.
“Where’s the queen?” she said. Her throat was dry.
“Locked up in the containment area. Don’t worry. Nothing happened, you just passed out,” he said. “Everyone is fine.” He got her a glass of water from the dispenser and held her head up so she could drink.
“How long?” she said, lying back.
“About twenty minutes since Moto found you.”
Ripley started to sit up. “No offense, Jones, but I don’t do doctors. I’d like to go back to my quarters.”
“I’d rather you stay here—”
“I’d rather I didn’t. I’m fine, right?” She swung her legs over the edge of the table and paused for a moment, head pounding. She had to get out of this awful room—
“All right,” he said. “But let me help you. You’re going to need to be looked at when we get back to Gateway; I don’t have any training in your type. I mean, I wouldn’t have even known without the blood sample.”
Ripley stood and pulled away from Jones’s outstretched hand.
“What are you talking about? I thought you said I was okay.”
“Yeah, you’re okay. I’m really impressed, in fact. So close, yet so far apart.”
“Jones,” she started, exasperated. “What’s your point?”
“Don’t upset yourself, Ripley. You’re fine, but you do need to rest. I just don’t understand why you never told me. I mean, what if I’d had to do an emergency procedure? Blood transfusion or like that?”
“A-positive,” she said. “Don’t you have it?”
Jones grinned at her. ‘Yeah, but you don’t. And you don’t have RH factors anyway. Although as advanced as you are, I wouldn’t be surprised. I’d never have known without the microscope; even the color is perfect. Pretty amazing. Come on, let me help you to your—”
“What the hell are you talking about? ‘Advanced as I am’?”
“Yeah, I’d heard they were pushing the envelope in the AP labs before the monsters landed, but you are so close it’s hard to believe—”
She got it. It was a bad joke. She slapped his hand away, furious. “You’re an asshole, Jones! This is not funny. Who the hell do you think you are? Not funny at all. Christ!”
His grin melted. “Ripley,” he said, eyes wide. “Oh, God. You didn’t know? You mean—how could you not know? Shit, I’m sorry—I thought—”
He faltered. His dark features were a mask of embarrassment. Ripley felt her own anger subside a little as she watched the truth on his face. She leaned heavily against the wall.
No, no, it, I—can’t be, no, she thought. This is another bad dream, another nightmare. This can’t be true. It can’t be. I’m human! Not—not—
An android.
20
Wilks opened his door to an exhausted-looking Ripley.
“I know it’s late, but can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Yeah, sure. How are you feeling? We thought…” He trailed off as she brushed past him and sat on the edge of his bed, head down. She ran her hands through her mussed hair. Her shoulders were tense and there were dark smears beneath her eyes. Her face was ashen.
She looked up at Wilks with an expression that he couldn’t quite place. Something like—fear? Shame?
“What’s going on, Ripley?”
“I know that no one is officially in charge of this thing, but everyone has looked to me this far,” she said. She seemed to stare through him, as if she were reciting to a wall.
“That’s right,” he said carefully. “And you’ve done a good job.”
“Well, I quit. It’s yours, Wilks. I want you to finish it.”
She stood up as if the conversation was finished and stepped toward the door.
“Hold on a second, Ripley—what’s going on here? You just got out of medical, you look like hell, and now you want to drop responsibility for our little stowaway on me? How hard did you get knocked on the skull?” He grinned to lighten the tone, but he was surprised.
“It’s not open to discussion, Wilks. Look, if you don’t want to do it, talk to McQuade, or Moto, or anyone. I don’t care. But I’m out.” Her cheeks were flushed, but Wilks still couldn’t pin down the emotion.
“Why?” he said. “Can you tell me that? What happened?”
Ripley dropped her gaze and seemed to shrink. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move to leave, either.
Wilks waited, confused. Since day one this had been Ripley’s baby. She’d brought the queen onboard single-handedly, and if it hadn’t been for her, he and Billie and Falk would be atomic dust—if the aliens hadn’t gotten to them first.
“I just had a long conversation with Jones,” she said finally. Her voice was slow and measured and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m a synthetic, Wilks. Fake.” She crossed her arms and looked at him, face blank. “I’m not human, and I didn’t even know it.”
Wilks looked at her for a few beats as it sank in. An android? He took a deep breath. “Are you sure?”
“Jones showed me the blood samples; we ran through the tests. Yeah, I’m sure.” She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, eyes closed.
“Not to make light of it, Ripley, but so fucking what? You’ve gotten us this far, and—”
“Don’t you get it?” Her voice was high and shaky. “Who knows what my agenda is—I may have been programmed with this idea by some company that wants a specimen to study. What if I’m set up to kill all of you when we get to Earth?” She lowered her voice. “I’m not trustworthy.”
“Can you, uh, access your program?”
“No. Apparently I’m too advanced. No mechanicals, no input or export jacks.” Her voice was charged with bitter self-disgust. “Jones said he never would have known without a microscan. I can pass for human right down to the microscopic level.”
Wilks frowned. “I see your point,” he said. “But no shit, I don’t think it makes a difference. You could’ve left us to die back there, you could have killed us already—and who’s left on Earth to study anything?” He paused for a moment. “I think wherever your agenda came from, it’s a good one. And if the only way to tell is with a microscan, what is the differ
ence?”
Ripley walked to the door and pushed it open.
“The difference is me,” she said. She stepped into the corridor.
Wilks looked at the half-open door. Jesus and Buddha. How would everyone else take this? Finding out that what they thought was human—
Billie, he thought. Ripley obviously wasn’t dealing too well with this. Maybe Billie would have something to say about it; she had loved Bueller even after she had found out the truth…
Wilks went to find her.
* * *
Billie knocked at Ripley’s door and waited. There was no response. The Kurtz’s heat had cycled down for the standard night; Billie folded her arms tightly against the chilly air. She knocked again, softer this time.
Maybe she’s asleep, she thought. Good.
She waited another moment and then walked back to her quarters. Wilks stood up when she stepped into her room.
“She’s asleep,” said Billie.
“Or just not answering,” he said. “Maybe you can talk to her tomorrow.”
There didn’t seem to be much else to say. He left, went back to his own cubicle. Billie went to hers.
Billie was tired, but there was too much going on to think about sleeping yet. She sat down on the edge of her bed.
What would she have said to Ripley? What could she say?
Oh, sorry, Ripley, that’s tough. You know, I was in love with a soldier once, and it turned out he wasn’t real either. I was hurt when I found out—I guess I felt betrayed…
That would be very helpful.
Billie exhaled slowly and lay back. She stared at the ceiling and tried to spot flaws in the smooth plastic paneling as her mind wandered.
Mitch had been capable of love; she believed that now. But by the time she had realized it, she and Wilks had already been on Spears’s ship.
Did knowing about Ripley change anything? Billie thought about the mission so far. From the start, Ripley had been totally committed to destroying the creatures—no, her respect for Ripley was solid.
Since Billie had known her, Ripley hadn’t seemed to need anyone. But it sounded like she could use some support now. In a way, she suddenly seemed more real—
More human, she thought. The way Mitch had been in that final transmission.
Billie knew all about the prejudices that people still held about synthetics; it was hard for some to talk to machines and feel comfortable.
Was Mitch just a machine? Is Ripley?
After Mitch, she had a different perspective on things. And this was about perspective. Ripley wasn’t born in the usual way, but did that make her soulless? Or any less valuable as a being? Where could you draw the line?
Finally Billie slept. She dreamed of questions with no answers.
* * *
Ripley finally acknowledged her hunger when it became apparent that it wasn’t going to go away.
Fine, she thought, I’m hungry. Big deal.
It was late morning. She had slept for almost ten hours and had awakened still tired. She lay in bed, eyes closed.
It was all she could think about, and yet there was nothing to think. How could she feel? And what did it matter? Her feelings were simulated, false.
At least some things were clearer now. Her lapse of time after the Sulaco. The absence of dreams since then. And the intense distrust of doctors—obviously a programmed measure to avoid the truth. Can’t let them go poking around in you, they’ll figure it out.
The why was elusive, and maybe it was pointless besides. All of her beliefs were in question; androids were not to be trusted, they could betray themselves completely. It was their nature. The way she had been betrayed…
The synthetic on the Nostromo had been a murderer who had posed as a friend. Bishop had been okay, but—
Ripley frowned. There had even been something about Bishop that was all wrong, some duality, although she couldn’t quite remember—
There was a knock at the door.
“Ripley? It’s Billie. Can I come in?”
Ripley’s heart tightened. Billie. The young woman had shown a lot of courage through all of this. Ripley had been proud of her.
Funny, she thought. How human of me.
“Not now, Billie.”
“It’ll only take a minute! Wilks wants to go into deepsleep tonight, and—”
“Go away, Billie. I don’t want company.” The mere thought of talking about it made Ripley more exhausted.
There was a hesitation. Ripley imagined Billie standing there, searching for magic words: Nobody cares, she would say, really, it’s okay—
The idea of Billie pitying her made her feel sick. And the feeling wasn’t even real.
Damn.
“Not now.”
She heard Billie walk away. She was glad to hear that the others were going into deepsleep; she wanted to be left alone.
Ripley’s stomach growled noisily; she pulled her knees to her chest and willed it all to go away.
21
Wilks felt great. He sat up in the chamber and looked around at the cold, sleeping forms of the others. He was surprised at the lack of usual side effects, but only vaguely. What mattered was how he felt.
He pulled on his clothes and grinned at the warm, easy strength in his body. He felt fucking terrific. But it was more than that. There was something—
Absolution, he thought. It was what he had wanted for so long that it had no longer seemed possible. And it didn’t seem the slightest bit odd that he had awakened that way; it was about goddamned time. It was like a sense of peace had flowered in him in sleep, a knowledge that everything was finally as it should be…
He laughed out loud as he walked to the stairs. For years he had carried so much, the guilt and torment of the past had weighed so heavy on his shoulders. And for what? It was gone, released into the void of space. There was nothing to wonder at; he was free!
A cool voice spoke gently in his mind, led him through this—revelation. Freedom, it said softly, the key—
Only one thing left to do. He descended the steps and walked through the APC dock; his feet barely touched the metal. So much of his life wasted! But everything was okay now…
He stepped to the door of the containment chamber and reached for the controls, as if in a dream.
Freedom, life, release—
A flood of warmth and peace washed over him as his hand hovered near the button. The feelings became insistent, stronger.
Let it go, let me go—
Wait. Wilks pulled his hand back, suddenly unsure. What mattered? Where was—
LET ME GO—
A sense of great power and awful dread coursed through him. He staggered back, away from the door. He was an empty space, overwhelmed abruptly with sorrow, despair.
But it was there! his mind screamed. That beautiful calm, that—
Release, freedom—The voice glittered softly with promise. And love.
All he had to do was punch the button.
Wilks crumpled against the wall and wept for the first time since he was a child.
* * *
Billie stood in the APC dock. It was cold and the lights were low. She was supposed to meet someone there, but she couldn’t recall—
“Billie!”
The muffled voice came through the wall of the containment chamber. The voice that she had known and loved.
“Billie! It’s me, Mitch!”
She started toward the door; an inkling of hope welled inside her chest.
“Mitch?” Her voice broke slightly.
“Yeah. Open up, Billie! I love you.”
She stopped a few meters away. Her smile faded. No. There was no possible way—
“Billie! Billie, if s Char! Oh, God, don’t let it get me, Billie, oh, please, no—”
How could she have thought it was Mitch? Char was in trouble, and Billie was responsible! She ran to the door and reached for the button. But—
Char is dead.
“Don’t let i
t kill me, oh, Billie, don’t do this to me, open the door!”
“You’re dead,” Billie said softly. “You aren’t in there.” She pulled her trembling hands away from the controls.
“You’re right,” said the voice on the other side. “And I might as well be dead. You don’t give a shit, Billie; it’s all about you. Leave me here. None of it matters.”
It was Ripley.
“No,” said Billie. This was all wrong! “Ripley, I care about you! I want to help, don’t you know that? Let me help you—”
Ripley sounded hopeless, lost. “You won’t even talk to me, Billie. I thought you were my friend, but, no, you would leave me to die in here—”
“No! I—” Why couldn’t she open the door? “Ripley, I can’t! There’s something in there—”
The queen. The realization hit her full force. She fell back from the door as it all came clear and a chorus of voices called out, begging—
“Let me out—”
“I love you—”
“Please, no—”
Behind it all there was a screaming cry that harmonized with the pleadings of her lost friends. A powerful music, full of now-strident chords, pounding, thundering…
It surged over her like a soundful tide and washed everything with gelid darkness…
* * *
Ripley sat with her back to the chamber door, the carbine locked and loaded across her lap. The crew had been asleep for two days. She would join them soon, but for now she sat. Waiting…
She had spent the first day alternately sleeping and eating. The idea of ending it had surfaced more than once, and she had considered it more carefully each time; who would give a shit about one less android? Just blow herself out of a lock, no great loss. She wasn’t necessary to the survival of the plan. The others could get by…
She had been aimlessly looking through the supply hold when the queen had screamed, the sound carrying well in the dead silence of the sleeping Kurtz. Ripley had grabbed a rifle almost by reflex and headed for the hold.
She’d run into the APC bay, heart racing wildly, afraid the queen had somehow managed to escape—but everything had been locked up tight. The queen was crying out and hammering at the walls, but she was pent.
