Aliens (aliens universe)

by Alan Dean Foster

  . to emerge into a narrow serviceway thick with pipes and exposed conduits. Ignoring the still-hot edges of the cavity, he reached back inside to pull Newt to safety. Ripley followed turned to aid Gorman. He hesitated at the opening long enough to see Vasquez's flamethrower run dry. The smartgun operator dumped it aside and drew her service revolver.

  There was movement above her as a grotesque shape dropped down the vertical overhead duct. As the alien landed in the tunnel she rolled clear and let fly with the automatic pistol. The alien tumbled toward her as the small projectiles ripped into its skeletal body. Vasquez snapped her head to one side just in time to avoid the stinger. It buried itself into the metal wall next to her cheek. She kept firing, emptying the pistol into the thrashing form as she kicked at the powerful legs and quivering tail.

  A gush of acid finally cut through her armour to sear her thigh. She let out a soft moan of pain.

  Gorman froze in the tunnel. He glanced at Ripley. 'They're right behind me. Get going.' Their eyes met for as long as either of them dared spare. Then she turned and raced up the serviceway with Newt in tow. Hicks followed reluctantly staring back at the opening he'd cut in the ventilation duct Hoping. Knowing better.

  Gorman crawled toward the immobilized smartgun operator. When he reached her, he saw the smoke pouring from the hole in her armour, shut out the gruesome smell of scarred flesh. His fingers locked around her battle harness, and he started dragging her toward the opening.

  Too late. The first alien coming from the other direction had already reached and passed the hole Hicks had made. Gorman stopped pulling, leaned forward to look at Vasquez's leg Where armour, harness, and flesh had been eaten away by the acid, bone gleamed whitely.

  Her eyes were glazed when she looked up at him. Her voice was a harsh whisper. 'You always were stupid, Gorman.'

  Her fingers seized his in a death grip. A special grip shared by a select few. Gorman returned it as best he was able. Then he handed her a pair of grenades and armed another couple for himself as the aliens closed in on them from both ends of the tunnel. He grinned and raised one of the humming explosives. She barely had enough strength to mimic the gesture.

  'Cheers,' he whispered. He couldn't tell if she was grinning back at him because he had closed his eyes, but he had a feeling she was. Something sharp and unyielding stroked his back. He didn't turn to see what it was.

  'Cheers,' he whispered feebly. He clicked one of his grenades against one of Vasquez's in the final toast.

  Behind them, the serviceway lit up like the sun as Ripley, Newt and Hicks pounded along full tilt. They were a long way from the opening the corporal had cut in the wall of the duct, but the shock wave from the quadruple explosion was still powerful enough to rock the whole level. Newt kept her balance best and broke out in front of the two adults. It was all Ripley and Hicks could do to keep up with her.

  'This way, this way!' she was shouting excitedly. 'Come on we're almost there!'

  'Newt, wait!' Ripley tried to lengthen her stride to catch up to the girl. The sound of her heart was loud in her ears, and her lungs screamed in protest with every step she took. The walls blurred around her. She was dimly aware of Hicks pounding along like a steam engine just behind her. Despite his armour he probably could have outdistanced her, but he didn't try Instead he laid back so he could protect against an attack from behind.

  Ahead the corridor forked. At the end of the left-hand fork a narrow, angled ventilation chute led upward at a steep forty-five degrees. Newt was standing at its base, gesturing frantically.

  'Here! This is where we go up.'

  Her body grateful for a respite no matter how temporary Ripley slowed to a halt as she examined the shaft. It was a steep climb but not a long one. Dim light marked the end of the ascent. From above she could hear the wind booming like air blowing across the lip of a bottle. Narrow climbing ribs dimpled the smooth sides of the shaft.

  She looked down to where the chute punched a hole in the floor and disappeared into unknown depths lost in darkness Nothing stirred down there. Nothing came climbing toward them. They were going to make it.

  She put her foot onto the first climbing rib and started up Newt followed as Hicks emerged from the main corridor behind them.

  The girl turned to wave. 'Just up here, Mr. Hicks. It's not as far as it looks. I've done it lots of tim—?'

  Rusted out by seeping water, worn through by the corrosive elements contained in Acheron's undomesticated atmosphere the rib collapsed beneath her feet. She slipped, managed to catch another rib with one hand. Ripley braced herself against the dangerously slick surface of the chute, turned, and reached back for her. As she did so, she dropped her flashlight watched it go skittering and bumping down the opening unti its comforting glow faded from sight.

  She strained until she was sure her arm was separating from her shoulder, her fingers groping for Newt's. No matter how far over she bent, they remained centimetres apart.

  'Riiipplleeee. '

  Newt's grip broke. As she went sliding down the chute Hicks made a dive for her, laying himself out, flat and indifferent to the coming impact. He slammed into the floor next to the chute, and his fingers dug into the collar of the girl's oversize jacket, holding the material in a death grip.

  She slipped out of it.

  Her scream reverberated up the chute as she vanished plummeting down into darkness.

  Hicks threw the empty jacket aside and stared at Ripley Their eyes met for just a second before she released her own grasp and went sliding down the chute after Newt. As she slid she pushed out with her feet, braking her otherwise uncontrolled descent.

  Like the corridor above, the chute forked where it intersected the lower level. Her flashlight gleamed off on her right, and she shifted her weight so she would slide in that direction.

  'Newt. Newt!'

  A distant wail, plaintive and distorted by distance and intervening metal, floated back to her.

  'Mommy—where are you?' Newt was barely audible. Had she taken the other chute?

  The shaft bottomed out in a horizontal service tunnel. Her undamaged flashlight lay on the floor, but there was no sign of the girl. As Ripley bent to recover the light the cry reached her again, bouncing off the narrow walls.

  'Moommmeee!'

  Ripley started down the tunnel in what she hoped was the right direction. The wild slide down the chute had completely disoriented her. Newt's call came again. Fainter? Ripley couldn't tell. She turned a circle, panic growing inside her, her light illuminating only grime and dampness. Every projection contained grinning, slime-lubricated jaws, every hollow was a gaping alien mouth. Then she remembered that she was stil wearing her headset. And she remembered something else Something the corporal had given her that she'd given away in turn.

  'Hicks, get down here. I need the locator for that bracelet you gave me.' She cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted down the serviceway. 'Newt! Stay wherever you are. We're coming!'

  The girl was in a low, grotto-like chamber where the other branch of the chute had dumped her. It was crisscrossed with pipes and plastic conduits and was flooded up to her waist. The only light came from above, through a heavy grating. Maybe Ripley's voice had also, she thought. Using the network of pipes, she started to climb.

  A large, bulky object came sliding down the chute. Hicks wouldn't have found the description flattering, but Ripley was immensely relieved to see him no matter how rumpled he looked. The mere presence of another human being in that stygian, haunted tunnel was enough to push back the fear a little way.

  He landed on his feet, clutching his rifle in one hand, and unsnapped the emergency location unit from his battle harness. 'I gave you that bracelet,' he said accusingly, even as he was switching the tracker on.

  'And I gave it to Newt. I figured she'd need it more than I would, and I was right. It's a good thing I did it or we'd never find her in this. You can bawl me out later. Which way?'

  He checked the track
er's readout, turned, and started off down the tunnel. It led them into a section of serviceway where the power hadn't been cut. Emergency lights still brightened ceiling and walls. They switched off their lights. Water dripped somewhere nearby. The corporal's gaze rarely strayed from the tracker's screen. He turned left.

  'This way. We're getting close.'

  The locator led them to a large grate set in the floor—and a voice from below.

  'Ripley?'

  'It's us, Newt.'

  'Here! I'm here, I'm down here.'

  Ripley knelt at the edge of the grating, then wrapped her fingers around the centre bar and pulled. It didn't budge. A quick inspection revealed that it was welded into the floor instead of being latched for easy removal. Peering down, she could just make out Newt's tear-streaked face. The girl reached upward. Her small fingers wriggled between the closely set bars. Ripley gave them a reassuring squeeze.

  'Climb down off that pipe, honey. We're going to have to cut through this grate. We'll have you out of there in a minute.'

  The girl obediently backed clear, shinnying down the pipe she'd ascended as Hicks fired up his hand torch. Ripley glanced significantly in its direction, then met his eyes as she lowered her voice.

  'How much fuel?' She was remembering how Vasquez's flamethrower had run out at a critical moment.

  He looked away. 'Enough.' Bending, he began cutting through the first of the bars.

  From below Newt could watch sparks shower blindingly as Hicks sliced through the hardened alloy. It was cold in the tunnel, and she was standing in the water again. She bit her lip and fought back tears.

  She did not see the glistening apparition rising silently from the water behind her. It would not have mattered if she had There was nowhere to run to, no safe air duct to duck into. For a moment the alien hovered over her, motionless, dwarfing her tiny form. Only when it moved again did she sense its presence and whirl. She barely had enough time to scream as the shadow engulfed her.

  Ripley heard the scream and the brief splashing below and went completely berserk. The grating had been half cut away She and Hicks wrenched and kicked at it until a portion bent downward. Another kick sent the chunk of crumpled metal tumbling into the water. Heedless of the red-hot edges, Ripley lunged through the opening, her light clutched in one hand, its beam slashing over pipes and conduits.

  'Newt! Newt!'

  The surface of the dark water reflected the light back up at her. It was placid and still after having swallowed the section of grille. Of the girl there was no sign. All that remained to show that she'd ever been there was Casey. As Ripley looked on helplessly, the doll head sank beneath the oily blackness.

  Hicks had to drag her bodily out of the opening. She struggled blindly, trying to rip free of his embrace.

  'No, noooo!'

  It took all his strength and greater mass to wrestle her away from the opening. 'She's gone,' he said intensely. 'There's nothing you or I or anybody else can do now. Let's go!' A glance showed something moving at the far end of the corridor that had led them to the grating. It might be nothing more than his eyes playing tricks on him. Eye tricks on Acheron could prove fatal.

  Ripley was sliding rapidly into hysteria, screaming and crying and flailing her arms and legs. He had to lift her clear of the floor to keep her from diving through the gap. A wild plunge into the water-filled darkness below was a short course to suicide.

  'No! No! She's still alive! We have to—?'

  'All right!' Hicks roared. 'She's alive. I believe it. But we gotta get moving. Now! You're not going to be able to catch her that way.' He nodded at the hole in the floor. 'She won't be waiting for you down there, but they will. Look.' He pointed, and she stopped struggling. There was an elevator at the far end of the tunnel.

  'If there's emergency power to the lights in this section, then maybe that's functioning too. Let's get out of here. Once we're up top, we can try to think this through where they can't sneak up on us.'

  He still had to half drag her to the elevator and push her inside.

  The movement he'd detected at the far end of the tunne coalesced into the advancing outline of an alien. Hicks practically broke the plastic as he jammed a thumb on the 'up button. The elevator's double doors began to close—not quite fast enough. The creature slammed one huge arm between them. As both humans looked on in horror, the automatic safety built into the elevator doors buzzed and began to part The machine could not discriminate between human and alien.

  The drooling abomination lunged toward them, and Hicks blew it away, firing his pulse-rifle at point-blank range. Too close. Acid sluiced between the closing doors to splash across his chest as he shielded Ripley with his armour. Fortunately none of the acid struck the elevator cables. The elevator began to ascend, clawing its way toward the surface on lingering emergency power.

  Hicks tore at the quick-release catches on the harness as the powerful liquid ate through the composite-fibre armour. His plight was enough to galvanize Ripley out of her panic. She clawed at his straps, trying to help as much as she could. Acid reached his chest and arm, and he yelled, shucking out of the combat armour like an insect shedding its old skin. The smoking plates fell to the floor, and the relentless acid began to eat through the metal underfoot. Acrid fumes filled the air inside the elevator, searing eyes and lungs.

  After what seemed like a thousand years, the elevator ground to a halt. Acid ate through the floor and began to drip onto the cables and support wheels.

  The doors parted and they stumbled out. This time it was Ripley who had to support Hicks. Smoke continued to rise from his chest, and he was doubled over in agony.

  'Come on, you can make it. I thought you were a tough guy. She inhaled deeply, coughed, and inhaled again. Hicks choked, gritted his teeth, and tried to grin. After the foulness of the tunnels and ductways the less-than-idyllic air of Acheron smelled like perfume. 'Almost there.'

  Not far ahead of them the sleek, streamlined shape of Dropship Two was descending erratically toward the landing grid like a dark angel, side-slipping as it fought its way through the powerful wind gusts just above the surface. They could see Bishop, his back to them, standing in the lee of the transmitter tower as he struggled with the portable guidance terminal to bring the dropship in. It sat down hard and slid sideways coming to a halt near the middle of the landing pad. Except for a bent landing strut, the inelegant touchdown appeared to have left it undamaged.

  She yelled. The synthetic turned to see the two of them stumbling out of a doorway in the colony building behind him Putting the terminal down carefully, he ran to help, getting one powerful arm under Hicks and helping him toward the ship. As they ran, Ripley shouted to the android, her words barely audible over the gale.

  'How much time?'

  'Plenty!' Bishop looked pleased. He had reason to be 'Twenty-six minutes.'

  'We're not leaving!' She said this as they were staggering up the loading ramp into the warmth and safety of the ship.

  Bishop gaped at her. 'What? Why not?'

  She studied him carefully, searching for the slightest suggestion of deception in his face and finding none. His question was perfectly understandable under the circumstances. She relaxed a little.

  'Tell you in a minute. Let's get Hicks some medical and close this sucker up, and then I'll explain.'

  XIV

  Lightning crackled around the upper rim of the failing atmosphere-processing station. Steam blasted from emergency vents. Columns of incandescent gas shot hundreds of metres into the sky as internal compensators struggled futilely to adjust temperature and pressure overloads that were already beyond correction.

  Bishop was careful not to drift too close to the station as he guided the dropship toward the upper-level landing platform As they approached, they passed over the ruined armoured personnel carrier. A shattered, motionless hulk outside the station entry way, the AFC had finally stopped smoking. Ripley stared as it slipped past beneath him, a monument to o
verconfidence and a misplaced faith in the ability of modern technology to conquer any obstacle. Soon it would evapourate along with the station and the rest of Hadley colony.

  About a third of the way up the side of the enormous cone that formed the processing station, a narrow landing platform jutted out into the wind. It was designed to accommodate loading skimmers and small atmospheric craft, not something the size of a dropship. Somehow Bishop managed to maneuver them in close. The platform groaned under the shuttle's weight. A supporting beam bent dangerously but held.

  Ripley finished winding metal tape around the bulky project that had occupied her hands and mind for the past severa minutes. She tossed the half-empty tape roll aside and inspected her handiwork. It wasn't a neat job, and it probably violated twenty separate military safety regulations, but she didn't give a damn. She wasn't going on parade, and there was no one around to tell her it was dangerous and impossible.

  What she'd done while Bishop was bringing them in close to the station was to secure Hicks's pulse-rifle to the side of a flamethrower. The result was a massive, clumsy siamese weapons package with tremendous and varied firepower. It might even be enough to get her back to the ship alive—if she could carry it.

  She turned back to the dropship's armoury and began loading a satchel and her pockets with anything that might kill aliens: grenades; fully charged pulse-rifle magazines; shrapnel clips; and more.

  Having programmed the dropship for automatic lift-off should the landing platform show signs of giving way, Bishop made his way aft from the pilot's compartment to help Hicks treat his injuries. The corporal lay sprawled across severa flight seats, the contents of a field medical kit strewn around him. Working together, he and Ripley had managed to stanch the bleeding. With the aid of medication his body would heal The dissolved flesh was already beginning to repair itself. But in order to reduce the pain to a tolerable level, he'd been forced to take several injections. The medication kept him halfway comfortable but blurred his vision and slowed his reactions. The only support he could give to Ripley's mad plan was moral.