Alien - 3

XIV

The access corridor was empty. Pausing, she jammed the torch she’d been carrying into a seam in the wall, studying the line of aged, rusting pipes nearby. Grabbing the nearest, she braced herself and yanked hard. The metal snapped and bent toward her. A second yank broke it free. Satisfied, she continued on.

The infirmary seemed more deserted than ever. She paused for a look around, half expecting to see Clemens bent over his workstation, glancing up to grin in her direction. The computer was dark and silent, the chair empty.

It was hard to pull herself up into the overhead air duct while manipulating both the five-foot length of pipe and the flashlight, but she managed. The duct was dark and empty.

Adjusting the battered flashlight for wide beam, she flashed it behind her before starting off in the opposite direction.

Exactly how long or how far she crawled before she started calling, she didn’t know; only that the faint light from the infirmary had long since faded behind her. Her shouts were muted at first, then louder as fear gave way to anger. Her fate was inevitable. She just had to know. She had to see that thing face-to-face.

‘Come on! I know you’re here!’ She advanced on hands and knees. ‘Come on. Just do what you do.’

The air vent bent sharply to the left. She kept moving, alternately muttering and shouting. ‘Come on, you shithead.

Where are you when I need you?’

Her knees were getting raw when she finally paused, listening intently. A noise? Or her own imagination, working overtime?

‘Shit.’ She resumed her awkward, uncomfortable advance, turning another corner.

It opened into an alcove large enough to allow her to stand.

Gratefully she climbed to her feet, stretching. The alcove was home to a decrepit, rusting water purification unit consisting of a thousand-gallon tank and a maze of neglected pipes.

Behind the tank the ventilation duct stretched off before her, an endless, difficult-to-negotiate tube of darkness. As she stared a fresh wave of nausea overcame her and she leaned against the tank for support.

As she did so an alien tail flicked out and knocked the flashlight from her fingers.

It landed on the concrete floor, spinning but staying lit. Ripley whirled, a feeling of desperation creeping up her spine.

The alien peered out at her from within the network of pipes and conduits where it had been resting. It regarded her.

‘You fucker,’ she muttered as she gathered her strength.

Then she rammed the metal pipe directly into its thorax.

With an echoing roar it exploded from behind the maze, metal pipes giving way like straws. Fully aroused and alert, it crouched directly in front of her, thick gelatinous saliva dripping from its outer jaws.

She held her ground, straightening. ‘Come on, fucker. Kill me!’ When it didn’t react she slammed at it again with the pipe.

With a roar it reached out and slapped the pipe away, stood glaring at her. Sweat pouring down her face, she continued to stare back.

Then it whirled and bolted into the darkness. She slumped, gazing after it.

‘Bastard.’

Dillon found the lieutenant in the assembly hall, seated by herself in the huge, deeply shadowed room. She sat with her head in her hands, utterly exhausted, utterly alone. The fire axe dangling from his right hand, he walked over and halted nearby. She must have been aware of his presence, but she did nothing to acknowledge it.

Ordinarily he would have respected her silence and moved on, but conditions had passed beyond ordinary.

‘You okay?’ She didn’t reply, didn’t look up.

‘What are you doin’ out here? You’re supposed to be lyin’

low like everybody else. What happens if that thing shows up?’

Her head rose. ‘It’s not going to kill me.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’ve got one of them inside of me. The big one won’t kill its own.’

Dillon stared at her. ‘Bullshit.’

’Look, I saw it an hour ago. I stood right next to it. I could’ve been lunch, but it wouldn’t touch me. It ran away. It won’t kill its future.’

‘How do you know this thing’s inside you?’

‘I saw it on the cat-scan. It’s a queen. It can make thousands like the one that’s running around out there.’

‘You mean like a queen bee?’

‘Or ant. But, it’s just an analogy. These creatures aren’t insects. They just have a crudely analogous social structure. We don’t know a great deal about them. As you may have noticed, they don’t make for an easy study.’

‘How do you know it’s a queen?’ he found himself asking.

‘For one thing, the shape of the skull is very distinct. It’s backed by a large, upsweeping frill. The beginnings of that were clearly visible in the scanner images. For another, the gestation period for the warrior-worker analogs is quite short, in some cases only a day or so. They mature through their different stages with incredible speed.’ She looked rueful.

‘Very effective survival trait.

‘If this was an ordinary worker it would have come out by now, emerging through the sternum region. Also, it’s gestating in the uterine cavity instead of the chest. Since a queen is a much more complex organism it apparently requires both more space and time to mature. Otherwise I’d be dead by now.

‘I’ve seen how they work. It’s not very pretty. When full grown this thing is enormous, much bigger than the one we’ve been fighting here. It’s definitely going to be a queen, an egg layer. Millions of eggs. It’s not going to be anything like the one that’s out there running around loose.’ Her voice fell. ‘Like I said, nobody’s had any experience with a larval queen. I don’t know how long a gestation period it requires, except that it’s self-evidently a lot longer than an ordinary worker.’

He gazed down at her. ‘Still sounds like bullshit to me. If you got this thing inside you, how’d it get there?’

She was staring down at her hands. ‘While I was in deep sleep. I guess the horrible dream I had wasn’t exactly a dream.

I got raped, though I don’t know that that’s a wholly accurate term. Rape is an act of premeditated violence. This was an act of procreation, even if my participation wasn’t voluntary. We would call it rape, but I doubt that the creature would. It would probably find the concept. . well, alien.’ She looked thoughtful, thinking back.

‘The one that got loose on my first ship, the Nostromo, was making preparations to reproduce itself, but it wasn’t a queen either. At least some of them must be hermaphroditic.

Self-fertilizing, so that even one isolated individual can perpetuate the species. A warrior-worker is capable of producing eggs, but only slowly, one at a time, until it can develop a queen to take over the job. That’s how this one was able to start a queen inside me. At least, that’s the best scenario I can come up with. I’m no xenologist.’

She hesitated. ‘Great, huh? I get to be the mother of the mother of the apocalypse. I can’t do what I should. So you’ve got to help. You’ve got to kill me.’

He took a step backward. ‘What the fuck you talkin’ about?’

‘You don’t get it, do you? I’m finished. I’m dead the minute it’s born because I’ll no longer be necessary to its continued survival. I’ve seen it happen. That I can live with, if it’s not too strict a contradiction in terms. I’ve been ready to die ever since I encountered the first one of these things. But I will be damned if I’m going to let those idiots from Weyland-Yutani take it back to Earth. They just might succeed, and that would be it for the rest of mankind. Maybe for all life on the planet. I don’t see why these things wouldn’t be able to reproduce in any animal of a size larger than, say, a cat.

‘It has to die, and in order for that to happen somebody’s got to kill me. You up to it?’

‘You don’t have to worry about that.’

‘It’s kind of funny, in a way. I’ve done so much killing lately and now I find I can’t manage just one more. Maybe because I’ve had to concentrate so hard on surviving. So you’ve got to help me.’ She met his gaze unwaveringly.

‘Just do it. No speeches.’ She turned her back on him. ‘Come on,’ she urged him, ‘do it! You’re supposed to be a killer. . kill me. Come on, Dillon. Push yourself. Look back. I think you can do it, you big, ugly son of a bitch.?

He studied her slim form, the pale neck and slumped shoulders. A single well-directed blow would do it, cut through her spinal cord and vertebrae quick and clean. Death would be almost instantaneous. Then he could turn his attention to her belly, to the monstrous organism growing inside. Drag the corpse to the smelter and dump it all in the furnace. It would all be over and done with in a couple of minutes. He raised the axe.

The muscles in his face and arms tightened convulsively and the axe made a faint whooshing sound as it cut through the stale air. He brought it down and around full force. . to slam into the wall next to her head. She jerked at the impact, then blinked and whirled on him.

‘What the hell is this? You’re not doing me any favours.’

‘I don’t like losin’ a fight, not to nobody, not to nothin’. The big one out there’s already killed half my guys, got the other half scared shitless. As long as it’s alive, you’re not saving any universe.’

‘What’s wrong? I thought you were a killer.’

‘I want to get this thing and I need you to do it. If it won’t kill you, then maybe that helps us fight it.’ She stared at him helplessly. ‘Otherwise, fuck you. Go kill yourself.’

‘We knock its ass off, then you’ll kill me?’

‘No problem. Quick, painless, easy.’ He reached up to tear the axe out of the wall.

The remaining men had assembled in the main hall. Aaron stood off to one side, sipping something from a tumbler. Dillon and Ripley stood side by side in the centre, confronting the others.

‘This is the choice,’ the big man was telling them. ‘You die sitting here on your ass, or maybe you die out there. But at least we take a shot at killing it. We owe it one. It’s fucked us over. Maybe we get even for the others. Now, how do you want it?’

Morse eyed him in disbelief. ‘What the fuck are you talkin’

about?’

‘Killin’ that big motherfucker.’

Aaron took a step forward, suddenly uneasy. ‘Hold it.

There’s a rescue team on the way. Why don’t we just sit it out?’

Ripley eyed him narrowly. ‘Rescue team for who?’

‘For us.’

‘Bullshit,’ she snapped. ‘All they want’s the beast. You know that.’

‘I don’t give a damn what they want. They aren’t gonna kill us.’

‘I’m not so sure. You don’t know the Company the way I do.’

‘Come on. They’re gonna get us out of here, take us home.’

‘They ain’t gonna take us home,’ Dillon observed.

‘That still doesn’t mean we should go out and fight it,’ Morse whined. ‘Jesus Christ, give me a break.’

Aaron shook his head slowly. ‘You guys got to be fucking nuts. I got a wife. I got a kid. I’m going home.’

Dillon’s expression was hard, unyielding, and his tone smacked of unpleasant reality. ‘Get real. Nobody gives a shit about you, Eight-five. You are not one of us. You are not a believer. You are just a Company man.’

‘That’s right,’ Aaron told him. ‘I’m a Company man and not some fucking criminal. You keep telling me how dumb I am, but I’m smart enough not to have a life sentence on this rock, and I’m smart enough to wait for some firepower to show up before we get out and fight this thing.’

‘Right. Okay. You just sit here on your ass. It’s fine.’

Morse’s head jerked. ‘How about if I sit here on my ass?’

‘No problem,’ Dillon assured him. ‘I forgot. You’re the guy that’s got a deal with God to live forever. And the rest of you pussies can sit out too. Me and her’—he indicated Ripley—

’we’ll do all the fighting.’

Morse hesitated, found some of the others gazing at him. He licked his lower lip. ‘Okay. I’m with you. I want it to die. I hate the fucker. It killed my friends, too. But why can’t we wait a few hours and have the fuckin’ company techs with guns on our side? Why the shit do we have to make some fucking suicide run?’

‘Because they won’t kill it,’ Ripley informed him. ‘They may kill you just for having seen it, but they won’t kill it.’

‘That’s crazy.’ Aaron was shaking his head again. ‘Just horseshit. They won’t kill us.’

‘Think not?’ She grinned wolfishly. ‘The first time they heard about this thing it was crew expendable. The second time they sent some marines: they were expendable. What makes you think they’re gonna care about a bunch of double-Y

chromos at the back end of space? Do you really think they’re gonna let you interfere with advanced Company weapons research? They think you’re crud, all of you. They don’t give a damn about one friend of yours that died. Not one.’ There was silence when she’d finished. Then someone in the back spoke up.

‘You got some kind of plan?’

Dillon studied his companions, his colleagues in hell. ‘This is a refinery as well as a mine, isn’t it? The thing’s afraid of fire, ain’t it? All we have to do is get the fuckin’ beast into the big mould, pour hot metal on it.’

He kicked a stool across the floor. ‘You’re all gonna die. Only question is when. This is as good a place to take your first step to heaven as any. It’s ours. It ain’t much, but it’s ours. Only question in life is how you check out. Now, you want it on your feet, or on your knees beggin’? I ain’t much for beggin’.

Nobody never gave me nothin’. So I say, fuck it. Let’s fight.’

The men looked at one another, each waiting for someone else to break the silence that ensued. When it finally happened, the responses came fast and confident.

‘Yeah, okay. I’m in.’

‘Why not? We ain’t got nothin’ to lose.’

‘Yeah. . okay. . right. . I’m in.’

A voice rose higher. ‘Let’s kick its fuckin’ ass.’

Someone else smiled. ‘You hold it, I’ll kick it.’

’Fuck it,’ snapped Morse finally. ‘Let’s go for it.’

Somehow they got some of the lights on in the corridors. It wasn’t a question of power; the central fusion plant provided plenty of that. But there were terminals and switches and controls that hadn’t been maintained for years in the damp climate of Fiorina. So some corridors and access ways had light while others continued to dwell in darkness.

Ripley surveyed the moulding chamber thoughtfully as Dillon and prisoner Troy crowded close. Troy was the most technically oriented of the survivors, having enjoyed a brief career as a successful engineer before having the misfortune to find his wife and superior in the sack together. He’d murdered both of them, with all the technical skill he’d been able to muster. Faint howls of temporary insanity had bought him a ticket to Fiorina.

Now he demonstrated how the controls worked, which instruments were critical to the chamber’s operation. Ripley watched and listened, uncertain.

‘When was the last time you used this thing?’

‘We fired it up five, six years ago. Routine maintenance check. That was the last time.’

She pursed her lips. ‘Are you sure the piston’s working?’

It was Dillon who replied. ‘Nothin’s for sure. Includin’ you.’

‘All I can say is that the indicators are all positive.’ Troy shrugged helplessly. ‘It’s the best we’ve got.’

‘Remember,’ Dillon reminded them both, ‘we trap it here first. We hit the release, start the piston, then the piston will shove the motherfucker right into the mould. This is a high-tech cold-stamp facility. End of his ass. End of story.’

Ripley eyed him. ‘What if someone screws up?’

‘Then we’re fucked,’ Dillon informed her calmly. ‘We’ve got one chance. One shot at this, that’s all. You’ll never have time to reset. Remember, when you hit the release, for a few seconds you’re gonna be trapped in here with that fucking thing.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll do it. You guys don’t drop the ball, I won’t.’

Dillon studied her closely. ‘Sister, you’d better be right about that thing not wanting you. Because if it wants out, that’s how it’s gonna go. Right through you.’

She just stared back. ‘Save you some work, wouldn’t it?’ Troy blinked at her, but there was no time for questions.

‘Where you gonna be?’ she asked the big man.

‘I’ll be around.’

‘What about the others? Where are they?’

‘Praying.’

The survivors spread out, working their way through the corridors, head-butting the walls to pump themselves up, cursing and whooping. They no longer cared if the monster heard them. Indeed, they wanted it to hear them.

Torchlight gleamed off access ways and tunnels, throwing nervous but excited faces into sharp relief. Prisoner Gregor peered out of an alcove to see his buddy William deep in prayer.

‘Hey Willie? You believe in this heaven shit?’

The other man looked up. ‘I dunno.’

‘Me neither.’

‘Fuck it. What else we gonna believe in? Bit late, now we’re stuck here.’

‘Yeah, ain’t that the truth? Well, hey, what the fuck, right?’

He laughed heartily and they both listened to the echoes as they boomed back and forth down the corridor, amplified and distorted.

Morse heard them all: distant reverberations of nervous laughter, of terror and near hysteria. He pressed the switch that would activate the door he’d been assigned to monitor. It whined. . and jammed partway open. Swallowing nervously, he leaned through the gap.

‘Hey, guys? Hold it, hold it. I don’t know about this shit.

Maybe we should rethink this. I mean, my fuckin’ door ain’t workin’ right. Guys?’

There was no response from down the corridor.

Farther up, Gregor turned to face his companion. ‘What the fuck’s he saying?’

‘Shit, I dunno,’ said William with a shrug.

Prisoner Kevin held the long-burning flare out in front of him as he felt his way along the corridor wall. There was another man behind him, and behind him another, and so on for a substantial length of the tunnel. None were in sight now, though, and his nerves were jumping like bowstrings.

‘Hey, you hear something?’ he murmured to anyone who might happen to be within earshot. ‘I heard Morse. Sounded kinda—’

The scream silenced him. It was so near it was painful. His legs kept moving him forward, as though momentary mental paralysis had yet to reach the lower half of his body.

Ahead, the alien was dismembering a friend of his named Vincent, who no longer had anything to scream with. He hesitated only briefly.

‘Come and get me, you fucker!’

Obligingly, the monster dropped the piece of Vincent it was holding and charged.

Kevin had been something of an athlete in his day. Those memories returned with a rush as he tore back up the corridor.

Couple years back there wasn’t a man he’d met he couldn’t outrun. But he wasn’t racing a man now. The inhuman apparition was closing fast, even as he accelerated to a sprint.

The slower he became, the faster his hellacious pursuer closed.

He all but threw himself at the switch, whirling as he did so, his back slamming into the corridor wall, his chest heaving like a bellows. The steel door it controlled slammed shut.

Something crashed into it a bare second after it sealed, making a huge dent in the middle. He slumped slightly and somehow found the wind to gasp aloud, ‘Door C9. . closed!’

At the other end of the recently traversed passageway prisoner Jude appeared, no mop in hand now. Instead he held his own flare aloft, illuminating the corridor.

‘Yoo-hoo. Hey, fuckface, come and get me. Take your best shot.’

Confounded by the unyielding door, the alien pivoted at the sound and rushed in its direction. Jude took off running, not as fast as Kevin but with a bigger head start. The alien closed fast. Once again, seconds were the difference. The closing doorway separated it from its prey.

On the other side of the barrier Jude struggled to regain his wind. ‘Over in the east wing: door B7. Safe.’

An instant later an alien foreleg smashed through the small glass window set in the steel. Screaming, Jude scrabbled backward along the wall, away from the clutching, frantic claws.

Dillon stood alone in the corridor he’d chosen to patrol and muttered to himself, ‘It’s started.’

‘It’s in tunnel B,’ Morse was yelling as he ran down his own private passageway. ‘Must be heading over to channel A!’

At an intersection, William nearly ran over Gregor as the two men joined up. ‘I heard it,’ Gregor muttered. ‘Channel E, dammit.’

‘Did you say B?’

‘No, E.’

William frowned as he ran. ‘We’re supposed to stay—’

‘Move your fucking ass!’ In no mood to debate what their theoretical relative positions ought to have been, Gregor accelerated wordlessly. William trailed in his wake.

In a side corridor Jude linked up with Kevin, and they glanced knowingly at the other. ‘You too?’

‘Yeah.’ Kevin was fighting for air.

‘Okay. Over to E. Everybody.’

Kevin made a face, trying to remember. ‘Where the fuck’s E?’

His companion gestured impatiently. ‘This way. Get a fuckin’ move-on.’

David was still alone, and he didn’t relish the continuing solitude. According to plan, he should have linked up with someone else by now. He did, however, find what remained of Vincent. It slowed but did not halt him.

‘Kevin? Gregor? Morse? I found Vincent.’ There was no response. He kept moving, unwilling to stop for anyone or anything. ‘Let’s shut this fucker down.’ The section of tunnel directly ahead was darker than the one he’d just vacated, but at least it was empty.

In the main corridor Dillon glanced at Troy. ‘Help them.’

The other prisoner nodded and headed into the maze of corridors, hefting his map.

Prisoner Eric stood nearby, his gaze shifting constantly from Dillon to Ripley. He chewed his lower lip, then his fingernails.

She studied the monitor panel. It showed Gregor going one way, Morse the other. Her expression twisted.

‘Where the fuck is he going? Why don’t they stick to the plan?’

‘You’re immune,’ Dillon reminded her. ‘They’re not.’

‘Well, what the hell are they doin’?’

Dillon’s attention was focused on the dimly lit far end of the corridor. ‘Improvising.’

She rested her hand on the main piston control, saw Eric staring at her. He was sweating profusely.

David stumbled through the darkened corridor, holding his flare aloft and trying to penetrate the blackness ahead.

‘Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Here—’ He broke off. The alien was clearly visible at the far end, pounding ineffectually on the door through which Jude had recently vanished.

He cocked his arm as the alien turned. ‘Here, pussycat.

Playtime!’ He heaved the hissing flare. The alien was already coming toward him before the flare struck the floor.

Turning, he raced at high speed back the way he’d come.

The distance to the next barrier was relatively short and he felt confident he’d make it. Sure enough, he was through in plenty of time. His hand came down hard on the close button. The door slipped downward. . and stopped.

His eyes widened and he made a soft mewling noise as he stumbled backward, one faltering step at a time.

As he stared, the door continued to descend in halting jerks.

He quivered as the alien slammed full speed into the door.

Metal buckled but continued to descend in its uneven, herky-jerky fashion.

An alien paw punched through the gap and made a grab at David’s leg. Screaming, he leapt onto a ledge in the corridor wall. The hand continued to flail around, hunting for him, as the door jerked down, down. At the last instant the foreleg withdrew.

There was silence in the corridor.

It took him a long moment to find his voice and when he did, what emerged was little more than a terrified whimper.

‘Door 3, channel F. Shut. .I hope.’

Morse didn’t hear him as he continued to stumble blindly down his own corridor. ‘Kevin? Gregor? Where the fuck are you?

Where is everybody? K, L, M, all locked and secured.’ He glanced at a plate set into the wall. ‘I’m back in A.’

In a side passageway Gregor was likewise counting panels.

‘Channel V secure. Channel P holding.’

Behind him William struggled to keep pace. ‘Did you say P

or D?’ he shouted. ‘For fuck’s sake—’

Gregor turned without stopping. ‘Shut the fuck up! Move!’

Unsure of his position, Kevin discovered that he’d doubled back on himself. ‘Shit. I’m in R. That’s safe. That’s safe. Isn’t it?’

Jude overheard, raised his voice so his companion could hear. ‘You forgot, man. R leads back into F. I’m moving through F right now. Gonna shut it down.’

Disoriented, Troy halted at an intersection. He’d moved too fast, ignoring the map and trusting to memory. Now he found himself appraising the multiple tunnels uncertainly.

‘Channel F? Where the fuck — There ain’t no fuckin’

Channel F.’

He moved forward, hesitated, and chose the corridor to his immediate right, instead.

That corridor, however, was already occupied by another frustrated inhabitant.

Dillon and Ripley heard the distant screams. As usual, the screams didn’t last for very long.

‘Morse?’ Dillon called out. ‘Kevin, Gregor?’

Ripley strained to see past him. ‘What’s going on back there?’

The big man glanced tensely back at her. ‘All they have to do is run down the damn corridors.’ He hefted his axe and started forward. ‘Stay here.’

The side corridor from which they expected their visitor remained deserted. No alien. No people. Only distant, echoing voices, some distinctly panicky.

Behind him, Eric voiced his thoughts aloud. ‘Where in hell is it?’ Dillon just glanced at him.

Sucking up his courage, David moved back to the door and peered through the small window. The corridor beyond was empty. He raised his voice.

‘I’ve lost him. Don’t know where the fucking thing is. Not gonna open the door. I think it went up in the fucking air vent.’

He turned slowly to inspect the single air vent in the tunnel above him.

He was right.

Ripley waited until the last of the echoes faded to silence.

Eric had been moving forward, his eyes harbingers of imminent collapse. If someone didn’t do something he was going to break and take off running. There was nowhere to run to. She moved toward him, caught his gaze, trying to stare him down, to transfer some of her own confidence into him.

Dillon had disappeared down the side corridor. It didn’t take him long to find Troy’s remains. After a quick look around he retreated back the way he’d come.

Morse and Jude had finally linked up. They ran along side by side. . until Jude slipped and went down hard. His fingers fumbled at the warm, sticky mess which had tripped him up.

‘For fuck’s sake. . yuck.’

When Jude lifted it toward the flare for a better look, Morse recoiled in horror. Then he got a good look at what he’d picked up, and they screamed in unison.

Ripley listened intently, momentarily forgetting Eric. The screams were close now — immediate, not echoes. Suddenly the prisoner whirled and rushed back toward the piston control.

She ran after him. .

As the alien appeared, racing across the corridor.

Eric’s fingers started to convulse on the control and she barely had time to grab his hand.

‘Wait! It’s not in position yet!’ With an effort of will she managed to block him from releasing the piston.

That was all it took. Defeated mentally as well as physically, he slumped back, exhausted and trembling.

Kevin moved slowly through the corridor. He was getting close to the piston alcove now, as safe a place as any. He’d done everything that had been asked of him. They couldn’t ask for more, not now.

Something made him look up. The alien positioned in the vent above didn’t bother to drop. Instead it reached down and snatched him up as easily as if it had been fishing for a frog.

Blood splattered.

At the far end of the passageway Dillon appeared. Spotting Kevin’s jerking legs he rushed forward and threw both arms around the twitching knees. It was something the alien wasn’t prepared for and the two men dropped.

Ripley saw Dillon drag the wounded prisoner into the main corridor. With a glance at the useless Eric she started forward to help.

Blood spurted from the injured man’s neck. Whipping off her jacket, she wrapped it around the wound as tightly as she could. The blood slowed, but not enough. Dillon held the man close, murmuring.

‘No death, only—’

There was no time to finish the prayer. The alien emerged from the side access. Ripley rose and started backing away.

‘Leave the body. Draw it in.’

Dillon nodded and joined her, the two of them retreating toward the control alcove.

The alien watched. They were moving slowly, with nowhere to retreat to. There was still life in the damaged figure on the floor. The alien jumped forward to finish the job.

Spinning, Ripley made a slashing gesture in Eric’s direction.

Eric erupted from his hiding place and slammed his hand down on the control.

The piston shot forward, sweeping up both Kevin’s body and that of the alien, shunting them toward the gap which led to the furnace. Heat and howling air filled the corridor.

But the alien had vanished.

Sweating, Ripley took a step forward. ‘Where the hell’s it gone?’

‘Shit!’ Dillon tried to peer around the machinery. ‘It must be behind the fucking piston.’

‘Behind it?’ She gaped at him.

‘Seal the doors,’ he bellowed. ‘We gotta get it back!’ They exchanged a glance, then took off in opposite directions.

‘Jude, Morse!’ Dillon pounded down the corridor he’d chosen, searching for survivors. Meanwhile Ripley went in search of Eric and William. Found them, too, all mixed up together and no longer worrying. About anything. She continued on.

Morse was creeping now, no longer running. Hearing a noise, he paused to check the side access way from which it had come, exhaled at the sight of nothing. He began retracing his steps, keeping his eyes forward.

Until he dumped into something soft and animate.

‘What the-!’

It was Jude. Equally startled, the other man whirled, displaying the scissors he carried like a weapon. Simultaneously relieved and furious, Morse grabbed the twin blades and angled them upward.

‘Not like this. Like this, moron.’ He whacked the other man on the side of the head. Jude blinked, nodded, and started off in the other direction.

Dillon was back in the main corridor, yelling. ‘Jude, Jude!’

The other man heard him, hesitated.

The alien was right behind him.

He ran like hell, toward Dillon, who urged him on.

‘Don’t look back. As fast you fucking can!’

Jude came on, trying, trying for his life. But he wasn’t Kevin, or Gregor. The alien caught him. Blood exploded against the door that Dillon desperately sent slamming shut.

In the next corridor Ripley heard, growled to herself. Time was ticking away as the piston continued its inexorable and currently useless slide forward.

Gregor screamed for help, but there was no one around to hear him. He raced blindly down the passageway, ricocheting off the corners like a pinball until he slammed into Morse, running hard the other way. Nervous, then half laughing, they picked themselves up, staring in relief at one another.

Until the alien flashed past and smashed into Gregor in midlaugh, tearing him apart.

Blood and pulp showering his face and torso, Morse fought to scramble away, screaming for mercy to something that neither understood nor cared about his desperation. He could only stare as the creature methodically eviscerated Gregor’s corpse. Then he crawled frantically.

He bumped into something unyielding and his head whipped around. Feet. His head tilted back. Ripley’s feet.

She threw the flare she was holding at the alien as it tried to duck into an air vent. The burning magnesium alloy forced it to drop Gregor’s ravaged body.

‘Come on, you bastard!’

As Morse looked on in fascination, the alien, instead of rushing forward to decapitate the lieutenant, coiled up against the far wall. She advanced, ignoring its cringing and spitting.

‘Come on. I got what you want. Follow me. I want to show you something. Come on, damn you!’

The alien’s tail flicked out and lashed at her. Not hard enough to kill; just enough to fend her off.

At that moment Dillon arrived in the doorway, staring. She whirled on him. ‘Get back! Don’t get in the way!’

The alien resumed its attack posture, turning to face the newcomer. Desperately Ripley inserted herself between it and Dillon, who suddenly realized not only what was happening but what she was trying to do.

Moving up behind, he grabbed her and held her tight.

The alien went berserk, but kept its distance as the two humans retreated, Ripley tight in Dillon’s grasp.

It followed them into the main corridor, keeping the distance between them constant, waiting. Dillon glanced toward the waiting mould, called out.

‘In here, stupid!’

The alien hesitated, then leapt to the ceiling and scuttled over the doorjamb.

‘Shut it!’ Ripley said frantically. ‘Now!’

Dillon didn’t need to be told. He activated the door in front of her. It slammed tight, imprisoned them both in the main corridor with the creature.

Morse appeared behind it, saw what was happening. ‘Get out! Get the fuck out now!’

Ripley yelled back at him. ‘Close the door!’ The other man hesitated. As he did so, the alien turned toward him. ‘Now!’

Morse jerked forward and hit the switch. The door rammed down, sealing them off from his position. A moment later the piston appeared, continuing on its cleansing passage and obscuring them from view.

He turned and ran back the way he’d come.

Within the main corridor the piston crunched into the alien, knocking it backward. Forgetting now about the two humans, it turned and sought to squeeze a leg past the heavy barrier.

There was no room, no space at all. The piston continued to force it toward the mould.

Dillon and Ripley were already there. End of the line.

Nowhere else to go.

Morse scrambled up the ladder which lead to the crane cab, wondering if he remembered enough to activate it. He’d have to. There was no time to consult manuals, and no one left to ask.

The massive landing craft disdained the use of the mine’s ill-maintained landing port. Instead it set down on the gravel outside, the backwash of its maneuvering engines sending dirt and rocks flying. Moments later heavily armed men and women were rushing toward the facility’s main entrance.

From within the lock Aaron watched them disembark, a broad smile on his face. They had smart guns and armour piercers, thermoseeking rails and rapid-fire handguns. They knew what they’d be up against and they’d come prepared. He straightened his uniform as best as he could and prepared to pop the lock.

‘I knew they’d make it.’ He raised his voice. ‘Hey,!; over here!

This way!’ He started to activate the lock mechanism.

He never got the chance. The door exploded inward, six commandos and two medical officers rushing through even before the dust had settled. All business, the commandos spread out to cover the lock area. Aaron moved forward, thinking as he did so the captain in their midst was a dead ringer for the dead android that had been on the lieutenant’s lifeboat.

‘Right, sir,’ he announced as he stopped in front of the officer and snapped off a crisp salute. ‘Warder Aaron, 137512.’

The captain ignored him. ‘Where is Lieutenant Ripley? Is she still alive?’

A little miffed at the indifference but still eager to be of help, Aaron replied quickly. ‘Right, sir. If she’s alive, she’s in the mould. They’re all in the leadworks with the beast, sir. Absolute madness. Wouldn’t wait. I tried to tell ‘em—’

The officer cut him off abruptly. ‘You’ve seen this beast?’

‘Right, sir. Horrible. Unbelievable. She’s got one inside her.’

‘We know that.’ He nodded tersely in the direction of the commandos. ‘We’ll take over now. Show us where you last saw her.’

Aaron nodded, eagerly led them into the depths of the complex.

Ripley and Dillon continued retreating into the mould until there was ceramic alloy at their backs and nowhere else to stand. A grinding of gears caught her attention and her head jerked back. Overhead she could see machinery moving as the refinery responded inexorably to its programmed sequence.

‘Climb,’ she told her companion. ‘It’s our only chance!’

‘What about you?’ Dillon spoke as the alien entered the back part of the mould, forced along by the massive piston.

‘It won’t kill me.’

‘Bullshit! There’s gonna be ten tons of hot metal in here!’

‘Good! I keep telling you I want to die.’

‘Yeah, but I don’t—’

Soon the alien would be on top of them. ‘Now’s your chance,’

Ripley shouted. ‘Get going!’

He hesitated, then grabbed her. ‘I’m taking you with me!’ He shoved her bodily upward.

Despite her resistance he managed to climb. Seeing that he wasn’t going to go without her she reluctantly started to follow suit, moving in front of him up the side of the mould. The alien turned away from the piston, spotted them, and followed.

At the top of the mould Ripley secured herself on the edge and reached down to help Dillon. The pursuing alien’s inner jaws shot out, reaching. Dillon kicked down, slashing with the fire axe.

Ripley continued her ascent as Dillon fought off the pursuit.

More noise drew her attention to the now functioning gantry crane. She could see Morse inside, cursing and hammering at the controls.

The Company squad appeared on the crest of the observation platform, their leader taking in all of what was happening below at a glance. Morse saw them shouting at him, ignored them as he frantically worked controls.

The container of now molten alloy bubbled as it was tipped.

‘Don’t do it!’ the captain of the new arrivals shouted. ‘No!’

The alien was very close now, but not quite close enough.

Not quite. White-hot liquid metal poured past Ripley and Dillon, a torrent of intense heat that forced both of them to cover their faces with their hands. The metallic cascade struck the alien and knocked it screeching back into the mould, sweeping it away as flames leaped in all directions.

High above, Morse stood and stared down through the window of the crane, his expression a mask of satisfaction.

‘Eat shit, you miserable fucker!’

Dillon joined Ripley on the edge of the mould, both of them staring downward as they shielded their faces against the heat rising from the pool of bubbling metal. Suddenly her attention was drawn by movement across the way.

‘They’re here!’ She clutched desperately at her companion.

‘Keep your promise!’

Dillon stared at her. ‘You mean it.’

‘Yes! I’ve got it inside me! Quit fucking around!’

Uncertainly, he put his hands around her throat.

She stared at him angrily. ‘Do it!’

His fingers tightened. A little pressure, a twist, and her neck would snap. That was all it would take. A moment of effort, of exertion. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how, as if he hadn’t done it before, a long time ago.

‘I can’t!’ The denial emerged from his throat half cry, half croak. ‘I can’t do it!’ He looked at her almost pleadingly.

His expression turned to one of horror as he turned around, only to confront the burning and smoking alien. Resigned, he allowed himself to be pulled into its embrace, the two of them vanishing beneath the roiling surface of the molten metal.

Ripley looked on in astonishment, at once repelled and fascinated. An instant later the curving alien skull reappeared.

Dripping molten metal, it began to haul itself out of the mould.

Looking around wildly, she spotted the emergency chain. It was old and corroded, as might be the controls it activated. Not that it mattered. There was nothing else. She wrenched on it.

Water erupted from the large bore quencher that hung over the lip of the mould. She found herself tangled up in the chain, unable to get loose. The torrent of water drenched her, sweeping her around in tight spirals. But the chain would not let her go.

The cold water struck the alien and its hot metal coat. The head exploded first, then the rest of the body. Then the mould, vomiting chunks of supercooled metal and steam. Morse was thrown to the floor of the crane’s cab as it rocked on its supports, while the commando unit ducked reflexively for cover.

Warm water and rapidly cooling metal rained down on the chamber.

When the deluge ended, the commando team resumed its approach. But not before Ripley had swung herself up onto the crane platform, Morse reaching out to help her.

Once aboard, she leaned against the guard rail and gazed down into the furnace. Time again to be sick. The attacks of nausea and pain were coming more rapidly now.

She spotted the Company men coming up the stairs from below, heading for the crane. Aaron was in the forefront. She tried to escape but had no place to go.

‘Don’t come any closer,’ she shouted. ‘Stay where you are.’

Aaron halted. ‘Wait. They’re here to help.’

She stared at him, pitying the poor simpleton. He had no idea what the stakes were, or what was likely to happen to him when the Company finally obtained what it was after. Except that that was not going to happen.

Another wave of nausea swept over her and she staggered against the railing. As she straightened, a figure stepped out from behind the heavily armed commandos. She gaped, uncertain at first of what she was seeing. It was a face she knew.

‘Bishop?’ she heard herself mumbling uncertainly.

He stopped, the others crowding close behind him, waiting for orders. The figure indicated they should relax. Then he turned to her, smiling reassuringly.

‘I just want to help you. We’re all on the same side.’

‘No more bullshit!’ she snapped. Weak as she was, it took an effort to make the exclamation sound convincing. ‘I just felt the damn thing move.’

As everyone present watched, she stepped farther out on the gantry platform. Something smacked into her lungs and she winced, never taking her eyes off the figure before her.

It was Bishop. No, not Bishop, but a perfect duplicate of him. A completely in control, perfect down to the pores on his chin double of the sadly dismembered and cybernetically deceased Bishop. Bishop II, she told herself numbly. BishopRedux. Bishop to pawn four; Bishop takes Queen.

Not as long as this lady’s alive, she thought determinedly.

‘You know who I am,’ the figure said.

‘Yeah. A droid. Same model as Bishop. Sent by the fucking Company.’

‘I’m not the Bishop android. I designed it. I’m the prototype, so naturally I modeled its features after my own. I’m very human. I was sent here to show you a friendly face, and to demonstrate how important you are to us. To me. I’ve been involved with this project from the beginning. You mean a lot to me, Lieutenant Ripley. To a great many people. Please come down.

‘I just want to help you. We have everything here to help you, Ripley.’ He gazed anxiously up at her. Now she recognized the outfits two of Bishop II’s companions wore: they were biomedical technicians. It made her think of Clemens.

‘Fuck you. I know all about “friendly” Company faces. The last one I saw belonged to an asshole named Burke.’

The man’s smile faded. ‘Mr. Burke proved to be a poor choice to accompany your previous mission, an individual rather more interested in his own personal aggrandizement than in good Company policy. I assure you it was a mistake that will not be repeated. That is why I am here now instead of some inexperienced, overly ambitious underling.’

‘And you, of course, have no personal ambitions.’

‘I only want to help you.’

‘You’re a liar,’ she said quietly. ‘You don’t give a shit about me or anyone else. You just want to take it back. These things have acid for blood where you Company people just have money. I don’t see a lot of difference.’

Bishop II studied the floor for a moment before again raising his eyes to the solitary figure atop the crane platform.

‘You have plenty of reasons to be wary, but unfortunately not much time. We just want to take you home. We don’t care anymore what happens to it. We know what you’ve been through. You’ve shown great courage.’

‘Bullshit!’

‘You’re wrong. We want to help.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘We want to take the thing out of you.’

‘And keep it?’

Bishop II shook his head. ‘No. Destroy it.’

She stood, swaying, wanting to believe him. Sensing her hesitation, he hurried on. ‘Ripley, you’re exhausted, worn out.

Give yourself a moment. Stop and think. I have only your best interests at heart. The ship I came in, the Patna, is equipped with a state-of-the-art surgical facility. We can remove the fetus, or larva, or whatever you want to call it. We don’t have a name for the different developmental stages yet. The operation will be successful! You’re going to have a long, productive life.’

She looked down at him, calm now, resigned. ‘I’ve had a life, thanks. One I didn’t have to ask anybody about or answer to anybody for.’

He held up a hand, imploring. ‘You’re not thinking straight, Ripley! We admit we made mistakes. We didn’t know. But we can make it up to you. All the potential lost, all the time. You can still have children. We’ll buy out your contract. You’ll get everything you deserve. We owe you.’

She wavered. ‘You’re not going to take it back?’

‘No. We realize now what we’ve been up against. You’ve been right all along. But time is running out. Let us deal with it. The surgery on the ship is ready to go.’

The biotech immediately behind him stepped forward. ‘It’s very quick. Painless. A couple of incisions. You’ll be out for two hours — that’s all. Then back on your feet, good as new. Whole again.’

‘What guarantee do I have that once you’ve taken this thing out you’ll destroy it?’

Bishop II advanced another step. He was quite close now, looking across at her. ‘You’re just going to have to trust me.’ He extended his hand in friendship. ‘Trust me. Please. We only want to help you.’

She considered, taking her time. She saw Aaron watching her, and Morse. Her gaze went back to Bishop II.

She slid shut the gate between them. ‘No—’

A nod to Morse and he hit the control panel, putting the crane in motion. It rumbled away from the stairs, out over the furnace. As it did so, Bishop II lunged, grabbing at Ripley. She broke free and stumbled away from him.

The commandos responded and Morse took a bullet in the shoulder, dropping down behind the crane’s control panel.

Aaron picked up a chunk of broken pipe, muttering, ‘You fucking droid!’ The pipe landed hard on Bishop II’s head.

The impact was spongy. Then man staggered, twitching, as his troops shot the acting superintendent down. Real blood poured from Bishop II’s cracked skull.

‘I am. . not a. . droid,’ the bleeding figure mumbled in surprise as it crumpled to the floor.

Ripley clutched at her chest. ‘It’s moving.’ Company men rushed to the fallen Bishop II. He turned on his side, watching her.

‘You owe it to us. You owe it to yourself.’

A beatific smile crossed her face. Then she almost snarled.

‘No way!’ The crane platform was now directly over the cauldron. Her stomach thumped and she staggered. Calmly, in complete control, she stepped to the edge. Below her feet boiled a lake of molten metal, the proximate inferno raising blisters on her skin, rising tendrils of heat reaching up invitingly.

‘It’s too late!’

‘It’s not!’ Bishop II pleaded with her.

Staggering, she clutched both hands to her chest over the rising heat.

‘Good-bye.’

‘Nooo!’ Bishop II howled.

She stepped off the platform and vanished into the bubbling cauldron below.

Morse had staggered erect in time to see her fall. Clutching at his wounded shoulder, he watched, murmuring.

‘Those who are dead are not dead. They have moved up.

Moved higher.?

Having nothing else to do now, the biotechs bandaged Morse up. Other Company men, silent, not talking even among themselves, went about the business of methodically shutting down the furnace, the refinery, the rest of Weyland-Yutani Work Correctional Facility Fury 161.

Out there messages linger. Ghosts of radio transmissions drifting forever, echoes of words preceding and lives gone before. Occasionally they’re detected, picked up, transcribed.

Sometimes they mean something to those who hear; other times not. Sometimes they’re lengthy, other times brief. As in. .

‘This is Ripley, last surviving member of the Nostromo, signing off.’