Alien - 3

II

Andrews didn’t like working the Communicator. Every use went down in his permanent record. Deep-space communication was expensive and he was expected to make use of the device only when absolutely and unavoidably necessary. It might develop that his judgment would not agree with that of some slick-assed bonehead back at headquarters, in which case his accumulated pay might be docked, or he might be denied a promotion. All without a chance to defend himself, because by the time he made it out of the hellhole that was Fiorina and back home, the cretin who’d docked him would probably be long since dead or retired.

Hell, why was he worrying? Everyone he’d ever known would be dead by the time he got back home. That didn’t render him any less anxious to make that oft-anticipated journey.

So he did his rotten job as best he could and hoped that his rotten employers would eventually take note of his skill and professionalism and offer early retirement, except that now a rotten, unforeseen difficulty had arisen with the sole intent of complicating his life. Andrews harbored an intense dislike for the unforeseen. One of the few compensations of his job was its unremitting predictability.

Until now. And it compelled him to make use of the Communicator. Angrily he hammered the keys.

FURY 361—CLASS C PRISON UNIT — IRIS 12037154.

REPORT EEV UNIT 265 °CRASH

OCCUPANTS — BISHOP MODEL ANDROID,

INACTIVE HICKS, CPL. — ES

MARINES — L55321—DOA RIPLEY,

LT. — CO SVC.-B515617—

SURVIVOR UNIDENTIFIED

JUVENILE FEMALE — DOA

REQUEST EMERG. EVAC. SOONEST POSSIBLE—

AWAIT RESPONSE SUPT. ANDREWS M51021.

[Time delay transmis 1844—Fiorina]

Clemens had dragged the woman out of the water and had hustled her up to the facility as quickly as possible. So quickly that her condition and not her gender had dominated their thoughts. Reflection would come later, and with it the problems Andrews envisioned.

As for the EEV itself, they’d used the mutated oxen to winch it ashore. Any of the mine vehicles could have done the job quicker and easier, but those which had been abandoned outside had long since given up the ghost of active function, and those within the complex were too valuable to the inhabitants to risk exposing to the weather, even assuming the men could have safely hoisted an appropriate vehicle outside.

Simpler to use the oxen, unaccustomed as they were to the task. But they performed effectively, save for one that collapsed subsequently and died, doubtless from having been subjected to the unfamiliar strain of actual work.

Once within reach of the mine’s sole remaining operational external crane, it was easy enough to secure the badly damaged escape craft to the bracing and lower it inside. Andrews was there when the men went in, soon to emerge and declare that the woman hadn’t come alone, that there were others.

The superintendent wasn’t pleased. More complications, more holes in his placid daily routine. More decisions to make.

He didn’t like making decisions. There was always the danger of making a wrong one.

The marine corporal was dead, likewise the unfortunate child. The android didn’t matter. Andrews was somewhat relieved. Only the woman to deal with, then, and just as well. She presented complications enough.

One of the men informed him that the Communicator was holding an on-line message. Leaving the EEV and its contents in the care of others, the superintendent made his way back to his office. He was a big man in his late forties, muscular, powerful, determined. He had to be all of that and more or he’d never have been assigned to Fiorina.

The reply was as terse as his original communication.

TO: FURY 361—CLASS C PRISON UNIT 1237154

FROM: NETWORK CONCOM 01500—WEYLAND-

YUTANI MESSAGE RECEIVED.

Well, now, that was profound. Andrews stared at the readout screen but nothing else was forthcoming. No suggestions, no requests for additional information, no elegant corporate explication. No criticism, no praise. Somehow he’d expected more.

He could send another message requesting more data, except that the powers-that-be were likely to deem it extraneous and dock his pay for the cost. They’d responded, hadn’t they? Even if they hadn’t exactly replied. There was nothing he could do but deal with the situation as best he saw fit. . and wait.

Another dream. No sense of time in dreams, no temporal spaciousness. People see all sorts of things in dreams, both intensely realistic and wholly imaginary. Rarely do they see clocks.

The twin-barreled flamethrower was heavy in her hands as she cautiously approached the cryonic cylinders. A quick check revealed all three occupants untouched, undisturbed. Bishop, quiescent in fragments. Newt ethereal in her perfect childish beauty, so foreign to the place and time in which she unwillingly found herself. Hicks peaceful, unmarred. She felt herself hesitating as she drew near, but his dome remained shut, his eyes closed.

A sound and she whirled, flipping a switch on the weapon’s ribs even as her finger convulsed on the trigger. The device emitted a plastic click. That was all. Frantically she tried again.

A short, reluctant burst of flame emerged a few inches from one of the barrels, died.

Panicky, she inspected the weapon, checking the fill levels, the trigger, those leads that were visible. Everything seemed functional. It ought to work, it had to work. .

Something nearby, close. She dreamt herself retreating, backing up cautiously, seeking the protection of a solid wall as she fumbled with the flamethrower. It was near. She knew it too well to think otherwise. Her fingers wrestled with the balky device. She’d found the trouble, she was sure. A minute more, that was all she needed. Recharge this, reset, then ready to fire.

Half a minute. She happened to glance downward.

The alien’s tail was between her legs.

She spun screaming, right into its waiting arms, and tried to bring the flamethrower to bear. A hand clutched; horribly elegant, incredibly powerful fingers crushed the weapon in the middle, collapsing the twin barrels, the other arm trapping her. She pummeled the shiny, glistening thorax with her fists.

Useless the gesture, useless everything now.

It spun her around and shoved her across the nearest cryonic pod. Shoved again. Her face was pressed tight to the cool, inorganic glass. Beneath her, Hicks opened his eyes and smiled again. And again.

She screamed.

The infirmary was compact and nearly empty. It abutted a much larger medical facility designed to handle dozens of patients a day. Those miners, prospective patients, were long gone from Fiorina. They had accomplished their task years ago, extracting the valuable ore from the ground and then following it back home. Only the prisoners remained, and they had no need of such extensive facilities.

So the larger unit had been gutted of salvageable material and the smaller semi-surgery turned over to the prison.

Cheaper that way. Less room to heat, less energy required, money saved. Where prisoners were concerned that was always the best way.

Not that they’d been left with nothing. Supplies and equipment were more than ample for the installation’s needs.

The Company could afford to be generous. Besides, shipping even worthwhile material offworld was expensive. Better to leave some of it, the lesser quality stuff, and gain credit for concomitant compassion. The good publicity was worth more than the equipment.

Besides the facility there was Clemens. Like some of the supplies he was too good for Fiorina, though it would have been difficult to convince anyone familiar with his case of that.

Nor would he have raised much in the way of objections. But the prisoners were lucky to have him, and they knew it. Most of them were not stupid. Merely unpleasant. It was a combination which in some men gave rise to captains of industry and pillars of government. In others it led merely to defeat and degradation. When this situation was directed inward the sufferers were treated or incarcerated on places like Earth.

When it erupted outward to encompass the innocent it led elsewhere. To Fiorina, for example. Clemens was only one of many who’d realized too late that his personal path diverged from the normal run of humanity to lead instead to this place.

The woman was trying to say something. Her lips were moving and she was straining upward, though whether pushing against or away from something he was unable to tell.

Leaning close, he put his ear to her mouth. Sounds emergent, bubbling and gurgling, as if rising toward the surface from deep within.

He straightened and turned her head to one side, holding it firmly but gently. Gagging, choking, she vomited forth a stream of dark salt water. The heaving ended quickly and she subsided, still unconscious but resting quietly now; still, easy.

He eased her head back onto the pillow, gazing solemnly at her mask-like visage. Her features were delicate, almost girlish despite her age. There was about her the air of someone who had spent too much time as a tourist in hell.

Well, being dumped out of a ship via EEV and then awakened and revived from deep sleep by a crash into the sea would be enough to mark anyone, he told himself.

The infirmary door hissed softly as it slid back to admit Andrews and Aaron. Clemens wasn’t crazy about either the superintendent or his number two. At the same time he was quite aware that Andrews wasn’t in love with the facility’s sole medical technician either. Though in status he might be a notch above the general population, Clemens was still a prisoner serving sentence, a fact neither of the two men ever let him forget. Not that he was likely to. Many things were difficult to accomplish on Fiorina, but forgetting was impossible.

They halted by the side of the bed and stared down at its motionless occupant.

Andrews grunted at nothing in particular.

‘What’s her status, Mr. Clemens?’

The technician sat back slightly, glanced up at the man who for all practical purposes served as Fiorina’s lord and master.

‘She’s alive.’

Andrews’s expression tightened and he favoured the tech with a sardonic smile. ‘Thank you, Mr. Clemens. That’s very helpful. And while I suppose I wouldn’t, or shouldn’t, want it to be otherwise, it also does mean that we have a problem, doesn’t it?’

‘Not to worry, sir. I think we can pull her through. There’s no internal bleeding, nothing broken, not even a serious sprain. I think she’ll make a complete recovery.’

‘Which, as you know, Mr. Clemens, is precisely what concerns me.’ He stared appraisingly at the woman in the bed.

‘I wish she hadn’t come here. I wish she wasn’t here now.’

‘Without wishing to sound disrespectful, sir, I have this feeling that she’d eagerly concur with you. Based on what I was told about her landing and having seen for myself the current condition of her EEV, I’m of the opinion that she didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of choice in the matter. Any idea where they’re from? What ship?’

‘No,’ Andrews muttered. ‘I Notified Weyland-Y.’

’They answer?’ Clemens was holding Ripley’s wrist, ostensibly to check her pulse.

‘If you can call it that. They acknowledged receipt of my message. That’s all. Guess they’re not feeling real talkative.’

‘Understandable, if they had an interest in the ship that was lost. Probably running around like mad trying to decide what your report signifies.’ The mental image of confounded Company nabobs pleased him.

‘Let me know if there’s any change in her condition.’

‘Like if she should conveniently expire?’

Andrews glared at him. ‘I’m already upset enough over this as it is, Clemens. Be smart. Don’t make it worse. And don’t make me start thinking of it and you in the same breath.

There’s no need for excessive morbidity. It may surprise you to learn that I hope she lives. Though if she regains consciousness she may think otherwise. Let’s go,’ he told his factotum. The two men departed.

The woman moaned softly, her head shifting nervously from side to side. Physical reaction, Clemens wondered, or side effects of the medication he’d hastily and hopefully dumped into her system? He sat watching her, endlessly grateful for the opportunity to relax in her orbit, for the chance simply to be close to her, study her, smell her. He’d all but forgotten what it was like to be in a woman’s presence. The memories returned rapidly, jolted by her appearance. Beneath the bruises and strain she was quite beautiful, he thought. More, much more, than he’d had any right to expect.

She moaned again. Not the medication, he decided, or pain from her injuries. She was dreaming. No harm there. After all, a few dreams couldn’t hurt her.

The dimly lit assembly hall was four stories high. Men hung from the second floor railing, murmuring softly to each other, some smoking various combinations of plant and chemical.

The upper levels were deserted. Like most of the Fiorina mine, it was designed to accommodate far more than the couple of dozen men presently gathered together in its cavernous depths.

They had assembled at the superintendent’s request. All twenty-five of them. Hard, lean, bald, young and not so young, and those for whom youth was but a fading warm memory.

Andrews sat confronting them, his second-in-command Aaron nearby. Clemens stood some distance away from both prisoners and jailers, as befitted his peculiar status.

Two jailers, twenty-five prisoners. They could have jumped the superintendent and his assistant at any time, overpowered them with comparative ease. To what end? Revolt would only give them control of the installation they already ran. There was nowhere to escape to, no better place on Fiorina that they were forbidden to visit. When the next supply ship arrived and ascertained the situation, it would simply decline to drop supplies and would file a report. Heavily armed troops would follow, the revolutionaries would be dealt with, and all who had participated and survived would find their sentences extended.

The small pleasures that might be gained from defiance of authority were not worth another month on Fiorina, much less another year or two. The most obdurate prisoners realized as much. So there were no revolts, no challenges to Andrews’s authority. Survival on and, more importantly, escape from Fiorina depended on doing what was expected of one. The prisoners might not be content, but they were pacific.

Aaron surveyed the murmuring crowd, raised his voice impatiently. ‘All right, all right. Let’s pull it together, get it going. Right? Right. If you please, Mr. Dillon.’

Dillon stepped forward. He was a leader among the imprisoned and not merely because of his size and strength.

The wire rimless glasses he wore were far more an affectation, a concession to tradition, than a necessity. He preferred them to contacts, and of course the Company could hardly be expected to expend time and money to provide a prisoner with transplants. That suited Dillon fine. The glasses were antiques, a family heirloom which had somehow survived the generations intact. They served his requirements adequately.

The single dreadlock that hung from his otherwise naked pate swung slowly as he walked. It took a lot of time and effort to keep the hirsute decoration free of Fiorina’s persistent bugs, but he tolerated the limited discomfort in order to maintain the small statement of individuality.

He cleared his throat distinctly. ‘Give us strength, Oh Lord, to endure. We recognize that we are poor sinners in the hands of an angry God. Let the circle be unbroken. . until the day.

Amen.’ It was a brief invocation. It was enough. Upon its conclusion the body of prisoners raised their right fists, lowered them silently. The gesture was one of acceptance and resignation, not defiance. On Fiorina defiance bought you nothing except the ostracism of your companions and possibly an early grave.

Because if you got too far out of line Andrews could and would exile you from the installation, with comparative impunity. There was no one around to object, to check on him, to evaluate the correctness of his actions. No independent board of inquiry to follow up a prisoner’s death. Andrews proposed, Andrews imposed. It would have been intolerable save for the fact that while the superintendent was a hard man, he was also fair. The prisoners considered themselves fortunate at that. It could easily have been otherwise.

He surveyed his charges. He knew each of them intimately, far better than he would have liked to, had he been given the option. He knew their individual strengths and weaknesses, distastes and peccadilloes, the details of their case histories.

Some of them were scum, others merely fatally antisocial, and there was a broad range in between. He cleared his throat importantly.

‘Thank you, gentlemen. There’s been a lot of talk about what happened early this morning, most of it frivolous. So you can consider this a rumour control session.

‘Here are the facts. As some of you know, a 337 model EEV

crash-landed here at 0600 on the morning watch. There was one survivor, two dead, and a droid that was smashed beyond hope of repair.’ He paused briefly to let that sink in.

‘The survivor is a woman.’

The mumbling began. Andrews listened, watched intently, trying to note the extent of reactions. It wasn’t bad. . yet.

One of the prisoners leaned over the upper railing. Morse was in his late twenties but looked older. Fiorina aged its unwilling citizens quickly. He sported a large number of gold-anodized teeth, a consequence of certain antisocial activities. The gold colour was a cosmetic choice. He seemed jumpy, his normal condition.

‘I just want to say that when I arrived here I took a vow of celibacy. That means no women. No sex of any kind.’ His agitated stare swept the assembly. ‘We all took the vow. Now, let me say that I, for one, do not appreciate Company policy allowing her to freely intermingle. .?

As he droned on, Aaron whispered to his superior. ‘Cheeky bastard, ain’t he, sir?’

Finally Dillon stepped in front of his fellow prisoner, his resonant voice soft but firm. ‘What brother means to say is that we view the presence of any outsider, especially a woman, as a violation of the harmony, a potential break of the spiritual unity that gets us through each day and keeps us sane. You hear what I say, Superintendent? You take my meaning?’

Andrews met Dillon’s gaze unflinchingly. ‘Believe me, we are well aware of your feelings in this matter. I assure you, all of you, that everything will be done to accommodate your concerns and that this business will be rectified as soon as possible. I think that’s in everyone’s best interest.’ Murmurs rose from the crowd.

‘You will be pleased to know that I have already requested a rescue team. Hopefully, they will be here inside of a week to evacuate her ASAP.’ Someone in the middle spoke up. ‘A week, Superintendent? Nobody can get here that fast. Not from anywhere.’

Andrews eyed the man. ‘Apparently there’s a ship in transit to Motinea. She’s been in the program for months. This is an emergency. There are rules even the Company has to comply with. I’m sure they’ll contact her, kick at least a pilot out of deep sleep, and divert her our way to make the pickup. And that will put an end to that.’

He knew no such thing, of course, but it was the logical course of action for the Company to take and he felt a certain confidence in presupposing. If the ship bound for Motinea didn’t divert, then he’d deal with the situation as required. One potential crisis at a time.

He glanced up at Clemens. ‘Have you had enough time to make an evaluation?’

The tech crossed his arms diffidently across his chest. ‘Sort of. Best I can manage, with what we have here.’

‘Never mind the complaints. What’s her medical status?’

Clemens was well aware that every eye in the room was suddenly focused on him, but he didn’t acknowledge them, keeping his attention on the superintendent. ‘She doesn’t seem too badly damaged. Mostly just bruised and banged up. One of her ribs may be broken. If so it’s only a stress fracture. What is potentially more dangerous is that she came out of deep sleep too abruptly.’ He paused to collect his thoughts.

‘Look, I’m just a general tech and even I can see that she’s going to need specialist attention. Somebody gets whacked out of deep sleep early, without the appropriate biophysical prep, and there can be all kinds of problems. Unpredictable side effects,

latent respiratory and circulatory complications,

cellular disruptions that sometimes don’t manifest themselves for days or weeks — stuff I wouldn’t begin to know how to diagnose, much less properly treat. For her sake I hope that rescue ship carries full medical facilities.’

‘Will she live?’ Andrews asked him.

The tech shook his head in quiet wonder. The superintendent was good at hearing only what he wanted to hear.

‘Assuming nothing shows up later, I think she’ll be fine. But don’t quote me on that. Especially to a registered physician.’

‘What’re you afraid of?’ Someone sniggered behind him.

‘Bein’ accused of malpractice?’Inclement laughter rose from some in the group.

Andrews stepped on it quickly, before Clemens or anyone else could reply. ‘Look, none of us here is naive. It’s in everybody’s best interests if the woman doesn’t come out of the infirmary until the rescue team arrives. And certainly not without an escort. Out of sight, out of mind, right?’ No one chose to comment one way or the other. ‘So we should all stick to our set routines and not get unduly agitated. Correct? All right.’ He rose. ‘Thank you, gentlemen.’

No one moved. Dillon turned and spoke softly. ‘Okay.’

The assemblage began to break up, the men to return to their daily tasks. Andrews was not miffed by the slight. It was a small gesture by the prisoners, and he was willing to allow small gestures. It let some of the pressure off, mitigated their need to attempt big ones.

The meeting had gone as well as could have been expected.

He felt he’d dealt with the situation properly, putting a stop to rumour and speculation before it could get out of hand. Aaron at his side, he headed back to his office.

A more informative response from the Company would have been helpful, however.

Clemens found his exit blocked by Dillon. ‘Something on your mind?’

The big man looked concerned. ‘Pill pusher. You should be careful of this woman.’

Clemens smiled. ‘She’s not in any condition to cause much trouble. Don’t we owe all God’s children a fighting chance?’

‘We don’t know whose child she is.’ The two men stared at each other a moment longer. Then Dillon moved aside to let the tech pass. His gaze followed Clemens until he stepped through the portal leading to tunnel D.

The woman lay motionless on the bed, for a change not moaning, not dreaming. Clemens checked the IV pack taped to her arm. Without knowing the specifics of her condition he’d been forced to treat her for general debilitation. In addition to glucose and sucrose the pack contained a broad range of tolerant antibiotics in solution, REM-sleep modifiers, and painkillers. The tough ID tag she’d been wearing had been damaged in the crash, so he’d been forced to treat her without the crucial information it contained. He’d monitored her carefully for any signs of rejection and was relieved when none manifested themselves. At least she wasn’t allergic to anything he’d pumped into her system so far.

He was gratified to see that the armpack was nearly empty.

That meant her body was making good use of the rehab solution. The readouts on the VS checker as he passed it over her chest and skull stayed green. Thus encouraged, he slipped a capsule into the injector and turned her arm slightly to expose more of the tricep.

Her eyes snapped open as if she’d only been faking sleep.

Startled by the speed of her reaction, he hesitated. She indicated the device in his hand.

‘What’s that?’

‘General site injector.’

‘I can see that. You know what I mean.’

He smiled slightly. ‘A light cocktail of my own devising. Sort of an eye-opener.

Adrenaline,

some selected designer endorphins, a couple of mystery proteins. For flavour. I think your body’s recovered sufficiently to metabolize them. Five minutes after they’ve dispersed through your system you’ll feel a lot better than you do now.?

She continued to eye him warily. ‘Are you a doctor?’

He shrugged and looked away momentarily, as if the question made him uncomfortable. ‘General med tech. I’ve only got a 3-C rating. But I’m the best you’re going to find around here.’ He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he inspected her hair appraisingly. ‘I really ought to shave your head. Should’ve done it right away but I was busy with more important things.’

This admission caused Ripley to sit bolt upright in the bed, clutching the sheet protectively to her neck.

‘Take it easy. I’m no murderer. Though you’ll find them here.?

‘Why do you have to shave my head?’

‘Microscopic parasites. Carnivorous arthropods. They’re endemic to Fiorina. Fortunately they don’t find humans particularly tasty. . except for the keratin in our hair. For some reason they don’t have the same appetite for fingernails.

Wrong consistency, maybe. We just call ‘em lice, and to hell with scientific nomenclature.?

‘Can’t you use some kind of spray, or prophylactic shampoo, something?’ Her eyes remained fixed on the razor.

‘Oh, the Company tried that when they were starting up the mine, but these little suckers are tough. Anything’d have to be to make a success of it on this world. Turned out that anything strong enough to dent the parasites raised blisters on the skin.

Bad enough on the scalp. Damn sight worse lower down.

Shaving turned out to be a simpler, cheaper, and more effective solution. Some of the guys hang on to a little hair out of spite and fight the bugs as best they can. Eyebrows, for example. You wouldn’t think anybody would give a damn about something as ephemeral as eyebrows. But dense hair, that’s out of the question. Try to live with the lice and they’ll drive you crazy, crawling around, eating, itching—’

‘All right, all right,’ Ripley replied quickly. ‘I get the picture.’

‘I’ll give you an electric razor for downstairs. When you’re feeling better you can attend to that. The infirmary’s about the most sterile room in the installation, so you should be okay for a while, but the little buggers’ll find you eventually. They’re too small to screen out. Just shave and they won’t bother you.’ She hesitated, thoughtful, then nodded understandingly.

‘My name is Clemens. I’m the chief medical officer here at Fury 361.’

Her brows knitted. ‘That doesn’t sound like a mine designation.’

‘Mine’s what it used to be. Last of the worthwhile ore was dug out, refined, and shipped offworld some time ago. Weyland-Yutani had this huge facility cost that forced them to abandon, so to recoup a few credits they lease the operative part of it for a maximum-security prison. Everybody benefits. Society is separated from its most undesirable undesirables and the Company gets free caretakers. Everybody benefits, except those of us who are sent here.’ He gestured with the injector.

‘Do you mind? This is just sort of a stabilizer.’

She was feeling safe enough now to let him approach as she turned her attention to examining her surroundings. ‘How did I get here?’

‘You crash-landed in an EEV. Nobody knows what happened to your mothership or what caused you to be ejected. If Harry Andrews — he’s the superintendent here -

knows, he isn’t saying.

‘Whatever catastrophe caused you to be ejected also must have damaged the landing controls on the EEV because you smacked into the bay pretty hard. We hauled it back here. I haven’t been inside myself, but if the exterior’s any indication of the kind of internal damage she suffered, you’re damn lucky to be alive, much less more or less in one piece.’

She swallowed. ‘What about the others?’

‘Yeah, I was kind of wondering about that myself. Where’s the rest of the crew? did they get off on other EEV’s?’

‘There is no “rest of the crew,” ’ she informed him tersely.

‘It’s a long story, one I don’t feel much like telling right now. I mean what about those who were in the EEV with me? How many were there?’

‘Two. Three if you count the android.’ He paused. ‘I’m afraid they didn’t make it.’

‘What?’ It wasn’t sinking in.

‘They didn’t survive.’

She considered for a long moment, then shook her head brusquely. ‘I want to go to the ship. I have to see for myself.’

She started to sit up and he put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

‘Hey, hang on. As your doctor, I have to tell you that you’re in no condition for that.’

‘You’re not a doctor, remember?’ She slipped out of the other side of the bed and stood waiting expectantly, quite naked. ‘You want to get me some clothes, or should I go like this?

Clemens took his time deciding, not entirely displeased by the opportunity to view her vertically. ‘Given the nature of our indigenous population, I would strongly suggest clothes.’

Rising, he opened a locker on the far side of the infirmary and began sorting through the contents.

‘Keep in mind as you gambol through our little wonderland that the prison population here is strictly male and none of them have seen a woman in years. Neither have I, for that matter.’

She waited, hand on hip, giving him the calculating eye.

‘Yeah, but I don’t have to worry about you, because you’re a not-doctor, remember?’

He grinned in spite of himself.