Alien - 3

VI

The candleworks was more than a hobby. While the installation’s sealed, self-contained fusion plant generated more than enough energy to light the entire facility should anyone think it necessary, it provided nothing in the way of portable energy. Rechargeable lights were a scarce and precious commodity. After all, the Company techs whose responsibility it had been to decide what was salvaged and what was left behind had logically assumed that the prisoners wouldn’t want to go wandering about the surface of Fiorina at night. Within the installation the fusion plant would provide all the illumination they wanted. And since fusion plants simply did not fail, there was no need to consider, nor were substantial provisions made for, backup.

But there were supplies, secreted by miners or forgotten by the evacuation techs, down in the shafts from which millions of tons of ore had been extracted. Supplies which could make life for prisoners and staff alike a little easier. There was plenty of time to hunt them out. All that was wanting was portable illumination.

The candleworks solved that, in addition to giving the inhabitants of Fiorina something different to do. There was plenty of the special wax in storage. One of those bulk supplies not worth the expense of shipping it offworld, it had originally been used to make test moulds for new equipment. A computer-guided laser Cadcam would model the part and etch the wax, which would then be filled with plastic or carbon composite, and hey presto-instant replacement part. No machinery necessary, no long, drawn-out work with lathes and cutters. Afterward the special wax could be melted down and used again.

The prisoners had no need for replacement parts. What equipment was necessary for their survival was self-contained and functioned just fine without their attentions. So they made candles.

They flickered brightly, cheeringly, throughout the works, dangling in bunches from the ceiling, flashing in lead moulds the prisoners had made for themselves. The industrial wax of an advanced civilization served perfectly well to mimic the efforts of a technology thousands of years old.

Prisoner Gregor was helping Golic, Boggs, and Rains stuff the special extra-dense illumination candles into their oversized backpacks. The inclusion of a few carefully chosen impurities helped such candles hold their shape and burn for a very long time. They had no choice but to make use of them, since Andrews would hardly allow use of the installation’s irreplaceable portable lights for frivolous activities.

Not that the men really minded. The technology might be primitive, but there was no significant difference in the quality of the illumination provided by the candles and that supplied by their precious few rechargeable fuel cells. Light was light.

And there were plenty of candles.

Golic alternated between shoving the squat tapers into his pack and food into his mouth. Particles spilled from his lips, fell into his pack. Rains eyed him with distaste.

‘There you are.’ Gregor hefted one of the bulky packs.

‘This’ll top you off. Golic, don’t fidget about. What’s all this damn food you’ve got in here? It’s not properly wrapped.’ The subject of his query smiled blankly and continued to stuff food into his mouth.

Boggs eyed him with disgust. ‘What the hell does he ever do right?’

Rains snorted. ‘Eat. He’s got that down pretty good.’

Dillon and prisoner Junior appeared in the doorway.

‘Hey, Golic,’ the bigger man murmured.

The prisoner thus questioned glanced up and replied through his half-masticated mouthful. ‘Yeah?’

‘Light a candle for Murphy, will you?’

Food spilled from his lips as Golic smiled reassuringly.

‘Right. I’ll light a thousand.’ He was suddenly wistful. ‘He was a special friend. He never complained about me, not once. I loved him. Did his head really get split into a million pieces?

That’s what they’re saying.’

Dillon helped them slip into the bulky backpacks, giving each man a slap on the shoulder after checking out his individual harness.

‘Watch yourselves down there. You’ve got adequate maps.

Use ‘em. You find anything that’s too big to bring back, make damn good and sure you mark its location so a follow-up team can find it. I remember four years ago a bunch of guys dug out some miner’s personal cache of canned goods. Enough to sweeten the kitchen for months. Didn’t mark it right and we never did find the place again. Maybe you three’ll get lucky.’

Boggs made a rude noise and there were chuckles all around. ‘That’s me. Always feeling lucky.’

‘Right, then.’ Dillon stepped aside. ‘Get goin’, don’t come back till you find something worthwhile, and watch out for those hundred-metre dropshafts.’

The big man watched them disappear into the access tunnel, watched until distance and curves smothered their lights. Then he and Junior turned and ambled off in the direction of the assembly hall. He had work of his own to attend to.

Andrews’s quarters were spacious, if furnished in Spartan style. As superintendent, he’d been given the chambers, which had been the former province of the mine chief. He had plenty of room to spread out, but insufficient furniture to fill the considerable space. Not being a man of much imagination or inclined to delusions of grandeur, he’d sealed most of the rooms and confined himself to three, one each for hygiene, sleeping, and meeting with visitors.

It was the latter activity which occupied him now, as he sat across the modest desk from his single medic. Clemens presented a problem. Technically he was a prisoner and could be treated just like the others. But no one, the superintendent included, disputed his unique status. Less than a free man but higher than an indentured custodian, he earned more than any of the other prisoners. More importantly, they relied on him for services no one else could render. So did Andrews and Aaron.

Clemens was also a cut above the rest of the prison population intellectually. Given the dearth of sparkling conversation available on Fiorina, Andrews valued that ability almost as much as the man’s medical talents. Talking with Aaron was about as stimulating as speaking into the log.

But he had to be careful. It wouldn’t do for Clemens, any more than for any other prisoner, to acquire too high an opinion of himself. When they met, the two men spun cautious verbs around one another, word waltzing as delicately as a pair of weathered rattlesnakes. Clemens was continually pushing the envelope of independence and Andrews sealing it up again.

The pot dipped over the medic’s cup, pouring tea. ‘Sugar?’

‘Thank you,’ Clemens replied. The superintendent passed the plastic container and watched while his guest ladled out white granules.

‘Milk?’

‘Yes, please.’

Andrews slid the can across the table and leaned forward intently as Clemens lightened the heavy black liquid.

‘Listen to me, you piece of shit,’ the superintendent informed his guest fraternally, ‘you screw with me one more time and I’ll cut you in half.’

The medic eased the container of milk aside, picked up his tea, and began to stir it quietly. In the dead silence that ensued, the sound of the spoon ticking methodically against the interior of the ceramic cup seemed as loud and deliberate as a hammer slamming into an anvil.

‘I’m not sure I understand,’ he said finally.

Andrews sat back in his chair, his eyes cutting into his guest.

‘At 0700 hours I received a reply to my report from the Network. I may point out that to the best of my knowledge this is the first high-level, priority communication this installation has ever received. Even when Fiorina was a working, functioning mining and refining operation it was never so honoured. You know why?’

Clemens sipped his tea. ‘High-level priority communications have to go through subspace to beat the time problem. That costs plenty.’

Andrews was nodding. ‘More than you or I’ll ever see.’

‘So why rail at me?’

‘It’s this woman.’ Andrews was clearly troubled. ‘They want her looked after. No, more than looked after. They made it very clear they consider her to be of the highest priority. In fact, the communication managed to convey the impression that the rest of the operation here could vanish into a black hole so long as we made sure the woman was alive and in good health when the rescue team arrives.’

‘Why?’

‘I was hoping you could tell me.’ The superintendent gazed at him intently.

Clemens carefully set his empty cup down on the table. ‘I see that it’s time to be perfectly frank with you, sir.’ Andrews leaned forward eagerly.

The medic smiled apologetically. ‘I don’t know a damn thing.’

There was a pause as Andrews’s expression darkened. ‘I’m glad you find this funny, Clemens. I’m pleased you find it amusing. I wish I could say the same. You know what a communication like this does?’

‘Puts your ass in a sling?’ Clemens said pleasantly.

‘Puts everyone’s ass in a sling. We screw up here, this woman gets hurt or anything, there’ll be hell to pay.’

‘Then we shouldn’t have any trouble arranging compensation, since we all live there now.’

‘Be as clever as you want. I don’t think the urge will be as strong if something untoward happens and some sentences are extended.’

Clemens stiffened slightly. ‘They’re that concerned?’

‘I’d show you the actual communication if it wouldn’t violate policy. Take my word for it.’

‘I don’t understand what all the fuss is about,’ Clemens said honestly. ‘Sure she’s been through a great deal, but others have survived deep-space tragedies. Why is the Company so interested in her?’

‘I have no idea.’ Andrews placed his interlocked fingers in front of him. ‘Why’d you let her out of the infirmary? It’s all related to this accident with Murphy somehow. I’d bet my pension on it.’ He slapped both hands down on the desk. ‘This is what happens when one of these dumb sons of bitches walks around with a hard-on. Why couldn’t you have kept her bottled up and out of sight?’

‘There was no reason to. She was healthy, ambulatory, and wanted out. I didn’t have either the reason or the authority to restrain her.’ Clemens’s studied savoir faire was beginning to weaken. ‘I’m a doctor. Not a jailer.’

The superintendent’s expression twisted. ‘Don’t hand me that. We both know exactly what you are.’

Clemens rose and started for the door. Andrews’s fingers unlocked and this time he smacked the table with a heavy fist.

‘Sit down! I haven’t dismissed you yet.’

The medic replied without turning, struggling to keep himself under control. ‘I was under the impression I was here at your invitation, not official order. Presently I think it might be better if I left. At the moment I find you very unpleasant to be around. If I remain I might say or do something regrettable.’

‘You might?’ Andrews affected mock dismay. ‘Isn’t that lovely. Consider this, Mr. Clemens. How would you like me to have you exposed? Though they are a matter of public record elsewhere, up till now the details of your life have been your own here on Fiorina. This personal privilege has facilitated your work with the prisoners, has indeed given you a certain awkward but nonetheless very real status among them. That is easily revoked. If that were to occur I expect that your life here would become rather less pleasant.’ He paused to let everything sink in before continuing.

‘What, no witty riposte? No clever jibe? Do I take your silence to mean that you would prefer not to have your dirty little past made part of the general conversation here? Of course, it needn’t stop there. Perhaps you’d like me to explain the details of your sordid history to your patient and new friend Lieutenant Ripley? For her personal edification, of course.

Strictly in the interests of helping her to allot her remaining time here appropriately.

‘No? Then sit the hell down.’

Wordlessly, Clemens turned and resumed his seat. He looked suddenly older, like a man who’d recently lost something precious and had no hope of recovering it.

Andrews regarded his guest thoughtfully. ‘I’ve always been straight with you. I think that’s good policy, especially in an environment like we have here. So you won’t be particularly upset or surprised when I say that I don’t like you.’

‘No,’ Clemens murmured in a soft, flat voice. ‘I’m not surprised.’

‘I don’t like you,’ the superintendent repeated. ‘You’re unpredictable, insolent, possibly dangerous. You have a certain amount of education and are undeniably intelligent, which makes you more of a threat than the average prisoner. You question everything and spend too much time alone. Always a bad sign. I’ve survived in this business a long time and I speak from experience. I know what to look for. Your typical incarceree will revolt, sometimes even kill, but it’s always the quiet, smart ones who cause the really serious problems.’ He went silent for a moment, considering.

‘But you were assigned to this posting and I have to live with that. I just want you to know that if I didn’t need a medical officer I wouldn’t let you within light-years of this operation.’

‘I’m very grateful.’

‘How about trying something new, Clemens? Something really different. Try keeping your sarcasms to yourself.’ He squirmed slightly in his chair. ‘Now, I’m going to ask you one more time. As your intellectual equal. As someone you respect if not like. As the individual ultimately responsible for the safety and well-being of every man in this facility, yourself included. Is there anything I should know?’

‘About what?’

Andrews silently counted to five before smiling. ‘About the woman. Don’t toy with me anymore. I think that I’ve made my position clear, personally as well as professionally.’

‘Why should I know anything other than the self-evident about her?’

‘Because you spend every second you can with her. And I have my suspicions that not all of your concerns are medical in nature. You are far too solicitous of her needs. It doesn’t fit your personality profile. You just said yourself that she’s fit and able to get around fine on her own. D’you think I’m blind? Do you think I’d have been given this post if I wasn’t capable of picking up on the slightest deviations from the norm?’ He muttered to himself. ‘Deviates’ deviations.’

Clemens sighed. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘That’s better.’ Andrews nodded approvingly. ‘Has she said anything to you? Not about herself personally. I don’t give a damn about that. Wallow in mutual reminiscence all you want, I don’t care. I mean professionally. About where she’s come from.

What her mission was, or is. Most particularly, what the hell was she doing in an EEV with a busted droid, a drowned six-year-old kid, and a dead corporal, and where the hell is the rest of her ship’s crew? For that matter, where the hell is her ship?’

‘She told me she was part of a combat team that came to grief. The last she remembers was going into deep sleep. At that time the marine was alive and the girl’s cryotube was functioning normally. It’s been my assumption all along that the girl was drowned and the marine killed in the crash of the EEV.

‘I assume beyond that it’s all classified. I haven’t pressed her for more. She does carry marine lieutenant rank, you know.’

‘That’s all?’ Andrews persisted.

Clemens studied his empty teacup. ‘Yes.’

‘Nothing more?’

‘No.’

‘You’re sure?’

The medic looked up and met the older man’s eyes evenly.

‘Very sure.’

Andrews’s gaze dropped to his hands and he spoke through clenched teeth. It was obvious there was more, something the medic wasn’t telling him, but short of physical coercion there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. And physical coercion wouldn’t work with someone like Clemens, whose inherent stubbornness would keep him from admitting that he had no pride left to defend.

‘Get out of here.’

Clemens rose wordlessly and started a second time for the door.

‘One more thing.’ The medic paused, looked back to find the superintendent watching him closely. ‘I take comfort in the daily routine here. So do you. There’s a great deal of reassurance to be found in codified monotony. I’m not going to let it be broken. Systematic repetition of familiar tasks is the best and safest narcotic. I’m not going to allow the animals to become agitated. Not by a woman, not by accidents. Not by you.’

‘Whatever you say,’ Clemens replied agreeably.

‘Don’t go getting any funny ideas. Independent action is a valueless concept on Fiorina. Don’t think too much. It’ll damage your standing in our little community, especially with me, and you’ll only end up hurting yourself. You’ll do better to keep your long-term goals in mind at all times.

‘Your loyalties are to this operation, and to your employer.

Not to strangers, or to some misguided notions you may happen to erect on the foundation of your own boredom. She will be gone soon and we will still be here. You and I, Dillon and Aaron and all the rest. Everything will be as it was before the EEV crashed. Don’t jeopardize your enviable situation for a temporary abstraction. Do you understand?’

‘Yes. Your point is quite clear. Even to someone like me.’

Andrews continued to brood uneasily. ‘I don’t want trouble with our employers. I don’t want trouble of any kind. I get paid to see that trouble doesn’t happen. Our presence here is. .

frowned upon by certain social elements back on Earth. Until the accident we hadn’t suffered a death from other than natural causes since the day this group took over caretaking duties from its predecessors. I am aware that it could not have been prevented but it still looks bad in the records. I don’t like looking bad, Mr. Clemens.’ He squinted up at the medic. ‘You take my meaning?’

‘Perfectly, sir.’

Andrews continued. ‘Rescue and resupply will be here soon enough. Meanwhile, you keep an eye on the lieutenant and if you observe anything, ah, potentially disruptive, I know that I can rely on you to notify me of it immediately. Right?’

Clemens nodded briskly. ‘Right.’

Though only partially mollified, the other man could think of nothing more to say. ‘Very well, then. We understand one another. Good night, Mr. Clemens.’

‘Good night, Superintendent.’ He shut the door quietly behind him.

The wind of Fiorina rose and fell, dropping occasionally to querulous zephyrs or rising to tornadic shrieks, but it never stopped. It blew steadily off the bay, carrying the pungent odour of salt water to the outer sections of the installation. Sometimes storms and currents dredged odours more alien from the depths of the sea and sent them spiraling down through the air shafts, slipping through the scrubbers to remind the men that the world they occupied was foreign to the inhabitants of distant Earth, and would kill them if it could.

They went outside but rarely, preferring the familiar surroundings of the immense installation to the oppressive spaciousness of the sullen landscape. There was nothing to look at except the dark waves that broke on the black sand beach, nothing to remind them of the world they had once known. That was fortunate. Such memories were more painful than any degree of toil.

The water was cold and home to tiny, disgusting creatures that bit. Sometimes a few of the men chose to go fishing, but only for physical and not spiritual nourishment. Inside the facility it was warm and dry. The wind was no more than distant, discordant music, to be ignored. Sometimes it was necessary to go outside. These excursions were invariably brief, and attended to with as much haste as possible, moving from one refuge to another as quickly as possible.

In contrast, the figure picking through the sheltered mountain of debris was doing so with deliberation and care.

Ripley paced the surface of the immense pit, her eyes fixed on its irregular surface. The original excavation had been filled in with discarded, broken equipment. She wrestled her way past monumental components, punctured storage tanks, worn-out drill bits the size of small trucks, brightly coloured vines of old wiring and corroded tubes.

Wind whipped around outside and she clutched at the neck of the suit Clemens had found for her. The ruined mechanical landscape had seemed endless and the cold was still penetrating her muscles, slowing her and interfering with her perceptions.

Not to the extent, however, that she failed to see the expensive silvery filaments protruding from a smaller pimple of recently discarded trash. Kneeling, she began tearing at the refuse, heaving ruined equipment and bags of garbage aside to reveal. .

Bishop.

Or, more accurately, what was left of him. The android components were scattered amid the rest of the junk and she had to dig and sort for another hour before she was certain she’d salvaged absolutely everything that might be of use.

She made a preliminary attempt to correctly position the parts. Not only was the result unencouraging, it was downright pitiful. Most of the face and lower jaw was missing, crushed beyond recognition in the EEV or lost somewhere within the mass of trash outside. Portions of the neck, left shoulder, and back had somehow survived intact. In addition there were sensitive related components which had spilled or been torn free from the exterior shell.

Grim-faced and alone, she began carefully packing them into the sack she’d brought with her.

That’s when the arm coiled around her neck and the hands grabbed hard at her shoulders. Another hand appeared, clutching feverishly between her legs, fondling roughly. A man materialized in front of her. He was grinning, but there was no humour in his expression.

With a cry she broke free of the arms restraining her. The startled prisoner just gaped as her fist landed in his face and her foot between his thighs. As he crumpled, prisoner Junior appeared and wrapped his thick arms around her, lifting her off the ground to the encouraging sniggers of his companions, throwing her spread-eagled across a corroded pipe. The other men closed in, their body odour obliterating the smell of salt, their eyes glittering.

‘Knock it off.’

Gregor turned, his gaze narrowing as he isolated a silhouette, close. Dillon.

Gregor forced a grin. ‘Jump in the saddle, man. You wanna go first?’

Dillon’s voice was low, ominous. ‘I said knock it off.’

With his weight resting on the gasping Ripley, Junior snarled back over his shoulder. ‘Hey, what’s it to you, man?’

‘It’s wrong.’

‘Fuck you.’

Dillon moved then, deceptively fast. The two men in back went down hard. Junior whirled and brought a huge fist around like a scythe, only to have his opponent weave, gut-punch him, and snatch up a metal bar. Junior staggered and tried to dodge, but the bar connected with the side of his skull. The second blow was harder, and he dropped like stone.

The other cowered and Dillon whacked them again, just to keep them thinking. Then he turned to Ripley, his expression solemn.

‘You okay?’

She straightened, still breathing hard. ‘Yeah. Nothing hurt but my feelings.’

‘Take off,’ he said to her. He indicated his fellow prisoners.

‘I’ve got to reeducate some of the brothers. We’re gonna discuss some matters of the spirit.’

She nodded, hefted her bag of Bishop, and started back. As she passed the men on the ground Gregor glanced up at her.

She punched him squarely in the mouth. Feeling better, she resumed her course.