Tim Lebbon - Alien - Out of the Shadows

Welford snorted, but then Ripley spoke again.

“It’ll be real-time,” she said. “Even sharing the stasis pod means there’ll be eight people at a time just… sitting around. Growing older.”

“We estimate eighty percent cell charge will get us past the outer rim within six years,” Hoop said. “Give or take.”

There was a stunned silence.

“So I do get to murder Baxter,” Lachance said.

“Fucking hell,” Powell said.

“Yeah,” Kasyanov agreed. Her voice shook.

“Welford’s feet smell,” Garcia said. “Lachance farts. Hell, we won’t survive a year.”

No one laughed.

“Is there a precedent?” Lachance asked.

“We’d be setting it,” Sneddon said.

The bridge was silent for a time while they all thought about what it really meant.

“You said we still need the Samson ,” Lachance said. “For its fuel cells?”

Hoop shook his head, and looked to Ripley again.

“Won’t power my shuttle,” she said. “Completely different system design. The Marion ’s might, but Hoop tells me they’re damaged and dangerous. He says there are more down in the mine, though—spares, stored remotely, just in case. So we have to take the Samson down to the surface. We bring a couple back up, adapt one, and fix it into the Narcissus. Load the shuttle up with as many supplies as we can, then blast off before your ship starts to burn.”

More silence.

Ripley smiled. “Then all we need is a deck of cards.”

“Piece o’ cake,” Lachance said.

“Yeah,” Powell said, voice quavering with panic, “no problem. Easy!”

“Well…” Hoop said. “There’s more.”

Powell muttered something, Kasyanov threw up her hands.

“What?” Lachance said. “Another problem? Don’t tell me. The shuttle’s made of cheese.”

“It seems Ripley’s been having some computer malfunctions,” Hoop said. “Maybe it’s best if I let her tell you about it.”

Ripley raised her cup of cold coffee in a toast. He shrugged apologetically. Sorry , he mouthed. She gave him the finger.

He liked Ripley. She was strong, attractive, confident in the same self-deprecating way Lucy Jordan had been.

Damn it.

“Ash,” Ripley said. “He was an android aboard my ship.”

She told the entire story, and something about it felt so unreal. It wasn’t the strangeness of the story itself— she’d witnessed everything, knew it all to be true. It was the idea that Ash had followed her. He’d expressed his sympathies, and Parker had burned off his face, but by then he must have already insinuated himself into the shuttle’s computer, just in case things went wrong aboard Nostromo . How could he have been so prepared? What sort of paranoid programing had he been given?

She spoke about him now as if he could hear every word. She was only sorry that he couldn’t feel shame.

“So as far as I can tell, he’s the reason I’m here,” she concluded. “And he’s not going to be happy unless I bring one of those things back with me.”

“That’s just really fucking dandy,” Powell said. “So we clear one ship of fucking great big rib-busting monsters so we can escape on another ship piloted by a psychotic AI. Wonderful. My life is complete.”

“I don’t think it’s that much of a problem anymore,” Ripley said. She lit another cigarette. The smoke burned her throat. They were harsh Russian cigarettes, brought along by Kasyanov. Of the Marion ’s crew that survived, only the doctor smoked. “Because of Ash, I’m here instead of home. I haven’t been able to access detailed flight logs yet, but… it could be he’s just kept me floating around out here. Waiting for another sign that these aliens are still around.”

“But why keep you alive, if that’s the case?” Sneddon asked.

“Because he needs someone for the alien to impregnate. He’s seen how violent the fully-grown creature is, there’s no way he could get one back to Weyland-Yutani. Not on board the Narcissus .” She exhaled smoke and waved it away. “Anyway, that’s beside the point. Can’t undo what that bastard has done. But back then he was mobile, tactile. Hell, we all thought he was human. He interfered in our decision-making, steered events toward his secret agenda. And when things got out of his control, he went on the rampage.

“Now… he’s not really here anymore. He’s just code. Ethereal.” She blew smoke again, but this time didn’t wave it away. “And we know where to find him.”

“So we just shut down Ripley’s shuttle’s computer until we’re ready to go,” Hoop said. “Then when we’re underway, and before we initiate main thrust, I’ll do my best to purge Ash from the systems. Or at least to isolate him to certain drives.”

“God knows you’ll have plenty of time,” Powell said.

“Right,” Ripley said. “And there’ll always be someone awake, to monitor any changes in the shuttle’s programed flight. Incoming signals. Whatever.”

“So Ash is just floundering,” Sneddon said. “Following his programing, but without a plan.”

Ripley shrugged. She wasn’t sure. He’d been so deceitful, so scheming back on Nostromo, that she didn’t want to underestimate him now. But whatever part of Ash still survived, he could no longer intrude in their actions. Not physically, at least.

Soon, she would return to the Narcissus to find out more.

“So that’s the plan,” Hoop said. “Lachance, I need you to plot the Marion’s trajectory around the planet; let us know when we’ll be closest to the mine. But it’s gotta be soon, like in the next couple of days. Powell, Welford, I need you to gather as much of the mining equipment as you can. We need plasma torches, sand picks, anything else you can find.”

“There are the thumpers,” Garcia said. “They use them to fire charges deep into loose sand.”

Hoop nodded.

“Can we really use them in the Samson?” Baxter asked.

“We don’t have to use the explosive charges,” Welford said. “Substitute bolts, or something, and you have a pretty good projectile weapon.”

Ripley was looking into her cup of cold coffee, listening to the discussion, trying to take it all in. But her mind was elsewhere. Somewhere dark, claustrophobic. Stalking the steam-filled corridors where lighting flashed, the countdown siren wailed, and the alien could have been waiting around any corner.

“How many are in there?” she asked. The conversation was too loud, so no one heard her. She tried again. “Hey!” That quieted them down. “How many are in the Samson ?”

“We think four,” Hoop said.

“Fully grown?”

He shrugged. Looked around.

“Last time we saw, they looked big,” Baxter said. “Just shadows, really. They were still, hunkered down at the back of the passenger compartment.”

“Maybe they were dead,” Kasyanov said hopefully. Nobody responded to that. Their luck wasn’t going that way.

“They have acid for blood,” Ripley said.

“What?” Sneddon asked.

“Dallas—our captain—said it was molecular acid of some sort. It ate through two decks before its effect slowed down.”

“Oh, man,” Powell said, laughing in disbelief. “Do they fire lightning out of their asses, too? Do they cum nuclear jelly? What else, huh?”

“Ripley, that’s…” Sneddon stopped, and shook her head. Ripley looked up in time to see her glance at the others, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not making this up,” Ripley said.

“No one said you were,” Hoop said.

“Hoop, come on!” Sneddon said. “Acid for blood?”