Tim Lebbon - Alien - Out of the Shadows

“What is and isn’t natural out here?” Hoop asked, and he sounded angry. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is what we do.”

“Track it down,” Sneddon said.

“There’s no time!” Kasyanov said.

“That acid ate through the vestibule windows and floor in no time,” Hoop said. “We’re lucky the doors are holding—they’re blast doors, not proper external doors.”

“So how the hell do we get to the Samson now?” Lachance asked.

“That’s another problem.” Hoop was the center of attention. Not only in command, he was the only engineer left alive.

“Suit up,” Lachance said.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Hoop said.

“Yeah,” Baxter agreed. “The Samson’s environmental systems will recompress, once we’re inside.”

“We’ll need to form another airlock,” Hoop said.

“But we can’t just leave that thing roaming around the ship!” Kasyanov shouted. She was standing, fists clenched at her sides. “It could chew through cables, smash doors. Do god-knows-what sort of damage.”

“We can leave it.” Hoop looked at Ripley, as if seeking her agreement. And suddenly the others were watching her, as well.

Ripley nodded.

“Yeah. It’s either that, or we hunt the thing through the ship and put everyone at risk. At least this way we have a chance.”

“Yeah, a chance,” Kasyanov scoffed. “What are the odds? I’m taking bets. Anyone?”

“I don’t gamble,” Ripley said. “Listen, if three of us keep watch while the other three work, it’ll still take a while to get into the Samson . Then when we return, straight into my shuttle and away.”

“What about supplies?” Baxter asked. “Food, water. Lube for all that lovin’ we’ll be doing.”

“Are there stocks down at the mine?” Ripley asked Hoop.

“Yep.”

“But that’s where they came from!” Sneddon said.

Ripley nodded. No one else spoke. Yeah, we’ve all been thinking about that, too, she thought.

“Right, so I’ll call it,” Hoop said. “I’ve got an idea of how we can get through the decompressed rooms to the Samson. We all go, and follow the plan. And if that thing causes us problems when we come back, we deal with it then.”

“One cataclysm at a time, eh?” Baxter said.

“Something like that.”

“We need more weapons,” Ripley said. “We lost most of them down there when…”

“We can divert to Hold 2 on the way down,” Sneddon said. “Plenty of charge thumpers and plasma torches there.”

“Easy,” Lachance said.

“A walk in the park,” Baxter agreed.

“We’re all going to die,” Kasyanov said. And she meant it. She wasn’t making a joke. Ripley had been impressed when she leaped into action in the docking arm, but now she was the voice of pessimism once again.

“Not today,” Ripley replied. Kasyanov snorted. No one else replied.

They moved, but not too quickly. On the relative safety of the bridge, they each took a few moments to compose their thoughts.

Beyond the doors lay only danger.

They made sure that the bridge was properly sealed before they left.

There was brief discussion that Lachance and Baxter might remain behind, but it was quickly dismissed, and they didn’t need much persuading that they should go with the others. Neither liked the idea of being left alone with the creature, especially if something went wrong on the planetary surface. Better that they all remain together. Besides, there was little that they could do aboard the orbiting ship, other than track its doomed trajectory.

Just before they left the bridge level, Hoop watched as Kasyanov approached Ripley, stretched on tiptoes, and planted a kiss on her cheek. She didn’t speak—perhaps words of thanks would have been redundant, or might have lessened the moment—but she and Ripley locked glances for a moment, and then both nodded.

“If you ladies are done smooching, maybe it’s time to get the fuck off this ship,” Baxter said. With the bridge doors locked and their mechanisms disabled, the six survivors moved off toward Hold 2. Sneddon volunteered to go first, asking for Hoop’s charge thumper. He didn’t object. They were all in this together.

They circled back around the accommodations hub, watching each door in the inner wall of the curved corridor. There were almost a hundred separate bunk rooms in the hub, and the alien could be hiding in any of them. Access doors were recessed into the gray metal wall and difficult to see, and subdued lighting gave the shadows added depth. It was a stressful journey. They took it slowly and reached Hold 2 without incident.

It was a huge space—high ceilinged, cavernous and partly filled with spare mining equipment. Two massive ground transport vehicles were chained down to the floor, and several smaller trucks had moved around during and immediately following the Delilah’s crash. Other equipment lay stacked or scattered. There were metal transport crates, tool racks, supply tanks and boxes, and all manner of smaller items. It formed a complex maze of walkways and dead ends, and Hoop suddenly wanted to turn and go back the way they’d come.

But they needed weapons. Not just in case they came across that bastard thing in the Marion ’s corridors, but to face whatever they might find down on the planet. The miners had unearthed something dreadful down there, and there was no telling how many of the things might be waiting for them.

The thought almost paralyzed him with a sense of hopelessness. But he had to shake his doubts and hide them away beneath the stark knowledge that they had no other options.

He motioned the others close, and he led the way along the hold’s outer wall. When he reached a heavy green door he entered an access code. The door whispered open, and automatic lighting flickered on inside.

“All in,” he murmured.

They filed past him, Ripley bringing up the rear.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Workshop,” Hoop said. He was the last inside, backing in, watching the hold as he closed the door behind him. Only then did he turn around and relax.

Powell stood by the welding rig over in the far corner, complaining about something Welford had done, or something that grumpy bastard Baxter had said in the rec room, or maybe just finding an aspect of his own appearance to whinge about. Welford sat at the electronics island bench, goggles up on his forehead. He smiled at Powell’s constant, monotonous drone. A massive coffee mug emblazoned with the words “Engineers are always screwing” steamed by his elbow as he waxed lyrical on some subject or another, his voice a constant background buzz, a counterpoint to Powell’s deep tones.

Hoop blinked. He never thought he’d miss those two, not really. They’d died badly. He couldn’t hold back the memories. He’d spent so long down here with them, working on various repair and maintenance jobs, and although they’d been more friendly with each other than with him—his superior ranking, he thought, or perhaps just that the two of them were more alike—they’d still been a team of three.

“What a dump,” Baxter said.

“Fuck you,” Hoop said.

“Nice place you’ve got here…” Ripley smiled, and she seemed to understand. Maybe she’d seen it in his expression.

Hoop sniffed and pointed.

“There’s some stuff racked in the cupboards back there. Baxter, why don’t you and Lachance check it out? Sneddon, Kasyanov, come with me and Ripley.”

“Where?”

“Through there.” He pointed at a door in the side wall, closed and marked with a Hazardous Materials symbol.

“What’s in there?” Ripley asked.