Tim Lebbon: Alien: Out of the Shadows

It was insurance.

Hoop put Ripley down on one of the nearby beds and tried to assess her wounds. There was so much blood. Her shoulder wound weeped, several staples protruded from her stomach and the gash there gaped. New injuries had been added to the old. Puncture wounds were evident across her chest, perhaps where the thing’s claws had sunk in. Her face was bruised and swollen, one eye puffy and squeezed shut, scalp still weeping. He thought her arm might be broken.

He had seen the med pod at work several times before, but he didn’t know what it could do for Ripley. Not in the time they had left.

He was pulled in two directions. In truth, he should be back at the shuttle, finishing the fuel cell installation and ensuring that all systems were back online. After that there was Ash, the malignant presence he had to wipe from the Narcissus’s computer before launching.

If Ripley were awake, he could tell her what he’d found. According to the log, the old fuel cell had still maintained more than sixty percent of its charge when it had docked with Marion , and it could only have been Ash who had engineered its draining. To trap her there with them. To force them down to the planet’s surface, not only to retrieve another fuel cell, but to encounter them .

The creatures.

Everything that had happened since Ripley’s arrival had been engineered by the artificial intelligence. Those additional lives lost—Sneddon, Baxter, Lachance—could be blamed squarely on him.

Hoop wished the bastard was human so he could kill him.

“Pod’s ready,” Kasyanov said. “It’ll take half an hour for it to assess the wounds and undertake the procedures.”

Hoop couldn’t waste half an hour.

“I’ll go back for the supplies we need,” he said. “Stay in touch.”

Kasyanov nodded and touched her suit’s comm unit. Then she turned her attention to the med pod’s screen and frowned in concentration, scrolling through a complex series of branching programs flashing there. She was sweating, shaking.

“You good?”

“No. But I’m good enough for this.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Her first, then if there’s time, me.”

“There’ll be time,” Hoop said, but they both knew there were no guarantees.

“I feel… weird inside. Bleeding in my guts, I think.”

“I’ll get up to the bridge, first,” Hoop said, gingerly lifting Ripley off of the bed. “See just how much time we have.”

As if in response, the ship shuddered one more time. Kasyanov didn’t look up or say anything else, and her silence was accusation enough. We could have just gone. But they were set on their course, now, and Hoop knew she would see it through.

He held Ripley as gently as he could, and carried her to the med pod.

“Amanda!” she shouted. She shifted in his arms and he almost dropped her. He staggered a little, then when he righted himself and looked down, Ripley was staring right at him. “Amanda,” she said again, softer.

“It’s okay, Ripley, it’s me.”

“She won’t leave me alone,” she said. Her eyes were wide and white in her mask of blood and bruising. “Just staring. All because of them. My little girl won’t forgive me, and it’s all because of them.” Her voice was cold and hollow, and a chill went through him. He laid her gently in the med pod.

“We’re going to patch you up,” Hoop said.

“I want to forget,” she said. “I can’t… even if you fix me, I can’t sleep with Amanda staring at me like that. I’ll never sleep again. It’ll make me go mad, Hoop. You can make me forget, can’t you? With this?”

Hoop wasn’t sure exactly what she meant, and how much she wanted to forget. But she was all there. This wasn’t a delirious rant—it was a very calm, very determined plea.

“It feels as if I’ve known nothing else but them,” she said. “It’s time to forget.”

“Kasyanov?” Hoop asked.

“It’s a med pod, Hoop,” the doctor said. “That’s almost certainly beyond its capabilities.”

“But it does neurological repairs, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. Repairs, not damage.”

“They’ve given me a nightmare, and I think it’s going to kill me,” Ripley said. “Amanda. My girl, dead, staring, never forgiving me. Please, Hoop. Please!” She sat upright, wincing at the pain it drove through her, but reaching out and grasping his arm.

“Hey, hey, lie back,” he said. “Let Kasyanov do her work.” But he could see the terror in her eyes, and the knowledge at what sleep would bring. Even if it’s not real, it’s tearing her apart, he thought.

“We’re ready,” the doctor said.

Ripley let Hoop ease her back down, but she was still pleading with her eyes. Then they closed the clear lid. He felt a tug as he saw her shut away in there, maybe because he thought he might never touch her again.

“So can you?” he asked.

“It’s not me that does the work, it’s the pod. I just initiate the programs.” Kasyanov sighed. “But yes, I think it could manipulate her memories.”

“How?”

“I’ve only ever heard about it,” Kasyanov said. “It can repair brain damage, to an extent, and at the same time there’s an associated protocol that allows for memory alteration. I think it was designed primarily for military use. Get soldiers back into the fight that much quicker, after battlefield trauma.” She paused. “It’s really pretty inhumane, when you think about it.”

Hoop thought about it, remembering the sheer terror he had seen in Ripley’s eyes.

“I don’t think I have any choice,” he said. “How much memory will it affect?”

“I have no idea. I don’t think it was developed for fine tuning.”

He nodded, tapping his leg.

“Do it.”

“You’re sure?”

If we go too far back, she won’t even remember me. But that was a selfish thought, far more about him than it was about her. If he had a shred of feeling for her, his own desires shouldn’t enter into it.

When they were finally on Narcissus and away from here, they could meet again.

“She’s sure,” he said, “and that’s as sure as I need to be.”

Kasyanov nodded and started accessing a different series of programs.

While the doctor worked, Hoop moved around the med bay, seeing what he could find. He packed a small pouch with painkillers, multi-vitamin shots, antibiotics, and viral inhibitors. He also found a small surgery kit including dressings and sterilization pads. He took a handheld scanner that could diagnose any number of ailments, and a multi-vaccinator.

Just him, Kasyanov, and Ripley, for however many years it took for them to be found.

“You’ll see Amanda again,” he said—mostly to himself, because he was thinking of his own children, as well. They were all going home.

“Hoop,” Kasyanov said. “I’m about to initiate. The pod calculates that it’ll take just under twenty minutes for the physical repairs, and five more for the limited memory wipe.”

Hoop nodded. Kasyanov stroked a pad on the unit and it began to hum.

Inside, Ripley twitched.

PROGRESS REPORT:

To: Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Science Division (Ref: code 937)

Date (unspecified)

Transmission (pending)

I will save Ripley. Together, she and I can continue our mission into the darkness. I am convinced there are many more aliens out there. One location is a freak accident, two means countless more.

I would like to know their history.

With a new fuel cell we can drift forever as we seek signs of another colony.

And Ripley can sleep, ready to bear our inevitable prize back home.