Tim Lebbon: Alien: Out of the Shadows

He checked another bag and saw a jumble of plastic containers and shrink-wrapped instruments.

“You planning on passing time by operating on us?”

“Not unless I have to. But you really want to die from appendicitis?”

A soft chime came from the med pod and the lights inside faded to nothing. Sensor tendrils curled back in, fine limbs settled into place, and then the lid slid soundlessly open.

“She’s done?” Hoop asked.

“Guess so.” Kasyanov hauled herself upright, growling against the pain. “Get her out. I’ve got to—”

A distant explosion thudded through the ship. The floor kicked up. Ceiling tiles shuddered in their grid.

“Hurry,” Hoop said. As he moved across to the pod and prepared to lift Ripley out, Kasyanov was already working at its control panel. Her good hand moved quickly across the touchscreen. Hoop lifted Ripley clear, the lid slid closed, and moments later a sterilizing mist filled the interior.

Hoop settled Ripley on one of the beds, carefully wrapping her in the sheet and fixing it with clips. She looked tired, older. But she was still alive, and her face seemed more relaxed than he had seen it. He so hoped that she was dreaming harmless dreams.

“Now me,” Kasyanov said. “Five minutes, if that. We’ve got time?”

Hoop was surprised at the doctor’s sudden vulnerability.

“Of course,” he said. “I’m waiting for you, whatever happens.”

She nodded once, then with a wry smile she held out her hand.

“Quick lift?”

Hoop helped her into the pod. She lay down, touched the inner shell, and a remote control grid appeared. A wave of her hand closed the lid.

“See ya,” she said, attempting an American accent.

Hoop smiled and nodded. Then he turned back to check that Ripley was all right.

Behind him, the med pod whispered.

PROGRESS REPORT:

To: Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Science Division

(Ref: code 937)

Date (unspecified)

Transmission (pending)

The doctor has served her purpose.

She makes the next step almost too easy.

The med pod wasn’t quite soundproof.

Looking at Ripley, Hoop heard Kasyanov’s muffled yell. He turned around to see thin metallic straps whipping across the doctor’s body, constricting across her shoulders, chest, stomach, hips, and legs. She cried out in pain as they crushed against her wounds.

Hoop knew that shouldn’t be happening. He tried to open the lid, but it was locked, and however much he touched and pressed the external control panel, nothing happened.

Kasyanov looked at him through the glass, wide-eyed.

“Ash,” Hoop hissed. Kasyanov couldn’t have heard him, but she saw the word on his lips. And froze.

A soft blue light filled the med pod.

“No!” she shouted, the word so muffled that Hoop only knew it because of the shape of her mouth.

A single surgical arm rose from its housing and loomed over Kasyanov’s chest.

Hoop tried to force the lid. He snapped up the plasma torch and used the hand rest to hammer at the lid’s lip, but only succeeded in bending part of the torch.

Kasyanov’s voice changed tone and he looked to her lips, searching for the word she had chosen, and it was Hoop.

He turned the torch around and aimed at the pod’s lid, close to her feet. If he was careful, only released a quick shot, angled it just right, he might be able to—

The blue light pulsed and the delicate arm sparked alight. There was a fine laser at its tip, and in a movement that was almost graceful, it drew rapidly across Kasyanov’s exposed throat. Blood pulsed, then spurted from the slash, splashing back from the pod’s inner surface and speckling across her face.

She was held so tightly that Hoop only knew she was struggling because of the flexing and tensing of her muscles, the bulging of her eyes. But those soon died down, and as the blue light faded, Kasyanov grew still.

Hoop turned away, breathing hard, and even when the ship juddered so hard that it clacked his teeth together, he did not move.

You bastard, he thought. You utter bastard, Ash.

Somehow he held back his rage.

Ripley groaned and rolled onto her side.

“I’ve got you,” Hoop said, moving to her side. Dropping the plasma torch, he slipped his hands beneath her and heaved her up onto his shoulder.

The shuttle awaited them, and now he was the last survivor of the Marion.

It was time to leave.

PROGRESS REPORT:

To: Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Science Division

(Ref: code 937)

Date (unspecified)

Transmission (pending)

Ripley lives. He will bring her, and then discover the final surprise.

Time to leave.

I cannot pretend I am not disappointed that things went wrong. I cannot deny that I am frustrated. But I have time on my side.

I am immortal, after all.

Hoop left med bay with Ripley over his shoulder. The ship juddered so hard that he fell into a wall, jarring his whole body. The Marion groaned and creaked. It struck him what an irony it would be if the ship broke her back there and then, venting to space, killing him and Ripley and ending their long, terrible journey.

He thought of Lachance, who might have prayed to help him reach his destination. But Hoop knew that he was on his own. The universe was indifferent. Whether he and Ripley escaped, or died here and now, it all came down to chance.

A rhythmic booming commenced from somewhere deep below. It sounded like a giant hammer, smashing at the ship’s spine, pulsing explosions working outward from the engine core, thudding heartbeats of a dying ship. But still the vessel did not break up.

“Well, let’s go, then,” he muttered, moving on.

He tried to move quickly. His legs were as shaky as the ship now, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. His stomach rumbled, and he was suddenly, sickeningly hungry. He snorted a laugh at how ridiculous that was. But he also vowed to enjoy a feast, once they were in the Narcissus and away from the ship.

Just the two of us now, he thought. One asleep, one awake, sharing the stasis pod and maybe being together for a while in between. We might even do this. We might survive and get home.

And what story would he tell Ripley, when his newfound loneliness became too great and he woke her, ready to spend some of his own time in hypersleep? How would she react to being roused by someone she didn’t know? If the memory wipe had been thorough, the last thing she’d remember would be putting herself into stasis after destroying the Nostromo .

But that was for the future. If they survived, he would be able to tell her everything, or perhaps nothing at all. All he could concentrate on now was staying alive.

He moved as quickly and safely as he could. Reaching the stairs that led down into the docking area, he decided he’d have to take the elevator. Ripley was becoming heavier by the moment. He glanced at the trolley of food and realized he would have to return for it.

As he entered the elevator, though, he already mourned the feast left behind.

The car descended smoothly, and the doors opened onto a corridor lit by flickering lights. Something exploded. It was far away, but it punched through the whole superstructure, knocking him from his feet again. Ripley rolled against the wall, groaning, waving her hands.

“Don’t wake up yet,” he muttered. She’d panic. He had enough to contend with.

She opened her eyes and looked right at him, motionless, holding her breath. There was no expression on her face, and nothing like recognition in her eyes. Hoop began to speak, to make sure she was still Ripley, still there. But then she closed her eyes again and slumped down. He had no idea what she had seen, but it hadn’t been him.