Alan Dean Foster - Alien - 3

Clemens eyed her uncertainly. ‘I’m not a prisoner.’

She gestured. ‘Then what about the code on the back of your head?’

His hand went reflexively to the back of his skull. ‘I suppose that does demand an explanation. But I don’t think this is the moment for it. Sorry. We are rather spoiling things, aren’t we?’

The intercom buzzed for attention. He looked apologetic as he moved to acknowledge the call.

‘Got to respond. I’m not allowed the luxury of refusing calls.

This isn’t Sorbonne Centrale.’ He flicked on the two-way. A thin, poorly reproduced voice filtered through.

‘Clemens?’

The medic shot her a resigned look. ‘Yes, Mr. Aaron.’

‘Andrews wants you to report to Vent Shaft Seventeen in the Second Quadrant. ASAP. We’ve had an accident.’

Suddenly involved, he turned to make certain the omnidirectional mike built into the unit got a good dose of his reply.

‘Something serious?’

‘Yeah, you could call it that,’ the assistant told him. ‘One of the prisoners on work detail got diced.’ The unit clicked off abruptly.

‘Damn.’ Clemens drained his glass and set it down on the console, turning back to his guest. ‘I’m sorry. I have to go.

Official duties.’

Ripley tensed slightly, fingering the glass. ‘I was just starting to enjoy the conversation. As opposed to other things.’

‘How do you think I feel?’ he muttered as he popped a closet and began removing clothes.

‘Maybe I should come along.’

He glanced back at her. ‘Better that you don’t. It’s one thing if I’m seen as treating you as part of my regular rounds. If everyone starts noticing us together all the time with you looking decidedly healthy, it might inspire questions. And talk. Among these guys, the less talk the better.’

‘I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand.’

He stepped into work trousers. ‘Those are the two things you have to do to survive on Fiorina. Also, I don’t think your presence would be appreciated by Superintendent Andrews.

Wait here and take it easy.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘I’ll be back.’

She said nothing further, looking distinctly unhappy.

There wasn’t much to examine. Hell, Clemens thought as he surveyed the carnage inside the air duct, there wasn’t much to bury. Cause of death was a foregone conclusion. There were as many stains on the motionless fan as on the walls.

It didn’t make a lot of sense. Men regularly stepped on or brushed against ragged metal edges and cut themselves, or fell off catwalks, or injured themselves trying to body surf in the choppy bay, but they knew intimately the potential dangers of the mothballed mine and studiously avoided them. The giant fan was a threat impossible to dismiss or overlook.

Which didn’t necessarily mean the unfortunate and now deceased Murphy was innocent of fooling around. He could have been running, or sliding on the slick ductwork, or just teasing the blades with his broom. He must have slipped, or had part of his clothing caught up in the works. They’d never know, of course. No reason to assign two men to duct cleaning duty.

Murphy had been working alone.

Aaron was evidently of similar mind. The assistant was staring grimly at the fan. ‘He was a nutter. I gave him the assignment. I should’ve known better, should’ve sent somebody else, or at least paired him up with someone a little more stable.’ Behind them prisoner Jude continued to mop up.

Andrews was quietly furious. Not because Murphy was dead, but because of the circumstances. They would not reflect favourably on him. Besides which it would mean more paperwork.

‘No apologies, Mr. Aaron. It wasn’t your fault. From the look of it, it wasn’t anybody’s fault except perhaps Mr. Murphy’s, and he paid for it.’ He looked to his medic. ‘Your observations, Mr.

Clemens?’

The tech shrugged. ‘Not really much to say, is there? Cause of death is unarguably obvious. I doubt he felt any discomfort. I’m sure it was instantaneous.’

‘No shit.’ Aaron surveyed the widely scattered human debris with unconcealed distaste.

‘I am trying to concoct a scenario,’ the superintendant continued. ‘For the report, you understand. I find it difficult to believe that he simply stumbled into so blatant a danger, one in whose proximity he had spent some time working. Perhaps he was pulled in?’

Clemens pursed his lips. ‘Possible. I’m neither physicist nor mechanic—’

‘None of us are, Mr. Clemens,’ Andrews reminded him. ‘I am not asking you to render judgment, but simply to offer your opinion on the matter.’

The medic nodded. ‘A sudden rush of air might do it, I would imagine. Power surge resulting in exceptional suction. Only—’

‘Right,’ Aaron said quickly. ‘Almost happened to me once, in the main quadrant. Four years ago. I always tell people, keep an eye out for the fans. They’re so damn big and solid and steady, you don’t think of the unexpected happening in their vicinity.’

He shook his head steadily. ‘Doesn’t matter how much I talk.

Nobody listens.’

‘That’s fine,’ Clemens agreed, ‘except that before I came down I checked the programming, and the fan was blowing. A power surge should’ve sent him spinning up the duct, not flying into the blades.’

Aaron’s gaze narrowed, then he shrugged mentally. Let the superintendent and the medic work it out. It was their responsibility. Meant nothing to him. He’d offered his reasoning, done the best he could. He was sorry for Murphy, but what the hell.

Accidents happened.

Clemens strolled up the duct tunnel, studying the walls. The bloodstains diminished gradually.

There was a large recess in the left side of the tunnel and he knelt to peer inside. It was a typical ancillary storage chamber, long since cleaned out. As he started to rise and move on, something caught his eye and caused him to hesitate.

It looked like a spill. Not blood. Some kind of chemical discolouration. The normally smooth metal surface was badly pitted.

Andrews had moved up silently to stand nearby. Now he joined the medic in studying the recess. ‘What’s that?’

Clemens straightened. ‘I really don’t know. I just thought it looked funny. Probably been like that ever since the ductwork was installed.’ His indifference was somewhat forced and the superintendent picked up on it immediately, pinning the medic with his gaze. Clemens looked away.

‘I want to see you in my quarters in, say, thirty minutes,’ he said evenly. ‘If you please, Mr. Clemens.’

He turned toward the rest of the search party, which was busy gathering up the remains of the dead man. ‘Right. This isn’t where I want to spend the rest of my day. Let’s finish up and get out so Mr. Troy can restart the unit and we can all get back to normal.’ He began shepherding the men toward the exit.

Clemens lingered. As soon as he was certain Andrews was fully occupied with concluding the grisly cleanup, the medic returned to his examination of the damaged metal.

It was quiet as a tomb inside the EEV. Shattered consoles clung like pinned arachnids to the walls. Equipment lay where it had fallen from braces or spilled from cabinets. The pilot’s chair swung at an angle on its support shaft, like a drunken glove.

A single light illuminated the chaotic interior. Ripley was working inside the burst bulkhead, alternating the laser cutter with less intrusive tools. A protective composite plate peeled away reluctantly to reveal a sealed panel beneath. Gratified, she went to work on the panel clips, using a special tool to remove them one at a time. The panel itself was clearly labelled.

FLIGHT RECORDER

DO NOT BREAK SEAL