Alan Dean Foster - Alien - 3

They flickered brightly, cheeringly, throughout the works, dangling in bunches from the ceiling, flashing in lead moulds the prisoners had made for themselves. The industrial wax of an advanced civilization served perfectly well to mimic the efforts of a technology thousands of years old.

Prisoner Gregor was helping Golic, Boggs, and Rains stuff the special extra-dense illumination candles into their oversized backpacks. The inclusion of a few carefully chosen impurities helped such candles hold their shape and burn for a very long time. They had no choice but to make use of them, since Andrews would hardly allow use of the installation’s irreplaceable portable lights for frivolous activities.

Not that the men really minded. The technology might be primitive, but there was no significant difference in the quality of the illumination provided by the candles and that supplied by their precious few rechargeable fuel cells. Light was light.

And there were plenty of candles.

Golic alternated between shoving the squat tapers into his pack and food into his mouth. Particles spilled from his lips, fell into his pack. Rains eyed him with distaste.

‘There you are.’ Gregor hefted one of the bulky packs.

‘This’ll top you off. Golic, don’t fidget about. What’s all this damn food you’ve got in here? It’s not properly wrapped.’ The subject of his query smiled blankly and continued to stuff food into his mouth.

Boggs eyed him with disgust. ‘What the hell does he ever do right?’

Rains snorted. ‘Eat. He’s got that down pretty good.’

Dillon and prisoner Junior appeared in the doorway.

‘Hey, Golic,’ the bigger man murmured.

The prisoner thus questioned glanced up and replied through his half-masticated mouthful. ‘Yeah?’

‘Light a candle for Murphy, will you?’

Food spilled from his lips as Golic smiled reassuringly.

‘Right. I’ll light a thousand.’ He was suddenly wistful. ‘He was a special friend. He never complained about me, not once. I loved him. Did his head really get split into a million pieces?

That’s what they’re saying.’

Dillon helped them slip into the bulky backpacks, giving each man a slap on the shoulder after checking out his individual harness.

‘Watch yourselves down there. You’ve got adequate maps.

Use ‘em. You find anything that’s too big to bring back, make damn good and sure you mark its location so a follow-up team can find it. I remember four years ago a bunch of guys dug out some miner’s personal cache of canned goods. Enough to sweeten the kitchen for months. Didn’t mark it right and we never did find the place again. Maybe you three’ll get lucky.’

Boggs made a rude noise and there were chuckles all around. ‘That’s me. Always feeling lucky.’

‘Right, then.’ Dillon stepped aside. ‘Get goin’, don’t come back till you find something worthwhile, and watch out for those hundred-metre dropshafts.’

The big man watched them disappear into the access tunnel, watched until distance and curves smothered their lights. Then he and Junior turned and ambled off in the direction of the assembly hall. He had work of his own to attend to.

Andrews’s quarters were spacious, if furnished in Spartan style. As superintendent, he’d been given the chambers, which had been the former province of the mine chief. He had plenty of room to spread out, but insufficient furniture to fill the considerable space. Not being a man of much imagination or inclined to delusions of grandeur, he’d sealed most of the rooms and confined himself to three, one each for hygiene, sleeping, and meeting with visitors.

It was the latter activity which occupied him now, as he sat across the modest desk from his single medic. Clemens presented a problem. Technically he was a prisoner and could be treated just like the others. But no one, the superintendent included, disputed his unique status. Less than a free man but higher than an indentured custodian, he earned more than any of the other prisoners. More importantly, they relied on him for services no one else could render. So did Andrews and Aaron.

Clemens was also a cut above the rest of the prison population intellectually. Given the dearth of sparkling conversation available on Fiorina, Andrews valued that ability almost as much as the man’s medical talents. Talking with Aaron was about as stimulating as speaking into the log.

But he had to be careful. It wouldn’t do for Clemens, any more than for any other prisoner, to acquire too high an opinion of himself. When they met, the two men spun cautious verbs around one another, word waltzing as delicately as a pair of weathered rattlesnakes. Clemens was continually pushing the envelope of independence and Andrews sealing it up again.

The pot dipped over the medic’s cup, pouring tea. ‘Sugar?’

‘Thank you,’ Clemens replied. The superintendent passed the plastic container and watched while his guest ladled out white granules.

‘Milk?’

‘Yes, please.’

Andrews slid the can across the table and leaned forward intently as Clemens lightened the heavy black liquid.

‘Listen to me, you piece of shit,’ the superintendent informed his guest fraternally, ‘you screw with me one more time and I’ll cut you in half.’

The medic eased the container of milk aside, picked up his tea, and began to stir it quietly. In the dead silence that ensued, the sound of the spoon ticking methodically against the interior of the ceramic cup seemed as loud and deliberate as a hammer slamming into an anvil.

‘I’m not sure I understand,’ he said finally.

Andrews sat back in his chair, his eyes cutting into his guest.

‘At 0700 hours I received a reply to my report from the Network. I may point out that to the best of my knowledge this is the first high-level, priority communication this installation has ever received. Even when Fiorina was a working, functioning mining and refining operation it was never so honoured. You know why?’

Clemens sipped his tea. ‘High-level priority communications have to go through subspace to beat the time problem. That costs plenty.’

Andrews was nodding. ‘More than you or I’ll ever see.’

‘So why rail at me?’

‘It’s this woman.’ Andrews was clearly troubled. ‘They want her looked after. No, more than looked after. They made it very clear they consider her to be of the highest priority. In fact, the communication managed to convey the impression that the rest of the operation here could vanish into a black hole so long as we made sure the woman was alive and in good health when the rescue team arrives.’

‘Why?’

‘I was hoping you could tell me.’ The superintendent gazed at him intently.

Clemens carefully set his empty cup down on the table. ‘I see that it’s time to be perfectly frank with you, sir.’ Andrews leaned forward eagerly.

The medic smiled apologetically. ‘I don’t know a damn thing.’

There was a pause as Andrews’s expression darkened. ‘I’m glad you find this funny, Clemens. I’m pleased you find it amusing. I wish I could say the same. You know what a communication like this does?’

‘Puts your ass in a sling?’ Clemens said pleasantly.

‘Puts everyone’s ass in a sling. We screw up here, this woman gets hurt or anything, there’ll be hell to pay.’

‘Then we shouldn’t have any trouble arranging compensation, since we all live there now.’

‘Be as clever as you want. I don’t think the urge will be as strong if something untoward happens and some sentences are extended.’

Clemens stiffened slightly. ‘They’re that concerned?’

‘I’d show you the actual communication if it wouldn’t violate policy. Take my word for it.’