Alan Dean Foster - Alien - 3

Nowhere else to go.

Morse scrambled up the ladder which lead to the crane cab, wondering if he remembered enough to activate it. He’d have to. There was no time to consult manuals, and no one left to ask.

The massive landing craft disdained the use of the mine’s ill-maintained landing port. Instead it set down on the gravel outside, the backwash of its maneuvering engines sending dirt and rocks flying. Moments later heavily armed men and women were rushing toward the facility’s main entrance.

From within the lock Aaron watched them disembark, a broad smile on his face. They had smart guns and armour piercers, thermoseeking rails and rapid-fire handguns. They knew what they’d be up against and they’d come prepared. He straightened his uniform as best as he could and prepared to pop the lock.

‘I knew they’d make it.’ He raised his voice. ‘Hey,!; over here!

This way!’ He started to activate the lock mechanism.

He never got the chance. The door exploded inward, six commandos and two medical officers rushing through even before the dust had settled. All business, the commandos spread out to cover the lock area. Aaron moved forward, thinking as he did so the captain in their midst was a dead ringer for the dead android that had been on the lieutenant’s lifeboat.

‘Right, sir,’ he announced as he stopped in front of the officer and snapped off a crisp salute. ‘Warder Aaron, 137512.’

The captain ignored him. ‘Where is Lieutenant Ripley? Is she still alive?’

A little miffed at the indifference but still eager to be of help, Aaron replied quickly. ‘Right, sir. If she’s alive, she’s in the mould. They’re all in the leadworks with the beast, sir. Absolute madness. Wouldn’t wait. I tried to tell ‘em—’

The officer cut him off abruptly. ‘You’ve seen this beast?’

‘Right, sir. Horrible. Unbelievable. She’s got one inside her.’

‘We know that.’ He nodded tersely in the direction of the commandos. ‘We’ll take over now. Show us where you last saw her.’

Aaron nodded, eagerly led them into the depths of the complex.

Ripley and Dillon continued retreating into the mould until there was ceramic alloy at their backs and nowhere else to stand. A grinding of gears caught her attention and her head jerked back. Overhead she could see machinery moving as the refinery responded inexorably to its programmed sequence.

‘Climb,’ she told her companion. ‘It’s our only chance!’

‘What about you?’ Dillon spoke as the alien entered the back part of the mould, forced along by the massive piston.

‘It won’t kill me.’

‘Bullshit! There’s gonna be ten tons of hot metal in here!’

‘Good! I keep telling you I want to die.’

‘Yeah, but I don’t—’

Soon the alien would be on top of them. ‘Now’s your chance,’

Ripley shouted. ‘Get going!’

He hesitated, then grabbed her. ‘I’m taking you with me!’ He shoved her bodily upward.

Despite her resistance he managed to climb. Seeing that he wasn’t going to go without her she reluctantly started to follow suit, moving in front of him up the side of the mould. The alien turned away from the piston, spotted them, and followed.

At the top of the mould Ripley secured herself on the edge and reached down to help Dillon. The pursuing alien’s inner jaws shot out, reaching. Dillon kicked down, slashing with the fire axe.

Ripley continued her ascent as Dillon fought off the pursuit.

More noise drew her attention to the now functioning gantry crane. She could see Morse inside, cursing and hammering at the controls.

The Company squad appeared on the crest of the observation platform, their leader taking in all of what was happening below at a glance. Morse saw them shouting at him, ignored them as he frantically worked controls.

The container of now molten alloy bubbled as it was tipped.

‘Don’t do it!’ the captain of the new arrivals shouted. ‘No!’

The alien was very close now, but not quite close enough.

Not quite. White-hot liquid metal poured past Ripley and Dillon, a torrent of intense heat that forced both of them to cover their faces with their hands. The metallic cascade struck the alien and knocked it screeching back into the mould, sweeping it away as flames leaped in all directions.

High above, Morse stood and stared down through the window of the crane, his expression a mask of satisfaction.

‘Eat shit, you miserable fucker!’

Dillon joined Ripley on the edge of the mould, both of them staring downward as they shielded their faces against the heat rising from the pool of bubbling metal. Suddenly her attention was drawn by movement across the way.

‘They’re here!’ She clutched desperately at her companion.

‘Keep your promise!’

Dillon stared at her. ‘You mean it.’

‘Yes! I’ve got it inside me! Quit fucking around!’

Uncertainly, he put his hands around her throat.

She stared at him angrily. ‘Do it!’

His fingers tightened. A little pressure, a twist, and her neck would snap. That was all it would take. A moment of effort, of exertion. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how, as if he hadn’t done it before, a long time ago.

‘I can’t!’ The denial emerged from his throat half cry, half croak. ‘I can’t do it!’ He looked at her almost pleadingly.

His expression turned to one of horror as he turned around, only to confront the burning and smoking alien. Resigned, he allowed himself to be pulled into its embrace, the two of them vanishing beneath the roiling surface of the molten metal.

Ripley looked on in astonishment, at once repelled and fascinated. An instant later the curving alien skull reappeared.

Dripping molten metal, it began to haul itself out of the mould.

Looking around wildly, she spotted the emergency chain. It was old and corroded, as might be the controls it activated. Not that it mattered. There was nothing else. She wrenched on it.

Water erupted from the large bore quencher that hung over the lip of the mould. She found herself tangled up in the chain, unable to get loose. The torrent of water drenched her, sweeping her around in tight spirals. But the chain would not let her go.

The cold water struck the alien and its hot metal coat. The head exploded first, then the rest of the body. Then the mould, vomiting chunks of supercooled metal and steam. Morse was thrown to the floor of the crane’s cab as it rocked on its supports, while the commando unit ducked reflexively for cover.

Warm water and rapidly cooling metal rained down on the chamber.

When the deluge ended, the commando team resumed its approach. But not before Ripley had swung herself up onto the crane platform, Morse reaching out to help her.

Once aboard, she leaned against the guard rail and gazed down into the furnace. Time again to be sick. The attacks of nausea and pain were coming more rapidly now.

She spotted the Company men coming up the stairs from below, heading for the crane. Aaron was in the forefront. She tried to escape but had no place to go.

‘Don’t come any closer,’ she shouted. ‘Stay where you are.’

Aaron halted. ‘Wait. They’re here to help.’

She stared at him, pitying the poor simpleton. He had no idea what the stakes were, or what was likely to happen to him when the Company finally obtained what it was after. Except that that was not going to happen.

Another wave of nausea swept over her and she staggered against the railing. As she straightened, a figure stepped out from behind the heavily armed commandos. She gaped, uncertain at first of what she was seeing. It was a face she knew.

‘Bishop?’ she heard herself mumbling uncertainly.