Alan Dean Foster - Aliens

For a while Ripley watched the three men, who were intent on the terminals Hudson had resurrected, then knelt alongside the girl. Gently she brushed the child's unkempt hair back out of her eyes. She might have been combing a statue for all the response she elicited. Still smiling, she proffered the steaming cup she was holding.

'Here, try this. If you're not hungry, you must be thirsty. I'l bet it gets cold in that vent bubble, what with the heat off and everything.' She moved the cup around, letting the air carry the warm, aromatic smell of the contents to the girl's nostrils 'It's just a little instant hot chocolate. Don't you like chocolate? When the girl didn't react, Ripley wrapped the small hands around the cup, bending the fingers toward each other. Then she tilted hands and cup upward.

Dietrich was correct about the child's motor responses. She drank mechanically and without watching what she was doing Cocoa spilled down her chin, but most of it went down the small throat and stayed down. Ripley felt vindicated.

Not wanting to overwhelm an obviously shrunken stomach she pulled the cup away when it was still half full. 'There wasn't that nice? You can have some more in a minute. I don't know what you've been eating and drinking, and we don't want to make you sick by giving you too much rich stuff too quickly. She pushed at the blond tresses again.

'Poor thing. You don't talk much, do you? That's okay by me You feel like keeping quiet, you keep quiet. I'm kind of the same way. I've found that most people do a lot of talking and they wind up not saying very much. Especially adults when they're talking to children. It's kind of like they enjoy talking at you but not to you. They want you to listen to them all the time but they don't want to listen to you. I think that's pretty stupid Just because you're small doesn't mean you don't have some important things to say.' She set the cup aside and dabbed at the brown-stained chin with a cloth. It was easy to feel the ridge of unfinished bone beneath the tightly drawn skin.

'Uh-oh.' She grinned broadly. 'I made a clean spot here Now I've gone and done it. Guess I'll just have to do the whole thing. Otherwise nothing will match.'

From an open supply packet she withdrew a squeeze bottle full of sterilized water and used it to soak the cloth she was holding. Then she applied the makeshift scrubber firmly to the girl's face, wiping away dirt and accumulated grime in addition to the remaining cocoa spots. Throughout the operation the child sat quietly. But the bright blue eyes shifted and seemed to focus on Ripley for the first time.

She felt a surge of excitement and fought to suppress it 'Hard to believe there's a little girl under all this.' She made a show of examining the cloth's surface. 'Enough dirt there to file a mining claim on.' Bending over, she stared appraisingly at the newly revealed face. 'Definitely a little girl. And a pretty one, at that.'

She looked away just long enough to assure herself that no one from Operations was about to barge in. Any interruption at this critical moment might undo everything that she'd worked so hard to accomplish with the aid of a little hot chocolate and clean water.

No need to worry. Everyone in Operations was still clustered around the main terminal. Hudson was seated at the console fingering controls while the others looked on.

A three-dimensional abstract of the colony drifted across the main screen, lazy geometric outlines tumbling from left to right, then bottom to top, as Hudson manipulated the program. The comtech was neither playing nor showing off; he was hunting something. No rude comments spilled from his lips now, no casual profanity filled the air. It was work time. If he cursed at all, it was to himself. The computer knew all the answers. Finding the right questions was an agonizingly slow process.

Burke had been inspecting other equipment. Now he shifted his position for a better view as he whispered to Gorman.

'What's he scanning for?'

'PDTs. Personal data transmitters. Every colonist has one surgically implanted as soon as they arrive.'

'I know what a PDT is,' Burke replied mildly. 'The Company manufactures them. I just don't see any point in running a PDT scan. Surely if there was anyone else left alive in the complex, we'd have found them by now. Or they'd have found us.'

'Not necessarily.' Gorman's reply was polite without being deferential. Technically Burke was along on the expedition as an observer for the Company, to look after its financial interests. His employer was paying for this little holiday excursion in tandem with the colonial administration, but what authority he had was largely unwritten. He could give advice but not orders. This was a military expedition, and Gorman was in charge. On paper Burke was his equal. The reality was very different.

'Someone could be alive but unable to move. Injured, or maybe trapped inside a damaged building. Sure the scan's a long shot, but procedure demands it. We have to run the check.' He turned to the comtech. 'Everything functioning properly, Hudson?'

'If there's anyone alive within a couple of kilometres of base central, we'll read it out here.' He tapped the screen. 'So far I've got zip except for the kid.'

Wierzbowski offered a comment from the far side of the room. 'Don't PDTs keep broadcasting if the owner dies?'

'Not these new ones.' Dietrich was sorting through her instruments. 'They're partly powered by the body's own electrical field. If the owner fades out, so does the signal. A stiff's electrical capacitance is nil. That's the only drawback to using the body as a battery.'

'No kidding?' Hudson spared the comely medtech a glance 'How can you tell if somebody's AC or DC?'

'No problem in your case, Hudson.' She snapped her medica satchel shut. 'Clear case of insufficient current.'

It was easier to find another clean cloth than to try to scrub out the first one. Ripley was working on the girl's small hands now excavating dirt from between the fingers and beneath the nails Pink skin emerged from behind a mask of dark grime. As she cleaned, she kept up a steady stream of reassuring chatter.

'I don't know how you managed to stay alive with everybody else gone away, but you're one brave kid, Rebecca.'

A sound new to Ripley's ears, barely audible. 'N-newt.'

Ripley tensed and looked away so her excitement wouldn't show. She kept moving the washcloth as she leaned closer. 'I'm sorry, kid, I didn't hear you. Sometimes my hearing's not so good. What did you say?'

'Newt. My n-name's Newt. That's what everybody calls me Nobody calls me Rebecca except my brother.'

Ripley was finishing off the second hand. If she didn't respond, the girl might lapse back into silence. At the same time she had to be careful not to say anything that might upset her. Keep it casual and don't ask any questions.

'Well, Newt it is, then. My name's Ripley— and people cal me Ripley. You can call me anything you like, though.' When no reply was forthcoming from the girl, Ripley lifted the smal hand she'd just finished cleaning and gave it a formal shake.

'Pleased to meet you, Newt.' She pointed at the disembodied doll head that the girl still clutched fiercely in one hand. 'And who is that? Does she have a name? I bet she does. Every dol has a name. When I was your age, I had lots of dolls, and every one of them had a name. Otherwise, how can you tell them apart?'

Newt glanced down at the plastic sphere with its vacant glassy eyes. 'Casey. She's my only friend.'

'What about me?'

The girl looked at her so sharply that Ripley was taken aback. The assurance in Newt's eyes bespoke a hardness that was anything but childish. Her tone was flat, neutral.

'I don't want you for a friend.'

Ripley tried to conceal her surprise. 'Why not?'