Alan Dean Foster - Aliens

'Take that, suckers!' He lowered his voice as he turned to Vasquez, his eyes rolling. 'Oh, give me a home, where the firepower roams, and the deer and the antelope get shot to hamburger.'

'You always were the sensitive type,' Vasquez told him.

'I know. It shows in my face.' Turning, he put a shoulder against the fire door. 'Give me a hand with this.'

Vasquez helped him roll the heavy steel barrier into place Then she unpacked the high-intensity portable welding torch she'd brought with her and snapped it alight. Blue flame roared from the muzzle. She turned a dial on the handle refining the acetylene finger.

'Give me some room, man, or I'm liable to seal your foot to your boot.' Hudson complied, stepping back to watch her. He began to pace, staring down the empty service way and listening. He fingered the controls of his headset nervously.

'Hudson here.'

Hicks responded instantly. 'How're you two doing? We're working on the big air duct you located in the plans.'

'A and B sentries are in place and activated. Looks good Nothing comes up this tunnel they can't pick out.' Vasquez's torch hissed nearby. 'We're sealing the fire door right now.'

'Roger. When you're through, get yourselves back up here.'

'Hey, you think I want a ticket for loitering?'

Hicks smiled to himself. That sounded more like the old Hudson. He nudged the tiny mike away from his lips and adjusted the thick metal plate he was carrying so that it covered the duct opening. Ripley nodded at him and shoved her plate in place. He unlimbered a duplicate of Vasquez's welder and began sealing the plate to the floor.

Behind him, Burke and Newt worked busily, stacking containers of medicine and food in a corner. The aliens hadn't touched the colony's food supplies. More importantly the water-distillation system was still functioning. Since it was self-pressurized, no power was needed to draw it from the taps They wouldn't starve or go thirsty.

When he'd sealed down two-thirds of the plate, Hicks set the welder aside and extracted a small bracelet from a belt pouch He flicked a tiny switch set flush with the metal, and a minuscule LED came to life as he handed the circlet to Ripley.

'What is it?'

'Emergency beeper. Military version of the PDTs the colonists had surgically implanted. Doesn't have the range they do, and you wear it outside instead of inside your body, but the idea's the same. With that on I can locate you anywhere near the complex on this.' He tapped the miniature tracker that was built into his battle harness.

She studied it curiously. 'I don't need this.'

'Hey, it's just a precaution. You know.'

She regarded him quizzically for a moment, then shrugged and slipped the bracelet over her wrist. 'Thanks. You wearing one?'

He smiled and looked away. 'Only got one tracker.' He tapped his harness. 'I know where I am. What's next?'

She forgot all about the bracelet as she consulted the hard-copy printout of Hudson's schematic.

Something very strange happened while they worked. They were too busy to notice, and it was left to Newt to point it out.

The wind had died. Stopped utterly. In the unAcheronic stillness outside the colony, a diffuse mist swirled and roiled uncertainly. In two visits to Acheron this was the first time Ripley hadn't heard the wind. It was disquieting.

The absence of wind reduced outside visibility from poor to nonexistent. Fog swirled around Operations, giving the world beyond the triple-paned windows the look of being under water. Nothing moved.

In the service tunnel that connected the buildings of the colony to the processing station and each other, a pair of robot guns sat silently, their motion scanners alert and humming. C gun surveyed the empty corridor, its ARMED light flashing green. Through a hole in the ceiling at the far end of the passageway, fog swirled in. Water condensed on bare metal walls and dripped to the floor. The gun did not fire on the falling drops. It was smarter, more selective than that, able to distinguish between harmless natural phenomena and inimical movement. The water made no attempt to advance, and so the weapon held its fire, waiting patiently for something to kill.

Newt had carried boxes until she'd worn herself out. Ripley carried her from Operations into the medical wing, the small head resting wearily on the woman's shoulder. Occasionally she would try to say something, and Ripley would reply as though she understood. She was hunting for a place where the child could rest quietly and in comparative safety.

The operating theatre was located at the far end of the medical section. Much of its complex equipment sat in recesses in the walls while the rest hung from the ceiling at the tips of extensible arms. A large globe containing lights and additional surgical instrumentation dominated the ceiling. Cabinets and equipment not fastened down had been shoved into a corner to provide room for several folding metal cots.

This was where they would sleep. This was where they would retreat to if the aliens breached the outer defences. The inner redoubt. The keep. The operating room was sealed tighter and had thicker walls than any other part of the colony complex, or so the schematics Hudson had called forth insisted. It looked a lot like an oversize, high-tech vault. If they had to shoot themselves in order to keep from falling alive into the alien's hands, this was where any future rescuers would find the bodies.

But for now it was a safe haven, snug and quiet. Gently Ripley lowered the girl to the nearest cot, smiling down at the upturned face.

'Now you just lie there and have a nap. I have to go help the others, but I'll come in every chance I get to check on you. You deserve a rest. You're exhausted.'

Newt stared up at her. 'I don't want to sleep.'

'You have to, Newt. Everybody has to sometime. You'll feel better after you've had a rest.'

'But I have scary dreams.'

It struck a familiar chord in Ripley, but she managed to feign cheerfulness. 'Everybody has bad dreams, Newt.'

The girl snuggled deeper into the padded cot. 'Not like mine.'

Don't bet on it, child, she thought. Aloud she said, 'I'll bet Casey doesn't have bad dreams.' She disengaged the doll head from the girl's small fingers and made a show of peering inside. 'Just as I thought: Nothing bad in there. Maybe you could try to be like Casey. Pretend there's nothing in here.' She tapped the girl's forehead, and Newt smiled back.

'You mean, try to make it all empty-like?'

'Yes, empty-like. Like Casey.' She caressed the delicate face brushing hair back from Newt's forehead. 'If you do that, I'l bet you'll be able to sleep without having any bad dreams.'

She closed the doll head's unblinking eyes and handed it back to its owner. Newt took it, rolling her own eyes as if to say 'Don't pull that five-year-old stuff on me, lady. I'm six.'

'Ripley, she doesn't have bad dreams, because she's just a piece of plastic.'

'Oh. Sorry, Newt. Well, then, maybe you could pretend you're like her that way. Just made of plastic.'

The girl almost smiled. Almost. 'I'll try.'

'Good girl. Maybe I'll try it myself.'

Newt pulled Casey close up to her neck, looking thoughtful 'My mommy always said there were no such things as monsters No real ones. But there are.'

Ripley continued to brush isolated strands of blond hair back from the pale forehead. 'Yes, there are, aren't there?'

'They're as real as you and me. They're not make-believe and they didn't come out of a book. They're really real, not fake-real like the ones I used to watch on the video. Why do they tell little kids things like that, things that aren't true? There was a faint tinge of betrayal in her voice.

No lying to this child, Ripley knew. Not that she had the slightest intention of doing so. Newt had experienced too much reality to be fooled by a simple fib. Ripley instinctively sensed that to lie to this girl would be to lose her trust forever.