Alan Dean Foster - Aliens

'That's where Burke and his Company cronies would step in They'd claim responsibility, or bribe somebody, and check us into one of their own facilities where they could study us in private. Me and Newt.'

She looked over at the frail figure of the girl sitting nearby Newt hugged her knees to her chest and watched the proceedings with sombre eyes. She was all but lost in the adult jacket someone had scrounged for her, scrunched down inside the copious padding and high collar. Her still-damp hair was plastered to her forehead and cheeks.

Hicks stopped pacing to stare at Ripley. 'Wait a minute. We'd know about it. Maybe we wouldn't be sure, but we'd sure have it checked out the instant we arrived at the Station. No way would we let anybody ship you Earthside without a complete medical scan.'

Ripley considered this, then nodded. 'The only way it would work is if he sabotaged the sleep capsules for the trip back With Dietrich gone, each of us would have to put ourselves into hypersleep. He could set his timer to wake him a few days down the road, climb out of his capsule, shut down everybody else's bio-support systems, and jettison the bodies. Then he could make up any story he liked. With most of your squad already killed by the aliens, and the details of the fight over on C-level recorded by your suit scanners and stored in the Sulaco's records, it would be an easy matter to attribute your deaths to the aliens as well.'

'He's dead.' Hudson switched his attention from Ripley back to the Company rep. 'You hear that? You're dog meat, pal.'

'This is a totally paranoid delusion.' Burke saw no harm in finally speaking out, convinced that he couldn't hurt himself any more than he already had. 'You saw how strong those things are. I had nothing to do with their escaping.'

'Bullcrap. Nothing's strong enough to force its way out of a stasis tube,' Hicks said evenly.

'I suppose after they climbed out they locked the operating room from the outside, shut down the emergency power to the overhead lights, hid my rifle, and killed the videoscan too. Ripley looked tired. 'You know, Burke, I don't know which species is worse. You don't see them killing each other for a percentage.'

'Let's waste him.' Hicks's expression was unreadable as he gazed down at the Company rep. 'No offence.'

Ripley shook her head. Inside, the initial rage was giving way to a sickened emptiness. 'Just find someplace to lock him up until it's time to leave.'

'Why?' Hudson was shaking with suppressed anger, his finger taut on the trigger of his rifle.

Ripley glanced at the comtech. 'Because I'd like to take him back. I want people to know what he's done. They need to know what happened to the colony here, and why. I want—'

The lights went out. Hicks turned immediately to the tactica console. The screen still glowed on battery power, but no images flashed across it because the power to the colony's computer had been cut. A quick check of Operations revealed that everything was out: power doors, videoscreens, sensor cameras, the works.

'They cut the power.' Ripley stood motionless in the near blackness.

'What do you mean, they cut the power?' Hudson turned a slow circle and started backing toward a wall. 'How could they cut the power, man? They're dumb animals.'

'Who knows what they really are? We don't know enough about them to say that for sure yet.' She picked up the pulse-rifle that Burke had taken and thumbed off the safety 'Maybe they act like that individually, but they could also have some kind of collective intelligence. Like ants or termites Bishop talked about that, before he left. Termites build mounds three metres high. Leaf-cutter ants have agriculture Is that just instinct? What is intelligence, anyway?' She glanced left.

'Stay close, Newt. The rest of you, let's get some trackers going. Come on, get moving. Gorman, keep an eye on Burke.'

Hudson and Vasquez switched on their scanners. The glow of the motion-tracker sensors was comforting in the darkness Modern technology hadn't failed them completely yet. With the two troopers leading the way, they headed for the corridor With all power out to Operations, Vasquez had to slide the barrier aside manually.

Ripley's voice sounded behind the smartgun operator 'Anything?'

'Nothing here.' Vasquez was a shadow against one wall.

She didn't have to put the same question to Hudson because everyone heard the comtech's tracker beep loudly. All eyes turned in his direction.

'There's something. I've got something.' He panned the tracker around. It beeped again, louder this time. 'It's moving It's inside the complex.'

'I don't see anything.' Vasquez's tracker remained silent 'You're just reading me.'

Hudson's voice cracked slightly. 'No. No! It ain't you They're inside. Inside the perimetre. They're in here.'

'Stay cool, Hudson.' Ripley tried to see to the far end of the corridor. 'Vasquez, you ought to be able to confirm.'

The smartgun operator swung her tracker and her rifle in a wide arc. The last place she pointed both of them was directly behind her. The portable sensor let out a sharp beep.

'Hudson may be right.'

Ripley and Hicks exchanged a glance. At least they wouldn't have to stand around anymore waiting for something to happen.

'It's game time,' the corporal said tightly.

Ripley called to the pair of troopers. 'Get back here, both of you. Fall back to Operations.'

Hudson and Vasquez started to backtrack. The comtech's eyes nervously watched the dark tunnel they were abandoning The tracker said one thing, his eyes another. Something was wrong.

'This signal's weird. Must be some interference or something. Maybe power arcing unevenly somewhere. There's movement all over the place, but I don't see a thing.'

'Just get back here!' Ripley felt the sweat starting on her forehead, under her arms. Cold, like the pit of her stomach Hudson turned and broke into a run, reaching the door a moment before Vasquez. Together they pulled it closed and locked the seal-tight.

Once inside, they began sharing out the remnants of their pitifully small armoury. Flamethrowers, grenades, and lastly, a fair distribution of the loaded pulse-rifle magazines. Hudson's tracker continued to beep regularly, rising in a gradua crescendo.

'Movement!' He looked around wildly, saw only the silhouettes of his companions in the shadowed room. 'Signal's clean. Can't be an error.' Picking up the scanner, he panned the business end around the room. 'I've got full range of movement at twenty metres.'

Ripley whispered to Vasquez. 'Seal the door.'

'If I seal the door, how do we get to the dropship?'

'Same way Bishop did. Unless you want to try to walk out.'

'Seventeen metres,' Hudson muttered. Vasquez picked up her handwelder and moved to the door.

Hicks handed one of the flamethrowers to Ripley and began priming the other for himself. 'Let's get these things lit.' A moment later his sprang to life, a small, steady blue flame hissing from the weapon's muzzle like an oversize lighter Ripley's flared brilliantly as she nudged the button marked IGNITE, which was set in the side of the handgrip.

Sparks showered around Vasquez as she began welding the door to the floor, ceiling, and walls. Hudson's tracker was going like mad now, though still not as fast as Ripley's heart.

'They learned,' she said, unable to stand silence. 'Call it instinct or intelligence or group analysis, but they learned They cut the power and they've avoided the guns. They must have found another way into the complex, something we missed.'

'We didn't miss anything,' Hicks growled.

'Fifteen metres.' Hudson took a step away from the door.

'I don't know how they did it. An acid hole in a duct Something under the floors that was supposed to be sealed but wasn't. Something the colonists added or modified and didn't bother to insert into the official schematics. We don't know how up-to-date those plans are or when they were last revised to include all structural additions. I don't know, but there has to be something!' She picked up Vasquez's tracker and aimed it in the same direction as Hudson's.