Alan Dean Foster: Alien

One portion of the Nostromo's brain was particularly adept at distilling sense out of anomalies. It had thoroughly chewed this one up, found the flavor puzzling, examined the results of analysis, and reached a decision. Slumbering instrumentalities were activated, dormant circuits again regulated the flow of electrons. In celebration of this decision, banks of brilliant lights winked on, life signs of stirring mechanical breath.

A distinctive beeping sounded, though as yet there were only artificial tympanums present to hear and acknowledge. It was a sound not heard on the Nostromo for some time, and it signified an infrequent happening.

Within this awakening bottle of clicks and flashes, of devices conversing with each other, lay a special room. Within this room of white metal lay seven cocoons of snow-coloured metal and plastic.

A new noise filled this chamber, an explosive exhalation that filled it with freshly scrubbed, breathable atmosphere. Mankind had willingly placed himself in this position, trusting in little tin gods like the Nostromo to provide him with the breath of life when he could not do so for himself.

Extensions of that half-sentient electronic being now tested the newly exuded air and pronounced it satisfactory for sustaining life in puny organics such as men. Additional lights flared, more linkages closed. Without fanfare, the lids on the seven chrysalises opened, and the caterpillar shapes within began to emerge once more into the light.

Seen shorn of their dreams, the seven members of the Nostromo's crew were even less impressive than they'd been in hypersleep. For one thing, they were dripping wet from the preservative cryosleep fluid that had filled and surrounded their bodies. However analeptic, slime of any sort is not becoming.

For another, they were naked, and the liquid was a poor substitute for the slimming and shaping effects of the artificial skins called clothes.

'Jesus,' muttered Lambert, disgustedly wiping fluid from her shoulders and sides, 'am I cold!' She stepped out of the coffin that preserved life instead of death, began fumbling in a nearby compartment. Using the towel she found there, she commenced wiping the transparent syrup from her legs.

'Why the hell can't Mother warm the ship before breaking us out of storage?' She was working on her feet now, trying to remember where she'd dumped her clothes.

'You know why.' Parker was too busy with his own sticky, tired self to bother staring at the nude navigator. 'Company policy. Energy conservation, which translates as Company cheap. Why waste excess power warming the freezer section until the last possible second? Besides, it's always cold coming out of hypersleep. You know what the freezer takes your internal temperature down to.'

'Yeah, I know. But it's still cold.' She mumbled it, knowing Parker was perfectly correct but resenting having to admit it. She'd never cared much for the engineer.

Damn it, Mother, she thought, seeing the goosebumps on her forearm, let's have some heat!

Dallas was toweling himself off, dry-sponging away the last of the cryosleep gunk, and trying not to stare at something the others could not see. He'd noticed it even before rising from his freezer. The ship had arranged it so that he would.

'Work'll warm us all up fast enough.' Lambert muttered something unintelligible. 'Everybody to your stations. I assume you all remember what you're getting paid for. Besides sleeping away your troubles.'

No one smiled or bothered to comment. Parker glanced across to where his partner was sitting up in his freezer. 'Morning. Still with us, Brett?'

'Yo.'

'Lucky us.' That came from Ripley. She stretched, turning it into a more aesthetic movement' than any of the others. 'Nice to know our prime conversationalist is as garrulous as ever.'

Brett just smiled, said nothing. He was as verbal as the machines he serviced, which was to say not at all, and it was a running joke within the septuple crew family. They were laughing with him at such times, not at him.

Dallas was doing side twists, elbows parallel to the floor, hands together in front of his sternum. He fancied he could hear his long-unused muscles squeak. The flashing yellow light, eloquent as any voice, monopolized his thoughts. That devilish little sunhued cyclops was the ship's way of telling them they'd been awakened for something other than the end of their journey. He was already wondering why.

Ash sat up, looked around expressionlessly. For all the animation in his face, he might as well still have been in hypersleep. 'I feel dead.' He was watching Kane. The executive officer was yawning, still not fully awake. It was Ash's professional opinion that the exec actually enjoyed hypersleep and would spend his whole life as ВЈnarcoleptic if so permitted.

Unaware of the science officers opinion, Parker glanced over at him, spoke pleasantly. 'You look dead.' He was aware that his own features probably looked no better. Hypersleep tired the skin as well as the muscles. His attention turned to Kane's coffin. The exec was finally sitting up.

'Nice to be back.' He blinked.

'Couldn't tell it to any of us, not by the time it takes you to wake up.'

Kane looked hurt. 'That's a damn slander, Parker. I'm just slower than the rest of you, that's all.'

'Yeah.' The engineer didn't press the point, turned to the captain, who was absorbed in studying something out of the engineer's view. 'Before we dock, maybe we'd better go over the bonus situation again.'

Brett showed faint signs of enthusiasm, his first since awakening. 'Yeah.'

Parker continued, slipping on his boots. 'Brett and I think we deserve a full share. Full bonus for successful completion plus salary and interest.'

At least he knew deep sleep hadn't harmed his engineering staff, Dallas mused tiredly. Barely conscious for a couple of minutes, they were complaining already.

'You two will get what you contracted for. No more and no less. Just like everybody else.'

'Everybody gets more than us,' said Brett softly. For him, that constituted a major speech. It had no effect on the captain, however. Dallas had no time now for trivialities or half-serious wordplay. That blinking light commanded his full attention, and choreographed his thoughts to the exclusion of all else.

'Everybody else deserves more than you two. Complain to the Company disburser if you want. Now get below.'

'Complain to the Company.' Parker was muttering unhappily as he watched Brett swing out of his coffin, commence drying his legs. 'Might as well try complaining directly to God.'

'Same thing.' Brett was checking a weak service light on his own freezer compartment. Barely conscious, naked and dripping with liquid, he was already hard at work. He was the sort of person who could walk for days on a broken leg but was unable to ignore a malfunctioning toilet.

Dallas started for the central computer room, called back over a shoulder. 'One of you jokers get the cat.'

It was Ripley who lifted a limp yellowish form from one of the freezers. She wore a hurt expression. 'You needn't be so indifferent about it.' She stroked the soaked animal affectionately. 'It's not a piece of equipment. Jones is a member of the crew as much as any of us.'

'More than some.' Dallas was watching Parker and Brett, fully dressed now, receding in the direction of engineering. 'He doesn't fill my few on-board waking hours with complaints about salary or bonuses.'

Ripley departed, the cat enveloped in a thick dry towel. Jones was purring unsteadily, licking himself with great dignity. It was not his first time out of hypersleep. For the present, he would tolerate the ignominy of being carried.

Dallas had finished drying himself. Now he touched a button set into the base of his coffin. A drawer slid silently outward on nearly frictionless bearings. It contained his clothing and a few personal effects.