Alan Dean Foster - Alien

A new face appeared at the top of the nearby companionway. 'Still no sign of the stuff. It's stopped bleeding?' Parker switched his gaze from the sullen Ripley to Dallas.

'Yeah. After it ate through two levels.' He was still a bit stunned by the potency of the alien fluid.

Ripley came to life, looked around. 'We're all down here. What about Kane? No one's watching him. . or the alien.'

There was a concerted rush for the stairs.

Dallas was the first one back at the infirmary. A quick glance inside showed him that nothing had changed. Kane still lay as they'd left him, immobile on the platform, the alien secured to his face.

Dallas was angry at himself. He'd acted like a damn kid. The liquid had demonstrated unexpected and dangerous properties, sure, but hardly enough to justify the total panic that had ensued. He should first have delegated one or two members of the crew to remain behind and keep an eye on the creature.

Fortunately, nothing had changed during their absence. The thing hadn't moved, nor, from the looks of it, had Kane. From now on, regardless of any problem that might arise elsewhere, there would be someone assigned to the infirmary at all times. The situation was serious enough without offering the alien the opportunity to do things unobserved,

'Any of the acid get on him?' Parker was at the portal, straining to see Kane.

Dallas walked over and stood next to the platform. He inspected the exec's head carefully. 'I don't think so. He looks okay. The fluid ran down the outside of the creature without contacting his skin.'

Brett crowded into the doorway. 'Is it still dripping that crap? We've got some ceramics down in engineering supply that'll hold just about anything. I don't know about this stuff, but we can give it a try if we have to. I can jury-rig a container out of scraps.'

'Don't bother,' Dallas told him. 'It's stopped bleeding.'

Ash was examining the section cut by the laser knife. 'Healed over. No sign of the wound. Remarkable regenerative abilities. You'd never know it had been touched.'

'There must be some way we can get it off.' Lambert shivered. 'It makes me sick to see it resting there like that, that tube or whatever it is down his throat.'

'You'd be a lot sicker if it was on you,' Ripley taunted her.

Lambert kept her distance. 'You're not being funny.'

'I'll say again, sir, I don't think it would be a good idea to try removing the creature.' Ash wasn't looking at him. 'It didn't work out too well the last time.'

Dallas glanced sharply at his science officer, then relaxed. As usual, Ash was only being objective. It wasn't in his nature to be sarcastic.

'So what do we do?' Lambert wanted to know.

'We do nothing,' Dallas finally said. 'We can't do anything. We tried and, as Ash noted, it nearly cost us a hulled ship. So. . we feed him back to the autodoc and hope it can come up with a better idea.'

He touched a control. There was a soft hum as Kane's platform slid back into the machine. Dallas threw additional switches, was again provided with internal views of the comatose exec, plus related schematics and diagrams. They offered no new information, and no solutions.

Ash was correlating several readouts. 'His bodily functions continue normal, but there's some fresh indication of tissue degeneracy and breakdown.'

'Then it is hurting him,' Lambert said.

'Not necessarily. He's gone without food and water for some time. These readings might reflect a natural reduction in weight. There's no indication he's being drastically weakened, either by the creature or circumstances.

'Nevertheless, we want to keep him in the best condition possible. 'I'd better get some intravenous feeding started, until I can determine for sure whether the alien's absorbing protein from his system.' He activated a block of controls. New sounds echoed through the infirmary as the autodoc began to efficiently assume the job of feeding the helpless Kane and processing the resultant waste products.

'What's that thing?' Ripley was pointing at a portion of the slowly shifting internal scan. 'That stain on his lungs?'

'I don't see any "stain".'

Dallas studied the view. 'I think I see what she means. Increase magnification on the respiratory system, Ash.'

The science officer complied. Now the small blot that had caught Ripley's attention stood out clearly, a dark irregular patch overlying Kane's chest cavity. It was completely opaque.

'We don't know that it's on his lungs.' Ash fiddled with controls. 'It could just as readily be a scanner malfunction, or a radiation-damaged section of the scanner lens. Happens all the time.'

'Try more power,' Dallas demanded. 'Let's see if we can't improve the resolution.'

Ash adjusted instrumentation, but despite his best efforts the dark blot remained just that: an unresolved splotch of blackness.

'I can't raise the intensity any further or he'll begin to suffer radiation damage.'

'I know.' Dallas stared at the enigmatic blot. 'If we lose scanning capability now we won't know what the hell's happening inside him.'

'I'll handle it, sir,' the science officer assured him. 'I think I can clean up the lens. It's just a question of some slight repolishing.?'

'But that'll leave us blind.'

Ash looked apologetic. 'I can't remove the blot without dismantling the scanner.'

'Skip it, then. As long as it doesn't grow to the point where it

obscures our vision.'

'As you wish, sir.' Ash turned back to his readouts.

Brett looked confused, sounded frustrated. 'What happens now, huh? We just sit and wait?'

'No,' Dallas responded, remembering that he had a ship to run in addition to caring for Kane.?We sit And wait, you two go back to work. .

'What do you think?'

Parker was leaning as close as he could, sweating along with Brett as the latter attempted to seal the delicate last connections within the cramped confines of twelve module. They were trying to perform work that normally employed the services of a remote automatic tracer and the facilities of a computerized tool runner. Since they possessed neither runner nor tracer they were forced to cope with the trouble utilizing instruments not designed for the purpose.

Wrong tools for the wrong job, Parker thought angrily. Somehow, they would have to manage. Unless twelve module was properly repaired and made operative once more they'd have one hell of a time trying to lift off. To get away from this world, Parker would have made the necessary internal replacements with his teeth.

Right now, though, it was Brett's turn to fight with the recalcitrant components. Like every other instrument aboard the Nostromo, the module used snap-in, factory-sealed replacement parts. The trick was to remove the ruined garbage without interrupting other critical functions or damaging still more delicate portions of the ship's drive. The new parts would fit in easily, if they could only get rid of the carbonized junk.

'I think I've got it,' his companion finally said. 'Give it a try.'

Parker stepped back, touched two buttons set into the overhead console, then glanced hopefully at a neighbouring portable monitor. He tried the buttons a second time, without success. The monitor remained blissfully silent.

'Nothing.'

'Damn. I was sure that was it.'

'Well, it isn't. Try the next one. I know they all look okay, except for that number forty-three, and we've already replaced that. That's the trouble with these damn particle cells. If the regulator overloads and burns some of them out, you have to go inside and find the ones that have vacuum-failed.' He paused, added, 'Wish we had a tracer.'

'You and me both.' Soft sounds of metal scratching on plastic sounded from inside the unit.

'It's got to be the next one.' Parker tried to sound optimistic. 'We don't have to hand-check every single cell. Mother narrowed it down this far. Be thankful for small favors.'