Alan Dean Foster - Alien

Several minutes were spent nervously waiting outside for the locker's interior to cool enough for them to enter. Despite the wait, the heat radiating from the smouldering garbage inside was so intense they had to walk carefully, lest they bump into any of the oven-hot crates or the locker walls.

The locker itself was a total loss. What the alien had begun, Dallas's flamethrower had finished. Deep black streaks showed on the walls, testimony to the concentrated power of the incinerator. The stench of charred artificial-food components mixed with carbonized packaging was overpowering in the confined space.

Despite the havoc wrought by the flamethrower, not everything within the locker had been destroyed. Ample evidence of the alien's handiwork lay scattered about, untouched by the flames. Packages of every size were strewn about the floor, opened in ways and by means their manufacturers had never envisioned.

Solid-metal storage 'tins' (so called because of tradition and not their metallurgical makeup) had been peeled apart like fruit. From what they could see, the alien hadn't left much intact for the flamethrower to finish off.

Keeping trackers and incinerators handy, they poked through the debris. Pungent smoke drifted upward and burned their eyes.

Careful inspection of every sizable pile of ruined supplies failed to produce the hoped-for discovery.

Since all the food stocked aboard the Nostromo was artificial and homogenous in composition, the only bones they would find would belong to the alien. But the closest thing they found to bones were the reinforcing bands from several large crates.

Ripley and Lambert started to relax against a still-hot wall, remembered not to. 'We didn't get it,' the warrant officer muttered disappointedly.

'Then where the hell is it?' Lambert asked her.

'Over here.'

They all turned to see Dallas standing near the back wall, behind a pile of melted black plastic. His flamethrower was pointing at the wall. 'This is where it went.'

Moving over, Ripley and the others saw that Dallas's frame was blocking the expected ventilator opening. The protective grille that normally covered the gap was lying on the floor below it, in pieces.

Dallas removed the lightbar from his belt, directed the beam into the shaft. It revealed only smooth metal twisting off into the distance. When he spoke he sounded excited.

'About time we got a break.'

'What are you talking about?' Lambert asked.

He looked back at them. 'Don't you see? This could end up working for us. This duct comes out at the main airlock. There's only one other opening large enough along the way for the creature to escape through, and we can cover that. Then we drive it into the lock with the flamethrowers and blast it into space.'

'Yeah.' Lambert's tone indicated she didn't share the captain's enthusiasm for the project. 'Nothing to it. All you have to do is crawl into the vent after it, find your way through the maze until you're staring it in the face, and then pray it's afraid of fire.'

Dallas's smile waned. 'The addition of the human element sort of kills the simplicity of it, doesn't it? But it should work, given that it's fearful of fire. It's our best chance. This way we don't have to back it into a corner and hope the flames will kill it in time. It can keep on retreating. . right toward the waiting lock.'

'That's all fine and good,' agreed Lambert. 'The problem is: Who goes in after it?'

Dallas searched the group, hunting for a prospect to engage in the lethal game of tag. Ash had the coolest nerves of the lot, but Dallas still harbored suspicions about the science officer. Anyway, Ash's project to find a nullifier for the creature's acid ruled him out as a candidate for the chase.

Lambert put up a tough front, but was more likely to go to pieces under stress than any of the others. As for Ripley, she'd be fine up to the moment of actual confrontation. He wasn't sure whether she'd freeze or not. He didn't think that she would. . but could he risk her life on that'

Parker. . Parker'd always pretended to be a tough son-of-a-bitch. He complained a lot, but he could do a rough job and do it right when he had to. Witness the shock tubes and now the flamethrowers. Besides, it was his friend who'd been taken by the alien. And he knew the quirks of the flamethrowers better than any of them.

'Well, Parker, you always wanted a full share and a trip's-end bonus.'

'Yeah?' The engineer sounded wary.

'Get in the pipe.'

'Why me?'

Dallas thought of giving him several reasons, decided to keep it simple instead. 'I just want to see you earn your full share, that's all.'

Parker shook his head, took a step backward. 'No way. You can have my share. You can have my whole salary for the trip.' He jerked his head in the direction of the shaft opening. 'I'm not going in there.'

'I'll go.' Dallas eyed Ripley. She figured to volunteer sooner or later. Funny lady. He'd always underestimated her. Everyone did.

'Forget it.'

'Why?' She looked resentful.

'Yeah, why?' put in Parker. 'If she's ready to go, why not let her go?'

'My decision,' he explained tersely. He looked at her, saw the mixture of resentment and confusion. She didn't understand why he'd turned her down. Well, no matter. Someday maybe he'd explain. If he could explain it to himself.

'You take the air lock,' he directed her. 'Ash, you'll stay here and cover this end in case it gets behind me somehow, or through me. Parker, you and Lambert cover the one side exit I told you about.'

They all regarded him with various looks of understanding. There was no doubt who was going into the vent

Panting, Ripley reached the vestibule by the starboard lock. A glance at her tracker showed no movement in the area. She touched a nearby red switch. A soft hum filled that section of corridor. The massive lock door moved aside. When it was clear and the hum had died she thumbed the intercom.

'Ready starboard airlock.'

Parker and Lambert reached the section of corridor specified by Dallas, halted. The vent opening, grille-covered and innocent-looking, showed in the wall three quarters of the way up.

'That's where it'll be coming out, if it tries this way,' Parker observed. Lambert nodded, moved to the nearby 'com pickup to report that they were in position.

Back in the food locker, Dallas listened intently as Lambert's report followed Ripley's. Dallas asked a couple of questions, acknowledged the answers, and switched off. Ash handed him his flamethrower, Dallas adjusted the nozzle and fired a couple of quick, short bursts.

'It's still working. Parker's a better applied machinist than even he thinks he is.' He noticed the expression on Ash's face. 'Something the matter?'

'You've made your decision. It's not my place to comment.'

'You're the science officer. Go ahead and comment.'

'This has nothing to do with science.'

'This is no time to hedge. Say what's on your mind.'

Ash eyed him with genuine curiosity. 'Why do you have to be the one to go? Why didn't you send Ripley? She was willing, and she's competent enough.'

'I shouldn't even have suggested anyone but myself.' He was checking the fluid level on the flamethrower. 'That was a mistake. It's my responsibility. I let Kane go down into the alien ship. Now it's my turn. I've delegated enough risk without taking any on myself. It's time I did.'

'You're the captain,' Ash argued. 'This is a time to be practical, not heroic. You did the proper thing in sending Kane. Why change now?'

Dallas grinned at him. It wasn't often you could catch Ash in a contradiction. 'You're hardly the one to be talking about proper procedure. You opened the lock and let us back into the ship, remember?' The science officer didn't reply. 'So don't lecture me on what's proper.'