Alan Dean Foster - Alien

'It'll be harder on the rest of us if we lose you. Especially now.'

'You just mentioned that you thought Ripley was competent. I concur. She's next in line of command. If I don't make it back, there's nothing I do that she can't.'

'I don't agree.'

They were wasting time. No telling how far ahead of him the creature was by now. Dallas was tired of arguing. 'Tough. That's my decision, and it's final.' He turned, put his right foot into the shaft opening, then slid the flamethrower in ahead of him, making sure it didn't slide on the slightly downwardinclining surface.

'Won't work like that,' he grumbled, peering in. 'Not enough room to crouch.' He removed his leg. 'Have to crawl it.' He ducked his head and wriggled into the opening.

There was less room in the shaft than he'd hoped. How something of the size Parker and Ripley had described had squirmed through the tiny crawlspace he couldn't imagine. Well, good! Dallas hoped the shaft would continue to narrow. Maybe the creature, in its haste to escape, would get itself wedged good and tight. That would make things simpler.

'How is it?' a voice called from behind him.

'Not too good,' he informed Ash, his voice reverberating around him. Dallas struggled into a crawling posture. 'It's just big enough to be uncomfortable.'

He switched on his lightbar, fumbled anxiously for a moment before locating the throat mike he'd slipped on. The light showed dark, empty shaft ahead of him, Travelling in a straight metallic line with a slight downward curve. The incline would increase, he knew. He had a full deck level to descend before emerging behind the creature outside the starboard lock.

'Ripley, Parker, Lambert. . are you receiving me? I'm in the shaft now, preparing to descend.'

Below, Lambert addressed the wall 'com. 'We read you. I'll try to pick you up as soon as you come within range of our tracker.' Next to her, Parker hefted his flamethrower and glared at the grille covering the duct.

'Parker,' Dallas instructed the engineer, 'if it tries to come out by you two, make sure you drive it back in. I'll keep pushing it forward.'

'Right.'

'Ready by the lock,' Ripley reported. 'She's standing open and waiting for company.'

'It's on its way.' Dallas started crawling, his eyes on the tunnel ahead, fingers on the controls of the incinerator. The shaft here was less than a metre wide. Metal rubbed insistently at his knees and he wished he'd donned an extra pair of overalls. Too late for that now, he mused. Everyone was ready and prepared. He wasn't going back.

'How you doing?' a voice sounded over his mike speaker.

'Okay, Ash,' he told the anxious science officer. 'Don't worry about me. Keep your eyes on that opening in case it's slipped behind me somehow.'

He turned his first bend in the shaft, fighting to see in his head the exact layout of the ship's ventilating system. The printed schematic back in the mess was fuzzy and indistinct in his memory. The vents were hardly among the ship's critical systems. It was too late to wish that he'd taken more time to study them.

Several more tight turns showed in the shaft ahead of him. He paused, breathing heavily, and raised the tip of the flamethrower. There was nothing to indicate that anything lay hiding behind those bends, but it was better not to take chances. The incinerator's fuel level read almost full. It wouldn't hurt to let the creature know what was following close behind it, maybe drive it forward without having to face it.

A touch on the red button sent a gout of flame down the tunnel. The roar was loud in the constricted shaft, and heat rushed back across his protesting skin. He started forward again, taking care to keep his ungloved hands off the now hot metal he was crawling over. A little heat even penetrated the tough fabric of his pants. He didn't feel it. His senses were all concentrated forward, searching for movement and smell.

In the equipment area, Lambert thoughtfully regarded the tightly screened opening. She reached back, threw a switch. There was a hum and the metal grille slid out of sight, leaving a gaping hole in the wall.

'Are you crazy?' Parker eyed her uncertainly.

'That's the one it's got to come out of if it leaves the main shaft,' she told him. 'Let's keep it open. It's too dark behind the grille. I'd like to know if anything's coming.'

Parker thought to argue, decided his energy would be better spent keeping an eye on the opening, grilled or unblocked. Anyway, Lambert outranked him.

Sweat was seeping into his eyes, persistent as ants, and Dallas had to stop to wipe it away. Salt burned, impairing his sight. Ahead, the shaft turned steeply downward. He'd been expecting the downturn about now, but the satisfaction of having his memory confirmed gave him little pleasure. Now he'd have to watch his speed and balance in addition to the shaft itself.

Crawling to the drop, he pointed the flamethrower downward and let loose another fiery discharge. No screams, no aroma of seared flesh drifted back up to him. The creature was still far ahead. He wondered if it were crawling, perhaps angrily, perhaps fearfully, in search of the exit. Or maybe it was waiting, turned to confront its persistent pursuer with inconceivable methods of alien defence.

It was hot in the shaft, and he was growing tired. There was another possibility, he mused. What if the creature had somehow discovered another way to leave the shaft? In that event he'd have made the tense, agonizing crawl for nothing. There was still only one way to resolve all the questions. He started down the steep slide head first, keeping the flamethrower balanced and pointing forward.

It was Lambert who first noticed the movement of the tracker needle. She had a nervous minute until some hasty figuring matched the reading with a known quantity.

'Beginning to get a reading on you,' she informed the distant Dallas.

'Okay.' He felt better, knowing that others knew exactly where he was. 'Stay on me.'

The shaft made another turn. He didn't recall there being quite so many twists and sharp bends, but he was positive he was still in the main shaft. He hadn't passed a single side tunnel wide enough to admit anything larger than Jones. Despite the alien's demonstrated aptitude for squeezing into small spaces, Dallas didn't think it could shrink its bulk enough to fit into a secondary vent pipe only a dozen or so centimetres across.

The present turn confronting him proved especially difficult to negotiate. The long, inflexible barrel of the flamethrower didn't make it any easier. Panting, he lay there and considered how to proceed.

'Ripley.'

She jerked at the sharpness in his voice, spoke hurriedly into the 'com pickup. 'I'm here. Reading you clearly. Anything wrong? You sound. .' she caught herself. How else should Dallas sound except nervous'

'I'm okay,' he told her. 'Just tired. Out of shape. Too many weeks in hypersleep, you lose your muscle tone no matter what the freezers do for you.' He wriggled into a new position, gained a better view ahead.

'I don't think this shaft goes much farther. It's getting hot in here.' That was to be expected, he told himself. The accumulated effect of multiple blasts from his flamethrower would tax the internal cooling capacity of the shaft's thermostats.

'Continuing on now. Stay ready.'

An onlooker could easily have read the relief in Dallas's face when he finally emerged from the cramped tunnel. It opened into one of the Nostromo's main air ducts, a two-tiered tunnel split by a catwalk. He crawled out of the shaft and stood on the railless walkway, stretched gratefully.

A careful inspection of the larger passage proved negative. The only sound he heard was the patient throbbing of cooling machinery. There was a repair junction partway down the walk and he strolled out to it, repeated his inspection there. As far as he could see, the huge chamber was empty.