Alan Dean Foster - Alien

Nothing could sneak up on him here, not while he was standing in the centre of the room. It would be a good place to grab a couple of minutes of much needed rest. He sat down on the catwalk, casually examining the level floor below the junction, and spoke toward the throat mike.

'Lambert, what kind of reading are you getting? I'm in one of the central mixing chambers, at the repair station in the centre. Nothing here but me.'

The navigator glanced at her tracker, looked suddenly puzzled. She glanced worriedly at Parker, thrust the device under his gaze. 'Can you make any sense out of this?'

Parker studied the needle and readout. 'Not me. That's not my toy, it's Ash's. Confusing, though.'

'Lambert?' Dallas again.

'Here. I'm not sure.' She jiggled the tracker. The reading remained as incomprehensible as before. 'There seems to be some kind of double signal.'

'That's crazy. Are you getting two separate, distinct readings for me?'

'No. Just one impossible one.'

'It may be interference,' he told her. The way the air's shifting around in here, it could confuse the hell out of a jury-rigged machine designed to read air density. I'll push on ahead. It'll probably clear up as soon as I move.'

He rose, not seeing the massive, clawed hand rising slowly from the catwalk under him. The groping paw just missed his left foot as he continued onward. It drifted back beneath the walkway as silently as it had appeared.

Dallas had walked halfway to the end of the chamber. Now he stopped. 'Is that better, Lambert? I've moved. Am I registering any clearer now?'

'It's clear, all right.' Her voice was strained. 'But I'm still getting a double signal, and I think they're distinct. I'm not sure which one is which.'

Dallas whirled, his eyes darting around the tunnel, canvassing ceiling, floor, walls, and the large shaft opening he'd just emerged from. Then he looked back down the catwalk to the repair junction, his gaze settling on the spot where he'd been sitting just seconds ago.

He lowered the nose of the flamethrower. If he was now the front signal, having moved down the catwalk, then the cause of the double signal ought be. . his finger started to tense on the incinerator's trigger.

A hand reached up from below and behind, toward his ankle.

The alien was the front signal.

Ripley stood alone by the duct, watching it and thinking of the open airlock standing ready nearby. There was a distant ringing sound. At first she thought it was inside her head, where funny noises often originated. Then it was repeated, louder, and followed by an echo this time. It seemed to be coming from deep within the shaft. Her hands tensed on the flamethrower.

The ringing ceased. Against her better judgment she moved a little closer to the opening, keeping the nozzle of the flamethrower focused on it.

There came a recognizable sound. A scream. She recognized the voice.

Forgetting all carefully laid plans, all sensible procedure, she ran the rest of the way to the opening. 'Dallas. . Dallas!'

There were no more screams after the first. Only a soft, far-off thumping, which rapidly faded away. She checked her tracker. It displayed a single blip, the red colour also fading fast. Just like the scream.

'Oh my God. Parker, Lambert!' She rushed toward the pickup, yelled into the grid.

'Here, Ripley,' responded Lambert. 'What's going on? I just lost my signal.'

She started to say something, had it die in her throat. She suddenly remembered her new responsibilities, firmed her voice, straightened though there was no one around to see. 'We just lost Dallas. . '

The four surviving members of the Nostromo's crew reassembled in the mess. It was no longer cramped, confining. It had acquired a spaciousness the four loathed, and held memories they struggled to put aside.

Parker held two flamethrowers, dumped one onto the bare tabletop.

Ripley gazed sadly at him. 'Where was it?'

'We just found it lying there, on the floor of the mixing chamber below the walkway,' the engineer said dully. 'No sign of him. No blood. Nothing.'

'What about the alien?'

'The same. Nothing. Only a hole torn through to the central cooling complex. Right through the metal. I didn't think it was that strong.'

'None of us did. Dallas didn't either. We've been two steps behind this creature since we first brought the handstage aboard. That's got to change. From now on, we assume it's capable of anything, including invisibility.'

'No known creature is a natural invisible,' Ash insisted.

She glared back at him. 'No known creature can peel back three-centimetre-thick ship plating, either.' Ash offered no response to that. 'It's about time we all realized what we're up against.' There was silence in the mess.

'Ripley, this puts you in command.' Parker looked straight at her. 'It's okay with me.'

'Okay.' She studied him, but both his words and attitude were devoid of sarcasm. For once he'd dropped his omnipresent bullshit.

What now, Ripley, she asked herself? Three faces watched hers expectantly, waited for instructions. She searched her mind frantically for brilliance, found only uncertainty, fear, and confusion-precisely the same feelings her companions were no doubt experiencing. She began to understand Dallas a little better, and now it didn't matter.

'That's settled, then. Unless someone's got a better idea about how to deal with the alien, we'll proceed with the same plan as before.'

'And wind up the same way.' Lambert shook her head. 'No thanks.'

'You've got a better idea, then?'

'Yes. Abandon ship. Take the shuttlecraft and get the hell out of here. Take our chances on making Earth orbit and getting picked up. Once we get back in well-travelled space someone's bound to hear our SOS.'

Ash spoke softly, words better left unsaid. Lambert had forced them out of him now. 'You are forgetting something: Dallas and Brett may not be dead. It's a ghastly probability, I'll grant you, but it's not a certainty. We can't abandon ship until we're sure one way or the other.'

'Ash is right,' agreed Ripley. 'We've got to give it another try. We know it's using the air shafts. Let's take it level by level. This time we'll laser-seal every bulkhead and vent behind us until we corner it.'

'I'll go along with that.' Parker glanced over at Lambert. She said nothing, looked downcast.

'How are our weapons?' Ripley asked him.

The engineer took a moment to check levels and feedlines on the flamethrowers. 'The lines and nozzles are still plenty clean. From what I can see they're working fine.' He gestured at Dallas's incinerator on the table. 'We could use more fuel for that one.' He turned somber. 'A fair amount's been used.'

'Then you better go get some to replace it. Ash, you go with him.'

Parker looked at the science officer. His expression was unreadable. 'I can manage.' Ash nodded. The engineer cradled his own weapon, turned, and left.

The rest of them stood morosely around the table, awaiting Parker's return. Unable to stand the silence, Ripley turned to face the science officer.

'Any other thoughts? Fresh ideas, suggestions, hints? From you or Mother.'

He shrugged, looked apologetic. 'Nothing new. Still collating information.'

She stared hard at him. 'I can't believe that. Are you telling me that with everything we've got on board this ship in the way of recorded information we can't come up with something better to use against this thing?'

'That's the way it looks, doesn't it? Keep in mind this is not your average, predictable feral we're dealing with. You said yourself it might be capable of anything.

'It possesses a certain amount of mental ammunition, at least as much as a dog and probably more than a chimpanzee. It has also demonstrated an ability to learn. As a complete stranger to the Nostromo, it has succeeded in quickly learning how to travel about the ship largely undetected. It is swift, powerful, and cunning. A predator the likes of which we've never encountered before. It is not so surprising our efforts to deal with it have met with, failure.'