Aliens

by Alan Dean Foster

  They fanned out, the lights from their suits illuminating overturned tables and cabinets, broken chairs and expensive surgical equipment. Smaller medical instruments littered the floor like steel confetti. Additional tables and furniture had been piled, bolted, and welded to the inside of the barricade that once had sealed the wing off from the rest of the complex Black streaks showed where untended fire had flamed, and the walls were pockmarked with holes from pulse-rifle fire and acid.

  Despite the absence of lights, the wing wasn't completely energy-dead. A few isolated instruments and control boards glowed softly with emergency power. Wierzbowski ran a gloved hand over a hole in the wall the size of a basketball.

  'Last stand. They threw up that barricade and holed up in here.'

  'Makes sense.' Gorman kicked an empty plastic bottle aside It went clattering across the floor. 'Medical would have the longest-lasting emergency power supply plus its own stock of supplies. This is where I'd come also. No bodies?'

  Frost was sweeping the far end of the wing with his light. 'I didn't see any when I came in here, sir, and I don't see any now. Looks like it was a fight.'

  'Don't see any of your bad guys, either, Ripley.' Wierzbowski looked up and around. 'Hey, Ripley?' His finger tensed on the pulse-rifle's trigger. 'Where's Ripley?'

  'Over here.'

  The sound of her voice led them into a second room. Burke examined their new surroundings briefly before pronouncing identification. 'Medical lab. Looks pretty clean. I don't think the fight got this far. I think they lost it in the outer room.'

  Wierzbowski's eyes roved the emergency-lit chamber unti they found what had attracted Ripley's attention. He muttered something under his breath and walked toward her. So did the others.

  At the far side of the lab seven transparent cylinders glowed with violet light. Combined with the fluid, they contained the light served to preserve the organic material within. All seven cylinders were in use.

  'It's a still. Somebody makes booze here,' Gorman said Nobody laughed.

  'Stasis tubes. Standard equipment for a colony med lab this size.' Burke approached the glass cylinders.

  Seven tubes for seven specimens. Each cylinder held something that looked like a severed hand equipped with too many fingers. The bodies to which the long fingers were attached were flattened and encased in a material like beige leather, thin and translucent. Pseudo-gills drifted lazily in the stasis suspension fluid. There were no visible organs of sight or hearing. A long tail hung from the back of each abomination trailing freely in the liquid. A couple of the creatures held their tails coiled tightly against their undersides.

  Burke spoke to Ripley without taking his eyes off the specimens. 'Are these the same as the one you described in your report?' She nodded without speaking.

  Fascinated, the Company rep moved toward one cylinder leaning forward until his face was almost touching the special glass.

  'Watch it, Burke,' Ripley warned him.

  As she concluded the warning the creature imprisoned in the tube lunged sharply, slamming against the inner lining of the cylinder. Burke jumped back, startled. From the ventra portion of the flattened hand-like body a thin, fleshy projection had emerged. It looked like a tapered section of intestine as it slithered tongue-like over the tube's interior. Eventually it retracted, curling up inside a protective sheath between the gill-like structures. Legs and tail contracted into a resting position.

  Hicks glanced emotionlessly at Burke. 'It likes you.'

  The Company rep didn't reply as he moved down the line inspecting each of the cylinders in turn. As he passed a tube he would press his hand against the smooth exterior. Only one of the remaining six specimens reacted to his presence. The others drifted aimlessly in the suspension fluid, their fingers and tails floating freely.

  'These are dead,' he said when he'd finished with the last tube. 'There's just two alive. Unless there's a different state they go into, but I doubt it. See, the dead ones have a completely different colour. Faded, like.'

  A file folder rested atop each cylinder. By exerting every ounce of self-control she possessed, Ripley was able to remove the file from the top of a tube containing a live face-hugger Retreating quickly, she opened the folder and began reading with the aid of her suit light. In addition to the printed material the file was overflowing with charts and sonographs. There were a couple of nuclear magnetic resonance image plates which attempted to show something of the creatures' internal structure. They were badly blurred. All of the lengthy computer printouts had copious notes scribbled freehand in the margins. A physician's handwriting, she decided. They were mostly illegible.

  'Anything interesting?' Burke was leaning around the stasis cylinder whose file she was perusing, studying the creature it contained from every possible angle.

  'Probably a great deal, but most of it's too technical for me. She tapped the file. 'Report of the examining physician. Doctor named Ling.'

  'Chester O. Ling.' Burke tapped the tube with a fingernail This time the creature inside failed to respond. 'There were three doctors stationed at Hadley. Ling was a surgeon, I believe. What's he have to say about this little prize here?'

  'Removed surgically before embryo implantation could be completed. Standard surgical procedures useless.'

  'Wonder why?' Gorman was as interested in the specimen as the rest of them but not to the point of taking his eyes off the rest of the room.

  'Body fluids dissolved the instruments as they were applied They had to use surgical lasers to both remove and cauterize the specimen. It was attached to somebody named Marachuk John L.' She glanced up at Burke, who shook his head.

  'Doesn't ring a bell. Not an administrator or one of the higher-ups. Must've been a tractor driver or roustabout.'

  She looked back down at the report. 'He died during the procedure. They killed him getting it off.'

  Hicks walked over to have a look at the report, peering over Ripley's shoulder. He didn't have the chance to read it. His motion tracker emitted an unexpected and startlingly loud beep.

  The four soldiers spun, checking first the entrance to the lab, moving on to squint at dark corners. Hicks aimed the tracker back toward the barricade.

  'Behind us.' He gestured toward the corridor they'd just left.

  'One of us?' Without thinking, Ripley moved closer to the corporal.

  'No way of telling. This baby isn't a precision instrument She's made to take a lot of abuse from dumb grunts like me and still keep on working, but she doesn't render judgments.'

  Gorman addressed his headset pickup. 'Apone, we're up in medical and we've got something. Where are your people?' He gave his visor map a quick scan. 'Anybody in D-Block?'

  'Negative.' All of them could hear the sergeant's filtered reply. 'We're all over in Operations, as ordered. You want some company?'

  'Not yet. We'll keep you posted.' He nudged the aural pickup away from his mouth. 'Let's go, Vasquez.'

  She nodded tersely and swung the smartgun into the ready position on its support arm. It locked in place with an authoritative click. She and Hicks started off in the direction o the signal source while Frost and Wierzbowski brought up the rear.

  The corporal led them back out into the main corridor and turned right, into a stainless-steel labyrinth. 'Getting stronger Definitely not mechanical.' He held the tracker firmly in one hand, cradled his rifle with the other. 'Irregular movement Where the heck are we, anyway?'

  Burke surveyed their surroundings. 'Kitchen. We'll be in among the food-processing equipment if we keep going this way.'

  Ripley had slowed until she fell behind Wierzbowski and Frost. Realizing suddenly that there was nothing behind her but darkness, she hurried to catch up to her companions.

  Burke's appraisal was confirmed as they advanced and their lights began to bounce off the shiny surfaces of bulky machinery: freezers, cookers, defrosters, and sterilizers. Hicks ignored it all, intent on his tracker.

  'It's moving again.'

>   Vasquez's gaze was cold as she scanned her environment Plenty of cover in here. Her fingers caressed the smartgun's controls. A long preparation table loomed in their path.

  'Which way?'

  Hicks hesitated briefly, then nodded toward a complicated array of machinery designed to process freeze-dried meats and vegetables. The soldiers advanced on it, their tread a deliberate, solemn march. Wierzbowski stumbled over a metal canister and angrily booted it aside, sending it clanging off into the shadows. He kept his balance and his aplomb, but Ripley half climbed the nearest wall.

  The corporal's tracker was beeping steadily now, almost humming. The hum rose to a sharp whine. A pile of stockpots suddenly came crashing down off to their right, and a dim shape was faintly glimpsed moving through the shadows behind the preparation counters.

  Vasquez pivoted smoothly, her finger already contracting on the trigger. At the same instant Hick's rifle slammed the heavier barrel upward. Tracer fire ripped into the ceiling sending droplets of molten metal flying. She whirled and screamed at him.

  Ignoring her, he hurried forward into her line of fire and aimed his bright-light under a row of metal cabinets. He stayed like that for what seemed a short eternity before beckoning for Ripley to join him. Her legs wouldn't work, and her feet seemed frozen to the floor. Hicks gestured again, more urgently this time, and she found herself moving forward in a daze.

  He was bending over, trying to work his light beneath a high storage locker. She crouched down next to him.

  Pinned against the wall by his light like a butterfly on a mounting pin was a tiny, terrified figure. Filthy and staring, the little girl cowered away from the intruders. In one hand she held a plastic food packet that had been half gnawed. The other clutched tight the head of a large doll, holding it by its hair. Of the remainder of the plastic body there was no sign. The child was as emaciated as she was dirty, the skin taut around her smal face. She looked far more fragile than the doll's head she carried. Her blond hair was tangled and matted, a garland of steel wool framing her face.

  Ripley tried but couldn't hear her breathing.

  The girl blinked against the light, the brief gesture sufficient to jump-start Ripley's mind. She extended a hand toward the waif slowly, fingers closed, and smiled at her.

  'Come on out,' she said soothingly. 'It's all right. There's nothing to be afraid of here.' She tried to reach farther behind the cabinet.

  The girl retreated from the extending fingers, backing away and trembling visibly. She had the look of a rabbit paralyzed by oncoming headlights. Ripley's fingers almost reached her. She opened her hand, intending to gently caress the torn blouse.

  Like a shot, the girl bolted to her right, scuttling along beneath the cabinetry with incredible agility. Ripley dove forward, scrambling on elbows and knees as she fought to keep the child in view. Outside the cabinets Hicks crabbed frantically sideways until a small gap appeared between two storage lockers. He snapped out a hand, and his fingers locked around a tiny ankle. An instant later he drew it back.

  'Ow! Watch it, she bites.'

  Ripley reached for the other retreating foot and missed. A second later the girl reached a ventilation duct whose grille had been kicked out. Before Hicks or anyone else could make another grab for her, she'd scrambled inside, wriggling like a fish. Hicks didn't even try to follow. He wouldn't have fit through the narrow opening stark naked, much less clad in his bulky armour.

  Ripley dove without thinking, squirming into the duct with her arms held out in front of her, moving with thighs and arms. Her hips barely cleared the opening. The girl was just ahead of her, still moving. As Ripley followed, her breathing loud in the confined tunnel, the child slammed a metal hatch in place ahead of her. With a lunge Ripley reached the barrier and shoved it open before it could be latched from the other side. She cursed as she banged her forehead against the metal overhead.

  Shining her light ahead, she forgot the pain. The girl was backed against the far end of a small spherical chamber, one of the colony's ventilation system's pressure-relief bubbles. She was not alone.

  Surrounding her were wadded-up blankets and pillows mixed with a haphazard collection of toys, stuffed animals dolls, cheap jewellery, illustrated books, and empty food packets. There was even a battery-operated disk player muffled by cut-up pillows. The entire array was the result o the girl's foraging through the complex. She'd hauled it back to this place by herself, furnishing her private hideaway according to her own childish plan.

  It was more like a nest than a room, Ripley decided.

  Somehow this child had survived. Somehow she had coped with and adapted to her devastated environment when all the adults had succumbed. As Ripley struggled with the import of what she was seeing, the girl continued to edge around the back wall. She was heading for another hatch. If the conduit it barred was no bigger in diametre than the cover protecting it the girl would be out of their grasp. Ripley saw that she could never enter it.

  The child turned and dove, and Ripley timed her own lunge to coincide. She managed to get both arms around the girl locking her in a bear hug. Finding herself trapped, the girl went into a frenzy, kicking and hitting and trying to use her teeth. It was not only frightening, it was horrifying: because, as she fought, the child stayed dead silent. The only noise in the confined space as she struggled in Ripley's grasp was her frantic breathing, and even that was eerily subdued. Only once in her life had Ripley had to try to control someone small who'd fought with similar ferocity, and that was Jones, when she'd had to take him to the vet.

  She talked to the child as she kept clear of slashing feet and elbows and small sharp teeth. 'It's okay, it's okay. It's over you're going to be all right now. It's okay, you're safe.'

  Finally the girl ran out of strength, slowing down like a failing motor. She went completely limp in Ripley's arms almost catatonic, and allowed herself to be rocked back and forth. It was hard to look at the child's face, to meet her traumatized, vacant stare. Lips white and trembling, eyes darting wildly and seeing nothing, she tried to bury herself in the adult's chest, shrinking back from a dark nightmare world only she could see.

  Ripley kept rocking the girl back and forth, back and forth cooing to her in a steady, reassuring voice. As she whispered she let her gaze roam the chamber until it fell on something lying on the top of the pile of scavenged goods. It was a framed solido of the girl, unmistakable and yet so different. The child in the picture was dressed up and smiling, her hair neat and recently shampooed, a bright ribbon shining in the blond tresses. Her clothing was immaculate and her skin scrubbed pink. The words beneath the picture were embossed in gold:

  FIRST-GRADE CITIZENSHIP AWARD REBECCA JORDEN

  'Ripley. Ripley?' Hicks voice, echoing down the air shaft 'You okay in there?'

  'Yes.' Aware they might not have heard her, she raised her voice. 'I'm okay. We're both okay. We're coming out now.'

  The girl did not resist as Ripley retraced her crawl feet first dragging the child by the ankles.

  VII

  The girl sat huddled against the back of the chair, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked neither right nor left, nor at any of the adults regarding her curiously. Her attention was focused on a distant point in space. A biomonitor cuff had been strapped to her left arm. Dietrich had been forced to modify it so that it would fit properly around the child's shrunken arm.

  Gorman sat nearby while the medtech studied the information the cuff was providing. 'What's her name again?'

  Dietrich made a notation on an electronic caduceus pad 'What?'

  'Her name. We got a name, didn't we?'

  The medtech nodded absently, absorbed by the readouts 'Rebecca, I think.'

  'Right.' The lieutenant put on his best smile and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. 'Now think, Rebecca Concentrate. You have to try to help us so that we can help you. That's what we're here for, to help you. I want you to take your time and tell us what you remember. Anything at all. T
ry to start from the beginning.'

  The girl didn't move, nor did her expression change. She was unresponsive but not comatose, silent but not mute. A disappointed Gorman sat back and glanced briefly to his left as Ripley entered carrying a steaming coffee mug.

  'Where are your parents? You have to try to—'

  'Gorman! Give it a rest, would you?'

  The lieutenant started to respond sharply. His reply faded to a resigned nod. He rose, shaking his head. 'Total brainlock Tried everything I could think of except yelling at her, and I'm not about to do that. It could send her over the edge. If she isn't already.'

  'She isn't.' Dietrich turned off her portable diagnostic equipment and gently removed the sensor cuff from the girl's unresisting arm. 'Physically she's okay. Borderline malnutrition, but I don't think there's any permanent damage. The wonder of it is that she's alive at all, scrounging unprocessed food packets and freeze-dried powder.' She looked at Ripley 'You see any vitamin packs in there?'