'Give me some room, man, or I'm liable to seal your foot to your boot.' Hudson complied, stepping back to watch her. He began to pace, staring down the empty service way and listening. He fingered the controls of his headset nervously.
'Hudson here.'
Hicks responded instantly. 'How're you two doing? We're working on the big air duct you located in the plans.'
'A and B sentries are in place and activated. Looks good Nothing comes up this tunnel they can't pick out.' Vasquez's torch hissed nearby. 'We're sealing the fire door right now.'
'Roger. When you're through, get yourselves back up here.'
'Hey, you think I want a ticket for loitering?'
Hicks smiled to himself. That sounded more like the old Hudson. He nudged the tiny mike away from his lips and adjusted the thick metal plate he was carrying so that it covered the duct opening. Ripley nodded at him and shoved her plate in place. He unlimbered a duplicate of Vasquez's welder and began sealing the plate to the floor.
Behind him, Burke and Newt worked busily, stacking containers of medicine and food in a corner. The aliens hadn't touched the colony's food supplies. More importantly the water-distillation system was still functioning. Since it was self-pressurized, no power was needed to draw it from the taps They wouldn't starve or go thirsty.
When he'd sealed down two-thirds of the plate, Hicks set the welder aside and extracted a small bracelet from a belt pouch He flicked a tiny switch set flush with the metal, and a minuscule LED came to life as he handed the circlet to Ripley.
'What is it?'
'Emergency beeper. Military version of the PDTs the colonists had surgically implanted. Doesn't have the range they do, and you wear it outside instead of inside your body, but the idea's the same. With that on I can locate you anywhere near the complex on this.' He tapped the miniature tracker that was built into his battle harness.
She studied it curiously. 'I don't need this.'
'Hey, it's just a precaution. You know.'
She regarded him quizzically for a moment, then shrugged and slipped the bracelet over her wrist. 'Thanks. You wearing one?'
He smiled and looked away. 'Only got one tracker.' He tapped his harness. 'I know where I am. What's next?'
She forgot all about the bracelet as she consulted the hard-copy printout of Hudson's schematic.
Something very strange happened while they worked. They were too busy to notice, and it was left to Newt to point it out.
The wind had died. Stopped utterly. In the unAcheronic stillness outside the colony, a diffuse mist swirled and roiled uncertainly. In two visits to Acheron this was the first time Ripley hadn't heard the wind. It was disquieting.
The absence of wind reduced outside visibility from poor to nonexistent. Fog swirled around Operations, giving the world beyond the triple-paned windows the look of being under water. Nothing moved.
In the service tunnel that connected the buildings of the colony to the processing station and each other, a pair of robot guns sat silently, their motion scanners alert and humming. C gun surveyed the empty corridor, its ARMED light flashing green. Through a hole in the ceiling at the far end of the passageway, fog swirled in. Water condensed on bare metal walls and dripped to the floor. The gun did not fire on the falling drops. It was smarter, more selective than that, able to distinguish between harmless natural phenomena and inimical movement. The water made no attempt to advance, and so the weapon held its fire, waiting patiently for something to kill.
Newt had carried boxes until she'd worn herself out. Ripley carried her from Operations into the medical wing, the small head resting wearily on the woman's shoulder. Occasionally she would try to say something, and Ripley would reply as though she understood. She was hunting for a place where the child could rest quietly and in comparative safety.
The operating theatre was located at the far end of the medical section. Much of its complex equipment sat in recesses in the walls while the rest hung from the ceiling at the tips of extensible arms. A large globe containing lights and additional surgical instrumentation dominated the ceiling. Cabinets and equipment not fastened down had been shoved into a corner to provide room for several folding metal cots.
This was where they would sleep. This was where they would retreat to if the aliens breached the outer defences. The inner redoubt. The keep. The operating room was sealed tighter and had thicker walls than any other part of the colony complex, or so the schematics Hudson had called forth insisted. It looked a lot like an oversize, high-tech vault. If they had to shoot themselves in order to keep from falling alive into the alien's hands, this was where any future rescuers would find the bodies.
But for now it was a safe haven, snug and quiet. Gently Ripley lowered the girl to the nearest cot, smiling down at the upturned face.
'Now you just lie there and have a nap. I have to go help the others, but I'll come in every chance I get to check on you. You deserve a rest. You're exhausted.'
Newt stared up at her. 'I don't want to sleep.'
'You have to, Newt. Everybody has to sometime. You'll feel better after you've had a rest.'
'But I have scary dreams.'
It struck a familiar chord in Ripley, but she managed to feign cheerfulness. 'Everybody has bad dreams, Newt.'
The girl snuggled deeper into the padded cot. 'Not like mine.'
Don't bet on it, child, she thought. Aloud she said, 'I'll bet Casey doesn't have bad dreams.' She disengaged the doll head from the girl's small fingers and made a show of peering inside. 'Just as I thought: Nothing bad in there. Maybe you could try to be like Casey. Pretend there's nothing in here.' She tapped the girl's forehead, and Newt smiled back.
'You mean, try to make it all empty-like?'
'Yes, empty-like. Like Casey.' She caressed the delicate face brushing hair back from Newt's forehead. 'If you do that, I'l bet you'll be able to sleep without having any bad dreams.'
She closed the doll head's unblinking eyes and handed it back to its owner. Newt took it, rolling her own eyes as if to say 'Don't pull that five-year-old stuff on me, lady. I'm six.'
'Ripley, she doesn't have bad dreams, because she's just a piece of plastic.'
'Oh. Sorry, Newt. Well, then, maybe you could pretend you're like her that way. Just made of plastic.'
The girl almost smiled. Almost. 'I'll try.'
'Good girl. Maybe I'll try it myself.'
Newt pulled Casey close up to her neck, looking thoughtful 'My mommy always said there were no such things as monsters No real ones. But there are.'
Ripley continued to brush isolated strands of blond hair back from the pale forehead. 'Yes, there are, aren't there?'
'They're as real as you and me. They're not make-believe and they didn't come out of a book. They're really real, not fake-real like the ones I used to watch on the video. Why do they tell little kids things like that, things that aren't true? There was a faint tinge of betrayal in her voice.
No lying to this child, Ripley knew. Not that she had the slightest intention of doing so. Newt had experienced too much reality to be fooled by a simple fib. Ripley instinctively sensed that to lie to this girl would be to lose her trust forever.
'Well, some kids can't handle it like you can. The truth, I mean. They're too scared, or their grown-ups think they'll be too scared. Grown-ups have a way of always underestimating little kids' ability to handle the truth. So they try to make things easier for them by making things up.'
'About the monsters. Did one of those things grow inside mommy?'
Ripley found some blankets and began pulling them up around the small body, tucking them tightly around narrow ribs. 'I don't know, Newt. Neither does anybody else. That's the truth. I don't think anybody will ever know.'
The girl considered. 'Isn't that how babies come? I mean people babies. They grow inside you?'
A chill went down Ripley's spine. 'No, not like that, not like that at all. It's different with people, honey. The way it gets started is differ
ent, and the way the baby comes is different With people the baby and the mother work together. With these aliens the—'
'I understand,' Newt said, interrupting. 'Did you ever have a baby?'
'Yes.' She pushed the blanket up under the child's chin. 'Just once. A little girl.'
'Where is she? Back on Earth?'
'No. She's gone.'
'You mean, dead.'
It wasn't a question. Ripley nodded slowly, trying to remember a small female thing not unlike Newt running and playing, a miracle with dark curls bouncing around her face Trying to reconcile that memory with the picture of an older woman briefly glimpsed, child and mature lady linked together through time overspent in the stasis of hypersleep. The child's father was a more distant memory still. So much of a life lost and forgotten. Youthful love marred by a lack of common sense, a brief flare of happiness smothered by reality. Divorce Hypersleep. Time.
She turned away from the bed and reached for a portable space heater. While it wasn't uncomfortable in the operating theatre, it would be more comfortable with the heater on. It looked like a slab of plastic, but when she thumbed the 'on switch, it emitted a whirr and a faint glow as its integral warming elements came to life. As the heat spread, the operating room became a little less sterile, a shade cozier. Newt blinked sleepily.
'Ripley, I was thinking. Maybe I could do you a favour and fill in for her. Your little girl, I mean. Nothing permanent. Just for a while. You can try it, and if you don't like it, it's okay. I'll understand. No big deal. Whattaya think?'
It took what little remained of Ripley's determination and self-control not to break down in front of the child. She settled for hugging her tightly. She also knew that neither of them might see the light of another dawn. That she might have to turn Newt's face away during a very possible apocalyptic last moment and put the muzzle of a pulse-rifle to those blond tresses.
'I think it's not the worst idea I've heard all day. Let's talk about it later, okay?'
'Okay.' A shy, hopeful smile.
Ripley switched off the room light and started to rise. A smal hand grabbed her arm with desperate force.
'Don't go! Please.'
With great reluctance Ripley disengaged her arm from Newt's grip. 'It'll be all right. I'll be in the other room, right next door. I'm not going to go anywhere else. And don't forget that that's there.' She indicated the miniature video pickup that was imbedded over the doorway. 'You know what that is, don't you? A small nod in the darkness.
'Uh-huh. It's a securcam.'
'That's right. See, the green light's on. Mr. Hicks and Mr Hudson checked out all the securcams in this area to make sure all of them were operating properly. It's watching you, and I'll be watching its monitor over in the other room. I'll be able to see you just as clearly in there as I can when I'm right here.'
When Newt still seemed to hesitate, Ripley unsnapped the tracer bracelet Hicks had given her. She slipped it around the girl's smaller wrist, clinching it tight.
'Here. This is for luck. It'll help me keep an eye on you too Now go to sleep—and don't dream. Okay?'
'I'll try.' The sound of a small body sliding down between clean sheets.
Ripley watched in the dim light from the instruments on standby as the girl turned onto her side, hugging the doll head and gazing through half-lidded eyes at the steadily glowing function light imbedded in the bracelet. The space heater hummed comfortingly as she backed out of the room.
Other half-opened eyes were twitching erratically back and forth. They were the only visible evidence that Lieutenant Gorman was still alive. It was an improvement of sorts. One step further from complete paralysis.
Ripley leaned over the table on which the lieutenant was lying studying the eye movements and wondering if he could recognize her. 'How is he? I see he's got his eyes open.'
'That might be enough to wear him out.' Bishop looked up from a nearby workbench. He was surrounded by instruments and shining medical equipment. The light of the single highintensity lamp he was working with threw his features into sharp relief, giving his face a macabre cast.
'Is he in pain?'
'Not according to his bioreadouts. They're hardly conclusive of course. I'm sure he'll let us know as soon as he regains the use of his larynx. By the way, I've isolated the poison. Interesting stuff. It's a muscle-specific neurotoxin. Affects only the nonvital parts of the system; leaves respiratory and circulatory functions unimpaired. I wonder if the creatures instinctively adjust the dosage for different kinds of potential hosts?'
'I'll ask one of them first chance I get.' As she stared, one eyelid rose all the way before fluttering back down again. 'Either that was an involuntary twitch or else he winked at me. Is he getting better?'
Bishop nodded. 'The toxin seems to be metabolizing. It's powerful, but the body appears capable of breaking it down. It's starting to show up in his urine. Amazing mechanism, the human body. Adaptable. If he continues to flush the poison at a constant rate, he should wake up soon.'
'Let me get this straight. The aliens paralyzed the colonists they didn't kill, carried them over to the processing station, and cocooned them to serve as hosts for more of those.' She pointed into the back room where the stasis cylinders held the remaining facehugger specimens.
'Which would mean lots of those parasites, right? One for each colonist. Over a hundred, at least, assuming a mortality rate during the final fight of about a third.'
'Yes, that follows,' Bishop readily agreed.
'But these things, the parasitic facehugger form, come from eggs. So where are all the eggs coming from? When the guy who first found the alien ship reported back to us, he said there were a lot of eggs inside, but he never said how many, and nobody else ever went in after him to look. And not all those eggs may have been viable.
'The thing is, judging from the way the colony here was overwhelmed, I don't think the first aliens had time to hau eggs from that ship back here. That means they had to come from somewhere else.'
'That is the question of the hour.' Bishop swiveled his chair to face her. 'I have been pondering it ceaselessly since the true nature of the disaster here first became apparent to us.'
'Any ideas, bright or otherwise?'
'Without additional solid evidence it is nothing more than a supposition.'
'Go ahead and suppose, then.'
'We could assume a parallel to certain insect forms who have a hive-like organization. An ant or termite colony, for example is ruled by a single female, a queen, who is the source of new eggs.'
Ripley frowned. Interstellar navigation to entomology was a mental jump she wasn't prepared to make. 'Don't insect queens come from eggs also?'
The synthetic nodded. 'Absolutely.'
'What if there was no queen egg aboard the ship that brought these things here?'
'There's no such thing in a social insect society as a "queen egg", until the workers decide to create one. Ants, bees termites, all employ essentially the same method. They select an ordinary egg and feed the pupa developing inside a special food high in certain nutrients. Among bees, for example, it is called royal jelly. The chemicals in the jelly act to change the composition of the maturing pupa so that what eventually emerges is an adult queen and not another worker Theoretically any egg can be used to hatch a queen. Why the insects choose the particular eggs they do is something we stil do not know.'
'You're saying that one of those things lays all the eggs?'
'Well, not exactly like one we're familiar with. Only if the insect analogy holds up. Assuming it does, there could be other similarities. An alien queen analogous to an ant or termite queen could be much larger physically than the aliens we have so far encountered. A termite queen's abdomen is so bloated with eggs that she can't move by herself at all. She is fed and tended by workers, mated to drones, and defended by highly specialized warriors. She is also quite harmless. On the other hand, a queen bee is far more dangerous than any worker bee because she can sting many t
imes. She is the centre of their lives, quite literally the mother of their society.
'In one respect, at least, we are fortunate that the analogy does not hold up. Ants and bees develop from eggs directly to larvae, pupae, and adults. Each alien embryo requires a live host in which to mature. Otherwise Acheron would be covered with them by now.'
'Funny, but that doesn't reassure me a whole lot. These things are a lot bigger than any ant or termite. Could they be intelligent? Could this hypothetical queen? That's something we never could decide on back on the Nostromo. We were too busy trying to keep from getting killed. Not much time for speculation.'
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