Alien 3

by Alan Dean Foster

  They had assembled at the superintendent’s request. All twenty-five of them. Hard, lean, bald, young and not so young, and those for whom youth was but a fading warm memory. Andrews sat confronting them, his second-in-command Aaron nearby. Clemens stood some distance away from both prisoners and jailers, as befitted his peculiar status.

  Two jailers, twenty-five prisoners. They could have jumped the superintendent and his assistant at any time, overpowered them with comparative ease. To what end? Revolt would only give them control of the installation they already ran. There was nowhere to escape to, no better place on Fiorina that they were forbidden to visit. When the next supply ship arrived and ascertained the situation, it would simply decline to drop supplies and would file a report. Heavily armed troops would follow, the revolutionaries would be dealt with, and all who had participated and survived would find their sentences extended.

  The small pleasures that might be gained from defiance of authority were not worth another month on Fiorina, much less another year or two. The most obdurate prisoners realized as much. So there were no revolts, no challenges to Andrews’s authority. Survival on and, more importantly, escape from Fiorina depended on doing what was expected of one. The prisoners might not be content, but they were pacific.

  Aaron surveyed the murmuring crowd, raised his voice impatiently. ‘All right, all right. Let’s pull it together, get it going. Right? Right. If you please, Mr. Dillon.’

  Dillon stepped forward. He was a leader among the imprisoned and not merely because of his size and strength. The wire rimless glasses he wore were far more an affectation, a concession to tradition, than a necessity. He preferred them to contacts, and of course the Company could hardly be expected to expend time and money to provide a prisoner with transplants. That suited Dillon fine. The glasses were antiques, a family heirloom which had somehow survived the generations intact. They served his requirements adequately.

  The single dreadlock that hung from his otherwise naked pate swung slowly as he walked. It took a lot of time and effort to keep the hirsute decoration free of Fiorina’s persistent bugs, but he tolerated the limited discomfort in order to maintain the small statement of individuality.

  He cleared his throat distinctly. ‘Give us strength, O Lord, to endure. We recognize that we are poor sinners in the hands of an angry God. Let the circle be unbroken… until the day. Amen.’ It was a brief invocation. It was enough. Upon its conclusion the body of prisoners raised their right fists, lowered them silently. The gesture was one of acceptance and resignation, not defiance. On Fiorina defiance bought you nothing except the ostracism of your companions and possibly an early grave.

  Because if you got too far out of line Andrews could and would exile you from the installation, with comparative impunity. There was no one around to object, to check on him, to evaluate the correctness of his actions. No independent board of inquiry to follow up a prisoner’s death. Andrews proposed, Andrews imposed. It would have been intolerable save for the fact that while the superintendent was a hard man, he was also fair. The prisoners considered themselves fortunate at that. It could easily have been otherwise.

  He surveyed his charges. He knew each of them intimately, far better than he would have liked to, had he been given the option. He knew their individual strengths and weaknesses, distastes and peccadilloes, the details of their case histories. Some of them were scum, others merely fatally antisocial, and there was a broad range in between. He cleared his throat importantly.

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen. There’s been a lot of talk about what happened early this morning, most of it frivolous. So you can consider this a rumour control session.

  ‘Here are the facts. As some of you know, a 337 model EEV crash-landed here at 0600 on the morning watch. There was one survivor, two dead, and a droid that was smashed beyond hope of repair.’ He paused briefly to let that sink in.

  ‘The survivor is a woman.’

  The mumbling began. Andrews listened, watched intently, trying to note the extent of reactions. It wasn’t bad… yet.

  One of the prisoners leaned over the upper railing. Morse was in his late twenties but looked older. Fiorina aged its unwilling citizens quickly. He sported a large number of gold-anodized teeth, a consequence of certain antisocial activities. The gold colour was a cosmetic choice. He seemed jumpy, his normal condition.

  ‘I just want to say that when I arrived here I took a vow of celibacy. That means no women. No sex of any kind.’ His agitated stare swept the assembly. ‘We all took the vow. Now, let me say that I, for one, do not appreciate Company policy allowing her to freely intermingle…’

  As he droned on, Aaron whispered to his superior. ‘Cheeky bastard, ain’t he, sir?’

  Finally Dillon stepped in front of his fellow prisoner, his resonant voice soft but firm. ‘What brother means to say is that we view the presence of any outsider, especially a woman, as a violation of the harmony, a potential break of the spiritual unity that gets us through each day and keeps us sane. You hear what I say, Superintendent? You take my meaning?’

  Andrews met Dillon’s gaze unflinchingly. ‘Believe me, we are well aware of your feelings in this matter. I assure you, all of you, that everything will be done to accommodate your concerns and that this business will be rectified as soon as possible. I think that’s in everyone’s best interest.’ Murmurs rose from the crowd.

  ‘You will be pleased to know that I have already requested a rescue team. Hopefully, they will be here inside of a week to evacuate her ASAP.’

  Someone in the middle spoke up. ‘A week, Superintendent? Nobody can get here that fast. Not from anywhere.’

  Andrews eyed the man. ‘Apparently there’s a ship in transit to Motinea. She’s been in the programme for months. This is an emergency. There are rules even the Company has to comply with. I’m sure they’ll contact her, kick at least a pilot out of deep sleep, and divert her our way to make the pickup. And that will put an end to that.’ He knew no such thing, of course, but it was the logical course of action for the Company to take and he felt a certain confidence in presupposing. If the ship bound for Motinea didn’t divert, then he’d deal with the situation as required. One potential crisis at a time.

  He glanced up at Clemens. ‘Have you had enough time to make an evaluation?’

  The tech crossed his arms diffidently across his chest. ‘Sort of. Best I can manage, with what we have here.’

  ‘Never mind the complaints. What’s her medical status?’

  Clemens was well aware that every eye in the room was suddenly focused on him, but he didn’t acknowledge them, keeping his attention on the superintendent. ‘She doesn’t seem too badly damaged. Mostly just bruised and banged up. One of her ribs may be broken. If so it’s only a stress fracture. What is potentially more dangerous is that she came out of deep sleep too abruptly.’ He paused to collect his thoughts.

  ‘Look, I’m just a general tech and even I can see that she’s going to need specialist attention. Somebody gets whacked out of deep sleep early, without the appropriate biophysical prep, and there can be all kinds of problems. Unpredictable side effects, latent respiratory and circulatory complications, cellular disruptions that sometimes don’t manifest themselves for days or weeks—stuff I wouldn’t begin to know how to diagnose, much less properly treat. For her sake I hope that rescue ship carries full medical facilities.’

  ‘Will she live?’ Andrews asked him.

  The tech shook his head in quiet wonder. The superintendent was good at hearing only what he wanted to hear.

  ‘Assuming nothing shows up later, I think she’ll be fine. But don’t quote me on that. Especially to a registered physician.’

  ‘What’re you afraid of?’ Someone sniggered behind him. ‘Bein’ accused of malpractice?’ Inclement laughter rose from some in the group.

  Andrews stepped on it quickly, before Clemens or anyone else could reply. ‘Look, none of us here is naive. It’s in everybody’s best interests if the woma
n doesn’t come out of the infirmary until the rescue team arrives. And certainly not without an escort. Out of sight, out of mind, right?’ No one chose to comment one way or the other. ‘So we should all stick to our set routines and not get unduly agitated. Correct? All right.’ He rose. ‘Thank you, gentlemen.’

  No one moved. Dillon turned and spoke softly. ‘Okay.’

  The assemblage began to break up, the men to return to their daily tasks. Andrews was not miffed by the slight. It was a small gesture by the prisoners, and he was willing to allow small gestures. It let some of the pressure off, mitigated their need to attempt big ones.

  The meeting had gone as well as could have been expected. He felt he’d dealt with the situation properly, putting a stop to rumour and speculation before it could get out of hand. Aaron at his side, he headed back to his office.

  A more informative response from the Company would have been helpful, however.

  Clemens found his exit blocked by Dillon. ‘Something on your mind?’

  The big man looked concerned. ‘Pill pusher. You should be careful of this woman.’

  Clemens smiled. ‘She’s not in any condition to cause much trouble. Don’t we owe all God’s children a fighting chance?’

  ‘We don’t know whose child she is.’ The two men stared at each other a moment longer. Then Dillon moved aside to let the tech pass. His gaze followed Clemens until he stepped through the portal leading to tunnel D.

  The woman lay motionless on the bed, for a change not moaning, not dreaming. Clemens checked the IV pack taped to her arm. Without knowing the specifics of her condition he’d been forced to treat her for general debilitation. In addition to glucose and sucrose the pack contained a broad range of tolerant antibiotics in solution, REM-sleep modifiers, and painkillers. The tough ID tag she’d been wearing had been damaged in the crash, so he’d been forced to treat her without the crucial information it contained. He’d monitored her carefully for any signs of rejection and was relieved when none manifested themselves. At least she wasn’t allergic to anything he’d pumped into her system so far.

  He was gratified to see that the armpack was nearly empty. That meant her body was making good use of the rehab solution. The readouts on the VS checker as he passed it over her chest and skull stayed green. Thus encouraged, he slipped a capsule into the injector and turned her arm slightly to expose more of the tricep.

  Her eyes snapped open as if she’d only been faking sleep. Startled by the speed of her reaction, he hesitated. She indicated the device in his hand.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘General site injector.’

  ‘I can see that. You know what I mean.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘A light cocktail of my own devising. Sort of an eye-opener. Adrenaline, some selected designer endorphins, a couple of mystery proteins. For flavour. I think your body’s recovered sufficiently to metabolize them. Five minutes after they’ve dispersed through your system you’ll feel a lot better than you do now.’

  She continued to eye him warily. ‘Are you a doctor?’

  He shrugged and looked away momentarily, as if the question made him uncomfortable. ‘General med tech. I’ve only got a 3-C rating. But I’m the best you’re going to find around here.’ He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he inspected her hair appraisingly. ‘I really ought to shave your head. Should’ve done it right away but I was busy with more important things.’

  This admission caused Ripley to sit bolt upright in the bed, clutching the sheet protectively to her neck.

  ‘Take it easy. I’m no murderer. Though you’ll find them here.’

  ‘Why do you have to shave my head?’

  ‘Microscopic parasites. Carnivorous arthropods. They’re endemic to Fiorina. Fortunately they don’t find humans particularly tasty, except for the keratin in our hair. For some reason they don’t have the same appetite for fingernails. Wrong consistency, maybe. We just call ’em lice, and to hell with scientific nomenclature.’

  ‘Can’t you use some kind of spray, or prophylactic shampoo, something?’ Her eyes remained fixed on the razor.

  ‘Oh, the Company tried that when they were starting up the mine, but these little suckers are tough. Anything’d have to be to make a success of it on this world. Turned out that anything strong enough to dent the parasites raised blisters on the skin. Bad enough on the scalp. Damn sight worse lower down. Shaving turned out to be a simpler, cheaper, and more effective solution. Some of the guys hang on to a little hair out of spite and fight the bugs as best they can. Eyebrows, for example. You wouldn’t think anybody would give a damn about something as ephemeral as eyebrows. But dense hair, that’s out of the question. Try to live with the lice and they’ll drive you crazy, crawling around, eating, itching—’

  ‘All right, all right,’ Ripley replied quickly. ‘I get the picture.’

  ‘I’ll give you an electric razor for downstairs. When you’re feeling better you can attend to that. The infirmary’s about the most sterile room in the installation, so you should be okay for a while, but the little buggers’ll find you eventually. They’re too small to screen out. Just shave and they won’t bother you.’ She hesitated, thoughtful, then nodded understandingly.

  ‘My name is Clemens. I’m the chief medical officer here at Fury 361.’

  Her brows knitted. ‘That doesn’t sound like a mine designation.’

  ‘Mine’s what it used to be. Last of the worthwhile ore was dug out, refined, and shipped offworld some time ago. Weyland-Yutani had this huge facility cost that forced them to abandon, so to recoup a few credits they lease the operative part of it for a maximum-security prison. Everybody benefits. Society is separated from its most undesirable undesirables and the Company gets free caretakers. Everybody benefits, except those of us who are sent here.’ He gestured with the injector. ‘Do you mind? This is just sort of a stabilizer.’

  She was feeling safe enough now to let him approach as she turned her attention to examining her surroundings. ‘How did I get here?’

  ‘You crash-landed in an EEV. Nobody knows what happened to your mothership or what caused you to be ejected. If Harry Andrews – he’s the superintendent here – knows, he isn’t saying.

  ‘Whatever catastrophe caused you to be ejected also must have damaged the landing controls on the EEV because you smacked into the bay pretty hard. We hauled it back here. I haven’t been inside myself, but if the exterior’s any indication of the kind of internal damage she suffered, you’re damn lucky to be alive, much less more or less in one piece.’

  She swallowed. ‘What about the others?’

  ‘Yeah, I was kind of wondering about that myself. Where’s the rest of the crew? Did they get off on other EEVs?’

  ‘There is no “rest of the crew,”’ she informed him tersely. ‘It’s a long story, one I don’t feel much like telling right now. I mean what about those who were in the EEV with me? How many were there?’

  ‘Two. Three if you count the android.’ He paused. ‘I’m afraid they didn’t make it.’

  ‘What?’ It wasn’t sinking in.

  ‘They didn’t survive.’

  She considered for a long moment, then shook her head brusquely. ‘I want to go to the ship. I have to see for myself.’ She started to sit up and he put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Hey, hang on. As your doctor, I have to tell you that you’re in no condition for that.’

  ‘You’re not a doctor, remember?’ She slipped out of the other side of the bed and stood waiting expectantly, quite naked. ‘You want to get me some clothes, or should I go like this?’

  Clemens took his time deciding, not entirely displeased by the opportunity to view her vertically. ‘Given the nature of our indigenous population, I would strongly suggest clothes.’ Rising, he opened a locker on the far side of the infirmary and began sorting through the contents.

  ‘Keep in mind as you gambol through our little wonderland that the prison population here is strictly mal
e and none of them have seen a woman in years. Neither have I, for that matter.’

  She waited, hand on hip, giving him the calculating eye. ‘Yeah, but I don’t have to worry about you, because you’re a not-doctor, remember?’

  He grinned in spite of himself.

  III

  Clemens noted how her eyes darted to and fro as he led her through the corridors and along the walkways. Like those of a nervous child… or sophisticated predator. She missed nothing. The slightest sound drew her instant attention. Their feet made little noise on the worn metal. The garb he’d scavenged for her was a little small, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘I’ve no idea how long you were in deep sleep, but coming out of it the way you did can be a helluva jolt to the system. Just so you don’t panic if I look at you crossways, you should know that I’m still monitoring you for possible delayed side effects. So let’s steady on as we go, Ripley.’

  She looked at him sharply. ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘It’s stencilled on the back of your shorts.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘We also found your ID tag. It was so mangled the computer could hardly read it, but we got that much off it. Unfortunately, most of your personal medical info was scrambled. I had to guess a lot.’

  Ripley rolled her shoulders forward experimentally, let her head roll from side to side. ‘Feels like you did a pretty good job. Thanks.’

  To his immense surprise he found that he was slightly embarrassed. ‘Hey, any jerk can slap on an armpack.’

  She grinned. ‘I don’t think so. It takes a specially qualified jerk.’

  The work crew was being as careful as possible with the hulk of the EEV as they eased it onto hastily raised blocks. The old crane groaned with the effort. There hadn’t been much call for its use since the mine had been shut down, and temporary reactivation for the purpose of manipulating the emergency vehicle had been a touchy process. But the machinery was responding adequately. Cables sang as the craft was gently lowered.