Alien Resurrection

by A. C. Crispin

  They rounded a corner and found themselves facing a dead end.

  It planned this! Christie thought frantically. That thing found a way to lure Elgyn, then used Elgyn to trap us. Now it’s got us all. Shit! He took a deep breath. He had to think, had to think—If they weren’t half as smart as that thing, they were dead for sure. Christie pressed himself against a wall and started inching his way to the corner. He needed to know where the hell it was now.

  Grabbing hold of Johner’s shirtsleeve, Christie towed him into position beside him. Johner had gone gray, especially around his jagged scar. But at least he was sober. Of that, Christie was sure. Johner was shaking. He’d never seen Johner tremble from fear before. He never even thought he was capable.

  “You okay?” Christie hissed at him.

  Johner blinked, took a breath. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m with you.”

  That’s what I needed to hear, the big man thought.

  Moving his head quickly around the corner, Christie glanced at the Alien. At the other end of the wall, the creature rocketed up out of the floor and started moving toward the dead Elgyn, who was sprawled across the gaping, melted hole. Christie blinked the sweat out of his eyes.

  “Is it coming?” Johner hissed at him. “Is it?”

  “Dunno. Might be after the body.”

  In the corner with the others, Hillard let out a soft moan.

  Johner was together now, Christie could feel it. He leaned around Christie, taking a look for himself.

  “Is he coming?” Christie asked.

  “Yep!” Johner said almost matter-of-factly.

  Hillard exhaled in a rush. “Oh, great!”

  “That’s what I say!” Johner said, pulling his gun up. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Christie looked at the scarred man, and the two of them grinned at each other. Then Christie sobered himself, realizing they were a hair away from hysteria.

  Christie leaned around the comer to take another look. It was coming for them all right. Eight or ten feet tall, yet as graceful as a spider, it stepped over Elgyn’s body and kept on coming.

  Until Elgyn’s body moved.

  Christie stared, disbelieving, but he could clearly see Elgyn’s sprawled body through the monster’s spindly legs. He motioned Johner to take a look. Cautiously, Hillard joined them.

  Elgyn is dead! How the hell—?

  The impossible movement must’ve confused the creature as well, because it turned back, leaned over the corpse. It almost seemed to be sniffing at it. The corpse moved again, heaving slightly. Christie was all too aware of the various, strange things a body could do after death, but this sure wasn’t on the list.

  Now the monster was sniffing the huge hole in Elgyn’s chest. The body rocked slightly as it did, then suddenly, the barrel of a rifle eased out of the hole! Christie blinked, then looked at Johner who was staring just as wide-eyed as he was.

  The Alien didn’t know what to make of it either. It sniffed the muzzle, then pulled back its lips in a snarl. The barrel suddenly tapped the monster brazenly on its massive head.

  Then it fired.

  The blast blew its head all to hell and back, and the Betty crew dodged back around the corner to avoid being spattered. Christie was the first one back to look. The monster had crumpled to the floor and everything its blood had touched was now melting. Christie edged warily around the corner, his gun ready. Johner was right beside him. Then the others came to see.

  The rifle barrel jutting from Elgyn’s body disappeared back through the hole, then the body itself heaved upward and fell over on its side.

  Two slender hands appeared on the lip of the hole and deposited the rifle there, then the gunner levered up out of the floor. Christie was shocked to see that the shooter was the woman who’d beaten the shit out of them earlier—the woman they’d called “Ripley.” She hauled herself up in one smooth move, brushed herself off in a casual way, and shouldered the strap of her gun as if she’d always worn one.

  Christie glanced at Johner. He didn’t look like he was the least bit interested in putting the make on her now.

  No one moved for a long moment until the woman suddenly knelt over Elgyn’s body, and started searching him.

  Hillard suddenly went tearing up the hall, heedless of any danger. She was furious, as if this woman were the cause of all their problems. “Leave him alone!” she shouted.

  Christie flinched, wondering how many of those things might be out there, how many might be drawn by their voices.

  Ripley barely spared Hillard a glance. Impassive as always, she discovered a handful of ammo in Elgyn’s pockets and appropriated it, putting it in her own. Then she straightened up and loaded her rifle, checking it professionally. The rest of them might as well have been invisible.

  Call suddenly found her voice. Christie could hear her mutter, “Okay… real slow now. What. The. Fuck…?”

  Ripley looked at them all then, for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, without a word, she approached the monster’s corpse. Bending over its head she actually reached into its mouth. Its maw was open, oozing a clear, sticky liquid, and the beast was still twitching in its death throes.

  Christie heard a soft sound beside him and realized to his shock that it came from Johner. The scarred man’s eyes were wide with revulsion. That’s right. Man, Johner hates bugs, and that thing looks like the mutha of all bugs!

  Without warning, Ripley grabbed hold of the Alien’s tongue. Bellowing a fierce battle cry, she yanked with inhuman force and ripped the rigid, fanged tongue right out of the monster’s head!

  While the rest of them just stood and stared, Ripley walked over to Call and dumped the hideous, dripping thing in the smaller woman’s hands.

  “Here,” Ripley said casually. “It’ll make a great necklace.” Then she sauntered a few yards away.

  Call stared in horror at her “gift” and let it fall to the floor. Every last one of them shuddered.

  Wren, Christie suddenly realized, was trying to keep the entire group between himself and Ripley, but she seemed to be paying him no mind.

  In a shaky voice, Johner asked Christie, “What do we do?”

  The black man shrugged. “Same thing we were doing. We get the fuck outta here.”

  “What if there’s more?” Johner asked, his eyes wide and feverishly bright. “Let’s… let’s stay here and let the army guys deal with it. Someone will come… I mean… where are the army guys?”

  Christie didn’t like seeing Johner this rattled. He was going to need him if they were ever to get out of this.

  “They’re dead,” Call said. She sounded sure of herself, and Christie wasn’t in any position to argue with her. After all, they sure hadn’t seen any soldiers since they’d left the mess hall.

  Johner suddenly focused on Wren, and his expression grew grim. He approached the scientist, gun drawn. The soldier, Distephano, stepped in his way, in spite of the fact that he was unarmed. Johner ignored him, his eyes, his anger, his fear, all directed at Wren. Call had said that he was the one responsible for creating the Aliens, and Johner must’ve just remembered that.

  “We don’t need this asshole anymore,” Johner growled. “Let’s waste him.”

  “Step back!” Distephano ordered futilely.

  Johner brought his weapon up, aimed at the soldier’s face. Distephano never flinched, but Wren cringed.

  “Stop it!” Call ordered, pushing her way over.

  Johner spun on her, furious, a hair trigger away from exploding. “You got no authority here!”

  The short, slight woman didn’t back down. Getting right up in Johner’s face, she demanded, “We’re not killing anybody, except in self-defense!”

  Reluctantly, Christie realized it was time to get involved. He spoke to Wren. “Doctor. That thing. That’s your pet science project?”

  In a small voice, Wren admitted, “Yes.”

  “And there’s others?” Christie guessed. Wren nodded. “How many?”

  The doct
or glanced around nervously, and Christie realized he was still worried about Ripley, who was now crouched on the floor several meters away. In a barely audible voice, he murmured, “Twenty.”

  Johner nearly lost it. “Twenty! We’re fucked in our pink bottoms if there’s twenty of those things!”

  Everyone started talking all at once, nearly panicked, until Ripley’s calm voice cut through. “There’ll be more. Lots more.”

  They all looked at her.

  “They’ll breed,” she told them. “In a few hours there’ll be twice that number. Probably more.”

  She rose gracefully from her crouch and approached them. Without showing any more emotion than she had over anything else, she said, “So, who do I have to fuck to get off this boat?”

  None of them answered. She made them edgy, nervous. In spite of the fact that she’d saved them from the beast, none of them felt the least bit comfortable having her around.

  Suddenly Call stepped forward, pointing at Ripley. “Wait a second here. She was the host for these monsters. Wren cloned her ’cause she had one of those inside her.”

  “That explains a lot,” Christie muttered to Johner.

  “She’s too much of a risk,” Call insisted. “Leave her here.”

  Johner was nodding. “I gotta go with Call on this one.”

  Bad idea, Christie decided. We need her. He didn’t know why, he just knew, and he was used to following his gut-level instincts, especially when things got tight. Without Elgyn, they had no leadership. Someone had to make a command decision. They were all looking at him. Man, he didn’t want this job!

  Glaring at the whole group, Christie ordered, “She comes.”

  Call spun on him, shocked. “She’s not human! She’s part of Wren’s experiment! She could turn on us in a second.”

  Christie watched Ripley through it all. Still that same dispassionate cool. And her eyes—those predator eyes… They were losing valuable time with all this arguing. Twenty of those things?

  He turned on the entire group. “I don’t give a good goddamn whether you people can get along or not. If we’re gonna survive this mess, we all work together. We all get off this boat. After that, it’s every man for his lonesome self.” Impulsively, he reached down, picked up Elgyn’s rifle, and handed it to Distephano. Johner stared at him in outrage, but Christie ignored him. The soldier nodded at him in gratitude and checked the rounds.

  Call was looking at Ripley. “You can’t trust her,” she warned Christie one last time.

  Christie looked at Ripley, then at Distephano, then at Call. “I don’t trust anyone.”

  Hillard, who had been quiet through the whole thing, her attention focused on her dead lover, covered Elgyn’s face with her coat.

  Johner suddenly realized they were leaving their old comrade on foreign ground without burial, and his face twisted in an expression that might have been regret. “Vaya con Dios, man.”

  Hillard touched Elgyn’s hand one last time, then stood up. Call touched her shoulder lightly, trying to comfort her, but Hillard moved away from the gesture, a distrustful look on her face.

  Ripley, Christie noticed, was willing to bring up the rear, Elgyn’s last position. She was watching them all with an expression of fascinated detachment. He noted Call glancing back at her, and Ripley giving her a cold smile. The woman’s expression made him shiver.

  “Okay, everybody, let’s move out,” Christie ordered, taking point once more. Leaving their captain and friend behind, they proceeded on to the Betty.

  * * *

  This is the cell block, Christie thought, as they moved into it. Lotsa doors. Plenty of places for those damn things to hide. Since they’d left the hallway where Elgyn died, they hadn’t seen a single Alien. Every place they’d checked had been empty, deserted, but the looming sense of something seemed to be following them. Maybe it was just Ripley, bringing up the rear. Christie didn’t know, but by now they were all wired for light and sound, waiting for anything.

  At least they were acting more like a unit instead of a ragtag bunch of stragglers. Behind him, he knew Johner, Hillard, Distephano, and even Call—in spite of the fact that she was weaponless—were checking every door, every space behind every piece of furniture.

  As Christie passed by a closed elevator, he began thinking that maybe, just maybe they would make it. Then, five meters past the elevator, a chime went off.

  The elevator! Christie thought, freezing in place, as did everyone else.

  Slowly, he readied his weapon, hearing the clicks and whirs as everyone else followed suit.

  As the elevator doors slowly opened, Christie turned to face them. The others were already in position, guns pointing toward the opening elevator doors. No one moved. No one breathed.

  The interior of the elevator was dark, too dark to see.

  Sparks suddenly shot out of the elevator ceiling, making everyone jump, and a light began flickering. In the uneven illumination, Christie saw something folded up, hunkering in the back. At the exact same moment, every person who was armed lifted his weapon.

  With a blast of light, the overhead neon bulbs suddenly ignited, throwing bright white light everywhere.

  Sitting in the elevator was Vriess, a shotgun in his arms, sighted, ready. His eyes were wide in terror, and he was trembling wildly, sweat pouring off him.

  Vriess and the crew all stood there aiming at one another for a long second, each of them not recognizing the other as being human. Then at the same time, the realization hit, and everyone exhaled in relief and lowered their arms.

  Johner gasped, “Oh, man!”

  “Vriess!” Call called out happily, and ran over to him.

  Vriess grinned weakly and said shakily, “Hey, wha’chu guys doin’? Hey, Call.”

  Christie wiped sweat off his forehead. “Thought you were toast for certain.”

  Vriess’s voice told them everything about his experience they’d ever want to know. “You… you’ve seen that fucking thing?”

  “We’ve seen ’em,” Christie replied grimly.

  “Shit,” Vriess said. “I thought maybe I got ’em all.”

  Christie shook his head, noticing the burn marks on Vriess’s leg and ear. Yeah, his friend had obviously had a real close encounter.

  Johner turned to Wren and demanded, “Can we track those things?”

  Wren shook his head. “No.”

  You tellin’ the truth there, Doc, or not? Christie wondered.

  Johner looked at Christie, really worried now. “We could get to the Betty, and they could be all over it! Maybe inside it!”

  Wren decided to be helpful. “All of the activity seems to have been in the aft sector, by the barracks. There’s no reason to suppose they’d move.”

  Christie watched the doctor doubtfully.

  Then Ripley spoke up. “They won’t move.”

  There was a certainty in her voice that Christie found himself believing. The crew was looking at her, still nervous about who and what she was.

  “They’re breeding,” Ripley told them, in that flat, dead voice of hers. “They’ve got new host bodies to use. They’ll stay close. If they send anybody out, it’ll be here. Where the… meat is.”

  If they send anybody out. Christie mulled that over. Like they’re people who can think, plan—but maybe they can.

  “The ‘meat,’” Call said in disgust. “Jesus.”

  Christie wanted to know more. He didn’t care about the terms. “They’re breeding. How long does that take?” He didn’t bother asking Wren. He knew a reliable source when he saw one.

  “Hours,” Ripley said.

  “Or less,” Wren added. They all looked at him. “The process has accelerated. Something to do with…” He glanced guiltily at Ripley. “…With the cloned cells.”

  Her expression closed down even more.

  Okay. Now we know. “Faster we get from here to there, the better,” Christie decided.

  Johner spoke directly to him. “Well, if we want t
o make decent time, I say we ditch the cripple.” He cocked a thumb in Vriess’s direction, then glanced at the man and grinned shamelessly. “No offense.”

  Vriess grinned back bitterly and flipped his middle finger. “None taken.”

  Before Christie could tell Johner to go fuck himself, Hillard moved forward. She’d been morose, mourning Elgyn, and seemed to be blaming both Call and Ripley. Christie had worried that, in a pinch, her depression would be a liability. She was holding her head up now, and some of her spirit seemed to rally.

  “Nobody’s left behind,” she ordered firmly, “not even you, Johner.” Her voice was steady, if quiet and sad. Nobody dared defy her.

  Christie turned to Distephano. “What’s the best route?”

  He thought for a second. “The elevators. They run straight from the top of the ship down to engineering. No stops. But if we get in the shaft, there’s a maintenance access tunnel that runs above level one deck. It’ll take us right to the dock.”

  Christie nodded. “Sounds reasonable. How do we reach them?”

  Distephano pointed. “Down this corridor, then we angle over and cut through the labs. We can shortcut through them to the elevators.

  “Right,” said Christie. “Let’s do it.”

  Vriess suddenly started moving in his chair, unhooking and unsnapping parts of it. His weapons. He assembled them quickly, efficiently. Snap, snap, snap. A veritable arsenal was stashed away on the chair, right in plain sight. Christie had to smile.

  Vriess caught his friend’s amused look. “They never check the chair.”

  Distephano stared, chagrined.

  “Call,” Vriess said sharply. She looked up, and he tossed her a small but deadly weapon perfectly suited to her size.

  “How come she gets a piece?” Johner groused.

  Christie ignored him. “If we’re clear, then let’s get on it. We’ll go by twos.”

  Just as they started to move out, that flat, dead voice stopped them as Ripley said simply, “We’re moving.”

  “What?” Christie asked, confused.

  “The ship is moving,” Ripley stated. “I can feel it.” She can feel it? Christie thought, nonplussed.

  Wren shook his head. “This ship has stealth-run. Even if we were moving, there’s no way she could feel it.”