Alien Resurrection

by A. C. Crispin

  Number 3 had a tail and no face. She was about two years old.

  Number 4 was about four years old, had an exoskeleton, and the rigid, fanged tongue, emerging from a half-human face that couldn’t support it.

  Something fell from Ripley’s eyes; she touched her cheek. Wetness. Tears? From a monster? She almost laughed.

  Number 5 had nearly reached adulthood. There were dorsal horns, but they were clearly vestigial. The head was completely Alien, a Queen’s head, grotesquely grafted onto a twisted version of a human female body. Her tears were falling freely now.

  Eight of us. But how many hundreds, how many thousands of cells were started that never got beyond the eight-cell stage, the sixteen-cell stage? I guess they only labeled us if we reached a certain stage of advanced development.

  She thought of all the researchers working on her cells, slaving over them, week after week, month after month, year upon year. All of them dead now, fodder for their own machinations. It didn’t make her feel any better.

  She came to Number 6. Her face again on a bizarre, elongated head, but nearly adult, looking so much like her. The hands the same as her hands, with the same strange long nails. The eyes were open. Her eyes. Seeing—

  What? My future? One more monster in the collection?

  She moved on, in a nightmare world all her own.

  Number 7 was written not on a preservation tube, but on the side of a large, square, opaque unit. Ripley noticed electrical wires going into it. She saw gauges registering—something.

  Her sense of dread was overwhelming as she walked around the unit.

  It’s not a jar at all! It’s an ICU unit, complete with hydro-bed, and all the necessary equipment to…

  She started shaking wildly, her mouth open, her eyes wide in horror.

  On the bed was a living being, if you could call what this organism was experiencing, life.

  The monster had Ripley’s face on a misshapen head that grew only spare bits of brown wavy hair. Twisted limbs were in restraints, held fast, even as myriad tubes fed nutrients into the arms, keeping the thing alive. Bright, intelligent, human eyes stared at Ripley, seeing her.

  Recognizing her.

  My sister! Ripley thought, aghast.

  The mouth opened and silver fangs sat within. Ropes of clear mucus drooled from the mouth as the monster hissed her recognition.

  Then she begged. Two words. “Kill me!” She begged it from the one creature in all the universe she knew would grant her wish. The human eyes in Ripley’s face wept, huge, sticky tears that ran down her face. The monster twisted in her restraints, as if to plead, implore.

  Ripley staggered back, repulsed. She uttered a soft cry, and wept uncontrollably. Suddenly, Call was beside her. She was holding something big, something vaguely familiar.

  “It’s a flamethrower,” Call said softly. “Distephano found it in a weapons cache he knew about.”

  Ripley looked at it, blinking away her tears. It was familiar, she realized. She turned back, took a last look at her sister. The monster in the bed writhed, opening its obscene mouth, dripping ropes of sticky saliva over her chin, the bedclothes. Her eyes said everything her tortured brain couldn’t.

  Ripley loaded the gun automatically, and fired on the tethered creature. She made herself deaf to the terrible half-human, half-Alien screams, as she fired again, again, again, melting the unit, the tubes, the restraints, demolishing everything.

  She started backing out, the weapon in her hand feeling good, feeling right. She fired again, hitting each storage unit as she retreated. Alarms sounded, and the ship tried to defend itself, but there seemed to be no water available to the sprinkler system, and Ripley’s destructive rampage went unchecked. One by one the beakers exploded in a mess of plasti-glass and steel, as she kept backing away from her own development.

  She stopped only when the lab was a melted, burning mess, and the gun was empty. Ripley dropped the flamethrower at the door, then slammed it shut to contain the fire within.

  Her tears were gone. In its place was something far more deadly.

  Ripley turned on Wren.

  Glancing around desperately, he backed up, looking around for protection. But the others, having seen a glimpse of her hell, moved away from him, letting him know there would be no help for him. Only Call interceded as Ripley advanced on the doctor.

  “Ripley… don’t do it,” Call said softly.

  She froze in her tracks, then incredible weariness swamped her. She sagged. “Don’t do what?” she whispered desolately.

  The tension seeped out of the quiet group. Wren exhaled audibly, and actually had the nerve to look a little smug.

  At that instant, Call spun on him and punched him hard, right across the jaw, with all the wiry strength in her small form.

  Wren’s head snapped back, and he collapsed in a heap at Ripley’s feet.

  Ripley met the younger woman’s eyes and something passed between them, some connection. What it was, she couldn’t exactly say.

  “Don’t do that,” Call said, referring to the sucker punch that now made her flex her bruised hand. Call started on down the hall without a second glance at the crumpled scientist.

  Ripley glanced at him on the floor. His hand was on his jaw, he was shaking his head. Christie leaned over him, as if afraid that while he was down, Ripley would finish the job.

  “Had it coming, Doc,” Christie told him matter-of-factly.

  That almost made Ripley laugh. She took hold of her own gun again, and moved on after Call.

  Behind her, she could hear Johner, who’d been staring at the burning lab, ask Christie, “What’s the big deal? Fucking waste of ammo.”

  Christie only shrugged, as he helped Wren to his feet.

  Ahead of them, Call called back. “Let’s get going before anything comes to check out the noise.”

  Johner was still talking to Christie. “I just don’t get it. Must be a chick thing.”

  * * *

  With the lab complex behind them, they stood in the dark as Distephano opened a floor hatch. There was some emergency lighting down the shaft, Christie realized, but it wasn’t bright enough to see all the way into the tube.

  “We go down from here,” Distephano said unnecessarily.

  Christie turned to the wheelchair-bound man. “Vriess, we got to lose the chair.”

  “I know,” the man said tiredly, pulling coils of rope from some hiding place on the chair.

  As Call started down, following several of the others, Christie said to Vriess, “Kawlang maneuver, all right?”

  Vriess gave a short, bitter laugh. “Just like old times…”

  Christie smiled, too. They had thought that was the end of them then. They had thought that was the worst horror they could ever face…

  Now, standing in the corridor of the Auriga, Christie thought that Kawlang seemed like a day in the country.

  * * *

  Dropping off the ladder at the bottom of the shaft, Call found herself inside the cooling tower. She was knee-deep in water and wondered why. Distephano and Johner had gone ahead of her and were standing back to back in the water, guns ready, checking things out. They motioned silently for Call to move on ahead as the others came down the ladder.

  Call waded down to the end of the room, where Ripley was standing. The tall woman was looking at her hands, which were still shaking badly from the incident in the lab. Her face was etched in pain. Her eyes were red. Seeing her like this upset Call. She’d kept telling herself Ripley wasn’t human, that she didn’t actually feel anything. And now she had to face the reality. Ripley was every bit as human as Call was. She could feel, entirely too much.

  Call stopped next to her, feeling awkward, yet needing to say something. “I… I can’t imagine how that must feel.”

  Ripley looked at her somberly. “No. You can’t.”

  Call turned away, studying their surroundings. The dark, pipe-filled chamber was flooded, the water level rising. Water was cascading d
own from the ceiling, from the cooling pipes. The crew was all assembled again. At Christie’s signal they moved on, walking in water up to their knees.

  Everyone was still on hyperalert. It was wearing them down: the need to be constantly ready, the lack of rest. Call could see the tension in Johner, Hillard, the twitchy Purvis. Christie’s big body waded through the water strongly despite the fact that he was carrying Vriess on his back. They were back to back, the paralyzed man actually tied to Christie with the bonds that had been in Vriess’s chair. Vriess was inspecting the ceiling, too.

  “Must be the cooling tanks,” Vriess said. “Somebody must’ve opened the valve.”

  “The nasties couldn’t have done it,” Johner said, then hesitated. “Could they?”

  Hillard looked confused. “What for…?”

  They kept going, wading their way through.

  Finding themselves at a wall, they halted. There was a short hatchway with a stairwell leading down to the last level. The hatchway was still open, but almost completely submerged.

  “We’re at the bottom of the ship,” Wren told them. “This sector has been sealed off. We have to go down that staircase through the galley, then come back up another short service shaft, maybe twenty-five meters.”

  Call realized he meant twenty-five meters underwater.

  Christie leaned back and said to Vriess, “You ready to get wet, partner?”

  Vriess gave a short bark of a laugh. “Oh, yeah.”

  Johner looked around. “This sucks.”

  Hillard turned to Wren. “Are you sure about the distance?”

  The doctor nodded.

  Christie looked reluctant. “We should send out a scout. Ripley?”

  Call frowned at Christie. But Ripley approached the hatchway and looked it over.

  “I don’t like it,” she said softly.

  Christie agreed with her. “There’s nothing to like.”

  Then, fatalistically, Ripley shrugged her shoulders, a bemused look on her face. “Okay!” she announced, taking a gulp of air and diving smoothly underwater.

  The tanks must’ve finally gone dry, because the cascade of water died down to a dribble, then a drip.

  No one said anything or moved, just watched the hatch where Ripley had disappeared. How long could any one person hold their breath?

  Standing near Call, Distephano took a protective covering from his belt pouch and slipped it over the cylinder of his weapon. Christie was watching him. “You should do like me,” he suggested helpfully to the big man and his Siamese twin.

  Christie showed him his weapon. “These are disposables. They can take it.”

  Distephano looked interested. “Disposables. I heard about those. How many rounds?”

  “Twenty,” Christie said. Suddenly the pirate and the soldier were just two guys talking about a common interest. “Split points, give you good hole even at the smaller caliber.”

  Distephano nodded admiringly. “Cool.”

  Christie went on, as if the chatter were helping him relax from the terrible tension. “They’re big with hitters. ’Cause you throw ’em away after the job. Nobody likes throwing away a weapon they’re attached to. You know?”

  That was when the big man must’ve realized that no, Distephano wouldn’t know, that he’d gone too far. This was a career soldier. Might for right. All that patriotic stuff.

  An embarrassed silence set in. The men had nothing more to say. Vriess, from his perch on Christie’s back, busied himself inspecting the ceiling.

  The only noise Call heard now was the last of the water trickling down. Nervous about Ripley’s long absence, Call dipped her hand in the cool water and splashed some on her forehead.

  Suddenly, behind them, a rash of bubbles rose to the surface of the water. Everyone turned and tensed, weapons aimed at the spot. Seconds passed. The last bubble popped, but nothing more happened. Everyone turned back to the hatchway.

  Suddenly, Ripley emerged from the water in front of them. They all jumped. She was gulping air frantically.

  When she could find her voice, she gasped, “There was a door that was blocked about twenty meters ahead. It took me a while to get it open. I didn’t go any farther, but I could tell the surface was really near.”

  Call looked around at the others. “Do I have to tell everyone to take a deep breath?” A few of the guys smiled at her.

  “Christie,” Vriess said teasingly, “do me a favor. When we hit the surface on the other side—no backstroke, okay?”

  The big man chuckled, as the crew took in as much air as they could handle and one by one followed Ripley as she dived back under the water to lead the way.

  * * *

  Hillard and Johner were the last two to submerge. The visibility underwater was bad. The water was clear, but there were few lights still functioning in the galley, so everything was dim. Hillard didn’t like it, but she didn’t know if she would’ve liked bright light any better. The galley was vast, which limited visibility even more. She watched Wren, who was ahead of her, swim off toward the other end of the room. She didn’t trust him, and he had an advantage on them, since he evidently knew the layout of the ship.

  They rounded a corner. Still a long way to go. Hillard was starting to feel the pressure on her lungs to breathe. She resisted it. At her side, Johner swam doggedly on. Suddenly, he glanced behind them, then looked again. He slowed, falling behind, and Hillard looked to see what he was seeing.

  And nearly gasped. Two Aliens were swimming furiously after them, as agile as eels, their tails undulating effortlessly under the water.

  Johner’s eyes went wide in panic. Quickly, he loaded his weapon and fired, the force of the recoil pushing him through the water.

  The projectile shot through the water toward the beasts, hitting one of them dead center, blowing it up. The sound was muffled underwater, sounding like a heavy thump. The second Alien just kept on coming.

  Johner was in a righteous terror now, and shot off through the water like a rocket, passing Hillard, passing Ripley. It made the cloned woman turn around, and she spied the monster. Some of the others turned also, and suddenly there was general panic in the group. Except for Ripley. She gestured strongly at Hillard, urging her on, as if the pilot needed any urging.

  She’s not having any problem down here at all. It’s like she doesn’t even need to breathe! Hillard thought, kicking frantically, feeling that heavy-pressured hum in her head that kept screaming, Air! Air! Give me air!

  Hillard realized Purvis and Distephano were taking on water, choking in panic as the monster gained on all of them.

  Ripley was still gesturing at the swimmers, hurrying them. Hillard realized they were all drawing away from her—that she was lagging behind.

  I’m losing it! I need to breathe. This thing’s gonna catch me!

  She struggled not to think about it, just put all her waning energy into kicking, swimming, hurrying. She made the mistake of glancing back.

  It was so close! Two arms’ lengths and it would be on her. It bared its teeth and for Hillard, the dim light in this nightmare underwater world was all reflected back from those shiny fangs. She saw its tail lash faster.

  Panic set in, and suddenly she choked in a mouthful of water. NO! She kicked harder, more frantically.

  Powerful, inhuman fingers suddenly grabbed her ankle.

  She screamed involuntarily, releasing all the air from her lungs, then sucked in hard, desperately searching for air to fuel her shouts for help. But nothing entered her lungs except water. Huge, forceful hands gripped her legs, her waist, her torso, until she was trapped in death’s embrace. She flailed and kicked to no avail, watching the others trail away from her in the murky water as she turned to face the terror of her underwater lover.

  * * *

  Hillard’s gone! She’s gone! Call mourned as she passed through the door and saw the light from the elevator shaft beckoning her on. How many more would they lose to those bastards? Would they be picked off one by on
e until none of them were left? And with the ship still heading toward Earth, was there anything—anything—they could really do?

  She couldn’t afford to give up hope now.

  Take it one step at a time. Get to air. We gotta have air.

  She kicked hard, rocketing up toward the looming surface of the water. But just before her head emerged into the air and the light she hit something hard, something flexible and transparent.

  What—?

  She pushed against it, felt it give a little but not enough. The air was still a tantalizing six inches away. It had to be something the Aliens had spread, some kind of transparent web. But why? Out of breath, Call struggled against the transparent stuff, kicking her legs.

  The others were beside her now, fighting the web, struggling to break through. Some of them were getting stuck to it, using up the last of their strength.

  Call peered up at the tantalizing air just out of reach. There was an elevator twenty meters overhead, the bottom of it as shiny as a mirror. And then Call saw them, reflected in the elevator’s shiny bottom. At the edge of the pool, a collection of eggs laid out along the edge.

  Call couldn’t think about what lay ahead, she only knew that every one of them would die if they didn’t get to the air. She popped her damaged stiletto, still hidden up her sleeve. The melted blade still had a sharp edge. She stabbed at the web with the steel, poking a small hole into it, sawing at it wildly, widening it centimeter by painful centimeter. Johner and Christie shoved their huge hands in the hole, pulling, rending it, trying to force it to tear, but it barely budged.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the soldier, Distephano, losing it, growing limp in the water. And somewhere behind them was that thing…

  Suddenly Ripley shoved her way through the group. Grabbing the web with two hands, she heaved, and ripped it apart. The crew bobbed to the surface, their mouths opened wide, gasping and gulping and coughing huge lungfulls of the wonderful air. Beside her, Ripley, too, sucked in air, and Call was grateful that she finally showed that small bit of human need.

  As Call blinked the water out of her eyes, she glanced up at the bottom of the elevator. Her eyes opened wide as one of the eggs slowly, wetly, opened. In a sharp, explosive move, something multilegged and grotesque catapulted from it. Before anyone could react or try to get out of its way, it landed with a sickening plop right onto Ripley’s face. Purvis screamed shrilly as Ripley disappeared under the water. Call tried to follow her descent, but could only see her for several minutes before she was lost in the gloom. Her last image of Ripley was of her struggling with the thing wrapped around her face.