The Complete Aliens Omnibus

by Michael Jan Friedman

  “I’m just letting you know,” she said, “your friend is meat. You’d do better to forget about him.”

  Shepherd’s jaw muscles rippled. “Benedict is my responsibility. I don’t abandon people.”

  Ripley felt something stiffen inside her. I don’t either. But they always seemed to find a way to die anyway.

  Like Newt. And Hicks. She thought she had saved them from the aliens—those two, if no one else. But they had perished when their evac vehicle crash landed on Fiorina.

  Call came forward. “If you go after Benedict,” she explained to Shepherd, “the alien will get you too.”

  “How can you be so certain the creature has gotten hold of him?” Philipakos asked.

  “We’re not new to this,” said the android. “If you want to survive, you’ll follow our lead.”

  Philipakos turned to Ripley again and studied her face. Then he said in a soft voice, “Get Benedict and bring him back here, Shep. As quickly as possible.”

  “Done,” said Shepherd, and made for the exit again.

  “You don’t get it,” Call snapped at Philipakos. “You send him out there, you’ll lose him too.”

  The administrator looked torn, but he said, “We’ll have to take that risk.”

  Ripley sighed. Why do people always have to learn the hard way? “Go with him,” she told Call.

  Call shot a glance at her, as if to say, Why me?

  Because you’re more durable than the others, and because you’ve faced the aliens before. Besides, Ripley had something else in mind for herself and Johner.

  “Go,” she told Call.

  “I’m going,” her comrade said reluctantly. Then she followed Shepherd out of the control center.

  “I don’t understand,” said the smallest of the botanists, a woman who looked more like a little girl than an adult. “If this life-form is too dangerous for Shepherd to confront, why isn’t it too dangerous for your friend?”

  Johner laughed. It was an ugly sound, even when one had gotten used to it. “Call is a lot tougher than she looks.”

  “In the meantime,” said Ripley, “we’ve got to evacuate the rest of you, and some of you won’t make it up the chains we dropped. Is there another way out besides your supply bay?”

  Philipakos nodded. “There’s a backup. As far as we know, it’s still working. But it’s way on the other side of the colony, at the far end of Dome Sixteen.”

  Ripley considered the information. “What kind of ground vehicles do you have here?”

  “We call them flivvers,” said Philipakos. “They’re actually solar-powered Wal-Mart Runabouts. Not much in the speed department, but they get us around.”

  “Where are they?” she asked.

  “Parked outside,” said Cody. “One of them’s still got Pandor’s bloody body in it.”

  Philipakos heaved a sigh. “Poor Elijah.”

  “All right,” said Ripley. “Krakke is going to stay here, in case the alien gets in somehow.”

  “What?” said the man with the sharp features. “How can it do that? Everything’s locked.”

  Ripley ignored him. “Call and Shepherd will be taking a flivver?” she asked Philipakos.

  The botanist nodded.

  “Then Johner and I will take the other one, and check the backup supply bay.”

  “What about Pandor?” asked Cody.

  “He won’t be coming with us,” said Ripley.

  * * *

  Simoni waited until he was sure the others were in the Betty’s cockpit, occupied with one thing or another. Then he made his way back to the cargo hold and approached the docking port.

  It made him sick to his stomach to see the way Ripley’s extended chain made an unnatural turn and projected forward into the depths of the dome. As if it were held there by magic, he thought, and that made him even queasier.

  To that point, he had always been certain of up and down, if nothing else. Now he didn’t know what was going on.

  But that isn’t going to stop me, he thought.

  Down in the dome, the tops of the trees looked restless in what must have been an artificial breeze. As if they knew their sanctum had been invaded and were uncomfortable with the idea.

  Even if that were so, one more invader wouldn’t hurt. Especially if he’s just there to observe all the others.

  Simoni wrapped his fingers around the chain at the point just before it entered the dome’s grav field and made its turn. If it held the likes of Johner, it would certainly hold him.

  He could take it all the way down to the ground. Then he could go wherever Ripley and her companions had gone. And there wasn’t a single person there to stand in his way. It was a heady thought, a thought that invited possibilities.

  Simoni hadn’t subjected himself to any serious physical exertion in a long time. Certainly, he hadn’t done any climbing, and returning up the chain might present a problem.

  On the other hand, there was a chance they could fix the colony’s supply hatch, and then he wouldn’t have to climb back. He could leave the place like a civilized being, on his own two feet.

  But he couldn’t count on that. So if you go down, he admonished himself, you have to be prepared to go up again.

  He pictured Ripley down among the trees, a shock rifle in her arms, hunting as she had hunted in centuries past. It would make his piece that much more compelling if he could see her in that mode, bring it to life.

  Then he again considered the climb back, and his stomach clenched. Nor would it stop clenching.

  In the end, Simoni’s curiosity was more powerful than his sense of self-preservation. But then, that was why he had become a reporter to begin with, wasn’t it? Because he was too curious for his own good—and often other people’s as well?

  Taking hold of the chain in both hands, he hooked one leg around it and then the other. Then he closed his eyes and, as quickly as possible, slid forward.

  He was prepared for the shift in gravity at the bend in the chain, but not the wave of vertigo that accompanied it. After all, he hadn’t seen Ripley or the others experience any discomfort.

  Then the dizziness passed, and Simoni allowed himself to slide down the chain hand over hand. It wasn’t easy on either his shoulders or his legs, but it wasn’t that difficult either.

  Sooner than he would have thought possible, he had descended to the level of the tallest treetops. Moments later he began to penetrate the canopy, following the chain down through a sea of dark, leafy branches.

  Simoni smiled to himself, never having been so high up in a tree before. It was unexpectedly peaceful. He made a mental note of the fact, knowing how much his readers loved colorful details.

  It smelled really nice too. All in all, it was a remarkably pleasant experience—the kind people might pay for, if it were packaged as an exotic vacation. He made a note of that as well.

  Finally, he reached the ground and tried to get his bearings. But he had turned around several times in the course of his descent, so he wasn’t sure which way was which.

  There’s one sure way to find out, he mused, and searched for a slice of sunlit ground. Planting himself on it, he looked up and caught sight of the Betty.

  She was squatting precisely on the highest point of the dome, which rendered her the equivalent of a huge sundial. Fortunately, Simoni remembered the direction in which her shadow had fallen, which was coincidentally in the same quarter as the exit for which Ripley had headed.

  Looking at the ship now, with the sun beating on her near flank, the reporter determined that his path lay almost straight ahead. That way it is, he thought cheerfully.

  And for a half-dozen strides, he continued to feel that way. Then the canopy above him seemed to grow thicker and the slivers of sunlight disappeared, and the nature of his journey changed. It wasn’t a careless jaunt anymore. It was a passage from one well of shadow into another, and what little he could see didn’t look promising.

  Come on, he told himself. You want this story
or not? There was only one answer to such a question.

  Simoni had followed Ripley’s trail across the vastness of space, never knowing if his diligence would pay off. But he had hung onto his dream. Now that he was on the verge of realizing it, he wasn’t going to let a few shadows throw him off.

  It was slow going for a while. Slow and uncertain. But after a while he saw slivers of light again, and knew by them he was well on his way to the exit.

  Well, he thought, that wasn’t so bad.

  As he went on, the canopy thinned some more. Sunlight became more plentiful. He breathed more easily.

  He wasn’t sure what made him look back over his shoulder. Something glimpsed at the edge of his vision? A sound too soft to register at the conscious level?

  Whatever it was, he turned and saw someone coming down the chain from the Betty. Simoni shaded his eyes against the unfiltered sunlight to get a better view, came to the conclusion that the figure was a man.

  Well, he thought, that narrows it down.

  It couldn’t be Bolero, and Vriess wasn’t in any shape to be lowering himself down. That left Rama.

  He’s coming after me.

  Like Simoni needed a fricking nursemaid. He had gotten down the chain just fine, hadn’t he? And he had overheard enough of Ripley’s conversations to know exactly how to make his way to the control center.

  But Ripley didn’t like surprises—he had learned that right off the bat. When he showed up all of a sudden, her eyes would pop out of her head, and she wouldn’t look kindly on whomever she had left in charge of the Betty.

  On the other hand, Simoni was a big boy. He knew the risk he was taking. Had they been talking about a fully grown alien, he might have thought twice about entering the dome.

  But this one was still a baby, and he knew from the banned histories that babies didn’t hunt. They stayed out of the way for the most part, turning nutrients borrowed from their hosts into flesh and bone. So there was no reason for Ripley or anybody else to worry about him.

  If Rama caught up with him, Simoni would just tell him to screw himself. He wasn’t going back until he got his story.

  Still, he found himself watching Rama descend. Was I that slow? he asked himself. And that awkward?

  Simoni was about to start walking again when he saw something so bizarre, so unexpected, that for a moment he didn’t believe it was really happening.

  Something shot out of one of the treetops, as if launched by a catapult, and attached itself to Rama’s leg. And as the reporter looked on, unable to tear his eyes away, the thing climbed higher.

  Simoni heard a scream, long and loud and full of terror. And pain, he told himself numbly. Definitely pain. Then Rama seemed to lose his grip on the chain, and both he and the thing went plummeting through the canopy.

  The reporter stood there for a moment, too shocked to move. Then he turned and got his legs going, and accelerated until he was running as fast as he could.

  The damned thing’s not supposed to hunt yet, he insisted, as if that would change anything. As if it would put Rama back on the length of chain, safe and sound. As if it would erase his scream from the slate of Simoni’s memory.

  It’s not supposed to hunt, Simoni told himself, through tears of fear. But damn it to hell, it’s hunting.

  That meant Ripley had miscalculated. And if they couldn’t depend on her knowledge of the aliens, what in the name of hell could they depend on?

  Another scream echoed through the dome, but this one was faint and full of resignation. As if screaming were the only way for Rama to endure what was happening to him.

  Come on, Simoni thought, urging himself on, move, goddamit!

  He hoped the alien took its time with Rama, picking his bones clean. Because as soon as it finished, it was coming after Simoni next.

  14

  Shepherd didn’t get it.

  As he made his way through the flower-dotted jungle, keyed to its subtle shifts of sunlight and shadow, he spared the woman beside him a glance. “Tell me something.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Ripley could have sent your friend the ape man, but she sent you instead—someone who doesn’t look like she’s ever gotten her hands dirty. Why would she do that?”

  Call turned to him, giving him a glimpse of her dark, mysterious eyes. He hadn’t seen eyes that intriguing in a long time.

  “Johner,” she explained, “doesn’t play well with others.”

  “And you do?” It came out a little more mocking than he had intended, but he didn’t regret it.

  Call looked away again. “When I feel like it.”

  He had a feeling there was more to it than that. Maybe one day he would find out what.

  Just then, he caught sight of something shiny up ahead. “There,” he said, pointing. “The river.”

  It was more of a stream, actually—thin, meandering, full of rocks and gnarled roots. And it was one of Benedict’s favorite places for a stroll, as evidenced by a path he had worn in one of its grassy, blossom-strewn banks.

  But for the moment, all Shepherd could see of the place was something shiny. No bank, no grass, and no Benedict.

  Angling off to the side, the safety officer cut a path that would take them to the river that much sooner. It had them trundling through a confusion of ribbed, spade-shaped leaves, and then breasting a cloud of neon insects.

  They didn’t seem to bother Call. She barely blinked as they flitted in front of her face.

  “Funny,” she said. “It didn’t occur to me that there would be insects here. Or a breeze. Or running water. But it should have.”

  All of those things are necessary for the plants to carry out their biological functions. It was something Philipakos had said when Shepherd first arrived at the Domes. Worms, bees, you name it. Everything except the pests.

  The tricky part was closing the gaps in the food chain, because they couldn’t recreate the damned thing in its entirety. But with a little genetic engineering, they had managed.

  Of course, that was when the Domes were someone’s pet project, and everyone had oohed and aahed at the idea of them. Now it was impossible to get the colonists something to eat, much less test tube bugs.

  Finally, they reached the river. Shepherd looked upstream and down, shading his eyes against the glare of reflected sunlight. He could see the bank where Benedict did some of his best snoozing, but there was no sign of Benedict himself.

  It wasn’t a reason to panic. Certainly, Call wasn’t panicking. Shepherd brushed aside a bead of sweat making its way down the side of his face. She looks cool as a November morning.

  Or at least, the way his father had described November mornings. Not having set foot on Earth, Shepherd had never experienced one.

  “Now what?” asked Call.

  “There’s another spot,” he said, “further upriver.” And a third one in the next dome. But Shepherd wasn’t as confident about either of those places.

  What if we hit them all and we still can’t find him? he asked himself. Not wanting to think about it, he moved on.

  * * *

  Ripley had memorized the entry code for the colony’s backup supply bay before she left the control center. She applied it now, one digit after the other, to the touch-sensitive grid embedded in the bay’s metal-alloy doorframe.

  And waited.

  But after a few seconds, it became clear the doors weren’t going to move for her. Ripley tried the sequence again, a little more slowly this time, but achieved the same result.

  “What the hell?” said Johner.

  He was standing with his back to Ripley, his burner trained on the section of jungle from which they had emerged. However, he could tell from the silence that there weren’t any doors sliding.

  Ripley frowned and took out her comm unit to contact Krakke. She had already depressed the stud that activated the link and was about to speak when she heard a scraping sound.

  Turning, she saw the doors had begun to retract. Bett
er late than never. Beyond the threshold was a supply bay, if a small one, with only a few containers stacked against one if its walls.

  “Well,” said Johner, “that’s more like it.”

  Ripley went inside, her rifle at the ready. She didn’t expect it would be necessary to fire at anything, considering the door had been locked for the last several weeks—or so Philipakos had said. However, she knew better than to take such things for granted.

  She had done that back on the Nostromo, when she boarded the emergency evacuation vehicle. It was only later, after the Nostromo had exploded and the EEV was under way, that she realized she had company in the form of an alien stowaway.

  No way would she be guilty of that error a second time. She checked the bay meticulously from top to bottom before she gave Johner the okay to follow her in.

  As soon as he joined her, the door closed behind them, leaving them standing in a bath of cool, dim light. But even then, Ripley didn’t relax.

  “Check the status of the control panel,” she said, keeping her burner cradled in her arms.

  Johner went over to the bay’s freestanding control panel, laid his rifle down on the floor, and punched in a status check. Instantly, the panel lit up, displaying a series of routine diagnostics.

  “Looks good to me,” said Johner, his scarred features thrown into stark relief by the light from the control screen. “But then, what the hell do I know?”

  He knew plenty. Ripley had learned that over the years. Johner liked to give the impression he was dumber than stone, but that wasn’t nearly the case.

  “Great,” said Ripley. “Let’s get back to the control center and let them know.”

  She could have opened a link to Krakke’s comm unit and gotten word to the colonists much more quickly. However, she didn’t want them to be tempted to meet her halfway. Better to keep them in the dark until she could give them an escort.

  Picking up his burner, Johner headed for the door. This time it opened automatically, since they were exiting the supply bay rather than entering it.

  As Ripley scanned the slice of jungle framed in the doorway, she found it looked different to her. She tilted her head to the side, trying to figure out why.