Bitterly, she whispered, "Yes."
"Second Gen?" Johner barked, laughing. "Shit, that explains a lot."
Ripley didn't recognize the term. But she didn't ask questions, just listened and waited.
"You're an Auton, aren't you?" Distephano asked. He sounded oddly curious, not condemning. No doubt, he was remembering how Call had saved his life in the mess hall when Johner would've cheerfully killed him in cold blood.
Distephano must've noted the confusion on Ripley's face and realized she'd have no way to follow any of this. He explained to her, "Robots designed by robots. Highly ethical and emotional. They were supposed to revitalize the synthetic industry. Instead—they buried it."
Ripley looked back at Call. She thought of Bishop. Then, she thought of Ash. She understood now. "They were too good."
Distephano nodded. "They didn't like being told what to do. The government ordered a recall." His voice grew soft. "Fucking massacre. I'd always heard there were a few that got out intact, but, man ... I never thought I'd see one."
Ripley observed Vriess from the corner of her eye. He looked disappointed and sad, nearly broken, like a man who'd lost everything.
Purvis glanced from one to the other, nervous. "Great. It's great. She's a toaster oven. Can we leave now?"
The rude remark was the slap they all needed to shake off this latest surprise. Everyone seemed to stand a little straighter.
"How much time till we land?" Johner asked the soldier,
"Under two hours," Distephano told him.
"And we're already off track," Johner mumbled. "We should go now."
Call had turned away from the group, ostensibly to effect more repairs in her cavity. The men suddenly all started talking, interrupting each other. Once more, Ripley stood apart from them, observing them, feeling the group dynamics shift once more. Only now, Call, like herself, was outside the group, separate from them. Never to rejoin.
She remembered Call handing her the flamethrower in the clone lab.
In a sudden lull in conversation, she noticed Vriess glancing over in Call's direction. He still looked sorrowful, disappointed. She heard him mutter disgustedly, "Jesus...."
"Yeah," Johner agreed, "get your socket wrench. Maybe she just needs an oil change. Can't believe I almost fucked the thing."
Vriess looked at him with contempt. "Yeah, like you never fucked a robot."
They were falling apart, thinking individually again, no longer a unit. Ripley didn't want to assume the leadership, but she couldn't see any other way. Christie was dead. Stepping forward, she asked, "Where are we exactly, Distephano?"
"Upper decks," he said. "Storage .... The chapel's up here, not much else."
"Can we get to the ship from here?"
"It's down a few levels," he said, thinking. "It's doable."
Johner had a thought, a negative one. "What if the good doctor reaches the Betty first?"
"Shit!" cursed Vriess.
Ripley looked at the soldier. "Another way? Faster?"
He thought about it. "Uh... yes. Through the wall. We'll have to unblock the door. It'll take awhile." He glanced down at Vriess. "You got tools?"
They all remembered the abandoned chair.
Vriess shook his head. "Tools, yeah. But no torch." "Just blow the door!" Johner decided simply. Distephano pointed to the ceiling. "We're at the top of this shaft. That's outer hull."
"And if Wren gets to the computer," Ripley realized, "he can really screw us." And would. Without hesitation.
"We've gotta find a terminal," Johner announced. "There's no console on this level," Distephano explained. "We have to go back."
Back? Ripley stared at him. "No way."
The soldier sighed, disgusted. "And I don't have Wren's access codes."
What else? Any more bad news? Ripley ran a hand through her hair distractedly, thinking, trying to come up with—
She turned and looked at Call, standing apart, still fiddling with her cavity. She took a step nearer the robot. "Call."
The robot never looked at her, never indicated that she'd heard. Her voice sounding a little clearer, she said, "No. I can't."
Johner seized on it. "Bullshit! She damn well can talkie machinie."
"Shit," muttered Vriess. "That's right. You're a new model droid. You can access the mainframe on remote."
Call shook her head resolutely, still not looking at them. "I can't. I burned my modem drive. We all did." Vriess leaned toward her. "You can still patch in manually. You know that." His voice had gone soft again.
That tone must've touched something inside Call, because she finally looked up, staring at each of them. Her expressive, oh-so-human-face showed contempt, anger, disgust. She knew she had no choice. It was an agreement of sorts. Ripley felt bad that she'd been forced to make it this way.
Like any of us have had any choices in this? "There's ports in the chapel," Distephano said, flatvoiced.
Ripley placed a gentle hand on the robot's shoulder. "Come on," she urged quietly. Realizing the others were all staring at them, she looked over her shoulder. "You," she addressed the rest of the group, "get started on that wall."
They immediately set to work as if she'd lit a fire under them.
As Ripley and Call entered the small chapel, Call wondered at the difference in Ripley and how it might be reflected in the difference in herself. Even after she'd decimated the clone lab, Ripley's cold distance had remained unthawed, or so Call had thought. But clearly, all the difficulties they'd been through, their swim through the flooded kitchen, then the climb up the elevator shaft, had finally touched her. Maybe those experiences had finally resurrected the real Ripley. Perhaps this clone of the woman who'd fought so hard to destroy the Aliens was now fully human.
Resurrected just in time to save her people again.
At least she has a people to save, Call thought bitterly, remembering, now and forever, the look on Vriess's face when he saw her wound, realized what she was. She wondered distantly what Christie would've thought if he'd lived. Poor Vriess. He's lost everything, everyone he ever cared about, even me. He'll never look at me the same way again.... Losing his regard meant more to her than she ever thought it would.
Oh, Ripley, she thought, you were better off when you didn't give a shit about anything. I wish I could find those connections inside myself and turn them off. But she was hardwired for that—human emotional sympathetic response. Big words to explain away a robot's genuine heartache.
She looked around the small room. It was a classic chapel, scrupulously clean and very small. There was an altar, a variety of religious symbols that could be interchanged for the denomination being represented—a Star of David, a plain silver cross, a green banner with a crescent moon, a Wiccan staff of rowan, and—ironically—the white dove of peace. It almost made her laugh to see that symbol here on a military vessel whose sole purpose was to master the most deadly bioweapon ever discovered.
The only religious symbol missing is a computer chip with divine rays coming out of it, for those like Wren and Perez who only worship technology.
Behind the small altar was a false stained-glass window, bolted to the wall and lit by lights. The last service here must've been Christian, because the cross was perched before the window on the altar. Without thinking about it, Call crossed herself.
Ripley blinked in surprise. "You programmed for that?"
Call just gave her a bitter glance. No, I'm not programmed for it. I have a working brain. I've examined the topic. I happen to believe. But there's no point in discussing that with you. You haven't been alive long enough to develop philosophy, clone.
She immediately felt guilty. Who was she to disparage any real human being, anyone who possessed a true soul? When she was finally terminated, there would be no afterlife experience for her, any more than there would be for a lightbulb!
Call looked around the pews and found a Bible. Pulling it out of the rack, she flipped the electronic device open. Under the fa
ke leather flap of the cover was a small screen. It read: "HOLY BIBLE. PRESS START." Reverently, Call touched the screen, thinking how much comfort some of the words in this book had been to her after she'd been told about this mission, after she'd decided to take the assignment, regardless of the risks.
Though I walk in the valley of darkness, I shall fear no evil. Thy rod and thy staff shall comfort me....
Leaning over, Ripley pulled the cord from the Bible's port, and held it out to her.
"Don't make me do this," Call whispered, her voice still uneven.
"Don't make me make you," Ripley answered.
Both their voices were low, respectful. After all, they were in church.
Call dared to meet the clone's eyes. The sympathy there nearly undid her. Still, she protested. "I don't want to go in there. My insides are liquid. It's not as if they're real."
What she wanted to say is, I've been pretending to be human for so long, I've been accepted as human for so long, I don't remember what it's like to be Auton! And this will remind me. It will make me a machine again! I don't think I can face that.
Ripley gripped her wrist, her face growing determined. With a shock, Call realized that she finally looked human. She finally looked like the real Ellen Ripley who'd died over two hundred years ago.
"Get over it," Ripley said gently. Then she added the one thing calculated to get through to Call in spite of her damage, in spite of her loss. "You can blow the ship. Before it reaches Earth. Kill the Aliens. Kill them all."
It was the reminder Call needed, why she'd come here in the first place. Her mission. Her purpose.
"Just give us time to get out first," Ripley added as an afterthought.
This is why it was you, Call realized. This is why you always survived, why you always defeated them. Your focus. Your determination. Genetics? Environment? Personal fortitude? Doesn't matter. You are Ripley. You.
Call nodded, feeling as if some of Ripley's strength—Ripley's humanity—was in her now. She pulled up her sleeve, found a beauty mark on her forearm, and opened it like a little hatch. Under it were two ports.
Taking the cable from Ripley, she plugged it in, then waited for the automatic connections to start their dance. At first, nothing happened. Had the Aliens actually sabotaged the main computer? No, that wasn't possible. She cocked her head, listening, waiting, feeling. "Dammit," she whispered.
"Anything?" Ripley asked, concerned.
"Wait a minute...."
When it happened, it happened all at once.
One instant she was still Annalee Call, outwardly human, if damaged, and the next instant, she was the Auriga. Massive. Moving. Invaded. Yet, strangely unable to care. It was as impersonal to her as it would've been to the core memory of Annalee Call that had been created in a robot factory. While Call had had feelings and ethics implanted in her, she'd had to be taught how to use them like any newborn child. The ship did not have to deal with that issue, it only had problems and solutions to contend with. All issues were black and white, no gray areas. Invasion was just a problem to solve. A problem it had yet to solve. But it was working on it.
As the Auriga, she knew all, saw all, heard all. She could see herself, her Annalee self, sitting next to Ripley in the Chapel. Call looked like an abandoned doll, her eyes wide and unseeing, the pupils hugely dilated. Beside her, Ripley looked concerned, worried.
It touched her somehow, that this woman, this human, would worry about her. Of course, Ripley wasn't really human.... No, her matrixes dismissed that notion. Ripley was totally human. Her blood type, her fingernails, her ability to last underwater, her strength—all of it meant nothing in the long run. Ripley was human. And hurting for Call. It touched the ship in a new, startling way. The ship would have to think about that.
In the meantime, it scanned itself for information, wanting, needing to know everything.
Ripley said softly, "Call? What's going on?"
The ship responded immediately. Ripley did not have any access codes, but Call overrode that requirement. She proceeded to tell her everything as fast as she could.
"Breach in sector seven, sector three. Sector nine unstable. Engines operating at eighty-six percent. Ninety-six minutes until earthdock." There was more, so much more, that the ship spoke faster and faster, trying to get it all out.
Finally, Ripley touched her arm, and the warmth of that human contact jolted the ship, changed it. "Easy, Call. Can you come back now?"
The robot blinked, separating from the intelligence of the ship, and became just Call again, a badly used, slightly damaged Auton. She blinked, and said to Ripley, "We burned too much energy. I can't make critical mass. I can't blow it." She had feelings again, and they were the most desolate she'd ever experienced.
Ripley was still watching her, that level, intent gaze unnerving. "Then crash it," she said decisively.
As everyone worked feverishly on unblocking the sealed door—with Vriess offering some semblance of leadership, even though his heart wasn't in it—Larry Purvis tried not to spend any time thinking about the bizarre circumstances that had brought him to this juncture. If he thought about it, his rage at everyone he was working beside would erupt into something he couldn't control. It was a terrible irony that his only possible salvation resided in the very hands of the people who had done this to him, but that was the reality of it. And Purvis was a realist.
He worked harder than he ever had in his life, and didn't let himself think much. Trying to pry up the corner of the door, he jammed a rod into the corner to get some leverage. He grunted, leaning on the thing, waiting for his weight to move the seemingly immovable door.
A sharp, stabbing pain in his upper abdomen made him gasp, and clutch his chest. Everyone else stopped instantly. In spite of his pain, Purvis was all too aware that Johner and Distephano had brought their weapons to bear.
No! No, it can't end this way, so pointless, so stupid! NO!
He gritted his teeth, waited it out. Then, as quickly as it started, it faded. Purvis took two deep breaths. It was gone. Nerves, maybe. Stress? Yeah, stress.
He grinned feebly at the others, who were staring at him warily. "I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I feel good." He nodded vigorously, as if he could convince them with false cheer and too broad a grin. The weapons were lowered, and everyone went back to working on the door.
But Purvis knew they were all watching him from the corners of their eyes.
Ripley watched as Call zoned out again, her eyes unblinking, the pupils dilating, first one, then the other.
"Ground level recalibrated.... New destination seven sixty, four-oh-three. Uninhabited quadrant. Braking systems off-line, acceleration increase. Time until impact now forty-three minutes, eight seconds." "Try to clear us a path to the Betty," Ripley reminded her. "And start her up."
Call blinked once, as if to acknowledge the taller woman, then went back into her trance.
The Auriga checked the corridors that were on the path to the unofficial ship. It opened four hatchway doors in succession to give access to the ship. It hooked into the Betty herself, and turned her on. Aboard the Betty, lights went on, screens and indicators lit up, the engine hummed awake, then the pirate vessel began her own self-diagnosis prior to warm up.
Back in the chapel, the ship told Ripley through Call's body, "Ship in prep, fuel on line...." The ship paused. Something. "Tracking movement in Auriga, sublevels six through nine. Video is down. Attempted rerouting nonfunctional, wait, partial visual in waste tank, unauthorized presence...."
Beside the body of Call, Ripley asked, "Unauthorized?"
"Nonhuman," the ship specified.
Ripley's voice changed. "How many?"
"Please wait," Call/Auriga said. "Emergency override in console forty-five vee, level one.... Handprint ID...."
Call blinked, turned to Ripley as Call once more. In her own voice, she said, "It's Wren. He's almost at the
Betty. "
Ripley raised an eyebrow. Imitating Wren's
patronizing voice and manner, she said to Call, "And how do you feel about that?"
Dr. Mason Wren came to another locked hatchway door. The doors slowed him up, but with his top, top security access codes, they had yet to halt his progress. And at this moment, he was only five doors away from the Betty. Once he was aboard the small pirate vessel, he could use his knowledge of the Auriga and his codes to gain access to the ship's computer and control the big vessel from the outside. He'd be able to stop the military ship, then put it in safe orbit around the nearest planet. Once it was stable, he could contact the military brass and they'd send everything they needed to repair the ship along with enough troops and supplies to gas the entire ship and knock every Alien out until they could contain them. Then he'd be back on track, with more specimens to work on than he'd ever imagined.
But first things first. And his first priority was to get aboard the Betty and get her underway.
He still regretted losing the Ripley clone in the process, but at least he'd gotten to study it for a while. And now he'd have more specimens of the Aliens than he could ever want, so he certainly wouldn't need to clone it again. Not that he couldn't. They had plenty of samples of its current body on ice. It would be simple now to clone hundreds of Ripley's, each with a Queen growing inside it.
Wren stood in front of the locked hatch and tapped in his access. The lights on the keypad flashed for a moment, and then the red "locked" light turned green. With muffled clunks, the locks in the door opened.
Father's voice announced, "Emergency override validated."
The huge door began to rise. Wren glanced around himself nervously, still keeping a close eye open for Alien activity. He was so close now—
Only inches above the floor, the heavy door suddenly froze in place. It was way too low for a grown man to squeeze under. Wren frowned, punched in his codes again. But this time Father did not respond.
As he was about to input the codes one more time, every light in the corridor suddenly went out. Now he was standing in near darkness, only the faintest glow coming from the instrument panels and emergency lights.
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