by Steve Perry
Billie hadn’t slept after her dream, and she’d heard Char scream sometime after dawn; their quarters were side by side. She glanced at her friend, worried, but the lieutenant seemed to be holding up. They had sat up together until it was time for the meeting, talking about anything but the dreams.
Wilks was the last to arrive. He looked like he had slept okay; Billie felt a mild surge of envy when she remembered that he wasn’t one of the dreamers.
Ripley leaned against one of the tables, arms folded. After Wilks sat, she began to speak.
“Good morning. I can tell nobody slept well, and we all know why. Now I’d like to hear if any of you got anything new from it.”
“Well, it’s the right planet,” said Billie. Everyone else nodded.
“Fuckin’ A,” said Carvey.
“Good to know,” said Ripley. “Adcox—you were the only one who saw where before…”
“She’s got her nest set up in a lake or a swamp,” Char said. Her voice was unemotional, dead. “I couldn’t tell you where exactly. Someplace warm, obviously. It’s rounded, like a dome—at least part of it is. And she’s much stronger than the Earth breed.”
Dunston nodded. “More powerful in body and intellect,” he said. “And she’s got an entire legion with her. Hundreds.”
Ripley sighed. “Yeah, I was afraid of that. Anyone else get a fix on location?”
Dr. Jones cleared his throat. “She’s at the hottest part of the planet. I didn’t see the shape of it, but it is in some body of shallow water and it’s wherever the temperature is most consistently warm.”
“Good,” said Ripley. “That’s good. What else?”
It was quiet. Billie looked around the room. Brewster caught her gaze for a moment and smiled tiredly at her. She wondered how he was doing. He and Carvey remained silent. Falk stared at his hands, expression unreadable. Moto and Tully also looked around and waited for someone to speak.
Wilks stood and broke the tension. “We’re close enough to get a good read on planet type, maybe find the hot spots. Tully, you want to do some checking?”
The woman nodded and picked up her coffee cup.
“Okay,” Ripley said. “I know it’s been rough, but we’re going to be there tomorrow and we still need to get ready for a few things. McQuade and I are going to work on some mechanical suits after breakfast and we could use help. Meet down in the loading dock in half an hour.”
The meeting was over. Billie didn’t feel particularly hungry, but she went to a food dispenser and scanned the selection anyway. Maybe eating would wake her up a little. She punched in some mad scientist’s version of eggs and bread. Char followed her.
“So current crisis aside, what are we going to do when we get her to Earth?” Char said. “Anyone thought that far ahead?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll worry about it if we make it that far.”
Char chewed at her lip but didn’t say anything else.
The food arrived in little sealed biodegradable packages, hot, but ugly.
As Billie choked down her order of scrambled soypro, she thought about Char’s question. What were they going to do? Knowing the answers hadn’t been a major part of this whole business so far, had it?
* * *
Ripley was surprised by McQuade’s query.
“Orona’s bombs,” she said. “Isn’t it obvious? They were never set off.”
McQuade shrugged. “I don’t know about anybody named ‘Orona.’”
They had started on the loader suits; the others would be down in a few minutes. They were taking apart the Kurtz’s two power loaders in an attempt to make four new ones. Smaller, lighter, less overall protection, but better armor than none. The sounds of their work echoed in the big chamber.
Ripley laid down her wrench and turned to McQuade. “Orona was a government scientist. He conceived a plan to detonate nuclear bombs in the infested areas. He got it set up but then died before they could be triggered.”
“Why didn’t somebody else do it?”
It was Ripley’s turn to shrug. “Some malfunction, maybe. Maybe somebody got cold feet when it came time to push the button. Probably anybody who could say is dead.”
McQuade snorted.
“Well, that’s why we’re here, Captain.” She picked up the wrench and started in on one of the loader’s clamps.
“So how did you find out about Orona?” said McQuade.
Ripley unhooked the mechanical arm and set it on the floor. “Common knowledge, or so I thought.”
“Yeah. It just seems that the corps would have access to that information, and I never heard of it…”
Ripley gave him a tight grin. “That’s the military for you. A group dedicated to making sure nobody gets to know what they know. They hoard little bits of trivia like diamonds and shit steel bricks if anyone finds out—when most people couldn’t care less, much less use it for some diabolical purpose.” She suddenly remembered who she was talking to. “No offense meant.”
“None taken. I agree with you. The marine involvement in this crisis has been poorly organized from the start. Bunch of generals running around and flapping their arms and basically achieving zero. Why I’m here.”
They went back to work, setting aside the pieces of machinery to be reassembled later. Ripley liked McQuade. He knew what he was doing and worked quickly and efficiently. At this rate, they’d be half done before anyone showed up. That McQuade didn’t know about the bombs, though…
She tried to recall who had told her about Orona’s plan and drew a blank. She had heard it sometime after the second LV-426 trip but before Gateway—
Brewster, Carvey, Adcox, and Billie arrived at the dock and headed toward them.
McQuade raised an eyebrow at Ripley.
“Go ahead,” she said. “They are marines.”
She watched as McQuade gave orders. Billie sat on the floor and sorted out different-sized holding pins and screws while the three soldiers set to work on cannibalizing the second loader. Power wrenches hummed, the smell of lube and reluctant-to-move metal hung in the air.
Funny, that McQuade had looked to her before he ordered the marines. She knew that the crew thought of her as the leader, but was vaguely surprised that it felt so… natural.
She turned her mind back to the project and made a mental note to ask the others about Orona after lunch.
* * *
Wilks leaned over Tully’s shoulder and scanned the readout on the planet.
“Atmosphere’s breathable, but just barely,” she said. “High in contaminants, low in oxygen.”
“Could be worse,” said Wilks. “Bulking around out there in a climate suit would be a bitch.”
“Plenty of water. Almost eighty percent ocean and plenty of lakes—nasty, too. Full of trace elements and probably local bugs. Drinking it wouldn’t do you any good.”
Wilks leaned closer. Gravity was almost half a gee higher than Earth’s; good thing their crew was a strong group physically. “Don’t drink the water, don’t breathe the air?”
“Huh?”
“Old joke. What else?” he said. “Weather, plants, animals—?”
“It’s windy,” said Tully, “at least in the mountainous regions. Landing should be a thrill. Vegetation must live on heat and poison, ’cause the sun don’t shine much through the cloud cover. It won’t be pretty. Got to be some animals, though I haven’t seen any.”
Wilks heard that. Fucking monsters had to eat something. It could be worse—but they were about to set down on a hot, wet, poisoned planet where jogging would be an effort for the strongest of them. To try and overpower the almighty-top-of-the-heap-queen-fucking-head alien on her own ground. Great.
Well, hey. No problem, the marines were lean, mean, and obscene.
Yeah. Right.
“Okay,” he said. “See if you can pinpoint the warmest areas for the flyby tomorrow.”
He leaned against the wall and watched Tully dig for the information. The mother queen h
ad no doubt picked a charming spot to build her home, and she probably wouldn’t want to move without a fight.
Another bad place to die. And as he had thought so many times before, it was probably going to happen this trip. The universe could only pass out so much luck to any one guy and he’d sure as shit gone through his share a long while ago.
Well. What the hell. If it was your turn, there wasn’t anything you could do. If it wasn’t, he guessed he would find out soon enough.
14
Billie stroked Dylan’s hair and watched him sleep; his legs were warm and smooth against her own. She wasn’t scared to go to sleep—her fear of the dream lessened with a partner in her bed. Interesting, that sex instilled such a sense of peace. She felt relaxed and calm, but just too introspective to doze off.
He murmured in his sleep and rolled away from her. Dylan Brewster. He had shown up at her door a few hours before and asked if she wanted company. She felt a tiny, delicious shiver run down her spine as she looked at him now, the way he had asked politely to stay the night. Quite the gentleman… at first, anyway. The sex had been passionate and wild.
Billie remembered having read somewhere that sex was a normal reaction in threatening circumstances, a life-affirming instinct. That was probably so; she liked the young soldier a lot and was glad to have him there. But she was not in love with him—
She thought of Mitch and was surprised that it didn’t hurt so much anymore. Whatever regrets she had over their short time together, it wasn’t connected to having made love with Dylan. Mitch had only wanted her to feel loved and whole, whether or not he could be there; she doubted that he would begrudge her some peace of mind now.
In the morning, the crew would meet to discuss final plans for carrying out their mission. They would be dropping onto the planet in a little less than twelve hours. Her stomach tightened at the thought; if everything went perfectly, they could be on their way back to Earth soon afterward. She was nervous, but excited, too. It felt good to be on the offensive for a change, to fight actively instead of always running away. And maybe to make a difference for the people left on Earth…
Billie moved down beneath the cover, snuggling against her new lover for warmth. He turned toward her and opened his eyes halfway.
“Hey,” he said, voice heavy with sleep. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
He yawned and closed his eyes, but smiled slightly.
“What about?” he said, and slid one hand between her legs. She parted them and leaned back.
“I thought you were out for the night,” she said, and inhaled sharply as he slipped a finger into her.
“I am. Just ignore me,” he said.
Billie laughed and touched his erection, moved her hand up and down the silky-textured skin. He moaned as she crawled over him, covering his body with hers. She felt him slide deep inside, thrust herself against him to find her own pleasure, felt her climax build and stretch toward release.
This is life, she thought, and cried out.
* * *
Ripley stood in the loading dock and looked at the people assembled in front of her, watched them absorb the information that Tully and Wilks laid out. They were in orbit around what sounded like hell.
The Kurtz would land and drop off the APC, in which some of them would go check things out, then report back. Everyone agreed that it was the best action before coming up with a final plan. To be certain of what they were up against.
Must be getting mellow with age, she thought. There was a time there when waiting to do anything would have been out of the question.
Moto had suggested sending a robot probe first, but the motion had been vetoed. Not a bad idea, but what probes they had were severely limited. It wouldn’t pay to get the wrong idea, and if the bot you sent couldn’t see very well or smell the alien stink, that might give you a false sense of security.
Ripley had to smile at that. Security. Right.
Wilks and Tully wrapped up their presentation and turned to look at Ripley. She knew what was expected of her.
“Well,” she said. “Anyone dream of the queen last night?”
The crew members looked at each other and shook their heads. Apparently nobody had.
“Does that mean she knows we’re here?” said Adcox.
“Maybe so. Or it could just mean that she overshot us. Hard to say.”
Adcox nodded, as did several of the others.
“You know about this place,” Ripley said. “I wouldn’t ask anyone to do anything I’m not prepared to do myself, so I’ll be on that APC—and I’m asking for volunteers. Most of you have been in combat situations, but some of you are physically stronger and have a better chance out there. You need to make the decision, not me.
“However, some of you will have to stay onboard the ship. Tully—you’re our computer whiz, you stay here.”
“I figured as much,” Tully said. She tried to sound disappointed, but Ripley could see her relax a little.
Ripley continued. “McQuade and Brewster—as pilots, I don’t see how we can risk losing either of you, since I’ll be down there—”
Brewster cut in. “Hey, I’m ready for this! McQuade can fly the ship, I—”
“Look, I’m not saying you’re not capable, Brewster. We need you here. Besides, there has to be somebody to pick up the pieces if we fuck up. Got it?”
“Yeah,” he said, in a tone of voice that said he didn’t get it at all.
Tough shit, thought Ripley.
“Jones, you stay here, too.”
The doctor shrugged. “You might need me there,” he said.
“That’s true. But if we get hurt, we can use the aid kits. Better you’re here where you can do major repairs in relative safety when we get back.” If we get back, Ripley said to herself.
Falk stood up. “I’m going,” he said.
Ripley had assumed that he would volunteer. She nodded at him. “Okay, Falk. Welcome aboard.”
Dunston and Carvey stood at the same time. Adcox rose, as did Billie. Wilks stepped away from Tully and joined the others, followed by Ana Moto.
Ripley held up a hand. “Stop there,” she said. “Like I said, we need a backup crew in case anything happens to us. And if we all go, there’s no room for weapons. Moto, you stay; you’re probably the best strategist. Billie—”
“I’m going,” she said, voice calm.
The determination in the young woman’s eyes was firm. Ripley hesitated, then nodded.
“All right,” she said.
She turned to McQuade and gave him the go-ahead. He walked to the front of the group and started to explain how the loader suits worked.
Ripley looked at her crew. Good people, all of them. This could work, it just might work.
It had to work.
* * *
Wilks stood in the control room with McQuade, Brewster, and Tully, and watched them look at the readings on landing sites. They were twenty minutes from drop and he could feel adrenaline seep into his system when he looked through the shield. Once more he was going to face off with the monsters. As long as there were any of them left, or he could still breathe, that was gonna keep happening, but it didn’t seem to get any easier. You’d think he’d be used to it by now.
Brewster picked up a cluster of erratic movement in the southern hemisphere, which coincided with Tully’s reading of warmest temperature. They would head there first. No one was betting whether or not she would be there; everyone seemed to know.
The meeting had continued for a while after the APC team selection had been made. McQuade demonstrated the makeshift suits and Ripley gave a rundown on the scientist, Orona. Wilks had known about Orona and his bombs, as had Ana Moto. Funny—Ripley had seemed relieved that they knew.
It looked like a rough ride going down, and it would be pretty stupid if one of them got whacked by a coffee cup someone forgot to put away, so they policed the ship and dogged down everything loose.
Wilks had s
een how Billie and Brewster had looked at each other during the meeting, and again during load. He couldn’t ignore those glances, and he had a pretty good idea what they meant.
Well, it wasn’t his business. Then again, he couldn’t ignore how it made him feel. That Billie and the corporal had made love—the thought of it made him grit his teeth. It felt… it was uncomfortable, although he couldn’t pin down why exactly. Billie was a big girl, he didn’t need to watch out for her—
That he thought about it now, a few minutes before they were to embark on the queen’s home, was stupid. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about. He shook his head a little and concentrated on the computer landscape in front of him. They were about to fly into a big fucking mess and he needed to be all the way there for it. Not concerned about Billie’s sex life…
With effort, he pushed everything else out of his mind and took a deep breath. It was time to get down to business here, time to do what had to be done. Everything else was secondary. It was gonna be kick ass or get it kicked and either way, he was ready.
Semper fi, motherfuckers, and the devil take the last guy out of the trenches.
15
Moto pulled off her protective goggles and turned to Ripley.
“If that doesn’t hold it shut, nothing will,” she said.
Moto had just finished welding braces around one of the hold’s two exit hatches. McQuade was still working on the other one. Ripley stood with her arms crossed and waited for the alloy’s glow to die down. The air stank of burned metal and plastic.
They were going in a few minutes and the tension of the crew showed in their tight expressions, but Ripley felt surprisingly calm.
McQuade snapped off his welder. “Done,” he said, a little too loudly.
Ripley nodded at him. She had thought she would be a lot jumpier by now; her relaxed state was almost disconcerting. But it wasn’t a lack of concern, it was more like…
Fulfillment, she thought. Being where I’m supposed to be.
After she checked the hatches, Ripley followed the other two back to the upper deck. The hatches looked solid enough and were certainly the best they could do—but this wasn’t some drone. She would have to hope that the queen bitch wasn’t going to be too much for them to handle. She had dealt with ordinary queens, and they were bigger, stronger, and meaner than drones. She hoped the queen of queens wasn’t that much worse.