He landed on his feet, clutching his rifle in one hand, and unsnapped the emergency location unit from his battle harness. 'I gave you that bracelet,' he said accusingly, even as he was switching the tracker on.
'And I gave it to Newt. I figured she'd need it more than I would, and I was right. It's a good thing I did it or we'd never find her in this. You can bawl me out later. Which way?'
He checked the tracker's readout, turned, and started off down the tunnel. It led them into a section of serviceway where the power hadn't been cut. Emergency lights still brightened ceiling and walls. They switched off their lights. Water dripped somewhere nearby. The corporal's gaze rarely strayed from the tracker's screen. He turned left.
'This way. We're getting close.'
The locator led them to a large grate set in the floor—and a voice from below.
'Ripley?'
'It's us, Newt.'
'Here! I'm here, I'm down here.'
Ripley knelt at the edge of the grating, then wrapped her fingers around the centre bar and pulled. It didn't budge. A quick inspection revealed that it was welded into the floor instead of being latched for easy removal. Peering down, she could just make out Newt's tear-streaked face. The girl reached upward. Her small fingers wriggled between the closely set bars. Ripley gave them a reassuring squeeze.
'Climb down off that pipe, honey. We're going to have to cut through this grate. We'll have you out of there in a minute.'
The girl obediently backed clear, shinnying down the pipe she'd ascended as Hicks fired up his hand torch. Ripley glanced significantly in its direction, then met his eyes as she lowered her voice.
'How much fuel?' She was remembering how Vasquez's flamethrower had run out at a critical moment.
He looked away. 'Enough.' Bending, he began cutting through the first of the bars.
From below Newt could watch sparks shower blindingly as Hicks sliced through the hardened alloy. It was cold in the tunnel, and she was standing in the water again. She bit her lip and fought back tears.
She did not see the glistening apparition rising silently from the water behind her. It would not have mattered if she had There was nowhere to run to, no safe air duct to duck into. For a moment the alien hovered over her, motionless, dwarfing her tiny form. Only when it moved again did she sense its presence and whirl. She barely had enough time to scream as the shadow engulfed her.
Ripley heard the scream and the brief splashing below and went completely berserk. The grating had been half cut away She and Hicks wrenched and kicked at it until a portion bent downward. Another kick sent the chunk of crumpled metal tumbling into the water. Heedless of the red-hot edges, Ripley lunged through the opening, her light clutched in one hand, its beam slashing over pipes and conduits.
'Newt! Newt!'
The surface of the dark water reflected the light back up at her. It was placid and still after having swallowed the section of grille. Of the girl there was no sign. All that remained to show that she'd ever been there was Casey. As Ripley looked on helplessly, the doll head sank beneath the oily blackness.
Hicks had to drag her bodily out of the opening. She struggled blindly, trying to rip free of his embrace.
'No, noooo!'
It took all his strength and greater mass to wrestle her away from the opening. 'She's gone,' he said intensely. 'There's nothing you or I or anybody else can do now. Let's go!' A glance showed something moving at the far end of the corridor that had led them to the grating. It might be nothing more than his eyes playing tricks on him. Eye tricks on Acheron could prove fatal.
Ripley was sliding rapidly into hysteria, screaming and crying and flailing her arms and legs. He had to lift her clear of the floor to keep her from diving through the gap. A wild plunge into the water-filled darkness below was a short course to suicide.
'No! No! She's still alive! We have to—?'
'All right!' Hicks roared. 'She's alive. I believe it. But we gotta get moving. Now! You're not going to be able to catch her that way.' He nodded at the hole in the floor. 'She won't be waiting for you down there, but they will. Look.' He pointed, and she stopped struggling. There was an elevator at the far end of the tunnel.
'If there's emergency power to the lights in this section, then maybe that's functioning too. Let's get out of here. Once we're up top, we can try to think this through where they can't sneak up on us.'
He still had to half drag her to the elevator and push her inside.
The movement he'd detected at the far end of the tunne coalesced into the advancing outline of an alien. Hicks practically broke the plastic as he jammed a thumb on the 'up button. The elevator's double doors began to close—not quite fast enough. The creature slammed one huge arm between them. As both humans looked on in horror, the automatic safety built into the elevator doors buzzed and began to part The machine could not discriminate between human and alien.
The drooling abomination lunged toward them, and Hicks blew it away, firing his pulse-rifle at point-blank range. Too close. Acid sluiced between the closing doors to splash across his chest as he shielded Ripley with his armour. Fortunately none of the acid struck the elevator cables. The elevator began to ascend, clawing its way toward the surface on lingering emergency power.
Hicks tore at the quick-release catches on the harness as the powerful liquid ate through the composite-fibre armour. His plight was enough to galvanize Ripley out of her panic. She clawed at his straps, trying to help as much as she could. Acid reached his chest and arm, and he yelled, shucking out of the combat armour like an insect shedding its old skin. The smoking plates fell to the floor, and the relentless acid began to eat through the metal underfoot. Acrid fumes filled the air inside the elevator, searing eyes and lungs.
After what seemed like a thousand years, the elevator ground to a halt. Acid ate through the floor and began to drip onto the cables and support wheels.
The doors parted and they stumbled out. This time it was Ripley who had to support Hicks. Smoke continued to rise from his chest, and he was doubled over in agony.
'Come on, you can make it. I thought you were a tough guy. She inhaled deeply, coughed, and inhaled again. Hicks choked, gritted his teeth, and tried to grin. After the foulness of the tunnels and ductways the less-than-idyllic air of Acheron smelled like perfume. 'Almost there.'
Not far ahead of them the sleek, streamlined shape of Dropship Two was descending erratically toward the landing grid like a dark angel, side-slipping as it fought its way through the powerful wind gusts just above the surface. They could see Bishop, his back to them, standing in the lee of the transmitter tower as he struggled with the portable guidance terminal to bring the dropship in. It sat down hard and slid sideways coming to a halt near the middle of the landing pad. Except for a bent landing strut, the inelegant touchdown appeared to have left it undamaged.
She yelled. The synthetic turned to see the two of them stumbling out of a doorway in the colony building behind him Putting the terminal down carefully, he ran to help, getting one powerful arm under Hicks and helping him toward the ship. As they ran, Ripley shouted to the android, her words barely audible over the gale.
'How much time?'
'Plenty!' Bishop looked pleased. He had reason to be 'Twenty-six minutes.'
'We're not leaving!' She said this as they were staggering up the loading ramp into the warmth and safety of the ship.
Bishop gaped at her. 'What? Why not?'
She studied him carefully, searching for the slightest suggestion of deception in his face and finding none. His question was perfectly understandable under the circumstances. She relaxed a little.
'Tell you in a minute. Let's get Hicks some medical and close this sucker up, and then I'll explain.'
XIV
Lightning crackled around the upper rim of the failing atmosphere-processing station. Steam blasted from emergency vents. Columns of incandescent gas shot hundreds of metres into the sky as internal compensators struggled futilel
y to adjust temperature and pressure overloads that were already beyond correction.
Bishop was careful not to drift too close to the station as he guided the dropship toward the upper-level landing platform As they approached, they passed over the ruined armoured personnel carrier. A shattered, motionless hulk outside the station entry way, the AFC had finally stopped smoking. Ripley stared as it slipped past beneath him, a monument to overconfidence and a misplaced faith in the ability of modern technology to conquer any obstacle. Soon it would evapourate along with the station and the rest of Hadley colony.
About a third of the way up the side of the enormous cone that formed the processing station, a narrow landing platform jutted out into the wind. It was designed to accommodate loading skimmers and small atmospheric craft, not something the size of a dropship. Somehow Bishop managed to maneuver them in close. The platform groaned under the shuttle's weight. A supporting beam bent dangerously but held.
Ripley finished winding metal tape around the bulky project that had occupied her hands and mind for the past severa minutes. She tossed the half-empty tape roll aside and inspected her handiwork. It wasn't a neat job, and it probably violated twenty separate military safety regulations, but she didn't give a damn. She wasn't going on parade, and there was no one around to tell her it was dangerous and impossible.
What she'd done while Bishop was bringing them in close to the station was to secure Hicks's pulse-rifle to the side of a flamethrower. The result was a massive, clumsy siamese weapons package with tremendous and varied firepower. It might even be enough to get her back to the ship alive—if she could carry it.
She turned back to the dropship's armoury and began loading a satchel and her pockets with anything that might kill aliens: grenades; fully charged pulse-rifle magazines; shrapnel clips; and more.
Having programmed the dropship for automatic lift-off should the landing platform show signs of giving way, Bishop made his way aft from the pilot's compartment to help Hicks treat his injuries. The corporal lay sprawled across severa flight seats, the contents of a field medical kit strewn around him. Working together, he and Ripley had managed to stanch the bleeding. With the aid of medication his body would heal The dissolved flesh was already beginning to repair itself. But in order to reduce the pain to a tolerable level, he'd been forced to take several injections. The medication kept him halfway comfortable but blurred his vision and slowed his reactions. The only support he could give to Ripley's mad plan was moral.
Bishop tried to remonstrate. 'Ripley, this isn't a very efficacious idea. I understand how you feel—?'
'Do you?' she snapped at him without looking up.
'As a matter of fact, I do. It's part of my programming. It's not sensible to throw one life after another.'
'She's alive.' Ripley found an empty pocket and filled it with grenades. 'They brought her here just like they brought all the others, and you know it.'
'It seems the logical thing for them to do, yes. I admit there is no obvious reason for them to deviate from the pattern they have demonstrated thus far. That is not the point. The point is that even if she is here, it is unlikely that you can find her, rescue her, and fight your way back out in time. In seventeen minutes this place will be a cloud of vapour the size of Nebraska.'
She ignored him, her fingers flying as she sealed the overstuffed satchel. 'Hicks, don't let him leave.'
He blinked weakly at her, his face taut with pain. The medication was making his eyes water. 'We ain't going anywhere.' He nodded toward her feet. 'Can you carry that?'
She hefted her hybrid weapon. 'For as long as I have to. Picking up the satchel, she slung it over one shoulder, then turned and strode to the crew door. She thumbed it open waiting impatiently for it to cycle. Wind and the roar from the failing atmosphere processor rushed the gap. She stepped to the top of the loading ramp and paused for a last look back.
'See you, Hicks.'
He tried to sit up, failed, and settled for rolling onto his side One hand held a wad of medicinal gauze tight against his face 'Dwayne. It's Dwayne.'
She walked back over to grab his hand. 'Ellen.'
That was enough. Hicks nodded, leaned back, and looked satisfied. His voice was a pale shadow of the one she'd come to be familiar with. 'Don't be long, Ellen.'
She swallowed, then turned and exited, not looking back as the hatch closed behind her.
The wind might have blown her off the platform had she not been so heavily equipped. Set in the station wall opposite the dropship were the doors of a large freight elevator. The controls responded instantly to her touch. Plenty of power here. Too much power.
The elevator was empty. She entered and touched the contact switch opposite C-level. The bottom. The seventh level she thought as the elevator began to descend.
It was slow going. The elevator had been designed to carry massive, sensitive loads, and it would take its time. She stood with her back pressed against the rear wall, watching bars of light descend. As the elevator descended into the bowels of the station the heat grew intense. Steam roared everywhere. She had difficulty breathing.
The slow pace of the descent allowed her time to remove her jacket and slip the battle harness she'd appropriated from the dropship's stores on directly over her undershirt. Sweat plastered her hair to her neck and forehead as she made a last check of the weaponry she'd brought with her. A bandolier of grenades fit neatly across the front of the harness. She primed the flamethrower, made sure it was full. Same for the magazine locked into the underside of the rifle. This time she remembered to chamber the initial round to activate the load.
Fingers nervously traced the place where marking flares bulged the thigh pockets of her jumpsuit pants. She fumbled with an unprimed grenade. It slipped between her fingers and fell to the floor, bouncing harmlessly. Trembling, she recovered it and slid it back into a pocket. Despite all of Hicks's detailed instructions, she was acutely aware that she didn't know anything about grenades and flares and such.
Worst of all was the fact that for the first time since they'd landed on Acheron she was alone. Completely and utterly alone. She didn't have much time to think about it because the elevator motors were slowing.
The elevator hit bottom with a gentle bump. The safety cage enclosing the lift retracted. She raised the awkward double muzzle of rifle and flamethrower as the doors parted.
An empty corridor lay before her. In addition to the illumination provided by the emergency lighting, faint reddish glows came from behind thick metal bulges. Steam hissed from broken pipes. Sparks flared from overloaded, damaged circuits. Couplings groaned while stressed machinery throbbed and whined. Somewhere in the distance a massive mechanical arm or piston was going ka-rank, ka-rank.
Her gaze darted left, then right. Her knuckles were white above the dual weapon she carried. She had no flexible battle visor to help her, though in the presence of so much excess heat its infrared-imaging sensors wouldn't have been of much use, anyway. She stepped out into the corridor, into a scene designed by Piranesi, decorated by Dante.
She was struck by the aliens' presence as soon as she turned the first bend in the walkway. Epoxy-like material covered conduits and pipes, flowing smoothly up into the overhead walkways to blend machinery and resin together, creating a single chamber. She had Hicks's locator taped to the top of the flamethrower, and she looked at it as often as she dared. It was still functioning, still homing in on its single target.
A voice echoed along the corridor, startling her. It was calm and efficient and artificial.
'Attention. Emergency. All personnel must evacuate immediately. You now have fourteen minutes to reach minimum safe distance.'
The locator continued to track; range and direction spelled out lucidly by its LED display.
As she advanced, she blinked sweat out of her eyes. Steam swirled around her, making it difficult to see more than a short distance in any direction. Flashing emergency lights lit an intersecting passageway just ahead.
Movement. She whirled, and the flamethrower belched napalm, incinerating an imaginary demon. Nothing there Would the blast of heat from her weapon be noticed? No time to worry about maybes now. She resumed her march, trying not to shake as she concentrated on the locator's readouts.
She entered the lower level.
In the inner chambers now. The walls around her subsumed skeletal shapes, the bodies of the unfortunate colonists who had been brought here to serve as helpless hosts for embryonic aliens. Their resin-encrusted figures gleamed like insects frozen in amber. The locator's signal strengthened, leading her off to the left. She had to bend to clear a low overhang.
At each turning point or intersection she was careful to ignite a timed flare and place it on the floor behind her. It would be easy to get lost in the maze without the markers to help her find her way back. One passageway was so narrow she had to turn sideways to slip through it. Her eyes touched upon one tormented face after another, each entombed colonist caught in a rictus of agony.