'It'll be okay, Newt. Dad knows what he's doing.'
At that instant the outside door slammed open, admitting wind, dust, and a tall dark shape. Newt screamed, and Tim scrambled out of the seat as their mother ripped off her visor and threw it aside, heedless of the damage it might do to the delicate instrumentation. Her eyes were wild, and the tendons stood out in her neck as she shoved past her children. She snatched up the dash mike and yelled into the condenser.
'Mayday! Mayday! This is Alpha Kilo Two Four Niner calling Hadley Control. Repeat. This is Alpha Kil . . .'
Newt barely heard her mother. She had both hands pressed over her mouth as she sucked on stale atmosphere. Behind her the tractor's filters whined as they fought to strain the particulate-laden air. She was staring out the open door at the ground. Her father lay there, sprawled on his back on the rocks. Somehow her mother had dragged him all the way back from the alien ship.
There was something on his face.
It was flat, heavily ribbed, and had lots of spiderlike chitinous legs. The long, muscular tail was tightly wrapped around the neck of her father's environment suit. More than anything else, the creature resembled a mutated horseshoe crab with a soft exterior. It was pulsing in and out, in and out like a pump. Like a machine. Except that it was not a machine It was clearly, obviously, obscenely alive.
Newt began screaming again, and this time she didn't stop.
III
It was quiet in the apartment except for the blare of the wallscreen. Ripley ignored the simpcom and concentrated instead on the smoke rising from her denicotined cigarette. It formed lazy, hazy patterns in the stagnant air.
Even though it was late in the day, she'd managed to avoid confronting a mirror. Just as well, since her haggard, unkempt appearance could only depress her further. The apartment was in better shape than she was. There were just enough decorative touches to keep it from appearing spartan. None of the touches were what another might call personal. That was understandable. She'd outlived everything that once might have been considered personal. The sink was full of dirty dishes even though the dishwasher sat empty beneath it.
She wore a bathrobe that was aging as rapidly as its owner In the adjoining bedroom, sheets and blankets lay in a heap at the base of the mattress. Jones prowled the kitchen, hunting overlooked morsels. He would find none. The kitchen kept itself reasonably antiseptic despite a deliberate lack of cooperation from its owner.
'Hey, Bob!' the wallscreen bleated vapidly, 'I heard that you and the family are heading off for the colonies!'
'Best decision I ever made, Phil,' replied a fatuously grinning nonentity from the opposite side of the wall. 'We'll be starting a new life from scratch in a clean world. No crime, no unemployment . . .'
And the two chiseled performers who were acting out this administration-approved spiel probably lived in an expensive Green Ring on the East Coast, Ripley thought sardonically as she listened to it with half an ear. In Cape Cod condos overlooking Martha's Vineyard or Hilton Head or some other unpolluted, high-priced snob refuge for the fortunate few who knew how to bill and coo and dance, yassuh, dance when imperious corporate chieftains snapped their fingers. None of that for her. No smell of salt, no cool mountain breezes Inner-city Company dole, and lucky she was to have that much.
She'd find something soon. They just wanted to keep her quiet for a while, until she calmed down. They'd be glad to help her relocate and retrain. After which they'd conveniently forget about her. Which was just dandy keeno fine as far as she was concerned. She wanted no more to do with the Company than the Company wanted to do with her.
If only they hadn't suspended her license, she'd long since have been out of here and away.
The door buzzed sharply for attention and she jumped Jones merely glanced up and meowed before trundling of toward the bathroom. He didn't like strangers. Always had been a smart cat.
She put the cigarette (guaranteed to contain no carcinogens no nicotine, and no tobacco-harmless to your health, or so the warning label on the side of the packet insisted) aside and moved to open the door. She didn't bother to check through the peephole. Hers was a full-security building. Not that after her recent experiences there was anything in an Earthside city that could frighten her.
Carter Burke stood there, wearing his usual apologetic smile Standing next to him and looking formal was a younger man clad in the severe dress-black uniform of an officer in the Colonial Marines.
'Hi, Ripley.' Burke indicated his companion. 'This is Lieutenant Gorman of the Co—'
The closing door cut his sentence in half. Ripley turned her back on it, but she'd neglected to cut power to the hall speaker Burke's voice reached her via the concealed membrane.
'Ripley, we have to talk.'
'No, we don't. Get lost, Carter. And take your friend with you.'
'No can do. This is important.'
'Not to me it isn't. Nothing's important to me.'
Burke went silent, but she sensed he hadn't left. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't give up easily. The Company rep wasn't demanding, but he was an accomplished wheedler.
As it developed, he didn't have to argue with her. All he had to do was say one sentence.
'We've lost contact with the colony of Acheron.'
A sinking feeling inside as she mulled over the ramifications of that unexpected statement. Well, perhaps not entirely unexpected. She hesitated a moment longer before opening the door. It wasn't a ploy. That much was evident in Burke's expression. Gorman's gaze shifted from one to the other. He was clearly uncomfortable at being ignored, even as he tried not to show it.
She stepped aside. 'Come in.'
Burke surveyed the apartment and gratefully said nothing shying away from inanities like 'Nice place you have here' when it obviously wasn't. He also forbore from saying, 'You're looking well,' since that also would have constituted an obvious untruth She could respect him for his restraint. She gestured toward the table.
'Want something? Coffee, tea, spritz?'
'Coffee would be fine,' he replied. Gorman added a nod.
She went into the compact kitchen and dialed up a few cups Bubbling sounds began to emanate from the processor as she turned back to the den.
'You didn't need to bring the Marines.' She smiled thinly at him. 'I'm past the violent stage. The psych techs said so, and it's right there on my chart.' She waved toward a desk piled high with discs and papers. 'So what's with the escort?'
'I'm here as an official representative of the corps.' Gorman was clearly uneasy and more than willing to let Burke handle the bulk of the conversation. How much did he know, and what had they told him about her' she wondered. Was he disappointed in not encountering some stoned harridan? Not that his opinion of her mattered.
'So you've lost contact.' She feigned indifference. 'So?'
Burke looked down at his slim-line, secured briefcase. 'It has to be checked out. Fast. All communications are down. They've been down too long for the interruption to be due to equipment failure. Acheron's been in business for years They're experienced people, and they have appropriate backup systems. Maybe they're working on fixing the problem right now. But it's been no-go dead silence for too long. People are getting nervous. Somebody has to go and check it out in person. It's the only way to quiet the nervous Nellies.
'Probably they'll correct the trouble while the ship's on its way out and the whole trip will be a waste of time and money but it's time to set out.'
He didn't have to elaborate. Ripley had already gotten where he was going and returned. She went into the kitchen and brought out the coffees. While Gorman sipped his cup of brew she began pacing. The den was too small for proper pacing but she tried, anyway. Burke just waited.
'No,' she said finally. 'There's no way.'
'Hear me out. It's not what you think.'
She stopped in the middle of the floor and stared at him in disbelief. 'Not what I think? Not what I think? I don't have to think, Bur
ke. I was reamed, steamed, and dry-cleaned by you guys, and now you want me to go back out there? Forget it!'
She was trembling as she spoke. Gorman misinterpreted the reaction as anger, but it was pure fear. She was scared Gut-scared and trying to mask it with indignation. Burke knew what she was feeling but pressed on, anyway. He had no choice.
'Look,' he began in what he hoped was his best conciliatory manner, 'we don't know what's going on out there. If their relay satellite's gone out instead of the ground transmitter, the only way to fix it is with a relief team. There are no spacecraft in the colony. If that's the case, then they're all sitting around out there cursing the Company for not getting off its collective butt and sending out a repair crew pronto. If it is the satellite relay, then the relief team won't even have to set foot on the planet itself. But we don't know what the trouble is, and if it's not the orbital relay, then I'd like to have you there. As an adviser. That's all.'
Gorman lowered his coffee. 'You wouldn't be going in with the troops. Assuming we even have to go in. I can guarantee your safety.'
She rolled her eyes and glanced at the ceiling.
'These aren't your average city cops or army accompanying us, Ripley,' Burke said forcefully. 'These Colonial Marines are some tough hombres, and they'll be packing state-of-the-art firepower. Man plus machine. There's nothing they can't handle. Right, Lieutenant?'
Gorman allowed himself a slight smile. 'We're trained to deal with the unexpected. We've handled problems on worse worlds than Acheron. Our casualty rate for this kind of operation hovers right around zero. I expect the percentage to improve a little more after this visit.'
If this declaration was intended to impress Ripley, it failed miserably. She looked back to Burke.
'What about you? What's your interest in this?'
'Well, the Company co-financed the colony in tandem with the Colonial Administration. Sort of an advance against mineral rights and a portion of the long-term developmental profits. We're diversifying, getting into a lot of terraforming Real estate on a galactic scale. Building better worlds and al that.'
'Yeah, yeah,' she muttered. 'I've seen the commercials.'
'The corporation won't see any substantial profits out of Acheron until terraforming's complete, but a big outfit like that has to consider the long term.' Seeing that this was having no effect on his host, Burke switched to another tack. 'I hear you're working in the cargo docks over Portside?'
Her reply was defensive, as was to be expected. 'That's right What about it?'
He ignored the challenge. 'Running loaders, forklifts suspension grates; that sort of thing?'
'It's all I could get. I'm crazy if I'm going to live on charity al my life. Anyway, it keeps my mind off . . . everything. Days off are worse. Too much time to think. I'd rather keep busy.'
'You like that kind of work?'
'Are you trying to be funny?'
He fiddled with the catch on his case. 'Maybe it's not all you can get. What if I said I could get you reinstated as a flight officer? Get you your license back? And that the Company has agreed to pick up your contract? No more hassles with the commission, no more arguments. The official reprimand comes out of your record. Without a trace. As far as anyone will be concerned, you've been on a leave of absence. Perfectly normal following a long tour of duty. It'll be like nothing happened. Won't even affect your pension rating.'
'What about the ECA and the insurance people?'
'Insurance is settled, over, done with. They're out of it. Since nothing will appear on your record, you won't be considered any more of a risk than you were before your last trip. As far as the ECA is concerned, they'd like to see you go out with the relief team too. It's all taken care of.'
'If I go.'
'If you go.' He nodded, leaning slightly toward her. He wasn't exactly pleading. It was more like a practiced sales pitch 'It's a second chance, kiddo. Most people who get taken down by a board of inquiry never have the opportunity to come back If the problem's nothing more than a busted relay satellite, all you have to do is sit in your cubbyhole and read while the techs take care of it. That, and collect your trip pay while you're in hypersleep. By going, you can wipe out all the unpleasantness and put yourself right back up there where you used to be. Ful rating, full pension accumulation, the works. I've seen your record. One more long out-trip and you qualify for a captain's certificate.
'And it'll be the best thing in the world for you to face this fear and beat it. You gotta get back on the horse.'
'Spare me, Burke,' she said frostily. 'I've had my psych evaluation for the month.'
His smile slipped a little, but his tone grew more determined 'Fine. Let's cut the crap, then. I've read your evaluations. You wake up every night, sheets soaking, the same nightmare over and over—'
'No! The answer is no.' She retrieved both coffee cups even though neither was empty. It was another form of dismissal 'Now please go. I'm sorry. Just go, would you?'
The two men exchanged a look. Gorman's expression was unreadable, but she had the feeling that his attitude had shifted from curious to contemptuous. The heck with him: what did he know? Burke mined a pocket, removed a translucent card, and placed it on the table before heading for the door. He paused in the portal to smile back at her.
'Think about it.'
Then they were gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts Unpleasant company. Wind. Wind and sand and a moaning sky. The pale disc of an alien sun fluttering like a paper cutout beyond the riven atmosphere. A howling, rising in pitch and intensity, coming closer, closer, until it was right on top of you smothering you, cutting off your breath.
With a guttural moan Ripley sat straight up in her bed clutching her chest. She was breathing hard, painfully. Sucking in a particularly deep breath, she glanced around the tiny bedroom. The dim light set in the nightstand illuminated bare walls, a dresser, and a highboy, sheets kicked to the foot of the bed. Jones lay sprawled atop the highboy, the highest point in the room, staring impassively back at her. It was a habit the cat had acquired soon after their return. When they went to bed he would curl up next to her, only to abandon her soon after she fell asleep in favour of the safety and security of the highboy. He knew the nightmare was on its way and gave it plenty of space.
She used a corner of the sheet to mop the sweat from her forehead and cheeks. Fingers fumbled in the nightstand drawer until they found a cigarette. She flicked the tip and waited for the cylinder to ignite. Something—her head snapped around. Nothing there. Only the soft hum of the clock. There was nothing else in the room. Just Jones and her Certainly no wind.
Leaning to her left, she pawed through the other nightstand drawer until she'd located the card Burke had left behind. She turned it over in her fingers, then inserted it into a slot in the bedside console. The videoscreen that dominated the far wall immediately flashed the words STAND BY at her. She waited impatiently until Burke's face appeared. He was bleary-eyed and unshaven, having been roused from a sound sleep, but he managed a grin when he saw who was calling.
'Yello? Oh, Ripley. Hi.'
'Burke, just tell me one thing.' She hoped there was enough light in the room for the monitor to pick up her expression as well as her voice. 'That you're going out there to kill them. Not to study. Not to bring back. Just burn them out, clean Forever.'
He woke up rapidly, she noted. 'That's the plan. If there's anything dangerous walking around out there, we get rid of it Got a colony to protect. No monkeying around with potentially dangerous organisms. That's Company policy. We find anything lethal, anything at all, we fry it. The scientists can go suck eggs. My word on it.' A long pause and he leaned toward his own pickup, his face looming large on the screen. 'Ripley Ripley? You still there?'
No more time to think. Maybe it was time to stop thinking and to do. 'All right. I'm in.' There, she'd gone and said it Somehow she'd said it.
He looked like he wanted to reply, to congratulate or thank her. Something. She broke the con
nection before he could say a word. A thump sounded on the sheets next to her, and she turned to gaze fondly down at Jones. She trailed short nails down his spine, and he primped delightedly, rubbing against her hip and purring.
'And you, my dear, are staying right here.'
The cat blinked up at her as he continued to caress her fingers with his back. It was doubtful that he understood either her words or the gist of the previous phone call, but he did not volunteer to accompany her.
At least one of us still has some sense left, she thought as she slid back beneath the covers.
IV
It was an ugly ship. Battered, overused, parts repaired that should have been replaced, too tough and valuable to scrap Easier for its masters to upgrade it and modify it than build a new one. Its lines were awkward and its engines oversize. A mountain of metal and composites and ceramic, a floating scrap heap, weightless monument to war, it shouldered its way brutally through the mysterious region called hyperspace. Like its human cargo, it was purely functional. Its name was Sulaco.