Microsoft Word - THE COMPLETE ALIEN OMNIBUS, page 39
She’ll stay with me. But you’ll go away. You’ll be dead and
you’ll leave me alone.’
There was no anger in that childish declamation, no sense of
accusation or betrayal. It was delivered coolly and with
complete assurance, as though the event had already occurred.
It was not a prediction, but rather a statement of fact soon to
take place. It chilled Ripley’s blood and frightened her more
than anything that had happened since the dropship had
departed the safety of the orbiting Sulaco.
‘Oh, Newt. Your mom and dad went away like that, didn’t
they? You just don’t want to talk about it.’ The girl nodded, eyes
downcast, staring at her knees. Her fingers were white around
the doll head. ‘They’d be here if they could, honey,’ Ripley told
her solemnly. ‘I know they would.’
‘They’re dead. That’s why they can’t come see me anymore.
They’re dead like everybody else.’ This delivered with a cold
certainty that was terrifying to see in so small a child.
‘Maybe not. How can you be sure?’
Newt raised her eyes and stared straight at Ripley. Small
children do not look adults in the eye like that, but Newt was a
child in stature only. ‘I’m sure. They’re dead! They’re dead, and
soon you’ll be dead, and then Casey and I’ll be alone again.’
Ripley didn’t look away and she didn’t smile. She knew this
girl could see straight through anything remotely phony.
‘Newt. Look at me, Newt. I’m not going away. I’m not going to
leave you and I’m not going to be dead. I promise. I’m going to
stay around. I’ll be with you as long as you want me to.’
The girl’s eyes remained downcast. Ripley could see her
struggling with herself, wanting to believe what she’d just heard,
trying to believe. After a while she looked up again.
‘You promise?’
‘Cross my heart.’ Ripley performed the childish gesture.
‘And hope to die?’
Now Ripley did smile, grimly. ‘And hope to die.’
Girl and woman regarded one another. Newt’s eyes began to
brim, and her lower lip to tremble. Slowly the tension fled from
her small body, and the indifferent mask she’d pulled across her
face was replaced by something much more natural: the look of
a frightened child. She threw both arms around Ripley’s neck
and began to sob. Ripley could feel the tears streaming down the
newly washed cheeks, soaking her own neck. She ignored them,
rocking the girl back and forth in her arms, whispering soothing
nothings to her.
She closed her own eyes against the tears and the fear and
lingering sensation of death that permeated Hadley Opera-
tions Central and hoped that the promise she’d just made
could be kept.
The breakthrough with the girl was matched by another in
Operations as Hudson let out a triumphant whoop. ‘Hah! Stop
your grinnin’ and drop your linen! Found ‘em. Give old
Hudson a decent machine and he’ll turn up your money, your
secrets, and your long-lost cousin Jed.’ He rewarded the
control console with an affectionate whack. ‘This baby’s been
battered, but she can still play ball.’
Gorman leaned over the comtech’s shoulder. ‘What kind of
shape are they in?’
‘Unknown. These colonial PDTs are long on signal and short
on details. But it looks like all of them.’
‘Where?’
‘Over at the atmosphere processing station.’ Hudson studied
the schematic. ‘Sublevel C under the south part of the
complex.’ He tapped the screen. ‘This charmer’s a sweetheart
when it comes to location.’
Everyone in Operations had clustered around the comtech
for a look at the monitor. Hudson froze the colony scan and
enlarged one portion. In the centre of the processing station’s
schematic a cluster of glowing blue dots pulsed like deep-sea
crustaceans.
Hicks grunted as he stared at the screen. ‘Looks like a town
meeting.’
‘Wonder why they all went over there?’ Dietrich mused
aloud. ‘I thought we’d decided that this was where they made
their last stand?’
‘Maybe they were able to make a break for it and secure
themselves in a better place.’ Gorman turned away, brisk and
professional. ‘Remember, the processing station still has full
power. That’d be worth a lot. Let’s saddle up and find out.’
‘Awright, let’s go, girls.’ Apone was slipping his pack over his
shoulders. Operations became a hive of activity. ‘They ain’t
payin’ us by the hour.’ He glanced at Hudson. ‘How do we get
over there?’
The comtech adjusted the screen, reducing the magni-
fication. An overview of the colony appeared on the monitor.
‘There’s one small service corridor. It’s a pretty good hike,
Sarge.’
Apone looked to Gorman, waiting for orders. ‘I don’t know
about you, Sergeant,’ the lieutenant told him, ‘but I’m not fond
of long, narrow corridors. And I’d like for everyone to be fresh
when we arrive. I’d also like to have the APC’s armament
backing us up when we go in there.’
‘My thoughts exactly, sir.’ The sergeant looked relieved.
He’d been ready to suggest and argue and was glad that
neither was going to be necessary. A couple of the troops
nodded and looked satisfied. Gorman might be inexperienced
in the field, but at least he wasn’t a fool.
Hicks yelled back toward the small ready room. ‘Hey,
Ripley, we’re going for a ride in the country. You coming?’
‘We’re both coming.’ A few looks of surprise greeted her as
she led the girl out of the back room. ‘This is Newt. Newt, these
are my friends. They’re your friends too.’
The girl simply nodded, unwilling to extend that privilege
beyond Ripley as yet. A couple of the soldiers nodded to the
child as they shouldered their equipment. Burke smiled
encouragingly at her. Gorman looked surprised.
Newt looked up at her live friend, still clutching the
disembodied doll head tightly in her right hand. ‘Where are we
going?’
‘To a safe place. Soon.’
Newt almost smiled.
The atmosphere in the APC during the ride from colony
Operations to the processing station was more subdued than it
had been when they’d first roared out of the dropship. The
universal devastation; the hollow, wounded buildings; and the
unmistakable evidence of hard fighting had put a damper on
the Marines’ initial high spirits.
It was clear that the cause of the colony’s interrupted
communications with Earth had nothing to do with its relay
satellite or base instrumentation. It had to do with Ripley’s
critter. The colonists had ceased communicating because
something had compelled them to do so. If Ripley was to be
believed,
that
something
was
still
hanging
around.
Undoubtedly the little girl was a storehouse of information on
the subject, but no one tried to press questions on her.
Dietrich’s orders. The child’s recovery was still too fragile to
jeopardize with traumatizing inquiries. So as they rode along in
the APC they had to fill in the gaps in Ripley’s library disks with
their imaginations. Soldiers have active imaginations.
Wierzbowski drove the personnel carrier across the twilight
landscape, traversing a causeway that connected the rest of the
colony complex to the atmosphere-processing station a
kilometre away. Wind tore at the massive vehicle but could not
sway it. The APC was designed for comfortable travel in winds
up to three hundred kph. A typical Acheronian gale didn’t
bother it. Behind it, the dropship had settled to ground at the
landing field, awaiting the soldiers’ return. Ahead, the conical
tower of the massive processing unit glowed with a spectral
light as it continued with its business of terraforming
Acheron’s inhospitable atmosphere.
Ripley and Newt sat side by side just aft of the driver’s cab.
Wierzbowski kept his attention on his driving. Within the
comparative safety of the heavily armoured vehicle the girl
gradually grew more voluble. Though there were at least a
dozen questions Ripley badly wanted to ask her, she just sat
patiently and listened, letting her charge ramble on.
Occasionally Newt would offer the answer to an unasked
question, anyway. Like now.
‘I was best at the game.’ She hugged the doll head and stared
at the opposite wall. ‘I knew the whole maze.’
‘The “maze”?’Ripley thought back to where they’d found
her. ‘You mean the air-duct system?’
‘Yeah, you know,’ she replied proudly. ‘And not just the air
ducts. I could even get into tunnels that were full of wires and
stuff. In the walls, under the floor. I could get into anywhere. I
was the ace. I could hide better than anybody. They all said I
was cheating because I was smaller than everybody else, but it
wasn’t ‘cause I was smaller. I was just smarter, that’s all. And
I’ve got a real good memory. I could remember anyplace I’d
been before.’
‘You’re really something, ace.’ The girl looked pleased.
Ripley’s gaze shifted forward. Through the windshield the
processing station loomed directly ahead.
It was an unbeautiful structure, strictly utilitarian in design.
Its multitude of pipes and chambers and conduits had been
scoured and pitted by decades of wind-blown rock and sand. It
was as efficient as it was ugly. Working around the clock for
years on end, it and its sister stations scattered around the
planet would break down the components of Acheron’s
atmosphere, scrub them clean, add to them, and eventually
produce a pleasant biosphere equipped with a balmy, homelike
climate. A great deal of beauty to spring forth from so much
ugliness.
The monolithic metal mass towered over the armoured per-
sonnel carrier as Wierzbowski braked to a stop across from the
main entryway. Led by Hicks and Apone, the waiting troopers
deployed in front of the oversize door. Up close to the complex,
the thrum of heavy machinery filled their ears, rising above the
steady whistle of the wind. The well-built machinery continued
to do its job even in the absence of its human masters.
Hudson was first to the entrance and ran his fingers over the
door controls like a locksmith casing his next crack.
‘Surprise, chiluns. Everything works.’ He thumbed a single
button, and the heavy barrier slid aside to reveal an interior
walkway. Off to the right a concrete ramp led downward.
‘Which way, sir?’ Apone inquired.
‘Take the ramp,’ Gorman instructed them from inside the
APC. ‘There’ll be another at the bottom. Take it down to
C-level.’
‘Check.’ The sergeant gestured at his troops. ‘Drake, take
point. The rest of you follow by twos. Let’s go.’
Hudson hesitated at the control panel. ‘What about the
door?’
‘There’s nobody here. Leave it open.’
They started down the broad ramp into the guts of the
station. Light filtered down from above, slanting through
floors and catwalks fashioned of steel mesh, bending around
conduits ranked side by side like organ pipes. They had their
suit lights switched on, anyway. Machinery pounded steadily
around them as they descended.
The multiple views provided by their suit cameras bounced
and swayed as they walked, making viewing difficult for those
watching the monitors inside the APC. Eventually the floor
levelled out and the images steadied. Multiple lenses revealed a
floor overflowing with heavy cylinders and conduits, stacks of
plastic crates, and tall metal bottles.
‘B-level.’ Gorman addressed the operations bay pickup.
‘They’re on the next one down. Try to take it a little slower. It’s
hard to make anything out when you’re moving fast on a
downslope.’
Dietrich turned to Frost. ‘Maybe he wants us to fly? That way
the picture wouldn’t bounce.’
‘How about if I carry you instead?’ Hudson called back to
her.
‘How about if I throw you over the railing?’ she responded.
‘Picture would be steady that way, too, until you hit bottom.’
‘Shut up back there,’ Apone growled as they swung around a
turn in the descending rampway. Hudson and the rest obliged.
In the Operations bay Ripley peered over Gorman’s right
shoulder, and Burke around the other, while Newt tried to
squeeze in from behind. Despite all the video wizardry the
lieutenant could command, none of the individual suit cameras
provided a clear picture of what the troops were seeing.
‘Try the low end gain,’ Burke suggested.
‘I did that first thing, Mr. Burke. There’s an awful lot of
interference down there. The deeper they go, the more junk
their signals have to get through, and those suit units don’t put
out much power. What’s an atmosphere processing station’s
interior built out of, anyway?’
‘Carbon-fibre composites and silica blends up top wherever
possible, for strength and lightness. A lot of metallic glass in
the partitions. Foundations and sublevels don’t have to be so
fancy. Concrete and steel floors with a lot of titanium alloy
thrown in.’
Gorman was unable to contain his frustration as he fiddled
futilely with his instruments. ‘If the emergency power was out
and the station shut down, I’d be getting clearer reception, but
then they’d be advancing with nothing but suit lights to guide
them. It’s a trade-off.’ He shook his head as he studied the
blurred images and leaned toward the pickup.
‘We’re not making that out too well ahead of you. What is it?’
Static garbled Hudson’s voice as well as the view provided by
his camera. ‘You tell me. I only work here.’
The lieutenant looked back at Burke. ‘Your people build
that?’
The Company rep leaned toward the row of monitors,
squinting at the dim images being relayed back from the
bowels of the atmosphere-processing station.
‘Hell, no.’
‘Then you don’t know what it is?’
‘I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.’
‘Could the colonists have added it?’
Burke continued to stare, finally shook his head. ‘If they did,
they improvised it. That didn’t come out of any station
construction manual.’
Something had been added to the latticework of pipes and
conduits that crisscrossed the lowest level of the processing
station. There was no question that it was the result of design
and purpose, not some unknown industrial accident. Visibly
damp and lustrous in spots, the peculiar material that had been
used to construct the addition resembled a solidified liquid
resin or glue. In places light penetrated the material to a depth
of several centimetres, revealing a complex internal structure.
At other locations the substance was opaque. What little colour
it displayed was muted: greens and grays, and here and there a
touch of some darker green.
Intricate chambers ranged in size from half a metre in
diameter to a dozen metres across, all interconnected by strips
of fragile-looking webwork that on closer inspection turned
out to be about as fragile as steel cable. Tunnels led off deeper
into the maze while peculiar conical pits dead-ended in the
floor. So precisely did the added material blend with the existing
machinery that it was difficult to tell where human
handiwork ended and something of an entirely different
nature began. In places the addition almost mimicked existing
station equipment, though whether it was imitation with a
purpose or merely blind duplication, no one could tell.
The whole gleaming complex extended as far back into
C-level as the trooper’s cameras could penetrate. Although it
filled every available empty space, the epoxy-like incrustation
did not appear to have in any way impaired the functioning of
the station. It continued to rumble on, having its way with
Acheron’s air, unaffected by the heteromorphic chambering
that filled much of its lower level.
Of them all, only Ripley had some idea of what the troopers had
