Alien by Alan Dean Foster

  'Try him again.'

  Lambert thumbed her own communicator. 'Kane . . . Kane. Goddamn it, answer us!'

  'Keep trying.' While Lambert continued to call, alternately pleading and threatening, Dallas reached across the shaft opening and examined the cable. It moved easily in his hand. Too easily. He tugged, and a metre of line came up in his grasp without the expected resistance.

  'Line's slack.' He glanced back at her.

  'He still doesn't answer. Can't or won't. Do you think he could have gone and unhooked himself? I know what you told him, but you know how he is. Probably thought we wouldn't notice a temporary reduction in cable tension. If he spotted something and was afraid of the cable getting snagged or not reaching, I wouldn't put it past him to go and unlatch.'

  'I don't care what he might've found. I do care that he doesn't answer.' Dallas adjusted the winch motor, switched it on. ''Too bad if it upsets him. If there's nothing wrong with him or his equipment, I'll make him wish he had unhooked.'

  A flip of another switch and the winch began to reel in cable. Dallas watched it intently, relaxed a little when he saw the line snap taut after a couple of metres had been rewound. As expected, the cable slowed.

  'There's weight on the end. It caught'

  'Is it hooked on something?'

  'Can't be. It's still coming up, only slightly different speed. If it had gotten caught and was dragging something besides Kane, the different weight would make it rise slower or faster. I think he's still there, even if he can't answer.'

  'What if he objects and tries to use his chest unit to try to descend?'

  Dallas shook his head curtly. 'He can't do it.' He nodded toward the winch. 'The cable override's on the unit there, not the portable he's wearing. He'll come up whether he likes the idea or not.'

  Lambert gazed expectantly down the shaft. 'I still can't see anything.'

  A lightbar illuminated a portion of the hole. Dallas played it across smooth walls. 'Neither can I. But the line's still coming up.'

  It continued its steady rise, both suited figures waiting anxiously for something to appear in the waiting circle of Dallas's light. It was several minutes before the cone of illumination was interrupted by something rising from below.

  'Here he comes.'

  'He's not moving.' Lambert searched nervously for a gesture of some kind from the nearing shape. An obscenity, anything . . . but Kane did not move.

  The tripod bent slightly downward as the last few metres of cable were reeled in.

  'Get ready to grab him if he swings your way.' Lambert readied herself on the opposite side of the shaft.

  Kane's body appeared, swinging slowly on the end of the cable. It hung limp in the dim light.

  Dallas reached across the gap, intending to grab the motionless executive officer by his chest harness. His hand had almost made contact when he noticed the grey, equally motionless creature inside the helmet, enveloping Kane's head. He pulled back his groping hand as if burnt.

  'What's the matter?' wondered Lambert.

  'Watch out. There's something on his face, inside his helmet.'

  She walked around the gap. 'What is . . .,' then she got her first glimpse of the creature, neatly snugged inside the helmet like a mollusc in its shell. 'Oh, Jesus!'

  'Don't touch it.' Dallas studied the limp form of his shipmate. Experimentally, he waved a hand at the thing attached to Kane's face. It didn't budge. Bracing himself, ready to jerk back and run, he reached toward it. His hand moved close to the base, then toward the eye bulge on its back. The beast took no notice of him, exhibited no sign of life except a slow pulsing.

  'Is it alive?' Lambert's stomach was turning slowly. She felt as though she'd just swallowed a litre of the Nostromo's half-recycled wastes.

  'It's not moving, but I think it is. Get his arms, I'll take his legs. Maybe we can dump it off him.'

  Lambert hurried to comply, paused, and looked back at him uncertainly. 'How come I get the arms?'

  'Oh, hell. You want to switch?'

  'Yeah.'

  Dallas moved to trade places with her. As he did so he thought he saw one finger of the hand move, ever so slightly, but he couldn't be sure.

  He started to lift under Kane's arms, felt the dead weight, hesitated. 'We'll never get him back to the ship this way. You take one side and I'll take the other.'

  'Fair enough.'

  They carefully turned the body of the exec onto his side. The creature did not fall off. It remained affixed to Kane's face as securely as it had been when the latter had been lying untouched on his back.

  'No good. Wishful thinking. I didn't think it would fall off. Let's get him back to the ship.'

  He slipped an arm behind Kane's back and raised him to a sitting position, then got one of the exec's arms across his shoulders. Lambert did the same on the other side.

  'Ready now?' She nodded. 'Keep an eye on the creature. If it looks like it's fixing to fall away, drop your side and get the hell clear.' She nodded again. 'Let's go.'

  They stopped just inside the entrance to the alien ship. Both were breathing heavily. 'Let him down,' Dallas told her. Lambert did so, gladly. 'This won't work. His feet will catch on every rock, every crevice. Stay with him. I'm going to try to make a travois.'

  'Out of what?' Dallas was already headed back into the ship, moving toward the chamber they'd just left.

  'The winch tripod,' she heard him say in her helmet. 'It's strong enough.'

  While waiting for Dallas to return, Lambert sat as far away from Kane as she could. Wind howled outside the derelict's hull, heralding the approaching nightfall. She found herself unable to keep her gaze from the tiny monster attached to Kane, unable to keep from speculating on what had happened.

  She was able to prevent herself from thinking about what it might be doing to him. She had to, because hysteria lay down that particular mental path.

  Dallas returned, sections of the disassembled tripod under his right arm. Spreading the pieces out on the deck, he began to rig a crude platform on which to drag Kane. Fear lent speed to his gloved fingers.

  Once the device was finished, he lowered it gingerly to the surface outside. It fell the last couple of metres but did not break. He decided it would hold the unconscious exec until they could reach the Nostromo.

  The short day was rapidly rushing to an end, the atmosphere once more turning the colour of blood, the wind rising mournfully. Not that they couldn't haul Kane back or find the tug in the dark, but Dallas now had less desire than ever to be abroad on this windswept world at night. Something grotesque beyond imagining had risen from the depths of the derelict to imprint itself on Kane's face and their minds. Worse terrors might even now be gathering in the dust-impregnated dusk. He longed desperately for the secure metal walls of the Nostromo.

  As the sun fell behind rising clouds the ring of floodlights lining the underside of the tug winked on. They did not make the landscape around the ship cheerful, merely served to brighten the dismal contours of the igneous rock on which it rested. Occasional clots of thicker dust would swirl in front of them, temporarily oblitreating even that feeble attempt to keep back the cloying darkness.

  On the bridge, Ripley waited resignedly for some word from the silent exploration party. The first feelings of helplessness and ignorance had faded by now. They had been replaced by a vague numbness in body and soul. She could not bring herself to look out a port. She could only sit quietly, take an occasional sip of tepid coffee, and stare blankly at her slowly changing readouts.

  Jones the cat was sitting in front of a port. He found the storm exhilarating and had evolved a frenetic game of swatting at the larger particles of dust whenever one struck the port's exterior. Jones knew he could never actually catch one of the flying motes. He understood the underlying physical laws behind the fact of a solid transparency. That lessened the delight of the game but did not obviate it. Besides, he could pretend that the dark fragments of stone were birds, though he'd never seen a b
ird. But he instinctively understood that concept, too.

  Other monitors besides Ripley's were being watched, other gauges regularly evaluated. Being the only noncoffee drinker on the Nostromo, Ash did his work without liquid stimulation. His interest was perked only by new information.

  Two gauges that had been motionless for some time suddenly came to life, the fresh numbers affecting the science officer's system as powerfully as any narcotic. He cut in amplifiers and thoroughly checked them out before opening the intercom to the bridge and announcing their reception.

  'Ripley? You there, Ripley?'

  'Yo.' She noted the intensity in his tone, sat up in her seat. 'Good news?'

  'I think so. Just picked up their suit signals again. And their suit images are back on the screens.'

  She took a deep breath, asked the frightening but necessary question: 'How many?'

  'All of them. Three blips, steady signals.'

  'Where are they?'

  'Close . . . very close. Someone must've thought to switch back on so we could pick them up. They're heading this way at a steady pace. Slow, but they keep moving. It looks good.'

  Don't count on it, she thought to herself as she activated her station transmitter. 'Dallas . . . Dallas, can you hear me?' A hurricane of static replied, and she fine-tuned. 'Dallas, this is Ripley. Acknowledge.'

  'Easy, Ripley. We hear you. We're almost back.'

  'What happened? We lost you on the screens, lost suit signals as well when you went inside the derelict. I've seen Ash's tapes. Have you . . . ?'

  'Kane's hurt.' Dallas sounded exhausted and angry. 'We'll need some help getting him in. He's unconscious. Someone will have to give us a hand getting him out of the lock.'

  A quick response sounded over the speakers. 'I'll go.' That was Ash.

  Back in engineering, Parker and Brett were listening intently to the conversation.

  'Unconscious,' repeated Parker. 'Always knew Kane would get himself in trouble someday.'

  'Right.' Brett sounded worried.

  'Not a bad guy, though, for a ship's officer. Like him better than Dallas. Not so fast with an order. I wonder what the hell happened to them out there?'

  'Don't know. We'll find out soon enough.'

  'Maybe,' Parker went on, 'he just fell down and knocked himself out.'

  The explanation was as unconvincing to Parker as it was to Brett. Both men went quiet, their attention on the busy, crackling speaker.

  'There she is.' Dallas had enough strength left to gesture with his head. Several dim, treelike shapes loomed up out of the almost night. They supported a larger amorphous shape: the hull of the Nostromo.

  They had almost reached the ship when Ash reached the inner lock door. He stopped there, made sure the hatch was ready to be opened, and touched the stud of the nearest 'com.

  'Ripley . . . I'm by the inner hatch.' He left the channel open, moved to stand next to a small port nearby. 'No sign of them yet. It's nearly full night outside, but when they reach the lift I ought to be able to make out their suit lights.'

  'Okay.' She was thinking furiously, and some of her current thoughts would have surprised the waiting science officer. They were surprising to herself.

  'Which way?' Dallas squinted into the dust, trying to make out shipmarks by the light from the floods.

  Lambert gestured to their left. 'Over that way, I think. By that first strut. Lift should be just beyond.' They continued on in that direction until they almost tripped over the rim of the lift, firmly placed on hard ground. Despite their fatigue, they wrestled Kane's motionless form off the travois and onto the elevator, keeping the exec supported between them.

  'Think you can keep him up? Be easier if we don't have to lift him again.'

  She took a breath. 'Yeah, I think so. So long as someone will help us once we get outside the lock.'

  'Ripley, are you there?'

  'Right here, Dallas.'

  'We're coming up.' He glanced over at Lambert. 'Ready?' She nodded.

  He pressed a stud. There was a jerk, then the lift rose smoothly upward, stopped even with the lock egress. Dallas leaned slightly, hit a switch. The outer hatch slid aside and they entered the lock.

  'Pressurize?' Lambert asked him.

  'Never mind. We can spare a lockful of air. We'll be inside in a minute and then we can get out of these damn suits.' They closed the outer hatch, waited for the inner door to open.

  'What happened to Kane?' Ripley again. Dallas was too tired to take notice of something in her voice besides the usual concern. He shifted Kane a little higher on his shoulder, not worrying so much about the creature now. It hadn't moved a centimetre on the trek back to the ship and he didn't expect it would suddenly move itself now.

  'Some kind of organism,' he told her, the faint echo of his own voice reassuring in the confines of the helmet. 'We don't know how it happened or where it came from. It's attached itself to him. Never saw anything like it. It's not moving now, hasn't altered its position at all on the way back. We've got to get him into the infirmary.'

  'I need a clear definition,' she told them quietly.

  'Clear definition, hell!' Dallas tried to sound as rational as possible, keep the frustrated fury he was feeling out of his words. 'Look, Ripley, we didn't see what happened. He was down a shaft of some kind, below us. We didn't know anything was wrong until we hauled him out. Is that a clear enough definition?' There was silence from the other end of the channel.

  'Look, just open the hatch.'

  'Wait a minute.' She chose her words carefully. 'If we let it in, the entire ship could be infected.'

  'Damnit, this isn't a germ! It's bigger than my hand, and plenty solid-looking.'

  'You know quarantine procedure.' Her voice exhibited a determination she didn't feel. 'Twenty four hours for decontamination. You've both got more than enough suit air remaining to handle that, and we can feed you extra tanks as necessary. Twenty-four hours won't prove conclusively that the thing's no longer dangerous either, but that's not my responsibility. I just have to enforce the rules. You know them as well as I do.'

  'I know of exceptions, too. And I'm the one holding up what's left of a good friend, not you. In twenty-four hours he could be dead, if he isn't already. Open the hatch.'

  'Listen to me,' she implored him. 'If I break quarantine we may all die.'

  'Open the goddamn hatch!' Lambert screamed. 'To hell with Company rules. We have to get him into the infirmary where the autodoc can work on him.'

  'I cant. If you were in my position, with the same responsibility, you'd do the same.'

  'Ripley,' Dallas said slowly, 'do you hear me?'

  'I hear you loud and clear.' Her voice was full of tension. 'The answer is still negative. Twenty-four hours decon, then you can bring him in.'

  Within the ship, someone else came to a decision. Ash hit the emergency override stud outside the lock. A red light came on, accompanied by a loud, distinctive whine.

  Dallas and Lambert stared as the inner door began to move steadily aside.

  Ripley's console flashed, lit up with unbelievable words. INNER HATCH OPEN, OUTER HATCH CLOSED. She stared dumbly at the legend, not believing. Her instruments confirmed the incredible pronouncement.

  Their heavy burden sagging between them, Dallas and Lambert staggered out of the lock into the corridor as soon as the inner hatch had swung aside enough to give them clearance. At the same time, Parker and Brett arrived.

  Ash moved to help with the body, was waved back by Dallas. 'Stay clear.' They set Kane's body down, removed their helmets.

  Keeping a respectful distance away, Ash walked around the crumpled form of the exec, until he caught sight of the thing on his head.

  'God,' he murmured.

  'Is it alive?' Parker studied the alien, admired the symmetry of it. That did not make it appear less loathsome in his eyes.

  'I don't know, but don't touch it.' Lambert spoke as she slipped off her boots.

  'Don't worry about tha
t.' Parker leaned forward, trying to make out details of the creature where it was contacting Kane. 'What's it doing to him?'

  'Don't know. Let's take him to the infirmary and find out'

  'Right,' agreed Brett readily. 'You two okay?'

  Dallas nodded slowly. 'Yeah. Just tired. It hasn't moved, but keep an eye on it.'

  'Will do.' The two engineers took the burden from the floor, slipping carefully beneath Kane's arms, Ash moving to help as best he could . . .

  VI

  In the infirmary, they placed Kane gently on the extended medical platform. A complex of instruments and controls, different from any others aboard the ship, decorated the wall behind the unconscious exec's head. The table protruded from the wall, extending out from an opening about a metre square.