Alien 3 (26 page)

Despite her resistance he managed to climb. Seeing that he wasn’t going to go without her she reluctantly started to follow suit, moving in front of him up the side of the mould. The alien turned away from the piston, spotted them, and followed.

At the top of the mould Ripley secured herself on the edge and reached down to help Dillon. The pursuing alien’s inner jaws shot out, reaching. Dillon kicked down, slashing with the fire axe.

Ripley continued her ascent as Dillon fought off the pursuit.

More noise drew her attention to the now functioning gantry crane. She could see Morse inside, cursing and hammering at the controls.

The Company squad appeared on the crest of the observation platform, their leader taking in all of what was happening below at a glance. Morse saw them shouting at him, ignored them as he frantically worked controls.

The container of now molten alloy bubbled as it was tipped.

‘Don’t do it!’ the captain of the new arrivals shouted. ‘No!’

The alien was very close now, but not quite close enough.

Not quite. White-hot liquid metal poured past Ripley and Dillon, a torrent of intense heat that forced both of them to cover their faces with their hands. The metallic cascade struck the alien and knocked it screeching back into the mould, sweeping it away as flames leaped in all directions.

High above, Morse stood and stared down through the window of the crane, his expression a mask of satisfaction.

‘Eat shit, you miserable fucker!’

Dillon joined Ripley on the edge of the mould, both of them staring downward as they shielded their faces against the heat rising from the pool of bubbling metal. Suddenly her attention was drawn by movement across the way.

‘They’re here!’ She clutched desperately at her companion.

‘Keep your promise!’

Dillon stared at her. ‘You mean it.’

‘Yes! I’ve got it inside me! Quit fucking around!’

Uncertainly, he put his hands around her throat.

She stared at him angrily. ‘Do it!’

His fingers tightened. A little pressure, a twist, and her neck would snap. That was all it would take. A moment of effort, of exertion. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how, as if he hadn’t done it before, a long time ago.

‘I can’t!’ The denial emerged from his throat half cry, half croak. ‘I can’t do it!’ He looked at her almost pleadingly.

His expression turned to one of horror as he turned around, only to confront the burning and smoking alien. Resigned, he allowed himself to be pulled into its embrace, the two of them vanishing beneath the roiling surface of the molten metal.

Ripley looked on in astonishment, at once repelled and fascinated. An instant later the curving alien skull reappeared.

Dripping molten metal, it began to haul itself out of the mould.

Looking around wildly, she spotted the emergency chain. It was old and corroded, as might be the controls it activated. Not that it mattered. There was nothing else. She wrenched on it.

Water erupted from the large bore quencher that hung over the lip of the mould. She found herself tangled up in the chain, unable to get loose. The torrent of water drenched her, sweeping her around in tight spirals. But the chain would not let her go.

The cold water struck the alien and its hot metal coat. The head exploded first, then the rest of the body. Then the mould, vomiting chunks of supercooled metal and steam. Morse was thrown to the floor of the crane’s cab as it rocked on its supports, while the commando unit ducked reflexively for cover.

Warm water and rapidly cooling metal rained down on the chamber.

When the deluge ended, the commando team resumed its approach. But not before Ripley had swung herself up onto the crane platform, Morse reaching out to help her.

Once aboard, she leaned against the guard rail and gazed down into the furnace. Time again to be sick. The attacks of nausea and pain were coming more rapidly now.

She spotted the Company men coming up the stairs from below, heading for the crane. Aaron was in the forefront. She tried to escape but had no place to go.

‘Don’t come any closer,’ she shouted. ‘Stay where you are.’

Aaron halted. ‘Wait. They’re here to help.’

She stared at him, pitying the poor simpleton. He had no idea what the stakes were, or what was likely to happen to him when the Company finally obtained what it was after. Except that that was not going to happen.

Another wave of nausea swept over her and she staggered against the railing. As she straightened, a figure stepped out from behind the heavily armed commandos. She gaped, uncertain at first of what she was seeing. It was a face she knew.

‘Bishop?’ she heard herself mumbling uncertainly.

He stopped, the others crowding close behind him, waiting for orders. The figure indicated they should relax. Then he turned to her, smiling reassuringly.

‘I just want to help you. We’re all on the same side.’

‘No more bullshit!’ she snapped. Weak as she was, it took an effort to make the exclamation sound convincing. ‘I just felt the damn thing move.’

As everyone present watched, she stepped farther out on the gantry platform. Something smacked into her lungs and she winced, never taking her eyes off the figure before her.

It was Bishop. No, not Bishop, but a perfect duplicate of him. A completely in control, perfect down to the pores on his chin double of the sadly dismembered and cybernetically deceased Bishop.
Bishop II
, she told herself numbly.
Bishop
Redux. Bishop to pawn four; Bishop takes Queen.

Not as long as this lady’s alive,
she thought determinedly.

‘You know who I am,’ the figure said.

‘Yeah. A droid. Same model as Bishop. Sent by the fucking Company.’

‘I’m not the Bishop android. I designed it. I’m the prototype, so naturally I modeled its features after my own. I’m very human. I was sent here to show you a friendly face, and to demonstrate how important you are to us. To me. I’ve been involved with this project from the beginning. You mean a lot to me, Lieutenant Ripley. To a great many people. Please come down.

‘I just want to help you. We have everything here to help you, Ripley.’ He gazed anxiously up at her. Now she recognized the outfits two of Bishop II’s companions wore: they were biomedical technicians. It made her think of Clemens.

‘Fuck you. I know all about “friendly” Company faces. The last one I saw belonged to an asshole named Burke.’

The man’s smile faded. ‘Mr. Burke proved to be a poor choice to accompany your previous mission, an individual rather more interested in his own personal aggrandizement than in good Company policy. I assure you it was a mistake that will not be repeated. That is why I am here now instead of some inexperienced, overly ambitious underling.’

‘And you, of course, have no personal ambitions.’

‘I only want to help you.’

‘You’re a liar,’ she said quietly. ‘You don’t give a shit about me or anyone else. You just want to take it back. These things have acid for blood where you Company people just have money. I don’t see a lot of difference.’

Bishop II studied the floor for a moment before again raising his eyes to the solitary figure atop the crane platform.

‘You have plenty of reasons to be wary, but unfortunately not much time. We just want to take you home. We don’t care anymore what happens to it. We know what you’ve been through. You’ve shown great courage.’

‘Bullshit!’

‘You’re wrong. We want to help.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘We want to take the thing out of you.’

‘And keep it?’

Bishop II shook his head. ‘No. Destroy it.’

She stood, swaying, wanting to believe him. Sensing her hesitation, he hurried on. ‘Ripley, you’re exhausted, worn out.

Give yourself a moment. Stop and think. I have only your best interests at heart. The ship I came in, the
Patna
, is equipped with a state-of-the-art surgical facility. We can remove the fetus, or larva, or whatever you want to call it. We don’t have a name for the different developmental stages yet. The operation will be successful! You’re going to have a long, productive life.’

She looked down at him, calm now, resigned. ‘I’ve had a life, thanks. One I didn’t have to ask anybody about or answer to anybody for.’

He held up a hand, imploring. ‘You’re not thinking straight, Ripley! We admit we made mistakes. We didn’t know. But we can make it up to you. All the potential lost, all the time. You can still have children. We’ll buy out your contract. You’ll get everything you deserve. We owe you.’

She wavered. ‘You’re not going to take it back?’

‘No. We realize now what we’ve been up against. You’ve been right all along. But time is running out. Let us deal with it. The surgery on the ship is ready to go.’

The biotech immediately behind him stepped forward. ‘It’s very quick. Painless. A couple of incisions. You’ll be out for two hours—that’s all. Then back on your feet, good as new. Whole again.’

‘What guarantee do I have that once you’ve taken this thing out you’ll destroy it?’

Bishop II advanced another step. He was quite close now, looking across at her. ‘You’re just going to have to trust me.’ He extended his hand in friendship. ‘Trust me. Please. We only want to help you.’

She considered, taking her time. She saw Aaron watching her, and Morse. Her gaze went back to Bishop II.

She slid shut the gate between them. ‘No—’

A nod to Morse and he hit the control panel, putting the crane in motion. It rumbled away from the stairs, out over the furnace. As it did so, Bishop II lunged, grabbing at Ripley. She broke free and stumbled away from him.

The commandos responded and Morse took a bullet in the shoulder, dropping down behind the crane’s control panel.

Aaron picked up a chunk of broken pipe, muttering, ‘You fucking droid!’ The pipe landed hard on Bishop II’s head.

The impact was spongy. Then man staggered, twitching, as his troops shot the acting superintendent down. Real blood poured from Bishop II’s cracked skull.

‘I am . . . not a . . . droid,’ the bleeding figure mumbled in surprise as it crumpled to the floor.

Ripley clutched at her chest. ‘It’s moving.’ Company men rushed to the fallen Bishop II. He turned on his side, watching her.

‘You owe it to us. You owe it to yourself.’

A beatific smile crossed her face. Then she almost snarled.

‘No way!’ The crane platform was now directly over the cauldron. Her stomach thumped and she staggered. Calmly, in complete control, she stepped to the edge. Below her feet boiled a lake of molten metal, the proximate inferno raising blisters on her skin, rising tendrils of heat reaching up invitingly.

‘It’s too late!’

‘It’s not!’ Bishop II pleaded with her.

Staggering, she clutched both hands to her chest over the rising heat.

‘Good-bye.’

‘Nooo!’ Bishop II howled.

She stepped off the platform and vanished into the bubbling cauldron below.

Morse had staggered erect in time to see her fall. Clutching at his wounded shoulder, he watched, murmuring.

‘Those who are dead are not dead. They have moved up.

Moved higher.?

Having nothing else to do now, the biotechs bandaged Morse up. Other Company men, silent, not talking even among themselves, went about the business of methodically shutting down the furnace, the refinery, the rest of Weyland-Yutani Work Correctional Facility Fury 161.

Out there messages linger. Ghosts of radio transmissions drifting forever, echoes of words preceding and lives gone before. Occasionally they’re detected, picked up, transcribed.

Sometimes they mean something to those who hear; other times not. Sometimes they’re lengthy, other times brief. As in . . .

‘This is Ripley, last surviving member of the
Nostromo
, signing off.’