Alien 3 (6 page)

Or maybe you did hear. Your superintendent doesn’t strike me as an especially loquacious kind of guy. He may know all about it and just decided there was no reason to pass the information along.’

‘Yeah.’ She had him confused, Clemens had to confess. And curious. Was Andrews hiding that particular piece of news? It wasn’t as if he was obligated to keep the prisoners conversant with current events.

But cholera? Mutated strain or not, it still seemed like a pretty thin story. Of course, if she was telling the truth and the little girl’s corpse was infected with something they might not be able to combat . . .

Or maybe it was a half-truth. Maybe there was a risk of some kind of infection and the cholera story was the only cover she’d been able to think up on short notice. Obviously she thought she had her reasons. She
was
military. What the hell did he know about it?

She was standing silently, watching him, waiting.

What the hell
, he thought.

‘As you wish.’

Compared to the morgue the rest of the petrified, neglected complex was as bright and cheerful as an alpine meadow at high spring. Stainless steel cabinets lined one wall, bar codes taped to several. The tough laminated tile floor was chipped and cracked. Easy enough to repair, except that they didn’t have the equipment or the necessary skills, and nobody cared anyway.

The gleaming cream-white table in the centre of the room was bare beneath the overhead lights. A masked and gowned Clemens bent over the prepped corpse of the little girl and commenced the initial incision with the scalpel, pausing to wipe at his brow. It had been a long time since he’d done anything like this and not only was he badly out of practice, he wasn’t at all sure why he was doing it now.

A saw sliced silently and efficiently through the undersized rib cage.

‘You’re sure you want to go through with this?’he asked the staring Ripley. She ignored him, watching silently, her heart cold, emotions stored safely away where they wouldn’t interfere. He shrugged and continued with the incision.

Placing both gloved hands in the opening he’d made, knuckles against knuckles, he took a deep breath and pulled apart, prying open and exposing the chest cavity. Concentrating, he peered inward, occasionally bending close and looking sideways for a different view. Eventually he straightened and relaxed his fingers.

‘We have nothing unusual. Everything’s where it’s supposed to be. Nothing missing. No sign of disease, no unusual discolouration, no sign of contagion. I paid particular attention to the lungs. If anything, they appear abnormally healthy.

Flooded with fluid, as I suspected. I’m sure analysis will show Fiorinian sea water. Kind of an odd physical state for cholera, hmmm?’

He made a final cross-lateral cut, inspected within, then glanced up. ‘Still nothing. Satisfied?’

She turned away.

‘Now, since I’m not entirely stupid, do you want to tell me what you’re really looking for?’

Before she could reply, the far door was thrown open. The two sombre figures who entered ignored it as it smashed into the interior wall.

Andrews’s expression was even less convivial than usual.

‘Mr. Clemens.’

‘Superintendent.’ Clemens’s reply was correct but not deferential. Ripley observed the unspoken byplay between the two with interest. ‘I don’t believe you’ve met Lieutenant Ripley.’

She suspected that the burly super’s appraising glance lasted rather longer than he intended. His attention shifted to the operating table, then back to his med tech.

‘What’s going on here, Mr. Clemens?’

‘Yeah, right sir,’ Aaron chipped in, a verbal as well as physical echo of his boss. ‘What’s going on, Mr. Clemens?’

‘First, Lieutenant Ripley is feeling much better, I’m happy to say. As you can see, physically she’s doing quite well.’ Andrews didn’t rise to the bait. Mildly disappointed, Clemens continued.

‘Second, in the interests of public health and security, I’m conducting an autopsy on the deceased child.’

‘Without my authority?’ The superintendent all but growled.

The tech replied matter-of-factly, not at all intimidated.

‘There didn’t seem to be time.’

Andrews’s brows lifted slightly. ‘Don’t give me that, Clemens.

That’s one thing we have in surplus on Fiorina.’

‘What I mean is that the lieutenant was concerned about the possible presence in the body of a mutated infectious organism.’

The superintendent glanced questioningly at the silent Ripley. ‘Is that true?’

She nodded, offering no further explanation.

‘It’s turned out all right,’ Clemens interjected. ‘The body is perfectly normal and shows no signs of contagion. I was certain,’ he finished dryly, ‘that you’d want me to follow up on this as promptly as possible. Hence my desire to begin immediately.’

You could almost see the thoughts dancing in Andrews’s brain, Ripley thought. Fermenting.

‘All right,’ he said finally, ‘but it might be helpful if Lieutenant Ripley didn’t parade around in front of the prisoners, as I am told she did in the last hour. Semimonastic vows notwithstanding. Nothing personal, you understand, Lieutenant. The suggestion is made as much for your protection as for my peace of mind.’

‘I quite understand,’ she murmured, half smiling.

‘I’m sure that you do.’ He turned back to the med tech. ‘It might also be helpful if you kept me informed as to any change in her physical status. I’m expected to keep the official log updated on this sort of thing. Or would that be asking too much?’

Ripley took a step forward. ‘We have to cremate the bodies.’

Andrews frowned at her. ‘Nonsense. We’ll keep the bodies on ice until a rescue team arrives. There are forms that will need to be filled out. I don’t have that kind of jurisdictional leeway.’

‘Cremate . . . that’s a good one, sir,’ Aaron sniggered, always eager to please.

‘Look, I’m not making an arbitrary request here,’ Ripley told him, ‘and it has nothing to do with . . . personal feelings.

There is a public health issue at stake.’ She eyed Clemens expectantly.

What on earth is troubling her so
? he found himself wondering.

Aloud he said, ‘Lieutenant Ripley feels that the possibility of a communicable infection still exists.’

The superintendent’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. ‘I thought you said there was no sign of disease.’

‘What I said was that as far as I was concerned the body was clean and showed no sign of contagion. You know how sophisticated the facilities I have at my disposal are, and what an outstanding reputation I maintain in the interworld medical profession.’ Andrews grunted understanding.

‘Just because I pronounce the body clean doesn’t mean that it necessarily is. It would appear that the child drowned plain and simple, though without the proper forensics tests it’s impossible to be absolutely certain. At the risk of contradicting my own analysis I think it would be unwise to tolerate even the possibility of a mutated virus getting loose within the installation. I don’t think the members of the rescue team would look kindly on such a development upon their arrival, either. It might make them rather standoffish, and we do treasure our occasional visits, don’t we?

‘Not to mention which a preventable outbreak of something the marines had to nuke Acheron to destroy would look very bad on your report, wouldn’t it? Assuming you were still alive to care.’

Andrews now looked distinctly unhappy. ‘Freezing the body should take care of any viruses present.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Ripley told him.

‘How do you know it wouldn’t?’

‘We’re talking complex bioengineered mutations here. How do you know that it would?’

The superintendent cursed under his breath, his troubled expression deepening. ‘There are at present twenty-five prisoners in this facility. They are caretakers second. All are double Y chromos—former career criminals, thieves, rapists, murderers, arsonists, child molesters, drug dealers . . . scum.’

He paused to let the litany sink in.

‘But scum that have taken on religion. It may make them appear and sound mellow, but I, for one, don’t think it makes them any less dangerous. However, I value its meliorating effect. So I try not to offend their convictions. They appreciate my tolerance and I’m rewarded with a greater amount of peace and quiet than you’d expect to find in a situation like this.

‘I don’t want to disturb the established order. I don’t want ripples in the water. And I most especially don’t want a woman walking around giving them ideas and stirring up memories which they have conveniently managed to bury in their respective pasts.’

‘Yes,’ Ripley agreed. ‘Obviously, as you’ve said, for my own personal safety. In addition to which, despite what you seem to think, I’m not entirely oblivious to the potential problems my temporary presence here creates for you.’

‘Exactly.’ Andrews was clearly pleased by her apparent desire to cooperate. Or in other words, to make life as easy as possible for him. He glanced back at the med tech. ‘I will leave the details of the cremation to you, Mr. Clemens.’ He turned to leave.

‘Just one thing, Superintendent.’

Andrews halted. ‘Yes?’

‘When I’m done, will you be wanting a time and circumstances report? For the official log, of course.’

Andrews pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘That won’t be necessary, Mr. Clemens. Just ‘com me. I’ll take care of the rest.’

‘As you say, Superintendent.’ Clemens grinned thinly.

Meat. Some of it familiar, some not. Dull rust red struck through with flashes of bright crimson. Small carcasses dangling from old hooks. Huge slabs tipped with protuberant suggestions of amputated limbs, outlined in frozen fat.

Nearby, chickens and cattle, oblivious to their eventual fate.

A lone sheep. Live meat.

Most of the abattoir was empty. It had been built to handle the daily needs of hundreds of technicians, miners, and refining personnel. It was far larger than the caretaker prisoners required. They could have left more space between supplies, but the vast rear of the huge chamber, with its echoes of draining blood and slicing and chopping, was a place they preferred to avoid. Too many animate ghosts lingered there, seeking form among milling molecules of tainted air.

The two men wrestled with the cart between them, on which rested the unwieldy carcass of a dead ox. Frank tried to guide it while Murphy goosed forward motion out of the rechargeable electric motor. The motor sputtered and sparked complainingly. When it finally burned out they would simply activate another cart. There were no repair techs among the prison population.

Frank wore the look of the permanently doomed. His much younger companion was not nearly so devastated of aspect.

Only Murphy’s eyes revealed the furtive nature of someone who’d been on the run and on the wrong side of the law since he’d been old enough to contemplate the notion of working without sticking to a regular job. Much easier to appropriate the earnings of others, preferably but not necessarily without their knowledge. Sometimes he’d been caught, other times not.

The last time had been one too many, and he’d been sent to serve out his sentence on welcoming, exotic Fiorina.

Murphy touched a switch and the cart dumped the clumsy bulk onto the deeply stained floor. Frank was ready with the chains. Together they fastened them around the dead animal’s hind legs and began to winch it off the tiles. It went up slowly, in quivering, uneven jerks. The thin but surprisingly strong alloyed links rattled under the load.

‘Well, at least Christmas came early.’ Frank straggled with the load, breathing hard.

‘How’s that?’ Murphy asked him.

‘Any dead ox is a good ox.’

‘God, ain’t it right. Smelly bastards, all covered with lice.

Rather eat ‘em than clean ‘em.’

Frank looked toward the stalls. ‘Only three more of the buggers left, then we’re done with the pillocks. God, I hate hosing these brutes down. Always get shit on my boots.’

Murphy was sucking on his lower lip, his thoughts elsewhere.

‘Speakin’ of hosing down, Frank . . .’

‘Yeah?’

Memories glistened in the other man’s voice, haunted his face. They were less than pleasant. ‘I mean, if you got a chance

. . . just supposing . . . what would you say to her?’

His companion frowned. ‘What do you mean, if I got a chance?’

‘You know. If you got a chance.’ Murphy was breathing harder now.

Frank considered. ‘Just casual, you mean?’

‘Yeah. If she just came along by herself, like, without Andrews or Clemens hangin’ with her. How would you put it to her? You know, if you ran into her in the mess hall or something.’