You don’t be beating on the brothers. That’s my job.’
They regarded each other a moment longer. Then Aaron took a deep breath and looked away, back down at the cringing Morse. ‘Then tell your fuckin’ bozo to shape up. All this shit is his fault!’
Dillon ignored both of them as he turned to Ripley. ‘What do you think? We took care of it once. We still got a chance?’
She was still leaning against the wall, breathing hard, her expression twisted. Her head was killing her. When she finally looked up her face was knotted with pain and nausea.
‘I need. . I need to get to the EEV.’
‘Yeah, sure, but first we got to decide what to do about the creature.’
‘No.’ She shook her head sharply, her eyes watering slightly.
‘EEV first. . now.’
Aaron watched her anxiously. ‘Yeah, okay. No problem.
Whatever you say. But why?’
‘The neuroscanner. I need to use one of the scanners that are built into every cryotube. I don’t know if you’ve got anything similar in the infirmary but it wouldn’t matter if you did.
Clemens is gone, and I only know how to operate the instrumentation on the EEV. If it’s still functional.’ She winced, bending forward and clutching at her belly.
Dillon took a step toward her, beating Aaron to her side. This time she didn’t object to the hands that helped steady her. She leaned against the big man for support until her breathing slowed.
‘What the hell’s wrong with you? You don’t look so good.’
‘Side effects from medication Clemens was giving her,’ Aaron told him. His gaze narrowed uncertainly. ‘I think.’
‘Who gives a shit what’s wrong with her?’ Morse snapped.
‘What are we gonna do?’
Aaron glared at him. ‘You want to hit your back again, you little dork? Shut the fuck up and quit causin’ panic.’
Morse didn’t back off. ‘Panic! You’re so goddam dumb, you couldn’t spell it. Don’t tell me about panic! We ought to panic!
We’re screwed!’
‘Yeah! And who’s fault is it?’
‘Both of you, shut up!’ Dillon roared.
For a moment there was silence as each man glared at his neighbour but did not speak. Eventually Aaron shrugged.
‘Okay, I’m out of ideas. What do we do?’
‘What about the beach?’ Morse opined hopefully.
‘Right,’ the acting superintendent responded sarcastically.
‘The sun won’t be up for another week, and when it’s down it’s forty below zero outside. The rescue team is ten hours away, so that makes a lot of sense.’
‘Wonderful,’ Morse grumbled as Ripley turned and wandered off. ‘So you just want us to stay here and let this fuckin’ beast eat us for lunch.’
‘Get everybody that’s still left together,’ Dillon told him abruptly. ‘Get ‘em to the assembly hall. Lieutenant, you can—’
He looked around, puzzled. ‘Where’d she go?’
Within the vast unloading bay the Emergency Escape Vehicle rested where it had been left, undisturbed and looking lonely in the flickering industrial gloom. Footsteps echoed along walkways, precise and finite in the metalwalled pit. Faint illumination preceded feet, lighting the way through the semi-darkness.
Ripley stripped down in the cramped quarters, carefully setting her clothes aside. Naked, she sat down opposite a small keyboard. Several attempts were required before it flickered to life.
Her fingers worked the keyboard. She paused, played the keys again, then sat staring thoughtfully at the information displayed on the small screen. Rising, she left the readout and turned to the cryotube that had conveyed her to Fiorina.
It was an effort to squeeze back inside, and when she turned to work on the keyboard her hand barely reached.
‘You need some help?’
She stared at Aaron’s sudden appearance.
‘Hey, didn’t mean to scare you. Look, you shouldn’t be wandering around alone.’
‘I’ve heard that one before. Do me a favour. Run the keyboard. I can’t reach over and see what I’m doing.’
He nodded and took the seat as she settled back into the tube. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Very little, I hope. The procedure’s pretty straightforward.
You ready?’ she asked, not turning her head to face him.
He gazed at the screen, willing but baffled by the multiple options and instructions. ‘I guess so. What do I do now?’
‘Ignore the technospeak. There’s an option menu at the bottom.’
His eyes dropped and he found himself nodding. ‘I see it.
What next?’
‘Hit either B or C. What’s C?’
He studied the glowing print. ‘Display biofunctions.’
‘That’s it.’
On his command the screen was replaced by another, no less complicated than its predecessor. ‘Okay, now I’ve got a whole page of new turkeytalk.’
‘Same procedure. Menu at the bottom. There should be a V
command, for visual display. Hit it.’
He complied, glancing back toward the cylinder.
Within the claustrophobic confines of the tube a small motor began to hum. Ripley shifted uncomfortably on the cushioned pallet, feeling very much like a bug under a microscope. Her surroundings suddenly pressed close around her, the wall and ceiling of the EEV threatening to collapse and pin her forever in place. She concentrated on keeping her heartbeat regular, her breathing steady as she closed her eyes. It helped, a little.
The display monitor in front of Aaron flickered. The incomprehensible technical information vanished,
to be
replaced by an in-depth medical percep scan of the inside of Ripley’s head.
‘Okay,’ he told her, ‘we’re hot. I’m looking at your brain. The scanner’s also printing a lot of information next to the image, and there’s all sorts of option switches at the bottom of the screen.’
‘They’re to make the scan system-specific,’ she heard herself telling him. ‘You know — nervous system, circulatory. Like that.
Let’s keep it as general as possible. Leave everything alone.’
‘No problem there.’ He stared in fascination at the screen.
‘What am I supposed to be looking for? I don’t know how to read this stuff.’
‘Ignore the printouts and concentrate on the visuals,’ she told him. ‘Where is it now?’
‘Moving down your neck. Am I supposed to see something?’
‘If it’s there, you’ll know it when you see it.’
‘Okay, but it all looks normal to me so far. Of course, I’m not Clemens.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she told him. ‘You won’t have to be.’
She could hear the soft whine of the scanner as it moved down her body, sliding smoothly on its hidden track somewhere deep within the instrument-packed cryotube. Even though there was no actual physical contact between her and the instrument, she found herself twitching slightly at its perceived presence. Whoever said there was no link between imagination and physicality had never spent any time in cryogenic deep sleep.
‘Upper chest now,’ Aaron was saying. ‘I can see the tops of your lungs. Heart coming into view.’
Despite her determination she found herself tensing uncontrollably. The muscles of her right forearm began
