'Primary drive activated,' Ash reported, up from the infirmary and back at his regular station.
'Check.' This from Lambert.
'Secondaries still not functioning, sir.' Ripley frowned at the crimson readout on her overhead console.
'Yeah, I know. Navigator, are we set?'
Lambert studied her board. 'Orbital re-entry computed and entered. I'm matching up positions with the refinery now. Have it in a second. There.' She hit a series of buttons in sequence. Numbers flashed above Dallas's head.
'Good enough. We'll correct when we're up, if necessary. Stand by for lift-off.'
Swathed in roiling dust, the Nostromo began to vibrate. A roaring rose over the howl of the storm, a man- made thunder that echoed across lava hillocks,and shattered hexagonal basalt columns.
'Standing by,' said Ripley.
Dallas glanced across at Ash. 'How's she holding?'
The science officer studied his gauges. 'Everything's working. For how long, I can't say.'
'Just long enough to get us up.' Dallas flipped on the intercom. 'Parker, how do we look from down there? Can we make it out without engaging the deep drive?'
If they couldn't break gravity on the primary drive, Dallas knew, they'd have to cut in the hyper to get them out. But a second or two of hyperdrive would throw them completely out of this system. That would mean relocating it and using precious wake time to link up once more with their cargo. And wake time translated as air. Minutes equaled litres. The Nostromo could continue to recycle their meager supply of breathing material only so long. When their lungs started rejecting it, they'd have to go back into the freezers whether they'd found the refinery or not.
Dallas thought of the gigantic floating factory, tried to imagine how long it would take for them to pay for it on their various modest salaries.
Parker's reply was hopeful, if not exactly encouraging. 'Okay. But remember, this is just a patch job. Need shipyard equipment to make proper repairs.'
'Will she hold together?'
'Ought to, unless we hit too much turbulence going up. That might blow the new cells. . and that's all she said. No way we could fix them again.'
'So take it easy,' Brett added from his seat in the engineering cubicle.
'I hear you. We'll watch it. All we have to do is reach zero-gee and we can go hyper all the way into Sol. Then the damn cells can go like popcorn if they want to. But until we're up and out, you keep them intact if you have to hold them steady with your bare hands.'
'Do our best,' said Parker.
'Check. Bridge out.' Dallas turned to face the Nostromo's warrant officer. Ripley was presently doubling duty for the incapacitated Kane. 'Take us up a hundred metres and bring in the landing struts.' He turned his attention to his own console. 'I'll keep her steady.'
'Up a hundred.' Ripley touched controls.
The thunder intensified outside as the tug lifted from the parched, dust-blasted surface. The ship hovered a hundred metres above the ground, dust racing confusedly beneath it. Massive leg-like pillars that had supported the Nostromo now folded neatly into her metal belly.
A slight thump sounded on the bridge, confirming computer telltales. 'Struts retracted,' Ripley announced. 'Closing shields.' Metal plates slid tightly shut over the strut housings, sealing out dust particles and alien atmosphere.
'Standing by,' declared Ash.
'Okay. Ripley, Kane's not here, so it's all yours. Take us up.'
She nudged a double lever on the exec's console. The roaring outside was deafening now, though there was nothing to hear and be suitably impressed by the cleverness of mankind. Inclined slightly upward, the Nostromo began to move forward.
'Rolling up the G's,' she said, hitting several additional buttons. 'And here we go.'
Moving sharply skyward and accelerating steadily, the tug suddenly leaped ahead. Powerful winds clutched at the tough, alloyed skin, neither slowed the starship nor altered its course.
Lambert's attention was fixed on one particular gauge. 'One kilometre and ascending. On course. Orbital insertion in five point three two minutes.' If, she added silently to herself, we hold together that long.
'Sounding good,' Dallas murmured, watching two lines overlap pleasingly on his console. 'Engage artificial gravity.'
Lambert threw a switch. The ship seemed to stumble. Dallas's stomach protested as the fading gravity of the little world receding behind them was replaced by a full, unforgiving pull.
'Engaged,' Lambert reported, as her own insides finished realigning themselves.
Ripley's gaze danced from one readout to another. A slight discrepancy appeared and she hurried to correct for it. 'Unequal thrust reading. I'm altering the vector now.' She nudged a switch, watched with satisfaction as a liquid needle crawled back to where it belonged. 'Compensation effected. Holding steady now. We're set.'
Dallas was beginning to believe they'd make it without any trouble when a violent tremor ran through the bridge. It sent personal possessions and the frantic thoughts of the crew flying. The tremor lasted only an instant, wasn't repeated.
'What the hell was that?' Dallas wondered aloud. By way of reply, the 'com beeped for attention.
'That you, Parker?'
'Yeah. We had some trouble back here.'
'Serious?'
'Starboard quad's overheating. Judge for yourself.'
'Can you fix it?'
'Are you kidding? I'm shutting it down.'
'Compensating again for unequal thrust,' Ripley announced solemnly.
'Just hold us together until we're beyond double zero,' Dallas asked the pickup.
'What do you think we're trying to do back here?' The intercom clicked off.
A slight change in the roaring of the engines became audible on the bridge. No one looked at their neighbour, for fear of seeing their own worry reflected there.
Moving a little more slowly but still slicing effortlessly through boiling clouds, the Nostromo continued to power spaceward, on course to meet with the drifting refinery.
In contrast to the comparative calm of the bridge, the engine room was the scene of frenzied activity. Brett was scooched up inside a tube again, sweating and wishing he was elsewhere.
'Got it figured?' asked Parker from outside.
'Yeah. I think so. Dust is clogging the damn intakes again. Number two's overheating now.?
'I thought we shut that junk out.'
'So did I. Must've slipped a screen again. Damn engines are too sensitive.'
'They weren't designed to fly through particulate hurricanes,' Parker reminded his associate. 'Spit on it for two more minutes and we'll be clear.'
A second tremor rattled the bridge. Everyone's attention stayed glued to their respective consoles. Dallas thought of querying engineering, then thought better of it and decided not to. If Parker had anything to report, he'd do so.
Come on, come on, he urged silently. Get it up. He promised himself that if Parker and Brett could keep the primaries functioning for another couple of minutes, he'd put them in for the bonuses they were constantly harping about. A gauge on his board showed that gravitational pull was fading rapidly. Another minute, he pleaded, one hand unconsciously caressing the nearby wall. Another lousy minute.
Erupting from the crown of clouds, the Nostromo burst into open space. One minute, fifty seconds later, the surface-gravity indicator on Dallas's console fell to zero.
That was the signal for some unprofessional but heartfelt cheering on the bridge.
'We made it.' Ripley lay exhausted against the padded back of her flight seat. 'Damn. We made it.'
'When that first tremor hit and we started velocity slide, I didn't think we were going to,' Dallas husked. 'I saw us splattering ourselves all over the nearest hillside. We might as well have done that if we'd had to go hyper
