against the door leading not down B corridor, but to the empty vestibule outside the lock. She turned, tried to aim herself, and fell as much as walked to the opposite door. It took precious minutes to locate the panel on it. Thoughts swam in her brain, broke apart like oil on water. The air around her was turning foggy, full of the smell of roses and lilac.
She thumbed the stud. The door didn't move. Then she saw she was pushing the wrong control. Sagging against the door for support, trying to give her rubbery legs some badly needed assistance, she fought to gather her strength for another try. There wasn't much air left worth breathing.
A face appeared at the port set in the door. It was distorted, bloated, yet somehow familiar. It seemed that she knew that face from sometime long ago. Someone named Lambert lived behind that face. She was very tired now and started to slide slowly down the door.
She thought distant, angry thoughts as her last support was taken away. The door slid into the roof and her head struck the deck. A rush of clean air, ineffably sweet and refreshing, swept over her face. The mist began to fade from her eyes, though not yet from her starved brain.
A horn sounded the return of full internal pressurization as Lambert and Ash joined them. The science officer hurried to administer to Parker, who had collapsed again from lack of oxygen and was only now beginning to regain consciousness.
Ripley's eyes were open and working, but the rest of her body was dysfunctional. Hands and feet, legs and arms were sprawled in ungainly positions across her body and the deck, like the limbs of a slim, not particularly well-crafted doll. Her breath came in labored, shallow gasps.
Lambert set one of the oxygen tanks down next to her friend. She placed the transparent mask over Ripley's mouth and nose, opened the valve. Ripley inhaled. A wonderful perfume filled her lungs. Her eyes closed from sheer pleasure. She stayed that way, unmoving, sucking in long, deep draughts of pure oxygen. The only shock to her system was of delight.
Finally she moved the respirator aside, lay for a moment breathing normally. Full pressure had been restored, she noted. The bulkhead doors had automatically retracted with the return of standard atmosphere.
To replenish that atmosphere, she knew, the ship had been forced to bleed their storage tanks. They'd deal with that new problem when they were forced to, she thought.
'Are you all right?' Ash was querying Parker. 'What finally happened here?'
Parker wiped a crust of dried blood from his upper mouth, tried to shake the webs from his brain. 'I'll live.' For the moment, he ignored the science officer's last question.
'What about the alien?' Ash tried again.
Parker shook his head, wincing at some sudden pain. 'We didn't get it. The warning Klaxon went off and it jumped back into the corridor. It caught an arm, or whatever you'd like to call it, in the closing inner door. Just pulled itself free like a lizard shedding its tail.'
'Why not,' commented Ash, 'with its inbuilt talent for regeneration?'
The engineer continued, sounding every bit as disappointed as he felt. 'We had the bastard. We had him.' He paused, added, 'When it pulled free of its limb, it bled all over the place. The limb did. I guess the stump healed over fast, lucky for us. The acid ate right through the hatch. That's what caused the depressurization.' He pointed shakily toward the door sealing off the airlock vestibule from the rest of the corridor.
'You can probably see the hole in the hatch from here.'
'Never mind that now.' Ash looked up curiously. 'Who hit the warning siren?'
Ripley was staring over at him. 'You tell me.'
'What does that mean?'
She wiped blood from her nose, sniffed. 'I guess the alarm went off by itself. That would be the logical explanation, wouldn't it? Just a temporary, slightly coincidental malfunction?'
The science officer rose, looked at her from beneath lowered lids. She'd made certain the remaining methane cylinder was within reach before she'd spoken. But Ash made no move toward her. She still couldn't figure him.
If he was guilty, he ought to jump her while she was weakened and Parker was worse. If he was innocent, he ought to be mad enough to do the same. He was doing nothing, which she hadn't prepared for.
At least his first words in response were predictable. He did sound angrier than usual. 'If you've got something to say, say it. I'm getting sick of these constant, coy insinuations. Of being accused.'
'Nobody's accusing you.'
'Like hell.' He lapsed into sullen silence. Ripley said nothing for a long moment, then gestured at Parker. 'Take him to the infirmary and get him patched up. Leastwise we know the autodoc can handle that.'
Ash gave the engineer a hand up, slipped Parker's right arm over his shoulders, and helped him down the corridor. Ash walked past Ripley without looking back at her.
When he and his burden had disappeared around the first turn, Ripley reached up with a hand. Lambert took it, leaned back, and watched with concern as Ripley swayed a little on her feet. Ripley smiled, released the steadying hand.
'I'll be okay.' She brushed fitfully at the stains on her pants. 'How much oxygen did that little episode cost us? I'll need an exact reading.' Lambert didn't reply, continued to stare speculatively at her.
'Something wrong with that? Why are you looking at me that way? Oxygen readings no longer for public consumption?'
'Don't bite my head off,' Lambert replied, without rancor. Her tone was disbelieving. 'You were accusing him. You actually accused him of sounding the alarm to save the alien.' She shook her head slowly. 'Why?'
'Because I think he's lying. And if I can get into the tape records, I'll prove it.'
'Prove what? Even if you could somehow prove that he was responsible for the alarm going off, you can't prove that it wasn't an accident.'
'Mighty funny time for that sort of accident, wouldn't you say?' Ripley was silent for a bit, then asked softly, 'You still think I'm wrong, don't you?'
'I don't know.' Lambert looked more tired than argumentative. 'I don't know anything anymore. Yeah, I guess I have to say I think you're wrong. Wrong or crazy. Why would Ash, or anyone, want to protect the alien? It'll kill him as dead as it did Dallas and Brett. If they are dead.'
'Thanks. Always like to know who I can depend on.' Ripley turned away from the navigator, strode purposefully down the corridor toward the companionway.
Lambert watched her go, shrugged, and started gathering up the cylinders. She handled the methane with as much care as the oxygen. It was equally vital to their survival. .
'Ash, you in there? Parker?' When no response was forthcoming, Ripley cautiously entered the central computer annex. For an indeterminate time, she had the mind of the Nostromo completely to herself.
Taking a seat in front of the main console, she activated the board, rammed a thumb insistently against the identification plate. Data screens flickered to life.
So far it had been easy. Now she had to work. She thought for a moment, tapped out a five-digit code she thought would generate the response she needed. The screens remained blank, waiting for the proper query. She tried a second, little-used combination, with equal lack of success.
She swore in frustration. If she was reduced to trying random combinations she'd be working in the annex until doomsday. Which, at the rate the alien was reducing the crew, would not be far in the future.
She tried a tertiary combination instead of a primary and was stunned when the screen promptly cleared, ready to receive and disseminate. But it didn't print out a request for input. That meant the code had been only half successful. What to do?
She glanced over at the secondary keyboard. It was accessible to any member of the crew, but not privy to confidential or comment information. If she could remember the interlock combination, she could use the second keyboard to place questions with the main bank.
Quickly she changed seats, entered the hopefully correct interlock code, and typed out the first question. The key would be whether or not the interlock was accepted without question. Acceptability would be signified by the appearance of her question on the screen.
Colours chased one another for a second. The screen cleared.
WHO TURNED ON AIRLOCK 2 WARNING SYSTEM?
The response was flashed below.
