Ripley looked fully relaxed now. 'As near as I can tell, we can set down anywhere you like. Readings say it's flat below us. Totally flat.'
Dallas's thoughts turned to visions of smooth lava, of a cool but deceptively thin crust barely concealing molten destruction. 'Yeah, but flat what? Water, pahoehoe, sand? Bounce something off, Kane. Get us a determination. I'll take her down low enough so that we lose most of this interference. If it's flat, I can get us close without too much trouble.'
Kane flipped switches. 'Monitoring. Analytics activated. Still getting noise.'
Carefully, Dallas eased the tug toward the surface.
'Still noisy, but starting to clear.'
Again, Dallas lost altitude. Lambert watched gauges. They were more than high enough for safe clearance, but at the speed they were Travelling that could change rapidly if anything went wrong with the ship's engines, or if an other-worldly downdraft should materialize. Nor could they cut their speed further. In this wind, that would mean a critical loss of control.
'Clearing, clearing. . that's got it!' He studied readouts and contour lines provided by the ship's imaging scanner. 'It was molten once, but not anymore. Not for a long time, according to the analytics. It's mostly basalt, some rhyolite, with occasional lava overlays. Everything's cool and solid now. No sign of tectonic activity.' He utilized other instruments to probe deeper into the secrets of the tiny world's skin.
'No faults of consequence below us or in the immediate vicinity. Should be a nice place to set down.'
Dallas thought briefly. 'You're positive about the surface composition?'
'It's too old to be anything else.' The executive officer sounded a touch peeved. 'I know enough to check age data along with composition. Think I'd take any chances putting us down inside a volcano?'
'All right, all right. Sorry. Just checking. I haven't done a landing without charts and beacon since school training. I'm a bit nervous.'
'Ain't we all?' admitted Lambert readily.
'If we're set then?' No one objected. 'Let's take her down. I'm going to spiral in as best I can in this wind, try to get us as close as possible. But you keep a tight signal watch on, Lambert. I don't want us coming down on top of that calling ship. Warn me for distance if we get too close.' His tone was intense in the cramped room.
Adjustments were made, commands given and executed by faithful electronic servants. The Nostromo commenced to follow a steady spiraling path surfaceward, fighting crosswinds and protesting gusts of black air every metre of the way.
'Fifteen kilometres and descending,' announced Ripley evenly. 'Twelve. . ten. . eight.' Dallas touched a control. 'Slowing rate. Five. . three. . two. One kilometre.' The same control was further altered. 'Slowing. Activate landing engines.'
'Locked.' Kane was working confidently at his console. 'Descent now computer monitored.' A crisp, loud hum filled the bridge as Mother took over control of their drop, regulating the last metres of descent with more precision than the best human pilot could have managed.
'Descending on landers,' Kane told them.
'Kill engines.'
Dallas performed a final prelanding check, flipped several switches to OFF. 'Engines off. Lifter quads functioning properly.' A steady throbbing filled the bridge.
'Nine hundred metres and dropping.' Ripley watched her console. 'Eight hundred. Seven hundred Six.' She continued to count off the rate of descent in hundreds of metres. Before long she was reciting it in tens.
At five metres the tug hesitated, hovering on its landers above the storm-wracked, night-shrouded surface.
'Struts down.' Kane was already moving to execute the required action as Dallas was giving the order. A faint whine filled the bridge. Several thick metal legs unfolded beetle-like from the ship's belly, drifted tantalizingly close to the still unseen rock below them.
'Four metres. . ufff!' Ripley stopped. So did the Nostromo, as landing struts contacted unyielding rock. Massive absorbers cushioned the contact.
'We're down.'
Something snapped. A minor circuit, probably, or perhaps an overload not properly compensated for, not handled fast enough. A terrific shock ran through the ship. The metal of the hull vibrated, producing an eerie, metallic moan throughout the ship.
'Lost it, lost it!' Kane was shouting as the lights on the bridge went out. Gauges screamed for attention as the failure snowballed back through the interdependent metal nerve ends of the Nostromo.
When the shock struck engineering, Parker and Brett were preparing to crack another set of beers. A line of ranked pipes set into the moulded ceiling promptly exploded. Three panels in the control cubicle burst into flame, while a nearby pressure valve swelled, then burst.
The lights went out and they fumbled for hand beams while Parker tried to find the button controlling the backup generator, which provided power in the absence of direct service from the operating engines.
Controlled confusion reigned on the bridge. When the yells and questions had died down, it was Lambert who voiced the most common thought.
'Secondary generator should have kicked over by now.' She took a step, bumped a knee hard against a console.
'Wonder what's keeping it?' Kane moved to the wall, felt along it. Backup landing controls. . here. He ran his fingers over several familiar knobs. Aft lock stud. . there. Nearby ought to be. . his hand fastened on an emergency lightbar, switched it on. A dim glow revealed several ghostly silhouettes.
With Kane's light serving as a guide, Dallas and Lambert located their own lightbars. The three beams combined to provide enough illumination to work by.
'What happened? Why hasn't the secondary taken over? And what caused the outage?'
Ripley thumbed the intercom. 'Engine room, what happened? What's our status?'
'Lousy.' Parker sounded busy, mad, and worried all at once. A distant buzzing, like the frantic wings of some colossal insect, formed a backdrop to his words. Those words rose and faded, as though the speaker were having trouble staying in range of the omni-directional intercom pickup.
'Goddamn dust in the engines, that's what happened. Caught it coming down. Guess we didn't close it off and clean it out in time. Got an electrical fire back here.'
'It's big,' was Brett's single addition to the conversation. He sounded weak with distance.
There was a pause, during which they could make out only the whoosh of chemical extinguishers over the speaker. 'The intakes got clogged,' Brett finally was able to tell the anxious knot of listeners. 'We overheated bad, burnt out a whole cell, I think. Christ, it's really breaking loose down here. . '
Dallas glanced over at Ripley. 'Those two sound busy enough. Somebody give me the critical answer. Something went bang. I hope to hell it was only back in their department, but it could be worse. Has the hull been breached?' He took a deep breath. 'If so, where and how badly?'
Ripley performed a quick scan of the ship's emergency pressurization gauges, then made a rapid eye search via individual cabin diagrams before she felt confident in replying with certainty. 'I don't see anything. We still have full pressure in all compartments. If there is a hole, it's too small to show and the self-seal's already managed to plug it.'
Ash studied his own console. Along with the others, it was independently powered in the event of a massive energy failure such as they were presently experiencing. 'Air in all compartments shows no sign of contamination from outside atmosphere. I think we're still tight, sir.'
'Best news I've had in sixty seconds. Kane, hit the exterior screens that are still powered up.'
The executive officer adjusted a trio of toggles. There was a noticeable flickering, hints of faint geologic forms, then complete darkness.
'Nothing. We're blind outside as well as in here. Have to get secondary power at least before we can have a look at where we are. Batteries aren't enough for even minimal imaging.'
The audio sensors required less energy. They conveyed the voice of this world into the cabin. The storm- wind sounds rose and fell against the motionless receptors, filling the bridge with a hoo-click that sounded like fish arguing.
'Wish we'd come down in daylight.' Lambert gazed out a dark port. 'We'd be able to see without
