Alien

instruments.'

'What's the matter, Lambert?' Kane was teasing her. 'Afraid of the dark?'

She didn't smile back. 'I'm not afraid of the dark I know. It's the dark I don't that terrifies me. Especially when it's filled with noises like that distress call.' She turned her attention back to the dustswept port.

Her willingness to express their deepest fears did nothing to improve the mental atmosphere on the bridge. Cramped at the best of times, it grew suffocating in the near blackness, made worse by a continuing silence among them.

It was a relief when Ripley announced, 'We've got intercom to engineering again.' Dallas and the others watched her expectantly as she fiddled with the amp. 'That you, Parker?'

'Yeah, it's me.' From the sound of it, the engineer was too tired to snap in his usual acerbic manner.

'What's your status?' Dallas crossed mental fingers. 'What about that fire?'

'We finally got it knocked down.' He sighed, making it sound like the wind over the 'corn. 'It got into some of that old lubrication lining the corridor walls down on C level. For a while I thought we'd get our lungs seared proper. The combustible stuff was thinner than I thought, though, and it burnt out fast before it ate up too much of our air. Scrubbers seem to be getting the carbon out okay.'

Dallas licked his lips. 'How about damage? Never mind the superficial stuff. Ship-efficiency function and performance hindrance are all I'm concerned about.'

'Let's see. . four panel is totally shot.' Dallas could imagine the engineer ticking off items on his fingers as he reported back. 'The secondary-load sharing unit is out and at least three cellites on twelve module are gone. With all that implies.' He let that sink in, added, 'You want the little things? Give me about an hour and I'll have you a list.'

'Skip it. Hold on a second.' He turned to Ripley. 'Try the screens again.' She did so, with no effect. They remained as blank as a Company accountant's mind.

'We'll just have to do without a while longer,' he told her.

'You sure that's everything?' she said into the pickup. Ripley found herself feeling sympathy for Parker and Brett for the first time since they'd become part of the crew. Or since she had, as Parker preceded her in seniority as a member of the Nostromo's complement.

'So far.' He coughed over the speaker. 'We're trying to get full ship power back right now. Twelve module going out screwed up everything back here. Let you know better about power when we've gone through everything the fire ate.'

'What about repairs? Can you manage?' Dallas was running over the engineer's brief reports in his mind. They ought to be able to patch up the initial damage, but the cellite problem would take time. What might be wrong with module twelve he preferred not to think about.

'Couldn't fix it all out here no matter what,' Parker replied.

'I didn't think you could. Don't expect you to. What can you do?'

'We need to reroute a couple of these ducts and reline the damaged intakes. We'll have to work around the really bad damage. Can't fix those ducts properly without putting the ship in a full drydock. We'll have to fake it.'

'I understand. What else?'

'Told you. Module twelve. I'm giving it to you straight. We lost a main cell'

'How? The dust?'

'Partly.' Parker paused, exchanged inaudible words with Brett, then was back at the pickup. 'Some fragments agglutinated inside the intakes, caked up, and caused the overheating that sparked the fire. You know how sensitive those drivers are. Went right through the shielding and blew the whole system.'

'Anything you can do with it?' Dallas asked. The system had to be repaired somehow. They couldn't replace it.

'I think so. Brett thinks so. We've got to clean it all out and revacuum, then see how well it holds. If it stays tight after it's been scoured, we should be fine. If it doesn't, we can try metalforming a patchseal. If it turns out that we've got a crack running the length of the duct, well. .' His voice trailed away.

'Let's not talk about ultimate problems,' Dallas suggested. 'Let's stick with the immediate ones for now and hope they're all we have to deal with.'

'Okay by us.'

'Right,' added Brett, sounding as though he was working somewhere off to the engineer's left

'Bridge out.,'

'Engineering out. Keep the coffee warm.'

Ripley flipped off the intercom, looked expectantly at Dallas. He sat quietly, thinking.

'How long before we're functional, Ripley? Given that Parker's right about the damage and that he and Brett can do their jobs and the repairs hold?'

She studied readouts, thought for a moment. 'If they can reroute those ducts and fix module twelve to the point where it'll carry it's share of the power load again, I'd estimate fifteen to twenty hours.'

'Not too bad. I got eighteen.' He didn't smile, but he was feeling more hopeful. 'What about the auxiliaries? They'd better be ready to go when we get power back.'

'Working on it.' Lambert made adjustments to concealed instrumentation. 'We'll be ready here when they're finished back in engineering.'

Ten minutes later a tiny speaker at Kane's station let go with a series of sharp beeps. He studied a gauge, then flipped on the 'com. 'Bridge. Kane here.'

Sounding exhausted but pleased with himself, Parker spoke from the far end of the ship. 'I don't know how long it'll hold. . some of the welds we had to make are pretty sloppy. If everything kicks over the way it ought to, we'll retrace more carefully and redo the seals for permanence. You ought to have power now.'

The exec thumbed an override. Lights returned to the bridge, dependent readouts flickered and lit up, and there were scattered grunts and murmurs of appreciation from the rest of the crew.

'We've got power and lights back,' Kane reported. 'Nice work, you two.'

'All our work is nice,' replied Parker.

'Right.' Brett must have been standing next to the intercom pickup back by the engines, judging from the steady hum that formed an elegant counterpoint to his standard monosyllabic response.

'Don't get too excited,' Parker was saying. 'The new links should hold, but I'm not making any promises. We just threw stuff together back here. Anything new up your way?'

Kane shook his head, reminded himself that Parker couldn't see the gesture. 'Not a damn thing.' He glanced out the nearest port. The bridge lights cast their faint glow over a patch of featureless, barren ground. Occasionally the storm raging outside would carry a large fragment of sand or bit of rock into view and there would be a brief flash produced by reflection. But that was all.

'Just bare rock. We can't see very far. For all I know we could be squatting five metres from the local oasis.'

'Dream on.' Parker shouted something to Brett, closed with a workmanlike, 'Be in touch if we have any trouble. Let us know the same.'

'Send you a postcard.' Kane switched off. .

III

It might have been better for everyone's peace of mind if the emergency had continued. With lights and power back and nothing to do save stare emptily at each other, the five people on the bridge grew increasingly restless. There was no room to stretch out and relax. A single floor pacer would have used all the available deck. So they moped at their stations, downed inordinate quantities of coffee spewed out by the autochef, and tried to think of something to do that would keep their damnably busy brains from concentrating on the present unpleasant situation. As to what lay outside the ship, possibly close by, they elected not to speculate aloud.

Of them all, only Ash seemed relatively content. His only concern at the moment was for the mental condition of his shipmates. There were no true recreation facilities on the ship for them to turn to. The Nostromo