Aliens

Hudson made a face and leaned back against a cabinet 'Well, now, that's a switch.'

'What kind of bad news?' Hicks inquired.

'It will be easier to explain and show you at the same time. I'l be right over.'

'We'll be here.' Hicks flipped the intercom off. 'Charming.'

'Hey, no sweat,' said the jaunty comtech. 'We're already in the toilet, so why worry?'

The android arrived quickly and moved to the single high window that overlooked much of the colony complex. The wind had picked back up and blown off the clinging fog Visibility was still far from perfect, but it was sufficient to permit them a glimpse of the distant atmosphere-processing station. As they stared, a column of flame unexpectedly jetted skyward from the base of the station. For an instant it was brighter than the steady glow that emanated from the top of the cone itself.

'What was that?' Hudson pressed his face closer to the glass.

'Emergency venting,' Bishop informed him.

Ripley was standing close to the comtech. 'Can the construction contain the overload?'

'Not a chance. Not if the figures I've been monitoring are half accurate, and I have no reason to suppose that they are anything other than completely accurate.'

'What happened?' Hicks spoke as he walked back to the tactical console. 'Did the aliens cause that, monkeying around inside?'

'There's no way to tell. Perhaps. More likely someone hit something vital with a smartgun shell or a blast from a pulse-rifle during the fight on C-level. Or the damage might have been done when the dropship smashed into the base of the complex. The cause is of no import. All that matters is the result, which is not good.'

Ripley started to tap her fingers on the window, thought better of it, and brought her hand back to her side. There might be something out there listening. As she stared, another gush of superheated gas flared from the base of the processing station.

'How long before it blows?'

'There's no way to be sure. One can extrapolate from the available figures but without any degree of certainty. There are too many variables involved that can only be roughly compensated for, and the requisite calculations are complex.'

'How long?' Hicks asked patiently.

The android turned to him. 'Based on the information I've been able to gather, I'm projecting total systems failure in a little under four hours. The blast radius will be about thirty kilometres. It will be nice and clean. No fallout, of course About ten megatons.'

'That's very reassuring,' said Hudson dryly.

Hicks sucked air. 'We got problems.'

The comtech unfolded his arms and turned away from his companions. 'I don't believe this,' he said disconsolately. 'Do you believe this? The RSS guns blow a pack of them to bits, the fire door's still holding, and it's all a waste!'

'It's too late to shut the station down? Assuming the instrumentation necessary to do it is still operational?' Ripley stared at the android. 'Not that I'm looking forward to jogging across the tarmac, but if that's the only chance we've got, I'll take a shot at it.'

He smiled regretfully. 'Save your legs. I'm afraid it's too late The dropship impact, or the guns, or whatever, did too much damage. At this point overload is inevitable.'

'Terrific. So what's the recommended procedure now?'

Vasquez grinned at her. 'Bend over, put your head between your legs, and kiss your ass goodbye.'

Hudson was pacing the floor like a caged cat. 'Oh, man. And I was getting short too! Four more weeks and out. Three of that in hypersleep. Early retirement. Ten years in the Marines and you're out and sitting pretty, they said. Recruiters. Now I'm gonna buy it on this rock. It ain't fair, man!'

Vasquez looked bored. 'Give us a break, Hudson.'

He spun on her. 'That's easy for you to say, Vasquez. You're a lifer. You love mucking around on these alien dirtballs so you can blow away anything that sticks up bug eyes. Me, I joined for the pension. Ten years and out, take the credit, and buy into a little bar somewhere, hire somebody else to run the joint so I can kick back and jabchat with the customers while the money rolls in.'

The smartgun operator looked back toward the window as another gas jet lit up the mist-shrouded landscape. Her expression was hard. 'You're breaking my heart. Go cross a wire or something.'

'It's simple.' Ripley looked over at Hicks. 'We can't stay here so we've got to get away. There's only one way to do that: We need the other dropship. The one that's still on the Sulaco Somehow we have to bring it down on remote. There's got to be a way to do that.'

'There was. You think I haven't been thinking about that ever since Ferro rolled ours into the station?' Hudson stopped pacing. 'You use a narrow-beam transmitter tuned just for the dropship's controls.'

'I know,' she said impatiently. 'I thought about that, too, but we can't do it that way.'

'Right. The transmitter was on the APC. It's wasted.'

'There's got to be another way to bring that shuttle down. I don't care how. Think of a way. You're the comtech. Think of something.'

'Think of what? We're dead.'

'You can do better than that, Hudson. What about the colony's transmitter? That uplink tower down at the other end of the complex? We could program it to send that dropship a control frequency. Why can't we use that? It looked like it was intact.'

'The thought had occurred to me earlier.' All eyes turned toward Bishop. 'I've already checked it out. The hardwiring between here and the tower was severed in the fighting between the colonists and the aliens—one more reason why they were unable to communicate with the relay satellite overhead, even if only to leave a warning for anyone who might come to check on them.'

Ripley's mind was spinning like a dynamo, exploring options, considering and disregarding possible solutions unti only one was left. 'So what you're saying is that the transmitter itself is still functional but that it can't be utilized from here?'

The android looked thoughtful, finally nodded. 'If it is receiving its share of emergency power, then yes, I don't see why it wouldn't be capable of sending the requisite signals. A lot of power would not be necessary, since all the other channels it would normally be broadcasting are dead.'

'That's it, then.' She scanned her companions' faces 'Somebody's just going to have to go out there. Take a portable terminal and go out there and plug in manually.'

'Oh, right, right!' said Hudson with mock enthusiasm. 'With those things running around. No way.'

Bishop took a step forward. 'I'll go.' Quiet, matter of fact. As though there was no alternative.

Ripley gaped at him. 'What?'

He smiled apologetically. 'I'm really the only one present who is qualified to remote-pilot a dropship, anyway. And the outside weather won't bother me the way it would the rest of you. Nor will I be subject to quite the same degree of. mental distractions. I'll be able to concentrate on the job.'

'If you aren't accosted by any passing pedestrians,' Ripley pointed out.

'Yes, I will be fine if I am not interrupted.' His smile widened. 'Believe me, I'd prefer not to have to attempt this. I may be synthetic, but I'm not stupid. As nuclear incineration is the sole alternative, however, I am willing to give it a try.'

'All right. Let's get on it. What'll you need?'

'The portable transmitter, of course. And we'll need to check to make sure the antenna is still drawing power. Since we're making an extra-atmospheric broadcast on a narrow beam, the transmitter will have to be realigned as precisely as possible. I will also need some—'

Vasquez interrupted sharply. 'Listen!'

'To what?' Hudson turned a slow circle. 'I don't hear anything.'

'Exactly. It's stopped.'

The smartgun operator was right. The booming and scratching at the fire door had ceased. As they listened, the silence was broken by the high-pitched trill of a motion-sensor alarm. Hicks looked at the tactical console.

'They're into the complex.'

It didn't take long to get together the equipment Bishop needed. Finding a safe way out for him was another