and wiped away the tear, not wanting Tim to see her cry.
'Timmy — wake up, Timmy. They've been gone a long time.'
Her brother blinked, removed his feet from the console, and sat up. He glanced unconcernedly at the chronometre set in the control dash, then peered out at the dim, blasted landscape. Despite the tractor's heavy- duty insulation, one could still hear the wind blowing outside when the engine was shut down. Tim sucked on his lower lip.
'It'll be okay, Newt. Dad knows what he's doing.'
At that instant the outside door slammed open, admitting wind, dust, and a tall dark shape. Newt screamed, and Tim scrambled out of the seat as their mother ripped off her visor and threw it aside, heedless of the damage it might do to the delicate instrumentation. Her eyes were wild, and the tendons stood out in her neck as she shoved past her children. She snatched up the dash mike and yelled into the condenser.
'Mayday! Mayday! This is Alpha Kilo Two Four Niner calling Hadley Control. Repeat. This is Alpha Kil. '
Newt barely heard her mother. She had both hands pressed over her mouth as she sucked on stale atmosphere. Behind her the tractor's filters whined as they fought to strain the particulate-laden air. She was staring out the open door at the ground. Her father lay there, sprawled on his back on the rocks. Somehow her mother had dragged him all the way back from the alien ship.
There was something on his face.
It was flat, heavily ribbed, and had lots of spiderlike chitinous legs. The long, muscular tail was tightly wrapped around the neck of her father's environment suit. More than anything else, the creature resembled a mutated horseshoe crab with a soft exterior. It was pulsing in and out, in and out like a pump. Like a machine. Except that it was not a machine It was clearly, obviously, obscenely alive.
Newt began screaming again, and this time she didn't stop.
III
It was quiet in the apartment except for the blare of the wallscreen. Ripley ignored the simpcom and concentrated instead on the smoke rising from her denicotined cigarette. It formed lazy, hazy patterns in the stagnant air.
Even though it was late in the day, she'd managed to avoid confronting a mirror. Just as well, since her haggard, unkempt appearance could only depress her further. The apartment was in better shape than she was. There were just enough decorative touches to keep it from appearing spartan. None of the touches were what another might call personal. That was understandable. She'd outlived everything that once might have been considered personal. The sink was full of dirty dishes even though the dishwasher sat empty beneath it.
She wore a bathrobe that was aging as rapidly as its owner In the adjoining bedroom, sheets and blankets lay in a heap at the base of the mattress. Jones prowled the kitchen, hunting overlooked morsels. He would find none. The kitchen kept itself reasonably antiseptic despite a deliberate lack of cooperation from its owner.
'Hey, Bob!' the wallscreen bleated vapidly, 'I heard that you and the family are heading off for the colonies!'
'Best decision I ever made, Phil,' replied a fatuously grinning nonentity from the opposite side of the wall. 'We'll be starting a new life from scratch in a clean world. No crime, no unemployment. '
And the two chiseled performers who were acting out this administration-approved spiel probably lived in an expensive Green Ring on the East Coast, Ripley thought sardonically as she listened to it with half an ear. In Cape Cod condos overlooking Martha's Vineyard or Hilton Head or some other unpolluted, high-priced snob refuge for the fortunate few who knew how to bill and coo and dance, yassuh, dance when imperious corporate chieftains snapped their fingers. None of that for her. No smell of salt, no cool mountain breezes Inner-city Company dole, and lucky she was to have that much.
She'd find something soon. They just wanted to keep her quiet for a while, until she calmed down. They'd be glad to help her relocate and retrain. After which they'd conveniently forget about her. Which was just dandy keeno fine as far as she was concerned. She wanted no more to do with the Company than the Company wanted to do with her.
If only they hadn't suspended her license, she'd long since have been out of here and away.
The door buzzed sharply for attention and she jumped Jones merely glanced up and meowed before trundling of toward the bathroom. He didn't like strangers. Always had been a smart cat.
She put the cigarette (guaranteed to contain no carcinogens no nicotine, and no tobacco-harmless to your health, or so the warning label on the side of the packet insisted) aside and moved to open the door. She didn't bother to check through the peephole. Hers was a full-security building. Not that after her recent experiences there was anything in an Earthside city that could frighten her.
Carter Burke stood there, wearing his usual apologetic smile Standing next to him and looking formal was a younger man clad in the severe dress-black uniform of an officer in the Colonial Marines.
'Hi, Ripley.' Burke indicated his companion. 'This is Lieutenant Gorman of the Co—'
The closing door cut his sentence in half. Ripley turned her back on it, but she'd neglected to cut power to the hall speaker Burke's voice reached her via the concealed membrane.
'Ripley, we have to talk.'
'No, we don't. Get lost, Carter. And take your friend with you.'
'No can do. This is important.'
'Not to me it isn't. Nothing's important to me.'
Burke went silent, but she sensed he hadn't left. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't give up easily. The Company rep wasn't demanding, but he was an accomplished wheedler.
As it developed, he didn't have to argue with her. All he had to do was say one sentence.
'We've lost contact with the colony of Acheron.'
A sinking feeling inside as she mulled over the ramifications of that unexpected statement. Well, perhaps not entirely unexpected. She hesitated a moment longer before opening the door. It wasn't a ploy. That much was evident in Burke's expression. Gorman's gaze shifted from one to the other. He was clearly uncomfortable at being ignored, even as he tried not to show it.
She stepped aside. 'Come in.'
Burke surveyed the apartment and gratefully said nothing shying away from inanities like 'Nice place you have here' when it obviously wasn't. He also forbore from saying, 'You're looking well,' since that also would have constituted an obvious untruth She could respect him for his restraint. She gestured toward the table.
'Want something? Coffee, tea, spritz?'
'Coffee would be fine,' he replied. Gorman added a nod.
She went into the compact kitchen and dialed up a few cups Bubbling sounds began to emanate from the processor as she turned back to the den.
'You didn't need to bring the Marines.' She smiled thinly at him. 'I'm past the violent stage. The psych techs said so, and it's right there on my chart.' She waved toward a desk piled high with discs and papers. 'So what's with the escort?'
'I'm here as an official representative of the corps.' Gorman was clearly uneasy and more than willing to let Burke handle the bulk of the conversation. How much did he know, and what had they told him about her' she wondered. Was he disappointed in not encountering some stoned harridan? Not that his opinion of her mattered.
'So you've lost contact.' She feigned indifference. 'So?'
Burke looked down at his slim-line, secured briefcase. 'It has to be checked out. Fast. All communications are down. They've been down too long for the interruption to be due to equipment failure. Acheron's been in business for years They're experienced people, and they have appropriate backup systems. Maybe they're working on fixing the problem right now. But it's been no-go dead silence for too long. People are getting nervous. Somebody has to go and check it out in person. It's the only way to quiet the nervous Nellies.
'Probably they'll correct the trouble while the ship's on its way out and the whole trip will be a waste of time and money but it's time to set out.'
