“What is it?”
“These systems. Pretty old. I had more computing power than this to play VR games, when I was a kid.”
“You don’t see anything odd with the computer?”
“Odd?” He didn’t look up, and Ripley didn’t elaborate. “Here we are,” he said. “I’ve patched into Marion’s computer, and here’s the message. It’s on a loop.” He scanned the control panel, and Ripley leaned forward to switch to loudspeaker.
Hoop’s voice came through. There was an edgy tone to it—the fear was palpable.
“… decaying orbit. Second dropship Samson is docked and isolated, those things in there hopefully contained. They… laid infants or eggs inside the miners, burst from their chests. We are not contaminated, repeat, not contaminated. Estimate ninety days until we hit LV178’s atmosphere. All channels open, please respond. Ends.
“This is DSMO Marion, of the Kelland Company, registration HGY-64678, requesting immediate aid. Crew and mining teams down to eight surviving members. Miners discovered something on the surface of LV178, attacked, dropship Delilah crashed the Marion. Many systems damaged, environment stable but we are now in a decaying orbit. Second dropship Samson is docked and isolated…”
Hoop tapped the keyboard to turn off the replay, then glanced back at Ripley.
“Ash,” she whispered.
“What’s Ash?”
“Android. Weyland-Yutani. He was tasked with finding any alien life forms that might have been of interest to the company. His orders… crew expendable. My crew. Me.” She stared at the computer again until Hoop dropped her jacket back across it. “He’s gone, but he must have transferred part of his AI programing to the Narcissus.
He’s here. He’s in here now, and he brought me to you because of those aliens.”
“I’m not sure it’s possible that an AI could—”
“I should have been home,” Ripley said, thinking of Amanda and her sad, wet eyes when she’d watched her mother leave. She hated herself for that. Even though she should have been home with her daughter for her eleventh birthday, and nothing that had happened was her fault, Ripley hated herself. “I should have never left.”
“Well, maybe some good can come of this,” Hoop said.
“Good?” Ripley said.
“Your shuttle. Sneddon and I think we can get away on it, all of us. And that’ll leave the Marion and those fuckers on the Samson to burn up in the planet’s atmosphere.”
Ripley knew that for any extended voyage the shuttle was only suitable for one, with only a single stasis pod. But she didn’t care. Any way to distance herself from those aliens—any way to deny Ash from fulfilling his Special Order—was good for her.
“Maybe,” she said. “I’ll run a systems check.”
“You’re not alone anymore, Ripley,” Hoop said.
She blinked quickly, and nodded her thanks. Somehow, he seemed to know just what to say.
“You’ll stay here with me for a while?”
Hoop feigned surprise.
“Do you have coffee?”
“No.”
“Then my time here is limited.” He stood away from the control desk and started looking around the shuttle again. It was cramped, confined—and way, way too small.
Ignoring the computer, Ripley started manual processing of systems information.
It only took three minutes to realize how screwed they were.
5
NARCISSUS
Hoop had worked with androids before. In the deep asteroid mines of Wilson’s Scarps, they were often the first ones down and the last ones back. They’d been perfectly reasonable, amenable, quiet, honest, and strong. Safe. He couldn’t say he’d liked them, exactly, but they’d never been dangerous or intimidating. Never scheming.
Occasionally he’d heard of malfunctions in some of the earlier military-grade androids, and there were unconfirmed reports—little more than rumors, really— that the military had suffered human losses as a result. But they were a different breed of android, designed for strength but with a built-in expiration date. They were easy to spot. Their designers hadn’t been too concerned with aesthetics.
That must have been the case on Nostromo. And now, assuming Ripley was right, the AI had somehow followed her, and was still using her for its programed mission. As his team discussed their options, she looked wretched— taking in the conversation, looking at each crew member who expressed an opinion, and yet remaining silent. She smoked cigarette after cigarette, and drank coffee.
She must think she’s still dreaming, he mused, consumed by nightmares. And every now and then she glanced across at him as if checking that he was on board with all of this.
Because it turned out that they were more royally screwed than any of them had thought.
The plan they were slowly forming—crazy as it was— seemed to be the only way out. It was a last chance, and they had no option but to grab it.
“You’re sure about the timescales?” Powell asked. “Only a few days until we start skimming the atmosphere?”
“Sure as I can be,” Lachance replied.
“I thought we had a couple of weeks left,” Kasyanov said, voice raised as fear clasped her.
“Sorry. I lost my crystal ball in the collision.” Lachance rested in the pilot’s chair, turned around to face them all. The rest sat or stood around the bridge, in seats or leaning against equipment terminals. It was the first time Ripley had been with all eight of them together, but Hoop couldn’t sense any nervousness in her. If anything, she was too distracted for that.
“And there’s nothing you guys can do?” Kasyanov said, looking at Powell, Welford, and then Hoop. He didn’t like the accusation in her eyes, as if they hadn’t done their best. “I mean, you’re engineers.”
“Kasyanov, I think I’ve made it pretty clear,” Lachance said. “Our attitude control is damaged beyond repair, retro capability is down to thirty percent. Several containment bulkheads are cracked, and there’s a good chance if we initiate thrust we’ll just flash-fry ourselves with radiation.” He paused briefly.
“We do still have coffee, though. That’s one positive.”
“How do we know all that’s true?” Kasyanov asked. “It’s getting desperate here. We should go outside, look again at all the damage.”
“You know because I’m the best pilot who’s ever worked for Kelland,” Lachance said. “And the fact that Hoop, Welford, and Powell have kept us all alive for this long is a fucking miracle. Fixing the hull breaches, repressurizing the vented sections of the ship. That’s why you know it’s true.”
Kasyanov started to say some more, but Garcia put a hand on her arm. Hoop didn’t think she even squeezed— just the contact was enough to silence the doctor.
“However much we wish it wasn’t true, it is,” Hoop said. “And we’ve got no more time to waste. We think we have a plan, but it’s not going to be easy.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Kasyanov asked.
“Me, Sneddon, Ripley.”
“Ripley? The stranger who just woke up from half-a-century of snoozing? What’s she got to do with this?”
Ripley glanced across at Kasyanov, then away again, looking down at the coffee cup in her hand. Hoop waited for her to speak, but she remained silent.
“This isn’t a conspiracy, Kasyanov,” he said. “Hear us out.”
The doctor drew in a breath and seemed to puff herself up, ready to say something else, challenge him some more. But then she nodded.