A siren wailed, buzzers cut through the cabin, and the ship’s attitude changed. Lachance seemed to be calm and in control, stroking buttons and waving his hand across projected controls between him and the windscreen. The Marion moved out of sight to port, and LV178 came into view. With the vibration of the ship’s descent it was difficult to make out any real features—to Ripley it was little more than a yellowish-gray smudge beyond the windows.
A few moments later Lachance hit a button and heat shields rose to block out the view.
“Just about to start skimming the atmosphere now,” he said.
Artificial gravity flickered as it adjusted to the planet’s real pull. Sneddon puked. She leaned forward and aimed most of it between her legs. Kasyanov glanced sideways then ahead again, closing her eyes, gripping her seat arms so tightly that her knuckles were pearls of white on her dark skin.
Hoop’s grip almost hurt, but Ripley didn’t mind.
The Samson started to shake even more. Each impact seemed hard enough to tear the ship apart, and Ripley couldn’t hold back the gasps and grunts that came with each thud. It brought back memories of descending down to LV426 in Nostromo, but this was much worse.
She looked back at that strange swathe of material the aliens had left behind. It must have been quite solid to survive the decompression and remain intact, yet from here it looked almost soft, like huge spider webbing covered with dust and ash. The creatures must have hibernated in there. She wondered just how much longer the beasts could have slept, waiting, if they hadn’t decided to open up the Samson.
Her thoughts drifted, and she feared what was below them. Hoop figured that eighteen miners had been left behind down on the surface, and no one knew what had happened to them. There was no real information on what they had found, how the alien attack had happened, where they had been discovered. The trimonite mine was the last place in the galaxy she wanted to go right then, but it was the only place that offered any hope for their survival.
Get the fuel cells and get out again. That was Hoop’s plan. They’d all agreed.
It felt as if the ship was shaking itself to pieces. Just when Ripley believed all their worries might end there and then, Lachance spoke again.
“Might be a little turbulence up ahead.”
Sneddon leaned forward and puked again.
Ripley leaned back and closed her eyes, and Hoop squeezed her hand even tighter.
It seemed like forever, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour before they were deep in LV178’s atmosphere, flying a mile above the planet’s surface toward the mine. Baxter had fired up the nav computer and calculated that the facility was six hundred miles away.
“Just over an hour,” Lachance said. “I could fly faster, but the storm’s still pretty rough.”
“Let me guess,” Kasyanov said. “Might get bumpy?”
“Just a little.”
“How are we still flying?” Sneddon asked. “How is the ship still in once piece? How is my stomach not hanging out of my mouth?”
“Because we’re hardy space explorers,” Baxter said.
In truth, the vibrating and bumping had reduced drastically once they had entered the atmosphere and Baxter had plotted their route. Lachance gave control over to the autopilot, and then turned his seat around.
“Lobster,” he said.
Sneddon groaned. “If you ever mentioned food again, Lachance, I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”
“Okay, folks, we’ve got an hour,” Hoop said. “We need to talk about what happens next.”
“We land, get the fuel cell, take off again,” Ripley said. “Right?”
“Well…”
“What?” she asked.
“It might not be quite that simple,” Hoop said. “There are variables.”
“Oh, great,” Kasyanov said. “You can’t get much more variable that those monsters, can you?”
“Landing pad,” Hoop said. “Access to the mine. Air quality inside. Damage. And the fuel cells are stored several levels down.”
“So tell me what all that means?” Ripley said, looking around at them.
Sneddon held up her hands. “Hey, I’m just the science officer.”
“The planet’s atmosphere isn’t great,” Hoop said. “The mine and its surface complex are contained in an environmental dome. The landing pads are outside, connected by short tunnels. Inside the dome there are several surface buildings—stores, mess block, accommodations—and then two entrances to the mine, also enclosed for additional safety.
“Once down in the mine, in each entrance there are two caged elevators descending to nine levels. The first three levels are abandoned—they’ve been mined out. Level four is where the fuel cells are stored, along with a load more emergency stores. Food, water, equipment, stuff like that. Most of the emergency stores are belowground in case of a disaster, so they’ll be accessible to anyone down in the mine. And levels five through nine are the current working levels.”
“Then it’s on one of those levels they found the aliens?” Ripley asked.
“That’s a fair bet.”
“So we get in, descend to level four, get the fuel cells, and come back out.”
“Yeah,” Hoop said. “But we have no idea what state the mine’s in.”
“We take it all step by step,” Kasyanov said. “Whatever we find, we work through it as best we can.”
“And just as fast as we can,” Sneddon said. “Don’t know about you all, but I don’t want to be down here one minute longer than necessary.”
After that, silence hung heavy. Lachance turned his chair around again and kept an eye on the flight computers. Baxter scanned the nav displays. Ripley and the others sat quietly, not catching one another’s eyes, and trying not to look at the strange sculptures the aliens had left behind.
Ripley took the easy way out and closed her eyes.
And surprised herself when Hoop nudged her awake. Had she really slept? Through all that movement, buffeting, and noise?
“Sheesh, haven’t you slept long enough?” he asked. Anyone else and she might have been annoyed, but there was a lilt to his voice that said he almost understood. He sounded hesitant, too, almost sad.
“We there?”
“Just circling the complex now.”
“Lights are on,” Lachance said from the flight deck.
“But no one’s home,” Baxter replied. “Dome looks intact, can’t see any obvious damage.”
Ripley waited for a moment, sensing the subtle vibrations of the ship. Their flight seemed much smoother than when she’d fallen asleep. She hit the quick release catch on her straps and stood up.
“Ripley?” Hoop said.
“Just looking.” She moved forward and leaned against the back of the flight chair. The Frenchman turned lazily and squinted back at her.
“Come to see my cockpit??” he asked.
“You wish,” she replied.
The windscreen was hazed with dust, but she could still make out the segmented metallic dome below as the ship circled it. One side of it was almost buried with drifting sand, and across its surface were several blinking lights. There was no sign of clear sections, nor could she see any access points.
“Bleak,” she said.
“Wait ’til you get inside,” Baxter said.
“Where are the landing pads?”
Lachance leveled the Samson slightly and hovered, drifting sideways directly over the dome. He pointed. Ripley could just make out three bulky shapes on the ground, also half-buried by drifted sand.