Ripley covered him up. He’d been torn in half just below his ribcage, and his legs and lower body had dropped to the elevator floor. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the broken ankle. Baxter’s foot lay at an odd angle, and the heavy padding they’d used to try and splint the break had come unraveled. He’d struggled so long on that, and for so far, because he wanted to survive.
Of course he did.
They all wanted to survive, and they’d do anything to do so. Baxter had run and walked on a broken ankle, going through untold pain. And now…
She only looked briefly before dropping her suit jacket across the ruined, open part of him. Things that should never be outside a body were splashed across the elevator floor, and her jacket covered most of them.
She was cold, her tattered thermal vest doing little to hold in her body heat. But she’d rather be cold than stare at what was left of that poor man. Her stomach rolled a little, more at the stench of vomit than what she had seen.
Am I just stronger? she thought. Have I just seen too much? Is it that I expect the worst, so it doesn’t worry me? She wasn’t sure.
Maybe it was because she had something more on her mind.
She turned her back on Baxter, picked up his dropped plasma torch, and checked out Sneddon. The science officer seemed to be in reasonable shape, and there was even color in her cheeks again. She was quiet, leaning against the elevator wall and staring into some distance only she could see.
“How do you feel?” Ripley asked.
“Yeah,” Sneddon said. “Yeah, good. Weird dreams. But I’m okay.”
“You know what happened to you.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, I know.”
Ripley nodded, looked around. The others were staring at her. I’m the stranger here, she thought. Her gaze rested on Hoop, and she couldn’t quite read him. They were all tired, shocked from Baxter’s gruesome demise. She couldn’t say anything yet. She just couldn’t.
“She’ll be fine,” Hoop said. “We have a med-pod on the Marion that can—”
“It’s okay,” Ripley said, turning away. She breathed hard. The sensation of movement from the elevator had been startling—still was—probably made worse by the walls distorted by the alien attack. She felt suddenly sick. But she swallowed, bit her lip, and willed it back down.
Sneddon couldn’t reach the Marion alive. Ripley knew that, yet she was uncertain how far she would go to prevent it. Ash was up there, ready and waiting to receive the science officer into his control. It didn’t matter that she was a human being. She was impregnated now, and she carried what Ash had been seeking for thirty-seven years.
Does he already know? She had to assume that was a yes.
Would he go to any lengths to protect and preserve Sneddon, and what she carried? Again, yes. She knew that, had witnessed Ash’s determination before.
Sneddon couldn’t be taken to the Marion. And Ripley could not kill another person. The problem circled, deep and heavy, and she closed her eyes, hoping that a solution would come.
Each level they passed was marked by a soft chime from the elevator’s control panel, and the voice of someone from far away and long ago reciting, “Seven… Six… Five.” The cage decelerated then, and Ripley experienced the strange sensation of being stretched, head and shoulders growing suddenly light. It made it easier to breathe, but did nothing to level her queasiness.
She did her best not to puke. Her stomach wound throbbed deep and cold, and she thought if she heaved the act might pop the staples holding her together. Her shoulder and arm were stiff, and she was sure she could feel the penetrating metal of the clasps there every time she moved. She thought of asking Kasyanov for another shot of anaesthetic or painkiller. But she was already woozy enough. If a flash of pain now and then was what she had to endure to stay awake, so be it. She needed all her wits about her. They all did.
The elevator slowed to a halt, and a different chime sounded from the control panel. Outside of the cage, all was blackness.
“Level 4,” Lachance said. “Lingerie, footwear, monsters, and beasties.”
“This level was mined out two years ago,” Hoop said. “Lots of deep tunnels, a complex network. One of the longest in the mine snakes away from here for over three miles.”
“Sounds lovely,” Ripley said. “So the fuel cells are here?”
“Yeah, we use this level for storage now. Lachance?”
“Spare fuel cells shouldn’t be that far away. We’ll need to find a powered trolley to carry one.”
“You okay?” Kasyanov asked, and it took Ripley a few seconds to realize the doctor was talking to her.
She nodded. Realized they were all looking at her.
“You were… mumbling to yourself,” Hoop said.
“I’m good,” Ripley insisted, smiling. But she hadn’t realized she was saying a word.
Waiting for Hoop to throw the doors open, she tried to analyze her wounds again, assess just how badly hurt she was. But the shots Kasyanov had given her made that quite hard to do. She was slightly removed from herself, a distance that made the pain bearable but which also furred the edges of her perception.
She’d have time for reality later.
I’m awake. I’m me. Stay sharp, Ripley!
Damaged as they were, Hoop had to force the cage doors open manually, and they shone their lights outside. They all waited in silence, playing the lights around the open area they revealed. Hoop edged forward and stepped outside, crouching low, turning his flashlight and spray gun left and right.
“Looks clear,” he whispered. “Wait here.” He crossed to a mess of dials and controls fixed onto a wall, flicked some switches, and with a buzz and a click the lights came on. As elsewhere in the mine, there were strings of bare lights slung tight to the ceiling, and more hung from hooks sunk into the walls. But basic though they were, everyone welcomed the illumination.
“Flashlights off,” Hoop said. “Conserve whatever charge you have left. We might need them again.”
Ripley and the other three survivors left the elevator and fanned out. The area was similar to that on Level 9, a wide space with metal props at regular intervals. There was more mining equipment discarded all around— tools, clothing, some water canisters, and several wheeled trolleys. Lachance checked out the trolleys and found one whose power pack was still half-charged. He stood on the small control deck, accessed the control panel, and rolled forward a few steps.
“How far in are the stores?” Ripley asked.
“Not far,” Hoop said, pointing at one of the tunnels leading off. “Just through there, hundred yards or so. Why?”
“And how many fuel cells are stored down here?”
“Three,” Lachance said. “Two spares for the Marion, and one for the mine’s power plant on the surface. The plant is designed so it runs off ship-grade power cells. We store them all down here, so we don’t lose the ship if they… malfunction.”
“Okay,” Ripley said. She looked around at them all, bloodied and desperate, holding their mining tools that had been turned into weapons. They weren’t soldiers. They weren’t even miners. But they’d survived so far, and if and when they got home, they would have a hell of a story to tell.
“We’ve got to bury the mine,” she said.
“What?” Lachance asked. “Why? We discovered something amazing down there! That ship was incredible enough, but those buildings we found… it can’t have been just one. It was the start of a city, Ripley. Maybe a thousand, even ten thousand years old. It’s…” He shrugged, at a loss for words.