“Bad?” he asked softly.
She looked up, pale and sickly.
“I’ve puked blood. I’ll have to use the med pod. Otherwise, I’ll die of internal bleeding and infection within a day.”
“We’ve got maybe two hours,” Hoop said.
“Time enough,” she replied, nodding. “She’ll be done in fifteen minutes.”
He had seen the unit working before, but it never ceased to fascinate him. Ripley looked thin and malnourished, battered and bruised. But the med pod had already repaired most of her major wounds, and several operating arms were concentrating on the rip in her stomach. They moved with a fluid grace, lacking any human hesitation and targeted with computer confidence. Two delved inside, one grasping, another using a laser to patch and mend. Its white-warm glow reflected from the pod’s glass cover and gave movement to Ripley’s face, but in truth she was motionless. Back down in the depths of whatever dreams troubled her so much.
They, too, would soon be fixed.
The arms retreated and then her wound was glued and stitched with dissolvable thread. A gentle spray was applied to the area—artificial skin, set to react over time as the natural healing processes commenced. When she woke up, there would be little more than a pale pink line where the ugly slash had once existed.
Bumps and bruises were sprayed, her damaged scalp treated, an acid splash across her left forearm and hand attended to, after which the pod’s arms pulled a white sheet from a roll beneath the bed and settled it gently across Ripley’s body. It was almost caring.
Kasyanov glanced at Hoop, and he nodded. She initiated the next process. Then sighed, sat back, and closed her eyes as the interior of the med pod changed color. Rich blue lights came on, and arms as delicate as daisy stems pressed several contact pads against Ripley’s forehead, temples, and neck. The lights began to pulse hypnotically. The pod buzzed in time with the pulsing, emitting a soporific tone. Hoop had to look away.
He turned to Kasyanov. Her breathing was light and fast, but she waved him away, nodding.
“I’m good,” she said.
“You’re shit.”
“Yeah. Well. What’s that, a doctor’s analysis?”
Hoop could barely smile. Instead, he went to the bags she’d left by the med bay’s door and opened the first to check inside.
“Antibiotics, viral tabs, painkillers, sterilization spray,” Kasyanov said. “Other stuff. Bandages, medicines, contraceptives.”
Hoop raised an eyebrow.
“Hey. Forever is a long time.”
He checked another bag and saw a jumble of plastic containers and shrink-wrapped instruments.
“You planning on passing time by operating on us?”
“Not unless I have to. But you really want to die from appendicitis?”
A soft chime came from the med pod and the lights inside faded to nothing. Sensor tendrils curled back in, fine limbs settled into place, and then the lid slid soundlessly open.
“She’s done?” Hoop asked.
“Guess so.” Kasyanov hauled herself upright, growling against the pain. “Get her out. I’ve got to—”
A distant explosion thudded through the ship. The floor kicked up. Ceiling tiles shuddered in their grid.
“Hurry,” Hoop said. As he moved across to the pod and prepared to lift Ripley out, Kasyanov was already working at its control panel. Her good hand moved quickly across the touchscreen. Hoop lifted Ripley clear, the lid slid closed, and moments later a sterilizing mist filled the interior.
Hoop settled Ripley on one of the beds, carefully wrapping her in the sheet and fixing it with clips. She looked tired, older. But she was still alive, and her face seemed more relaxed than he had seen it. He so hoped that she was dreaming harmless dreams.
“Now me,” Kasyanov said. “Five minutes, if that. We’ve got time?”
Hoop was surprised at the doctor’s sudden vulnerability.
“Of course,” he said. “I’m waiting for you, whatever happens.”
She nodded once, then with a wry smile she held out her hand.
“Quick lift?”
Hoop helped her into the pod. She lay down, touched the inner shell, and a remote control grid appeared. A wave of her hand closed the lid.
“See ya,” she said, attempting an American accent.
Hoop smiled and nodded. Then he turned back to check that Ripley was all right.
Behind him, the med pod whispered.
PROGRESS REPORT:
To: Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Science Division
(Ref: code 937)
Date (unspecified)
Transmission (pending)
The doctor has served her purpose.
She makes the next step almost too easy.
The med pod wasn’t quite soundproof.
Looking at Ripley, Hoop heard Kasyanov’s muffled yell. He turned around to see thin metallic straps whipping across the doctor’s body, constricting across her shoulders, chest, stomach, hips, and legs. She cried out in pain as they crushed against her wounds.
Hoop knew that shouldn’t be happening. He tried to open the lid, but it was locked, and however much he touched and pressed the external control panel, nothing happened.
Kasyanov looked at him through the glass, wide-eyed.
“Ash,” Hoop hissed. Kasyanov couldn’t have heard him, but she saw the word on his lips. And froze.
A soft blue light filled the med pod.
“No!” she shouted, the word so muffled that Hoop only knew it because of the shape of her mouth.
A single surgical arm rose from its housing and loomed over Kasyanov’s chest.
Hoop tried to force the lid. He snapped up the plasma torch and used the hand rest to hammer at the lid’s lip, but only succeeded in bending part of the torch.
Kasyanov’s voice changed tone and he looked to her lips, searching for the word she had chosen, and it was Hoop.
He turned the torch around and aimed at the pod’s lid, close to her feet. If he was careful, only released a quick shot, angled it just right, he might be able to—
The blue light pulsed and the delicate arm sparked alight. There was a fine laser at its tip, and in a movement that was almost graceful, it drew rapidly across Kasyanov’s exposed throat. Blood pulsed, then spurted from the slash, splashing back from the pod’s inner surface and speckling across her face.
She was held so tightly that Hoop only knew she was struggling because of the flexing and tensing of her muscles, the bulging of her eyes. But those soon died down, and as the blue light faded, Kasyanov grew still.
Hoop turned away, breathing hard, and even when the ship juddered so hard that it clacked his teeth together, he did not move.
You bastard, he thought. You utter bastard, Ash.
Somehow he held back his rage.
Ripley groaned and rolled onto her side.
“I’ve got you,” Hoop said, moving to her side. Dropping the plasma torch, he slipped his hands beneath her and heaved her up onto his shoulder.
The shuttle awaited them, and now he was the last survivor of the Marion.
It was time to leave.
24
REVENGE
PROGRESS REPORT:
To: Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Science Division
(Ref: code 937)
Date (unspecified)
Transmission (pending)
Ripley lives. He will bring her, and then discover the final surprise.