Alien

A slight thump sounded on the bridge, confirming computer telltales. 'Struts retracted,' Ripley announced. 'Closing shields.' Metal plates slid tightly shut over the strut housings, sealing out dust particles and alien atmosphere.

'Standing by,' declared Ash.

'Okay. Ripley, Kane's not here, so it's all yours. Take us up.'

She nudged a double lever on the exec's console. The roaring outside was deafening now, though there was nothing to hear and be suitably impressed by the cleverness of mankind. Inclined slightly upward, the Nostromo began to move forward.

'Rolling up the G's,' she said, hitting several additional buttons. 'And here we go.'

Moving sharply skyward and accelerating steadily, the tug suddenly leaped ahead. Powerful winds clutched at the tough, alloyed skin, neither slowed the starship nor altered its course.

Lambert's attention was fixed on one particular gauge. 'One kilometre and ascending. On course. Orbital insertion in five point three two minutes.' If, she added silently to herself, we hold together that long.

'Sounding good,' Dallas murmured, watching two lines overlap pleasingly on his console. 'Engage artificial gravity.'

Lambert threw a switch. The ship seemed to stumble. Dallas's stomach protested as the fading gravity of the little world receding behind them was replaced by a full, unforgiving pull.

'Engaged,' Lambert reported, as her own insides finished realigning themselves.

Ripley's gaze danced from one readout to another. A slight discrepancy appeared and she hurried to correct for it. 'Unequal thrust reading. I'm altering the vector now.' She nudged a switch, watched with satisfaction as a liquid needle crawled back to where it belonged. 'Compensation effected. Holding steady now. We're set.'

Dallas was beginning to believe they'd make it without any trouble when a violent tremor ran through the bridge. It sent personal possessions and the frantic thoughts of the crew flying. The tremor lasted only an instant, wasn't repeated.

'What the hell was that?' Dallas wondered aloud. By way of reply, the 'com beeped for attention.

'That you, Parker?'

'Yeah. We had some trouble back here.'

'Serious?'

'Starboard quad's overheating. Judge for yourself.'

'Can you fix it?'

'Are you kidding? I'm shutting it down.'

'Compensating again for unequal thrust,' Ripley announced solemnly.

'Just hold us together until we're beyond double zero,' Dallas asked the pickup.

'What do you think we're trying to do back here?' The intercom clicked off.

A slight change in the roaring of the engines became audible on the bridge. No one looked at their neighbour, for fear of seeing their own worry reflected there.

Moving a little more slowly but still slicing effortlessly through boiling clouds, the Nostromo continued to power spaceward, on course to meet with the drifting refinery.

In contrast to the comparative calm of the bridge, the engine room was the scene of frenzied activity. Brett was scooched up inside a tube again, sweating and wishing he was elsewhere.

'Got it figured?' asked Parker from outside.

'Yeah. I think so. Dust is clogging the damn intakes again. Number two's overheating now.?

'I thought we shut that junk out.'

'So did I. Must've slipped a screen again. Damn engines are too sensitive.'

'They weren't designed to fly through particulate hurricanes,' Parker reminded his associate. 'Spit on it for two more minutes and we'll be clear.'

A second tremor rattled the bridge. Everyone's attention stayed glued to their respective consoles. Dallas thought of querying engineering, then thought better of it and decided not to. If Parker had anything to report, he'd do so.

Come on, come on, he urged silently. Get it up. He promised himself that if Parker and Brett could keep the primaries functioning for another couple of minutes, he'd put them in for the bonuses they were constantly harping about. A gauge on his board showed that gravitational pull was fading rapidly. Another minute, he pleaded, one hand unconsciously caressing the nearby wall. Another lousy minute.

Erupting from the crown of clouds, the Nostromo burst into open space. One minute, fifty seconds later, the surface-gravity indicator on Dallas's console fell to zero.

That was the signal for some unprofessional but heartfelt cheering on the bridge.

'We made it.' Ripley lay exhausted against the padded back of her flight seat. 'Damn. We made it.'

'When that first tremor hit and we started velocity slide, I didn't think we were going to,' Dallas husked. 'I saw us splattering ourselves all over the nearest hillside. We might as well have done that if we'd had to go hyper and lost the refinery.'

'Nothing to worry about.' Lambert wasn't smiling. 'We could have landed again and stayed there. Then our automatic distress beacon would've come on. We could've relaxed in hypersleep while some other lucky crew got itself kicked out of the freezers to come and rescue us.'

Don't mention anything about bonuses yet, Dallas was telling himself. Surprise them with it when you wake up in Earth orbit. But for now, the engineering team was at least entitled to some verbal commendation. He addressed the 'com.

'Nice work, you two. How's she holding?'

'Now that we're out of that dust, she's purring like Jones.' A sharp crackling noise sounded over the speaker. Dallas frowned for a second, unable to place it. Then he realized that Parker had probably opened a beer while inadvertently holding it within range of the pickup.

'It was a walk in the park,' the engineer continued pridefully. 'When we fix something it stays fixed.' A gurgling sound filled the speaker, as if Parker were submerging.

'Sure it was A good job,' Dallas assured him. 'Take a break. You've both earned it. And Parker?'

'Yo?'

'When we raise Earthside and you're co-ordinating your department with engineering control, keep your beer away from the mike.' The gurgling noise receded.

Satisfied, Dallas switched off and said to no one in particular, 'Let's pick up the money and go home. Put her in the garage, Lambert.'

The Nostromo's angle of ascent began to flatten. Several minutes passed before a steady beeping began to sound from a telltale above the navigator's station.

'Here she comes,' she informed her companions. 'Right where she's supposed to be.'

'Okay.' Dallas was thumbing controls. 'Line us up and stand by to dock.' Instrumentation hummed as the tug adjusted its attitude with respect to the mountain of metal and plastic. Ripley threw a switch, and the tug locked itself in position backside first to the dull mass of the refinery.

'Positioned,' she said.

'Bring us in.' Dallas watched a certain readout intently, fingers poised over a rank of red buttons.

'We're moving.' Ripley's attention was focused on two screens at once. 'Distance shrinking. Twenty. . fifteen. . set.' She hit a switch.

Dallas depressed the red controls. 'Engines cut and primaries compensated for. We have inertial stability. Activate the hyperdrive lock.'

'Activated,' Ripley informed him. 'We're tied together.' When activated now, the Nostromo would generate a hyperdrive field of sufficient size to include the refinery. It would travel with them, enveloped in that mysterious manifestation of nonreality that enabled ships and men to travel faster than light.

'Set course for Earth,' Dallas ordered crisply. 'Then fire up the big one and get us up to light plus four, Ripley.'

'With pleasure.'

'Course computed and locked in,' said Lambert a moment later. 'Time to go home.' Then, to herself, 'Feets, get me out of here.'

Ripley touched a major control. The tiny world and its imprisoned alien ship vanished as though it had never existed. The Nostromo achieved, exceeded the speed of light. A corona effect materialized around ship and refinery. Stars ahead of them became blue, those behind shifted to red.