'You did great, Ash,' Dallas had to admit. He took the proffered tracker from Ripley. 'This should be more than sufficient. How many did you make up?' By way of reply, Ash produced one duplicate of the device in the captain's palm.
'That means we can work two teams. Good. I don't have anything fancy to offer as far as instructions. You all know what to do as well as I. Whoever finds it first nets it, somehow gets it into the lock, and blows it toward Rigel as fast as the hatches will function. I don't care if you feel like using the explosive bolts on the outer door. We'll walk out in our suits if we have to.'
He started for the corridor, paused to look around the cramped, instrument-packed room. It seemed impossible that anything could have slipped in there without being noticed, but if they were going to make a thorough search, they'd do well not to make exceptions.
'For starters, let's make sure the bridge is clean.'
Parker held one of the trackers. He turned it on, swept it around the bridge, keeping his attention on the crudely marked gauge set into the unit's face.
'Six displacements,' he announced when the sweep had been completed. 'All positioned approximately where each of us is standing. We seem to be clean in here. . if this damn thing works.'
Ash spoke without taking offence. 'It works. As you've just demonstrated.'
Additional equipment was passed around. Dallas surveyed the waiting men and women. 'Everybody ready?' There were a couple of whispered, sullen 'no's', and everyone smiled. Kane's grisly passing had already faded somewhat from their memories. This time they were prepared for the alien and, hopefully, armed with the right tools for the task.
'Channels are open on all decks.' Dallas started purposefully for the corridor. 'We'll keep in constant touch. Ash and I will go with Lambert and one tracker. Brett and Parker will make up the second team. Ripley, you take charge of it and the other tracker.
'At the first sign of the creature, your priority is to capture it and get it to the lock. Notifying the other team is a secondary consideration. Let's do it'
They filed out of the bridge.
The corridors on A level had never seemed quite so long or so dark before. They were as familiar to Dallas as the back of his hand, yet the knowledge that something deadly might be hiding back in the corners and storage chambers caused him to tread softly where he would otherwise have walked confidently with his eyes closed.
The lights were on, all of them. That did not brighten the corridor. They were service lights, for occasional use only. Why waste power to light up every corner of a working vessel like the Nostromo when its crew spent so little time awake? Enough light to see by during departure and arrival and during an occasional in-flight emergency had been provided. Dallas was grateful for the lumens he had, but that didn't keep him from lamenting the floodlights that weren't.
Lambert held the other side of the net, across from Dallas. The web stretched from one side of the corridor to the other. He clenched his own end a bit tighter and gave a sharp pull. Her head turned toward him, wide-eyed. Then she relaxed, nodded at him, and turned her attention back down the corridor. She'd been dreaming, sinking into a sort of self-hypnosis, her mind so full of awful possibilities she'd forgotten completely the business at hand. She should be hunting through corners and niches of the ship, not her imagination. The alert look returned to her face, and Dallas turned his own full attention back to the nearing bend in the corridor.
Ash followed close behind them, his eyes on the tracker screen. In his hands it moved slowly from side to side, scanning from wall to wall. The instrument was silent, except when the science officer swung it a bit too far to left or right and it detected Lambert or Dallas. Then it beeped querulously until Ash touched a control and silenced it.
They paused by a down-spiraling companionway. Lambert leaned over, called out. 'Anything down there? We're as clean as your mother's reputation up here.'
Brett and Parker reset their grips on the net while Ripley paused ahead of them, took her gaze from the tracker, and shouted upward. 'Nothing here either.'
Above, Lambert and Dallas moved on, Ash following. Their attention was completely on the approaching turn in the corridor. They didn't like those bends. They provided places of concealment. Turning one and discovering only empty corridor stretching bleakly beyond was to Lambert like finding the Holy Grail.
The tracker was growing heavy in Ripley's hands when a tiny light suddenly winked red below the main screen. She saw the gauge needle quiver. She was certain it was in the needle, not her hands. Then the needle gave a definite twitch, moved just a hair away from the zero end of the indicator scale.
She made sure the tracker wasn't picking up either Parker or Brett before saying anything. 'Hold it. I've got something.' She moved a few paces ahead.
The needle jumped clear across the scale and the red light came on and stayed on. She stood watching it, but it showed no sign of movement save for slight changes in its chosen location. The red light remained strong.
Brett and Parker were staring down the corridor, inspecting walls, roof, and floor. Everyone remembered how the first alien, though dead, had dropped onto Ripley. No one was willing to take the chance that this version couldn't also climb. So they kept their eyes constantly on ceiling as well as deck.
'Where's it coming from?' Brett asked quietly.
Ripley was frowning at the tracker. The indicator needle had suddenly commenced bouncing all over the scale. Unless the creature was travelling through solid walls, the needle's behavior didn't square with the movements of anything living. She shook it firmly. It continued its bizarre behavior. And the red light remained on.
'I don't know. The machine's screwed up. Needle's spinning all over the scale.'
Brett kicked at the net, cursed. 'Goddamn. We can't afford any malfunctions. I'll wring Ash's. .'
'Hang on,' she urged him. She'd turned the device on its end. The needle stabilized immediately. 'It's working properly. It's just confused. Or rather, I was. The signal's coming from below us.' They looked down at their feet. Nothing erupted through the decking to attack them.
'That's C level,' Parker grumbled. 'Strictly maintenance. It's going to be a messy place to search.'
'Want to ignore it?'
He glared at her, but with no real anger this time. 'That's not funny.'
'No. No, it's not.' She spoke contritely. 'Lead on. You two know that level better than I.'
Parker and Brett, carefully holding the net ready between them, preceded her down the little-used companionway. C level was poorly illuminated even by the Nostromo's sparse standards. They paused at the base of the companionway to let their eyes adjust to the near darkness.
Ripley touched a wall accidentally, pulled her hand away in disgust. It was coated with a thick, viscous slime. Old lubricants, she mused. A liner would've been shut down if an inspector had discovered such conditions on it. But nobody fooled with such leaks on a ship like the Nostromo. The lubricants couldn't bother anyone important. What was a little rarely encountered mess to a tug crew?
When they'd finished this run she promised herself she'd request and hold out for a transfer to a liner or else get out of the service. She knew she'd made the same promise twice a dozen times before. This time she'd stick to it.
She pointed the tracker down the corridor. Nothing. When she turned it to face up the corridor, the red light winked back on. The illuminated needle registered a clear reading.
'Okay, let's go.' She started off, having confidence in the little needle because she knew Ash did solid work, because the device had functioned well thus far, and because she had no choice.