'Who knows what they really are? We don't know enough about them to say that for sure yet.' She picked up the pulse-rifle that Burke had taken and thumbed off the safety 'Maybe they act like that individually, but they could also have some kind of collective intelligence. Like ants or termites Bishop talked about that, before he left. Termites build mounds three metres high. Leaf-cutter ants have agriculture Is that just instinct? What is intelligence, anyway?' She glanced left.
'Stay close, Newt. The rest of you, let's get some trackers going. Come on, get moving. Gorman, keep an eye on Burke.'
Hudson and Vasquez switched on their scanners. The glow of the motion-tracker sensors was comforting in the darkness Modern technology hadn't failed them completely yet. With the two troopers leading the way, they headed for the corridor With all power out to Operations, Vasquez had to slide the barrier aside manually.
Ripley's voice sounded behind the smartgun operator 'Anything?'
'Nothing here.' Vasquez was a shadow against one wall.
She didn't have to put the same question to Hudson because everyone heard the comtech's tracker beep loudly. All eyes turned in his direction.
'There's something. I've got something.' He panned the tracker around. It beeped again, louder this time. 'It's moving It's inside the complex.'
'I don't see anything.' Vasquez's tracker remained silent 'You're just reading me.'
Hudson's voice cracked slightly. 'No. No! It ain't you They're inside. Inside the perimetre. They're in here.'
'Stay cool, Hudson.' Ripley tried to see to the far end of the corridor. 'Vasquez, you ought to be able to confirm.'
The smartgun operator swung her tracker and her rifle in a wide arc. The last place she pointed both of them was directly behind her. The portable sensor let out a sharp beep.
'Hudson may be right.'
Ripley and Hicks exchanged a glance. At least they wouldn't have to stand around anymore waiting for something to happen.
'It's game time,' the corporal said tightly.
Ripley called to the pair of troopers. 'Get back here, both of you. Fall back to Operations.'
Hudson and Vasquez started to backtrack. The comtech's eyes nervously watched the dark tunnel they were abandoning The tracker said one thing, his eyes another. Something was wrong.
'This signal's weird. Must be some interference or something. Maybe power arcing unevenly somewhere. There's movement all over the place, but I don't see a thing.'
'Just get back here!' Ripley felt the sweat starting on her forehead, under her arms. Cold, like the pit of her stomach Hudson turned and broke into a run, reaching the door a moment before Vasquez. Together they pulled it closed and locked the seal-tight.
Once inside, they began sharing out the remnants of their pitifully small armoury. Flamethrowers, grenades, and lastly, a fair distribution of the loaded pulse-rifle magazines. Hudson's tracker continued to beep regularly, rising in a gradua crescendo.
'Movement!' He looked around wildly, saw only the silhouettes of his companions in the shadowed room. 'Signal's clean. Can't be an error.' Picking up the scanner, he panned the business end around the room. 'I've got full range of movement at twenty metres.'
Ripley whispered to Vasquez. 'Seal the door.'
'If I seal the door, how do we get to the dropship?'
'Same way Bishop did. Unless you want to try to walk out.'
'Seventeen metres,' Hudson muttered. Vasquez picked up her handwelder and moved to the door.
Hicks handed one of the flamethrowers to Ripley and began priming the other for himself. 'Let's get these things lit.' A moment later his sprang to life, a small, steady blue flame hissing from the weapon's muzzle like an oversize lighter Ripley's flared brilliantly as she nudged the button marked IGNITE, which was set in the side of the handgrip.
Sparks showered around Vasquez as she began welding the door to the floor, ceiling, and walls. Hudson's tracker was going like mad now, though still not as fast as Ripley's heart.
'They learned,' she said, unable to stand silence. 'Call it instinct or intelligence or group analysis, but they learned They cut the power and they've avoided the guns. They must have found another way into the complex, something we missed.'
'We didn't miss anything,' Hicks growled.
'Fifteen metres.' Hudson took a step away from the door.
'I don't know how they did it. An acid hole in a duct Something under the floors that was supposed to be sealed but wasn't. Something the colonists added or modified and didn't bother to insert into the official schematics. We don't know how up-to-date those plans are or when they were last revised to include all structural additions. I don't know, but there has to be something!' She picked up Vasquez's tracker and aimed it in the same direction as Hudson's.
'Twelve metres,' the comtech informed them. 'Man, this is one big signal. Ten metres.'
'They're right on us.' Ripley stared at the door. 'Vasquez how you coming?'
The smartgun operator didn't reply. Molten droplets singed her skin and landed, smoking, on her suit. She gritted her teeth and tried to hurry the welder along with some choice imprecations.
'Nine metres. Eight.' Hudson announced the last number on a rising inflection and looked around wildly.
'Can't be.' Ripley was insistent, despite the fact that the tracker she was holding offered the same impossible readout 'That's inside the room.'
'It's right, it's right.' He turned his instrument sideways so she could see the tiny screen and its accompanying telltales 'Look!'
Ripley fiddled with her own tracker, rolling the fine-tuning controls as Hicks crossed to Hudson's position in a single stride.
'Well, you're not reading it right.'
'I'm not!' The comtech's voice bordered on hysteria. 'I know these little babies, and they don't lie, man. They're too simple to screw up.' He was staring bug-eyed at the flickering readouts. 'Six metres. Five. What the fu—?'
His eyes met Ripley's, and the same realization hit them simultaneously. Both bent their heads back, and they angled the trackers in the same direction. The beeping from both instruments became a numbing buzz.
Hicks climbed onto a file cabinet. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder and clutching the flamethrower tightly, he raised one of the acoustical ceiling panels and shined his flashlight inside.
It illuminated a vision Dante could not have imagined in his wildest nightmares, nor Poe in the grasp of an uncontrollable delirium.
XIII
The serviceway between the suspended acoustical ceiling and the metal roof was full of aliens. More aliens than he could quickly count. They clung upside down to pipes and beams crawling like bats toward his light, glistening metallically. They covered the serviceway as far back as his light could shine.
He didn't need a motion tracker to sense movement behind him. As he snapped light and body around, the beam picked out an alien less than a metre away. It lunged at his face Ducking wildly, the corporal felt claws capable of rending metal rake across the back of his armour.
As he tumbled back into Operations the army of infiltrating creatures detached en masse from their grips and claw holds The flimsy suspended ceiling exploded, raining debris and nightmare shapes into the room below. Newt screamed Hudson opened fire, and Vasquez gave Hicks a hand up as she let go with her flamethrower. Ripley scooped up Newt and stumbled backward. Gorman was at her side in an instant pumping away with his own rifle. No one had time to notice Burke as the Company rep bolted for the only unblocked corridor, the one that connected Operations to Medical.
Flamethrowers brightened the chaos as they incinerated one attacker after another. Sometimes the burning aliens would stumble into one another, screeching insanely and adding to the confusion and conflagration. They sounded much more like screams of anger than of pain. Acid poured from seared bodies, chewing gaping holes in the floor and adding to the danger.