'For instance, it's blocked off from the colony's detectors by these mountains, and you know that surveillance satellites are useless in this kind of atmosphere.'
'What about infrared?' She zipped up the front of her suit.
'What infrared? Look at it: dead as a doornail. Probably been sitting here just like that for thousands of years. Even if it got here yesterday, you couldn't pick up any infrared on this part of the planet; new air coming out of the atmosphere processor is too hot.'
'So then how did Operations hit on it?' She was slipping on her equipment, filling up the instrument belt.
He shrugged. 'How the heck should I know? If it's bugging you, you can winkle it out of Lydecker when we get back. The important thing is that we're the ones they picked to check it out. We lucked out.' He turned toward the airlock door 'C'mon, babe. Let's crack the treasure chest. I'll bet that baby's insides are just crammed with valuable stuff.'
Equally enthusiastic but considerably more self-possessed Anne Jorden tightened the seals on her own suit. Husband and wife checked each other out: oxygen, tools, lights, energy cells all in place. When they were ready to leave the tractor, she popped her wind visor and favoured her offspring with a stern gaze.
'You kids stay inside. I mean it.'
'Aw, Mom.' Tim's expression was full of childish disappointment. 'Can't I come too?'
'No, you cannot come too. We'll tell you all about it when we get back.' She closed the airlock door behind her.
Tim immediately ran to the nearest port and pressed his nose against the glass. Outside the tractor, the twilight landscape was illuminated by the helmet beams of his parents.
'I dunno why I can't go too.'
'Because Mommy said so.' Newt was considering what to play next as she pressed her own face against another window. The lights from her parents' helmets grew dim as they advanced toward the strange ship.
Something grabbed her from behind. She squealed and turned to confront her brother.
'Cheater!' he jeered. Then he turned and ran for a place to hide. She followed, yelling back at him.
The bulk of the alien vessel loomed over the two bipeds as they climbed the broken rubble that surrounded it. Wind howled around them. Dust obscured the sun.
'Shouldn't we call in?' Anne stared at the smooth-sided mass.
'Let's wait till we know what to call it in as.' Her husband kicked a chunk of volcanic rock out of his path.
'How about "big weird thing"?'
Russ Jorden turned to face her, surprise showing on his face behind the visor. 'Hey, what's the matter, honey? Nervous?'
'We're preparing to enter a derelict alien vessel of unknown type. You bet I'm nervous.'
He clapped her on the back. 'Just think of all that beautiful money. The ship alone's worth a fortune, even if it's empty. It's a priceless relic. Wonder who built it, where they came from and why it ended up crashed on this godforsaken lump of gravel?' His voice and expression were full of enthusiasm as he pointed to a dark gash in the ship's side. 'There's a place that's been torn open. Let's check her out.'
They turned toward the opening. As they drew near, Anne Jorden regarded it uneasily. 'I don't think this is the result of damage, Russ. It looks integral with the hull to me. Whoever designed this thing didn't like right angles.'
'I don't care what they liked. We're going in.'
A single tear wound its way down Newt Jorden's cheek. She'd been staring out the fore windshield for a long time now Finally she stepped down and moved to the driver's chair to shake her sleeping brother. She sniffed and wiped away the tear, not wanting Tim to see her cry.
'Timmy — wake up, Timmy. They've been gone a long time.'
Her brother blinked, removed his feet from the console, and sat up. He glanced unconcernedly at the chronometre set in the control dash, then peered out at the dim, blasted landscape. Despite the tractor's heavy-duty insulation, one could still hear the wind blowing outside when the engine was shut down. Tim sucked on his lower lip.
'It'll be okay, Newt. Dad knows what he's doing.'
At that instant the outside door slammed open, admitting wind, dust, and a tall dark shape. Newt screamed, and Tim scrambled out of the seat as their mother ripped off her visor and threw it aside, heedless of the damage it might do to the delicate instrumentation. Her eyes were wild, and the tendons stood out in her neck as she shoved past her children. She snatched up the dash mike and yelled into the condenser.
'Mayday! Mayday! This is Alpha Kilo Two Four Niner calling Hadley Control. Repeat. This is Alpha Kil. '
Newt barely heard her mother. She had both hands pressed over her mouth as she sucked on stale atmosphere. Behind her the tractor's filters whined as they fought to strain the particulate-laden air. She was staring out the open door at the ground. Her father lay there, sprawled on his back on the rocks. Somehow her mother had dragged him all the way back from the alien ship.
There was something on his face.
It was flat, heavily ribbed, and had lots of spiderlike chitinous legs. The long, muscular tail was tightly wrapped around the neck of her father's environment suit. More than anything else, the creature resembled a mutated horseshoe crab with a soft exterior. It was pulsing in and out, in and out like a pump. Like a machine. Except that it was not a machine It was clearly, obviously, obscenely alive.
Newt began screaming again, and this time she didn't stop.
III
It was quiet in the apartment except for the blare of the wallscreen. Ripley ignored the simpcom and concentrated instead on the smoke rising from her denicotined cigarette. It formed lazy, hazy patterns in the stagnant air.
Even though it was late in the day, she'd managed to avoid confronting a mirror. Just as well, since her haggard, unkempt appearance could only depress her further. The apartment was in better shape than she was. There were just enough decorative touches to keep it from appearing spartan. None of the touches were what another might call personal. That was understandable. She'd outlived everything that once might have been considered personal. The sink was full of dirty dishes even though the dishwasher sat empty beneath it.
She wore a bathrobe that was aging as rapidly as its owner In the adjoining bedroom, sheets and blankets lay in a heap at the base of the mattress. Jones prowled the kitchen, hunting overlooked morsels. He would find none. The kitchen kept itself reasonably antiseptic despite a deliberate lack of cooperation from its owner.
'Hey, Bob!' the wallscreen bleated vapidly, 'I heard that you and the family are heading off for the colonies!'
'Best decision I ever made, Phil,' replied a fatuously grinning nonentity from the opposite side of the wall. 'We'll be starting a new life from scratch in a clean world. No crime, no unemployment. '
And the two chiseled performers who were acting out this administration-approved spiel probably lived in an expensive Green Ring on the East Coast, Ripley thought sardonically as she listened to it with half an ear. In Cape Cod condos overlooking Martha's Vineyard or Hilton Head or some other unpolluted, high-priced snob refuge for the fortunate few who knew how to bill and coo and dance, yassuh, dance when imperious corporate chieftains snapped their fingers. None of that for her. No smell of salt, no cool mountain breezes Inner-city Company dole, and lucky she was to have that much.
She'd find something soon. They just wanted to keep her quiet for a while, until she calmed down. They'd be glad to help her relocate and retrain. After which they'd conveniently forget about her. Which was just dandy keeno fine as far as she was concerned. She wanted no more to do with the Company than the Company wanted to do with her.