Alien: Out the Shadows

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.