Alien: Out the Shadows

It only took three minutes to realize how screwed they were.

5 NARCISSUS

Hoop had worked with androids before. In the deep asteroid mines of Wilson’s Scarps, they were often the first ones down and the last ones back. They’d been perfectly reasonable, amenable, quiet, honest, and strong. Safe. He couldn’t say he’d liked them, exactly, but they’d never been dangerous or intimidating. Never scheming.

Occasionally he’d heard of malfunctions in some of the earlier military-grade androids, and there were unconfirmed reports—little more than rumors, really— that the military had suffered human losses as a result. But they were a different breed of android, designed for strength but with a built-in expiration date. They were easy to spot. Their designers hadn’t been too concerned with aesthetics.

That must have been the case on Nostromo. And now, assuming Ripley was right, the AI had somehow followed her, and was still using her for its programed mission. As his team discussed their options, she looked wretched— taking in the conversation, looking at each crew member who expressed an opinion, and yet remaining silent. She smoked cigarette after cigarette, and drank coffee.

She must think she’s still dreaming, he mused, consumed by nightmares. And every now and then she glanced across at him as if checking that he was on board with all of this.

Because it turned out that they were more royally screwed than any of them had thought.

The plan they were slowly forming—crazy as it was— seemed to be the only way out. It was a last chance, and they had no option but to grab it.

“You’re sure about the timescales?” Powell asked. “Only a few days until we start skimming the atmosphere?”

“Sure as I can be,” Lachance replied.

“I thought we had a couple of weeks left,” Kasyanov said, voice raised as fear clasped her.

“Sorry. I lost my crystal ball in the collision.” Lachance rested in the pilot’s chair, turned around to face them all. The rest sat or stood around the bridge, in seats or leaning against equipment terminals. It was the first time Ripley had been with all eight of them together, but Hoop couldn’t sense any nervousness in her. If anything, she was too distracted for that.

“And there’s nothing you guys can do?” Kasyanov said, looking at Powell, Welford, and then Hoop. He didn’t like the accusation in her eyes, as if they hadn’t done their best. “I mean, you’re engineers.”

“Kasyanov, I think I’ve made it pretty clear,” Lachance said. “Our attitude control is damaged beyond repair, retro capability is down to thirty percent. Several containment bulkheads are cracked, and there’s a good chance if we initiate thrust we’ll just flash-fry ourselves with radiation.” He paused briefly.

“We do still have coffee, though. That’s one positive.”

“How do we know all that’s true?” Kasyanov asked. “It’s getting desperate here. We should go outside, look again at all the damage.”

“You know because I’m the best pilot who’s ever worked for Kelland,” Lachance said. “And the fact that Hoop, Welford, and Powell have kept us all alive for this long is a fucking miracle. Fixing the hull breaches, repressurizing the vented sections of the ship. That’s why you know it’s true.”

Kasyanov started to say some more, but Garcia put a hand on her arm. Hoop didn’t think she even squeezed— just the contact was enough to silence the doctor.

“However much we wish it wasn’t true, it is,” Hoop said. “And we’ve got no more time to waste. We think we have a plan, but it’s not going to be easy.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Kasyanov asked.

“Me, Sneddon, Ripley.”

“Ripley? The stranger who just woke up from half-a-century of snoozing? What’s she got to do with this?”

Ripley glanced across at Kasyanov, then away again, looking down at the coffee cup in her hand. Hoop waited for her to speak, but she remained silent.

“This isn’t a conspiracy, Kasyanov,” he said. “Hear us out.”

The doctor drew in a breath and seemed to puff herself up, ready to say something else, challenge him some more. But then she nodded.

“I’m sorry, Hoop… everyone. Just so strung out.” She and Ripley exchanged weak smiles.

“We all are,” Hoop said. “It’s been over seventy days, waiting for some sign that our signal’s been picked up, acknowledged and relayed onward, and that someone’s coming for us. Maybe the frequency’s been frazzled, and we’re just coming through as background fuzz. Or maybe someone’s heard us, but we’re too far out, and it’s too expensive to mount a rescue.”

“Or there’s just not the time,” Baxter said. “Changing course, plotting a route, estimating the fuel requirements. Anyone who did catch the signal would have a lot to do before they even got here.”

“Right,” Hoop said. “So we’re running out of time, and now we’ve got to help ourselves. More than we have been. More than just patching up problems while we wait.”

“Escape pods?” Powell asked.

“We’ve talked about that,” Lachance said, waving the suggestion aside.