Alien: Out the Shadows

The windscreen was hazed with dust, but she could still make out the segmented metallic dome below as the ship circled it. One side of it was almost buried with drifting sand, and across its surface were several blinking lights. There was no sign of clear sections, nor could she see any access points.

“Bleak,” she said.

“Wait ’til you get inside,” Baxter said.

“Where are the landing pads?”

Lachance leveled the Samson slightly and hovered, drifting sideways directly over the dome. He pointed. Ripley could just make out three bulky shapes on the ground, also half-buried by drifted sand.

“Get closer,” Hoop said, joining Ripley behind the two flight chairs. “We don’t know what happened down here, but it’s a fair bet they were pursued all the way to the ships.”

“How do you figure that?” Sneddon asked from where she was still strapped in.

“Because the Samson left so many behind.”

Lachance dropped them lower and closer to the landing pads. They were only a couple of hundred yards from the dome, and Ripley saw hints of the connecting tunnels that ran between them. Sheets of sand blew across the ground, driven by winds they could not feel in the Samson. The landscape was daunting but strangely beautiful, dust sculptures forming incredible, graceful shapes. Away from the artificial interruption of the mine, the desert looked like a frozen sea, flowing over years instead of moments.

Miles in the distance, electrical storms flashed deep inside looming clouds.

“How the hell are you going to land?” Ripley asked.

“The pads are usually cleared by the ground crews,” Lachance said. “Big blowing machines, sand scoops. It’ll be okay. I’m good.”

“So you keep saying,” she said. “I’m still waiting for proof.”

“No sign of any nasties waiting for us,” Hoop said.

“In this weather?” Baxter asked.

“There’s no saying what environments they live in, or even prefer,” Ripley said. She remembered Ash—before his true nature was exposed, when he was studying the alien—talking about remarkable adaptations to the ship’s environment. Maybe sand-lashed, storm-blasted landscapes were their preference.

“Strap in, ladies and gentlemen,” Lachance said. He checked readouts, stroked his hand across the projected nav controls in front of him, and then settled back in his seat.

Ripley and Hoop went back to their seats and secured their safety straps. She waited for him to check her clasps again, and saw Sneddon looking from her to Hoop, and smirking. Ripley stared back.

The science officer looked away.

The Samson shook as retros fired. Moments later there was a heavy bump, and then the engines started to cycle down.

“There,” Lachance said. “Told you I was good.”

Hoop exhaled, and from across the cabin Ripley heard Kasyanov mutter something that might have been a prayer. Straps were opened, they stood and stretched, then gathered at the front of the ship to look outside.

Lachance had landed them facing the dome. The line of the partly buried tunnel was obvious, leading from their pad to the dome, and the storm suddenly seemed more intense now that they had touched down. Maybe because there was more sand to blow around at low level.

“Suit up,” Hoop said. “Grab your weapons. Lachance, you take point with me. I’m going to be opening doors and hatches. Baxter, you bring up the rear.”

“Why do I have to come last?” the communications engineer asked.

“Because you’re a gentleman,” Sneddon said. Kasyanov chuckled, Baxter looked uncertain, and Ripley wondered at the complex relationships between these people. She’d barely scratched the surface—they’d been here so close together for so long.

The inside of the Samson suddenly seemed so much safer. Through her fear Ripley was determined, but she couldn’t shake those terrible memories. Not the new ones, of Powell and Welford being killed by those fast, furious things. And not the old ones, back on the Nostromo. She couldn’t help feeling that even more terrible memories were soon to be forged.

If she lived to remember.

“Let’s stay close and tight,” she said. No one replied. Everyone knew what was at stake here, and they’d all seen these things in action.

“We move fast, but carefully,” Hoop said. “No storming ahead. No heroics.”

They fixed their helmets, checked each other’s suits and air supplies, tested communications, and hefted the weapons. To Ripley they all looked so vulnerable: pale white grubs ready for the aliens to puncture, rip apart, eat. And none of them had any real idea about what they were about to encounter.

Perhaps the uncertainty was a good thing. Maybe if they knew for sure what they would find down in the mine, they would never bring themselves to enter.

Breathing deeply, thinking of Amanda, who probably believed her mother to be dead, Ripley silently vowed that she would do anything and everything necessary to stay alive.

Lachance opened the outer hatch, and the storm came inside.

PART 2 UNDERGROUND

10 SKIN

“What the hell is that?” Hoop asked.