Alien 3 (16 page)

‘Because you’ve been a problem ever since you showed up here, and I don’t want that problem compounded. It’s my responsibility to deal with this now, whatever it is, and I’ll rest easier knowing where you are at all times. The men are going to be nervous enough as it is. Having you floating around at your leisure poking into places you shouldn’t will be anything but a stabilizing influence.’

‘You can’t do this. I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘I didn’t say that you had. I’m confining you for your own safety. I’m in charge here and I’m exercising my discretion as installation superintendent. Feel free to file an official complaint with a board of inquiry when you get back.’ He smiled paternally.

‘You’ll have it all to yourself, Lieutenant. I think you’ll be safe from any large nasty beasts while you’re there. Right? Yes, that’s a good girl. Mr. Aaron will escort you.’

Ripley rose. ‘You’re making a bad decision.’

‘Somehow I think I’ll manage to live with it. Aaron, after escorting the lieutenant to her new quarters, get going on organizing a search party. Fast. Right now all we have to go on is that babbling Golic. Boggs and Rains may only be injured and waiting for help.’

‘Right, sir.’

‘You’re all wrong on this, Andrews,’ Ripley told him. ‘All wrong. You’re not going to find anybody alive in those tunnels.’

‘We’ll see.’ He followed her with his eyes as his assistant guided her out.

She sat on the cot, sullen and angry. Clemens stood nearby, eyeing her. Aaron’s voice sounding over the intercom system made her look up.

‘Let’s all report to the mess hall. Mr. Andrews wants a meeting. Mess hall, right away, gang.’ A subtle electronic hum punctuated the second-in-command’s brief announcement.

Ripley looked over at the medical officer. ‘Isn’t there any way off Fiorina? An emergency service shuttle? Some damned way to escape?’

Clemens shook his head. ‘This is a prison now, remember?

There’s no way out. Our supply ship comes once every six months.’

‘That’s it?’ She slumped.

‘No reason to panic. They are sending someone to pick you up and investigate this whole mess. Quite soon, I gather.’

‘Really? What’s soon?’

‘I don’t know.’ Clemens was clearly bothered by something other than the unfortunate Murphy’s death. ‘No one’s ever been in a hurry to get here before. It’s always the other way

‘round. Diverting a ship from its regular run is difficult, not to mention expensive as hell. Do you want to tell me what you and Andrews talked about?’

She looked away. ‘No, I don’t. You’d just think I was crazy.’

Her attention wandered to the far corner where the catatonic Golic stood staring blankly at the wall. He looked a lot better since Clemens had cleaned him up.

‘That’s a bit uncharitable,’ the med tech murmured. ‘How are you feeling?’

Ripley licked her lips. ‘Not so hot. Nauseous, sick to my stomach. And pissed off.’

He straightened, nodding to himself. ‘Shock’s starting to set in. Not unexpected, given what you’ve been through recently.

It’s a wonder you’re not over there sharing a blank wall with Golic.’ Walking over, he gave her a cursory examination, then headed for a cabinet, popped the catch, and began fumbling with the contents.

‘I’d best give you another cocktail.’

She saw him working with the injector. ‘No. I need to stay alert.’ Her eyes instinctively considered possible entrances: the air vents, the doorway. But her vision was hazy, her thoughts dulled.

Clemens came toward her, holding the injector in one hand.

‘Look at you. Call that alert? You’re practically falling over. The body’s a hell of an efficient machine, but it’s still just a machine.

Ask too much of it and you risk overload.’

She shoved back a sleeve. ‘Don’t lecture me. I know when I’m pushing things. Just give me the stuff.’

The figure in the corner was mumbling aloud. ‘I don’t know why people blame me for things. Weird, isn’t it? It’s not like I’m perfect or something but, sweet William, I don’t see where some people come off always blaming others for life’s little problems.’

Clemens smiled. ‘That’s quite profound. Thank you, Golic.’

He filled the injector, checking the level.

As she sat there waiting to receive the medication she happened to glance in Golic’s direction and was surprised to see him grinning back at her. His expression was inhuman, devoid of thought—a pure idiot’s delight. She looked away distastefully, her mind on matters of greater import.

‘Are you married?’ the straightjacketed hulk asked unexpectedly.

Ripley started. ‘Me?’

‘You should get married.’ Golic was utterly serious. ‘Have kids . . . pretty girl. I know lots of ‘em. Back home. They always like me. You’re gonna die too.’ He began to whistle to himself.

‘Are you?’ Clemens inquired.

‘What?’

‘Married.’

‘Why?’

‘Just curious.’

‘No.’ He came toward her, the injector hanging from his fingers. ‘How about leveling with me?’

He hesitated. ‘Could you be a little more specific?’

‘When I asked you how you got assigned here you avoided the question. When I asked you about the prison ID tattoo on the back of your head you ducked me again.’

Clemens looked away. ‘It’s a long sad story. A bit melodramatic, I’m afraid.’

‘So entertain me.’ She crossed her arms over her chest and settled back on the cot.

‘Well, my problem was that I was smart. Very smart. I knew everything, you see. I was brilliant and therefore thought I could get away with anything. And for a while I did.

‘I was right out of med school, during which time I had managed the extraordinary accomplishment of finishing in the top five percent of my class despite having acquired what I confidently believed to be a tolerable addiction to Midaphine.

Do you know that particular pharmaceutical?’

Ripley shook her head slowly.

‘Oh, it’s a lovely chain of peptides and such, it is. Makes you feel like you’re invincible

without compromising your

judgment. It does demand that you maintain a certain level in your bloodstream, though. Clever fellow that I was, I had no trouble appropriating adequate supplies from whatever facility I happened to be working in at the time.

‘I was considered most promising, a physician-to-be of exceptional gifts and stamina, insightful and caring. No one suspected that my primary patient was always myself.

‘It happened during my first residency. The centre was delighted to have me. I did the work of two, never complained, was almost always correct in my diagnoses and prescriptions. I did a thirty-six-hour stretch in an ER, went out, got high as an orbital shuttle, was crawling into bed to lose myself in the sensation of floating all night, when the ‘com buzzed.

‘A pressure unit had blown on the centre’s fuel station.

Everyone they could get hold of was called in to help. Thirty seriously injured but only a few had to be sent to intensive care.

The rest just needed quick but rote attention. Nothing complicated. Nothing a halfway competent intern couldn’t have managed. I figured I’d take care of it myself and then hiphead it back home before anyone noticed that I was awfully bright and cheery for someone who’d just been yanked out of the sack at three in the morning.’ He paused a moment to gather his thoughts.

‘Eleven of the thirty died when I prescribed the wrong dosage of painkiller. Such a small thing. Such a simple thing.

Any fool could’ve handled it. Any fool. That’s Midaphine for you. Hardly ever affects your judgment. Only once in a while.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly.

‘Don’t be.’ His expression was unforgiving. ‘No one else was.

I got seven years in prison, lifetime probation, and my license permanently reduced to a 3-C, with severe restrictions on what and where I could practice. While in prison I kicked my wonderful habit. Didn’t matter. Too many relatives around who remembered their dead. I never had a chance of getting the restrictions revised. I embarrassed my profession, and the examiners delighted in making an example of me. After that you can imagine how many outfits were eager to employ someone with my professional qualifications. So here I am.’

‘I’m still sorry.’

‘For me? Or about what happened? If it’s the latter, so am I.

About the prison sentence and subsequent restrictions, no. I deserved it. I deserved everything that’s happened to me. I wiped out eleven lives. Casually, with a dumb smile on my face.

I’m sure that the people I killed had promising careers as well.

I destroyed eleven families. And while I can’t ever forget, I’ve learned to live with it. That’s one positive thing about being assigned to a place like this. It helps you learn how to live with things that you’ve done.’

‘Did you serve time here?’

‘Yes, and I got to know this motley crew quite well. So when they stayed, I stayed. Nobody else would employ me.’ He moved to give her the injection. ‘So, will you trust me with an injector?’

As he was leaning toward her the alien hit the floor behind him as silently as it fell from the ceiling, landing in a supportive crouch and straining to its full height. It was astonishing and appalling how something that size could move so quietly. She saw it come erect, towering over the smiling medic, metallic incisors gleaming in the pale overhead light.

Even as she fought to make her paralyzed vocal cords function, part of her noted that it was slightly different in appearance from every alien type she had encountered previously. The head was fuller, the body more massive. The more

subtle

physical

discrepancies

registered

as

brief,

observational tics in the frozen instant of horror.

Clemens leaned toward her, suddenly more than merely concerned. ‘Hey, what’s wrong? You look like you’re having trouble breathing. I can—’

The alien ripped his head off and flung it aside. Still she didn’t scream. She wanted to. She tried. But she couldn’t. Her diaphragm pushed air but no sound.

It shoved Clemens’s spurting corpse aside and gazed down at her. If only it had eyes, a part of her thought, instead of visual perceptors as yet unstudied. No matter how horrible or bloodshot, at least you could connect with an eye. The windows of the soul, she’d read somewhere.

The alien had no eyes and, quite likely, no soul.

She started to shiver. She’d run from them before, and fought them before, but in the enclosed confines of the tomblike infirmary there was nowhere to run and nothing to fight with. It was all over. A part of her was glad. At least there would be no more nightmares, no more waking up screaming in strange beds. There would be peace.

‘Hey, you, get over here!’ Golic suddenly shouted. ‘Lemmee loose. I can help you. We can kill all these assholes.’

The Boschian vision turned slowly to regard the prisoner.

Then it looked once more at the immobile woman on the bed.

With a singular leap it flung itself at the ceiling, cablelike fingers grasping the edge of the gaping air duct through which it had arrived, and was gone. Skittering sounds echoed from above, quickly fading into the distance.

Ripley didn’t move. Nothing had happened. The beast hadn’t touched her. But then, she understood virtually nothing about them. Something about her had put it off. Perhaps they wouldn’t attack the unhealthy. Or maybe it had been something in Golic’s manner.

Though still alive, she wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or not.

Andrews stood before his charges in the mess hall, silently surveying their expectant, curious faces while Dillon prepared to give his traditional invocation. Aaron sat nearby, wondering what his boss had on his mind.

‘All rise, all pray. Blessed is the Lord.’ The prisoners complied, striking reverent attitudes. Dillon continued.

‘Give us the strength, O Lord, to endure. We recognize we are poor sinners in the hands of an angry God. Let the circle be unbroken, until the day. Amen.’ Each prisoner raised his fist, then took a seat.

As Dillon surveyed them his formerly beatific expression twisted with appalling suddenness.

‘What the fuck is happening here? What is this bullshit that’s coming down? We got murder! We got rape! We got brothers in trouble! I don’t want no more bullshit around here! We got problems, we stand together.’

Andrews let the silence that followed Dillon’s outburst linger until he was confident he had everyone’s attention. He cleared his throat ceremoniously.

‘Yes, thank you, Mr. Dillon,’ he began in his usual no-nonsense tone. ‘All right. Once again this is rumour control.

Here are the facts.’