Hoop left the purger to do its work. and went to where he’d propped Ripley by the door.
She was still unconscious, and for that he was glad. He carefully took the sheet from her and dressed her in some underwear he found in the small clothing locker. Jonesy the cat sat beside her and purred as he did so, eager to maintain contact with his mistress as much as he could.
Hoop struggled with her vest, laying her flat and stretching her arms over her head to pull it down. Just before he smoothed it over her stomach, he paused and looked closely at the fixed wounds there. They were visible as pale pink lines in her waxen skin. When she woke up, if she looked closely enough, she would find them. And he would be there to tell her all about it.
“You can sleep without nightmares, Ripley,” he said, holding her close. “And when we wake up, I’ll only tell you as much as you need to know.” She seemed lighter when he lifted her this time, and her face was almost serene as he laid her in the stasis pod where she had slept for so long.
Jonesy jumped in with her and snuggled down by her feet, as if eager to go back to sleep. Hoop could hardly blame him.
Something buzzed on the control panel, and he sat back in the pilot’s chair.
The screens were blank once again, and a red light glowed softly on the purger. He plucked it from the interface and held it up between two fingers, filled with distaste even though he knew Ash wasn’t really in there. That was a simplistic notion, but somehow that naive idea made Hoop feel better. Especially when he dropped the purger to the floor and crushed it beneath his boot.
Hello Narcissus, he typed.
Narcissus online.
This is Chief Engineer Hooper of the Deep Space Mining Orbital Marion. I have Warrant Officer Ripley with me. Please initiate all pre-launch checks.
With pleasure, Chief Engineer Hooper.
A series of images and menus flashed across the screens, flickering as each launch and flight system was checked. It all looked good. He didn’t see anything to worry him.
“We’re not home yet,” he said. The shuttle shook as something happened on the Marion, another explosion or a closer impact with LV178’s atmosphere. They didn’t have very long.
Hoop went to the stasis pod and fired it up. Its small screen was already flashing as the Narcissus’s computer ran through its own series of diagnostics. It looked like a comfortable place to spend some time. A long time.
As the shuttle’s computer went through its pre-flight diagnostics, Hoop accessed the navigation computer and created a new program. It was simple enough—he input the destination as “origin,” made certain that was listed as Sol system, then clicked the auto panel so that the ship’s computer would work out the complex flight charts.
“Earth,” he whispered, thinking of that long-ago place and everything that it meant to him. He hoped he would get back in time to see his family again.
He hoped they would welcome his return.
The computer still wasn’t done calculating, so he squeezed back through the hatch and into the engine room to complete work on the replacement fuel cell. It was connected into the ship and fixed on its damper pads, but he still had to finish refixing its shell. It took a few moments, then he sat back and regarded his work. It all looked good. He’d always been a neat engineer, and tidying up after himself was part of his work ethic. So he grabbed the old, denuded fuel cell by the handle on the end and tugged it back through the hatch after him.
Hearing a warning chime, he left the cell by the hatch and went to the pilot’s station again.
Pre-flight checks completed. All flight and environmental systems online.
Launch procedure compromised.
Hoop caught his breath. He rested his fingers on the keyboard, almost afraid to type in case Ash’s soundless voice replied.
What’s the problem? he typed, wondering how Ash would respond. No problem for me, maybe, or, We’ll all go together. But the response was straightforward, to the point, and nothing malignant.
Automatic release malfunction. Manual release from Marion’s docking bay required.
“Oh, great,” he said. “That’s just fucking great.” It wasn’t Ash’s voice, but it was a final farewell. Hoop couldn’t launch the shuttle from inside. He’d have to be out there, back in the airlock and on board the Marion, so that he could access manual release.
Ash’s parting gift.
“You bastard,” Hoop said.
But had he really expected it to end so easily? His heart sank. The ship shook. From the viewing windows that looked out across the Marion’s belly, he could see feathers of flames playing all across the hull. Parts of it were already glowing red.
He went to Ripley’s side to say goodbye. He stared down at her where she slept, aware that they hadn’t gone through the usual pre-hypersleep procedures—she should have eaten and drunk, washed, used the bathroom. But this rushed process was the best he could manage.
He was letting her fly into the future.
His own future was shorter, and far more grim.
“So here we are,” he said. It felt foolish talking to himself, and really there was nothing left to say. He bent down and kissed Ripley softly on the lips. He didn’t think she would mind. In fact, he kind of hoped she’d have liked it. “Fly safe. Sweet dreams.”
Then Hoop closed the stasis pod and watched its controls flash on as the Narcissus’s computer took control. By the time he was standing by the shuttle’s door, plasma torch slung over one shoulder, Ripley was almost into hypersleep.
Amanda is in her late teens, lithe, tall and athletic, just like her mother. She stands by a stone wall somewhere dark and shadowy, and her chest bursts open, spilling blood to the floor, a screeching creature clawing its way out from the wound.
Ripley turns away because she doesn’t want to see. Behind her, a monster spews hundreds of flexing eggs from its damaged abdomen.
She turns again and sees a blood-spattered metal wall, tattered corpses at its base. More aliens crawl toward her, hissing, heads moving as if they are sniffing her, and she understands their age-old fury in a way that only nightmares can allow. It’s as if they have been looking for her forever, and now is the moment of their revenge.
She turns back to Amanda, and her daughter is maybe fourteen years old. She coughs and presses her hand to her chest. Rubs. Nothing happens. Ripley turns a full circle. More blood, more aliens, but now it’s all more distant, as if she’s viewing things through a reversed telescope.
Those beasts are still coming for her, but they’re a long way off, both in time and memory, and becoming more distant with every moment that passes.
Amanda, she tries to say. But though she knows this is a dream, still she cannot speak.
25
GONE
Three more minutes and she’ll be gone.
Hoop shoved the empty fuel cell out through the airlock, then returned to the Narcissus and closed the hatch behind him, flicking the lever that would initiate its automatic sealing and locking. He heard the heavy clunks and then a steady hiss, and Ripley was lost to him. There wasn’t even a viewing panel in the door. He would never see her again.