Alien Read online

  “We just passed Saturn, and every time I see those rings, I see something different, even though they’re the same rings I saw the last time we flew by. My point is, Alpaca, there’s beauty everywhere. Just ’cause you don’t always get to see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there. And if you’re patient, you’ll get to see it.

  “Take care of yourself, Anaconda, and I’ll see you when we all get back home.”

  * * *

  “Hello Mom! I just got home from school. Oh, ’fore I forget, please say thank you to Captain Dallas, his message was really great! Anyhow, Ms. Figueroa gave us something she called an attitude test. No, wait… aptitude! That was it. Aptitude.

  “I answered all kinds of questions, and it said I should be a mechanic, an electrician, or an engineer like Paul wants to be.

  “He’s walking in, so I gotta go and tell him.

  “Oh, and tell Captain Dallas it’s Amanda!

  “See you when I’m eleven!”

  * * *

  “Hi, sweetheart. This is the last note I’m going to be able to send you for a while. We’re going sleepy-byes tonight, and I have a ton of things to do to get the ship ready before our nap. Kane just called me to the mess hall for a meeting. It’s probably something Parker’s annoyed about, since all he ever does is complain—it’s KK and Go all over again.

  “Anyhow, I have to go, but just remember sweetheart: I love you, I miss you, and I will definitely see you when you’re eleven.”

  * * *

  About a month before Amanda’s eleventh birthday, she was sitting on her bed doing math homework on her NohtPad. Daniel was snug up against her hip. Paul was watching a vid in the living room.

  The doorbell rang. Amanda had the door closed so Paul’s vid wouldn’t distract her, but she was curious. So she put down the NohtPad, picked up Daniel, and went to the door, sliding it open a crack.

  Paul was leaning heavily against the door frame, wearing a dirty T-shirt and loose slacks. A woman in a suit stood on the other side of the threshold.

  “Mr. Carter,” she said, “my name is Yoshiko Tanaka, I’m with the company, and I’m afraid I have some bad news. We’ve lost all contact with the Nostromo. There’ve been no updates, no contact, and the company is being forced to declare the ship and its crew missing in action.”

  No!

  Paul didn’t say anything.

  Amanda clutched Daniel to her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  No!

  “Okay,” Paul said finally. “So what’s the bad news? It’s not like my ex-wife is an actual part of our lives.” He waved an arm above his head. “She flies off through space ninety percent of the time, and thinks that makes her Amanda’s mother. Stupid bitch always had a high opinion of herself.”

  The woman stared at him, her mouth opening and closing. “Perhaps I should come back when you’re more—more sober.”

  “I’m perfectly fucking sober, thank you, Ms. Tanaka.” He stepped back and put one hand on the door. “If there’s nothing else, I have to go back to raising her kid… alone, like I’ve been doing all along, anyhow.”

  Amanda shut the bedroom door and leapt onto the bed, burying her face in her pillow.

  It can’t be true, Mom said she’d be back.

  They’re lying!

  * * *

  For the better part of two years, Amanda had looked forward to her eleventh birthday more than any other day in her life. Since the day Mom had told her about the Nostromo, she had played it out in her head, over and over, endlessly…

  Not once did she picture herself at the police station.

  She sat on the uncomfortable bench across from the main desk for an hour before her stepfather finally showed up. Her butt hurt, her back hurt, and her eyes were stinging from all the crying she’d been doing.

  Paul walked over to the desk and stood before the large uniformed man who sat there.

  “Are you the girl’s father?”

  “Stepfather, yeah. I’m Paul Carter. Where the hell did you find her?”

  “At Tereshkova Terminal. She was just hanging around, and finally someone asked her what she was doing there.”

  “Mom was supposed to be there!” Amanda shouted. She jumped off the bench and ran over to the desk. “She promised!”

  “She gave us her mother’s name,” the officer said, still speaking to Paul as if Amanda wasn’t there. “We checked, and there was no Ellen Ripley scheduled to come in. We checked the last week’s worth of logs, and everyone scheduled for the next week as well. Nothing.”

  “But she promised!” Amanda stomped her feet, something she hadn’t done in a long time.

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant,” Paul said, then he knelt down to look at her face-to-face. “Baby girl, don’t you remember that woman who came by the apartment? From the company? She said that Ellen’s ship has gone missing. They haven’t found her yet.”

  “No! She was lying! She was lying, and you’re lying, and everybody’s lying, Mom said she’d be back!”

  The officer spoke again. “Mr. Carter, I’m sorry, but you need to take her home, or—”

  “It’s fine, Sergeant, I’ve got her.” Paul put his hands on her shoulders. “Baby girl—Amanda, listen. It’s not her fault. She didn’t mean to not be here, but something happened to the Nostromo. It’s very dangerous out there in space, that’s why I never liked her going out there. Now c’mon, let’s go home.”

  “But why didn’t Mom come home like she said?”

  “Like I told you, baby girl, it’s not her fault.” He took a deep breath, looked at her, and added, “She’ll be home eventually, I’m sure of it. Now, let’s go.”

  “O-o-okay.” Amanda sniffed and wiped her eyes. “But it’s not fair.”

  GEMINI EXOPLANET SOLUTIONS

  A SEEGSON COMPANY

  MEMO

  From: Chief Porter

  To: Sevastopol Station engineering staff

  Date: September 17, 2137

  So, boys and girls, you’ve probably heard the whispers by now and I can confirm that it’s official: Sevastopol is being decommissioned.

  I will go over with each of you what this means regarding your contracts and next placement, but for now, as engineers we still have a job to do. The suits want us to continue with a skeleton crew, which means we’ll only be getting a few outside contractors to help. However, it does mean overtime. I recommend taking what you can while it’s available.

  I should point out that the decommission does not mean “lucky dip.” Everything here has to be accounted for, and I will personally hand over to Marshal Waits anyone found helping themselves to equipment.

  This message and any attachments are confidential, privileged and protected. If you are not the intended recipient, dissemination or copying of this message is prohibited. If you have received this in error, please notify the sender by replying and then delete the message completely from your system.

  7

  USCSS TORRENS

  DECEMBER 2137

  Taylor dry-sipped her mug of coffee, then looked down with the belated realization that it was empty. Amanda watched as she stood and walked over to the coffee station to refill it.

  “That must have been horrible for you.” She sounded concerned, and Amanda couldn’t help but wonder how genuine it was—she was a lawyer, after all.

  “It sucked, yeah,” Amanda said. “Took a while to sink in, too. Even after what happened at Tereshkova, I kept hoping she was just running late.”

  “And there’s been no word since.” Taylor sat back down at the table. “I’ve read the file. The company has endeavored mightily to locate the ship, but no joy. And I saw that they helped support you after she went missing?”

  “Some,” Amanda said neutrally. The last thing she wanted to discuss with a Weyland-Yutani lawyer was the company’s attempts to buy off her grief.

  “Let’s hope that this flight recorder is the real thing.”

  “I’m not holding my breath.”

  T
aylor nodded. “Have you seen Samuels? I’m assuming he’s been up for ages, but I haven’t run across him yet.”

  “I haven’t made it any farther than this room, once I got dressed.”

  “Nor I,” Taylor said.

  “I’ll catch up with him.” Amanda gulped down the last of her second cup of coffee and then got up, put it in the recycler, and headed for the exit.

  “Ripley?” Taylor prompted.

  Amanda stopped, turned, and faced the lawyer.

  “I just want to thank you for confiding in me. You didn’t need to tell me all that about your family, but I’m glad you did. It helps put a human face on what we’re doing.”

  “I guess.” Amanda shrugged. “It’s no big deal. It’s not like any of it’s a secret, either.” With that she left the mess hall and headed down the narrow corridor. As she did, she wondered to herself just why she been so frank with Taylor.

  For all Amanda’s bravado, Taylor was only the second person since she was sixteen to whom she’d opened up about her childhood. The other had been Zula, and then only to let the private know that she wasn’t the only one on Tranquility who’d had a shitty youth.

  Of course, there had been plenty of news stories about the missing ship. Not just Amanda, but all the families of the Nostromo crew had been paraded in public by Weyland-Yutani for about a year after the ship disappeared. That stuff was all still easy enough to find if anyone cared.

  Across from the mess hall was the aft airlock hub. If the Torrens was like the other M-class ships she’d been on, there was a fore hub also. This one only had three EVA suits, which made Amanda wonder what they’d have done if there was a fourth passenger to go with the three-person crew.

  Then again, nobody had asked her. Nobody ever asked a mechanic how to design a ship, even though Amanda could probably have done a better job than most.

  Continuing down the corridor she approached the medical bay, and there she saw Samuels, his back to her, checking out the equipment. Upon her entrance, he turned to face her.

  “Ah, Ripley.”

  “Samuels,” she said. “Did you wake early?”

  “Well, I don’t really need as much sleep as the rest of you,” he said with the wave of a hand. “I was just inspecting the Torrens’s facilities. A well-maintained ship. I realize it’s a very similar model to—”

  Samuels cut himself off, probably realizing that he might have been insensitive, but Amanda didn’t give that much of a fuck. It was just a ship.

  “The Nostromo,” she said, finishing the thought for him. “I’ve worked engineering jobs in ships like this,” she added by way of reassuring him that she wasn’t offended or annoyed at the reminder. Besides, the Nostromo was why they were all there.

  “Of course,” he said. “Is Taylor up yet? She’s not a seasoned traveler. Hypersleep may have been punishing for her.”

  Amanda nodded. “We talked.”

  Samuels picked up a NohtPad and tapped on it. “She’s a skilled executive, and I’m sure she’ll be very helpful with any… legal issues we might encounter.”

  “Whatever those might be,” Amanda muttered.

  “If nothing else,” Samuels said, “salvagers tend to exaggerate their claims and their rights. Taylor should be able to keep them within the bounds of the law.”

  Amanda couldn’t argue with that. Not that she particularly wanted to, or cared to. She just wanted to find out if the Anesidora really had salvaged the Nostromo’s flight recorder. Salvage rights, scavengers: they were the company’s problem, not hers.

  “All personnel to the bridge.” The voice of Captain Verlaine sounded over the ship’s speakers. “Approaching Sevastopol Station.”

  Amanda regarded Samuels. “Looks like we’re up.”

  Heading out the door, they proceeded to the bridge. Amanda was impressed with how well-maintained the Torrens was kept. The medical bay that Samuels had been examining had sported top-of-the-line equipment. It wasn’t as complete as, say, the infirmary at Tranquility, but the military supplied that base with both government and private resources. For a tiny transport that wasn’t exactly fresh off the line, the ship’s tech was top-rate. The engineer in her longed to take a gander at the ship’s guts, but she somehow doubted that the captain would let a simple passenger into the engine room.

  Captain Diane Verlaine greeted them as they arrived on the bridge. Taylor was already present, fidgeting near one of the aft consoles, looking very much as if she wanted to be almost anywhere else.

  “Hope you all had a restful journey,” the captain said with a smile that was polite, but didn’t really reach the rest of her face.

  Samuels replied with an echo of Amanda’s own thoughts. “The Torrens is in very good order for an old M-class, Captain.”

  At that the smile broadened into something more genuine. Amanda knew the look of a shipmaster who was proud of her boat.

  “She was a wreck when I bought her. Took a few years and a lot of contracts to refit. She pays for herself now.”

  Amanda nodded knowingly. She reconsidered requesting to see the engines, but decided against it. As far as Verlaine was concerned, Amanda was just another company employee she was ferrying from point A to point B. No sense in drawing unnecessary attention to herself. “Y-you said we’re approaching Sevastopol Station,” Taylor stammered. “Are—are we docking?” She asked the question as if she expected Verlaine to toss them out an airlock, hoping they’d hit the station.

  Instead, the captain nodded in the affirmative. “I believe your contact is Marshal Waits, is that right?”

  “Yes,” Samuels said.

  Amanda had no idea who that was. Samuels had provided her with briefing materials, but she hadn’t seen how they were relevant, so she hadn’t bothered reading them. All she cared about was the Nostromo’s flight recorder… and her mother.

  No, that wasn’t entirely correct. The material she’d managed to read outlined the code for activating the flight recorder, once they’d found it. That was something Weyland-Yutani must’ve kept close at hand, ever since the Nostromo had gone missing. Amanda still didn’t really understand why the vessel was so important to them.

  “I’ll hail Sevastopol,” Verlaine said, “and arrange boarding.”

  “Good.” Taylor started shifting her weight back and forth on her feet. “Let’s get this done.”

  “Don’t worry, Ms. Taylor.” Verlaine reverted back to the first smile she’d used when Amanda had walked in—the one that didn’t seem quite real. “Routine, in and out.” With that, the captain turned her back on the passengers and looked at one of the crew. He sat with his feet up at a fore console and seemed to be picking at his fingernails. “Connor, how we doing?”

  “ISMG loaded and calibrated.” Connor glanced at his readouts. “Approach vector locked.”

  The navigator was lazy, and Amanda couldn’t really blame him—the ship ran on automatic. Most of the time in space, it didn’t make sense to worry because there was so much nothing that the odds were against a collision. But once a vessel approached a planet or a station or another ship…

  If she had been the captain, she would have ordered the man to stay sharp, now that they were approaching just such a physical object. However, Amanda wasn’t captain, and she couldn’t imagine a circumstance under which she’d be one.

  “Prep comms so I can say hello,” Verlaine instructed as she moved to sit at the other fore console, next to Connor.

  “Channel open, Cap’n,” he said, flicking a switch.

  Samuels turned. “Do we all have our document packets?”

  “Of course,” Taylor said, sounding as if it was the stupidest question he could have asked. Amanda just nodded. Strictly speaking, the answer was yes, she did have the packet. Somewhere.

  “On final approach,” Connor said. Verlaine spoke into a headset.

  “Can we see it?” Samuels asked.

  “Hm?” Verlaine looked up, distracted. “Yes, of course, switch feed to the monitors.”r />
  Something was wrong, and Amanda wondered what it was. Verlaine had gone from solicitous and routine to concerned in just the time it took her to send a message to Sevastopol. Then the station came up on the large monitor at the center of the bridge.

  That clinched it.

  Something was wrong.

  The steely gray and black form of Sevastopol consisted of three large towers bristling with antennae and constructs of varying shapes and sizes. The towers were linked at the base by a single platform, and at various levels by small bridges. It was dimly lit by KG348, an orange gas giant that the station orbited. Amanda had been to other similarly designed stations. Normally there were a lot more running lights, yet here only a few were visible. Those that were lit were far too dim.

  Then she saw the damage to the platform, and noted that a couple of the bridges had lost integrity.

  Trying not to be too obtrusive, she asked, “Is that damage?”

  “It looks like damage,” Samuels said grimly.

  Amanda also noticed that the docking bay wasn’t actually there. Where there was supposed to be a giant set of bay doors, there was instead a gap between broken portions of the hull. They were still too far away for her to assess the extent of the damage. She was about to point out the problem with docking there when Verlaine spoke to Connor.

  “Punch up seventy-four, tight angle.”

  Connor toggled a switch, and the monitor showed a closeup of the docking bay. Amanda’s respect for Verlaine went up a notch.

  “Looks like the drydock is screwed,” Connor muttered.

  Verlaine nodded. “I can’t take the Torrens into that.” She put her headset back on. “This is Commercial Vessel Torrens out of St. Clair, registration number MSV7760, calling Sevastopol Traffic Control.”