Alien Resurrection Read online

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Gediman said quietly.

  Wren opened his mouth then closed it, only nodding. It’s certainly developing far better than we had any right to hope. As the specimen floated away from him, he thought he saw the developing eyes roll under their lids. He wondered if it could yet detect differences in light and dark. He wondered what, if anything, it could sense.

  * * *

  Suddenly, it was bright and she recoiled. You could be seen in the light. It was harder to hide in the light. Her body curled around itself. The warm wetness surrounding her said safety, but the bright light made her fear. Chaotic dream images flickered across her faltering consciousness.

  The cold comfort of cryosleep.

  The driving need to protect her young.

  The strength and companionship of her own kind.

  The power of her own rage.

  The warmth and safety of the steaming crèche.

  The images were meaningless and meaningful at the same time. She recognized them on a level far beyond consciousness, far beyond learning. They were part of her, part of who she’d been, what she’d been. And now they were part of what she was becoming.

  She floated in the gelatinous, comforting warmth, trying to hide from the light. And the sounds. Murmuring, distant sounds that were outside of her. Inside of her. They came and went, the sounds, meaning nothing, meaning everything.

  She heard the inside sounds again, one so much stronger than the others. The one she always listened to. The one she tried so hard to remember. She heard it whisper—

  My mommy always said there were no monsters—no real ones. But there are.

  If only she knew what it meant. Perhaps someday…

  * * *

  For just a moment, Wren let himself hope, let himself anticipate. There would be papers. Books. Publications. Awards. This was just the beginning.

  The fetus floated, turning in the gel-filled incubator, and Wren had to admit that Gediman was right. It was beautiful. A perfect specimen…

  Its back was to him now and the curved spine bumped the glass. He saw it then, something that had not been there before.

  “Did you notice that?” he asked Gediman matter-of-factly, keeping his voice even.

  “What…?” Gediman muttered, then spied the specimen’s back.

  “There.” Wren pointed to the four buds on either side of the spine. “These. Four of them. Right where the dorsal horns should be.”

  Gediman frowned, seeing them. “You think she’ll start developing abnormalities?”

  Wren shook his head. “We’ll watch them. They could mark the beginning of embryonic failure.”

  “No…!” Gediman sighed.

  “Let’s not anticipate trouble. If we get lucky, they may just be vestigial growths. In that case, they could be removed.”

  Gediman looked worried, some of his earlier joy dissipating.

  Wren patted his back. “It’s still far superior to any specimen we’ve grown to date. I’m hopeful. You should be, too.”

  His associate smiled again. “We’ve come so far, and she’s doing so well. I hope you’re right, Dr. Wren.”

  So do I, Wren thought, watching the specimen. He hoped this was not yet another of nature’s little jokes at his expense.

  * * *

  One month later, Wren and Gediman once again stood before the incubator. This unit was much larger than that first one had been, nearly three meters in height and a meter around. The child-size specimen that had floated like a small cork in that early incubator had grown and flourished until it nearly filled this current chamber.

  The atmosphere in the lab was one of high anticipation. Wren couldn’t help but notice how often his staff members wandered close to the incubator, just to look at it, marveling at what they’d accomplished.

  So much from so little. Ancient blood samples. Bits of tissue from the marrow, the spleen, the spinal fluid. Scattered, shattered DNA. Infected cells. From all that, this.

  The specimen turned, its shoulder-length, wavy brown hair floating loosely around its face, occasionally obscuring the attractive, recognizably human features. Its hand curled into a fist, then relaxed. The eyes beneath the closed lids moved back and forth.

  Dreaming? What kind of dreams does it have? Whose dreams does it have?

  Wren looked up at the incubator’s readouts. The first screen showed the specimen’s ECG—its heartbeat, steady, rhythmic, its sinus arrhythmia completely normal. Good. Very good.

  He turned to the second screen. Where the first screen was labeled to identify the adult-size female specimen—the designation “HOST” appearing in prominent letters—the second screen was labeled “SUBJECT.” Across it registered a second ECG. This heartbeat moved much faster than the host’s, with a wave pattern that was tachycardic. Still, it was just as strong as the host. It was sound.

  Wren smiled. He looked again into the face of the host specimen. It was frowning. If he were more of a romantic, like Gediman, he would think it looked unhappy.

  Whose dreams are you having? Your own? Or those of your symbiont? I would love to know…

  * * *

  Dr. Jonathan Gediman couldn’t believe his luck. Dr. Wren was actually going to allow him to do the operation. Standing in the chilly sterile room, in sterile clothing, with his body completely scrubbed and ready, he fumbled with the surgical visor as he manipulated it into place. Beside him Dr. Wren stood ready, gowned, expectant, anxious. Dr. Dan Sprague was there, too. Dan had congratulated him when Wren made the announcement, his sincere good wishes helping a little to ease Gediman’s jitters. Some of them anyway.

  The visor focused wildly, and he touched the controls. The apparatus would allow him to automatically enjoy whatever range of vision he needed, from far-seeing binocular vision to a microscopic ability that would let him examine tissue right down to the cellular level. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady his nerves. He nearly jumped when Sprague reached over with sterile gauze and mopped his brow.

  “Take it easy there, bud,” Dan teased. “You’re sweatin’ like a dog.”

  Gediman nodded, thinking distractedly, Dogs don’t sweat. He blinked, and focused his mind. If only Wren weren’t standing so close. Even without the visor, Wren would spot the tiniest screwup, the smallest error. For that matter, so would Sprague.

  Cool it, Gediman, he told himself. It’s not like this is your first surgery! This is a simple procedure. You’ve done similar ones a million times.

  Yeah, but not here. Not on this specimen.

  Not on Ripley.

  Specimen was Wren’s word, but Gediman had stopped thinking of her that way when she was just a microscopic bundle of eight perfectly formed cells.

  He turned his head and let himself look at her, really look. Behind the thick transparency of the enclosed surgical chamber that separated her from the medical staff, she was breathing normally, slowly, in anesthetized sleep. She looked relaxed there on the table, her eyes unmoving, her strong jaw slack in sleep, her lips slightly parted. Except for the multiple catheters and sensors decorating her body under the diaphanous, shroudlike surgical drapes, she looked as attractive as Sleeping Beauty must have waiting for her prince’s kiss. Gediman wet his lips.

  She looks normal. A tall, attractive young woman. Even the clinging amniotic gel and the blue tinge to her skin doesn’t change that.

  He was so proud of her.

  She’d come through so much, accomplished so much already. And this would be her proudest moment—if he didn’t screw it up.

  He walked up to the instrument panel, slipping his gloved arms into the surgeon’s controls past the elbows. Wren and Sprague flanked him, watching. Around the encased surgical theater, behind protective transparencies, milled the rest of their team. Every one of them had an investment here.

  He slid his fingers into the sensitive glovelike controls, felt them mold around his hands and arms, and gently wiggled them to get the contact right. Carefully, he manip
ulated the controls, watching the various robot arms in the surgical chamber come alive in response.

  “I’m ready,” he said to the room, glancing at his readouts. Everything looked good. Brain activity. Respiration. Heart rate.

  He moved the laser saw into position over her sternum.

  “Remember,” Wren said softly, nearly in his ear, “take it slow. Just one step at a time. I’m right beside you.” He’d meant that to give Gediman confidence but it had just the opposite effect.

  He initiated contact with the laser, drawing a bright, straight line so the incision would proceed caudally from midsternum to just above the umbilicus. He glanced at Ripley’s readouts. She wasn’t under that deep, and he wanted to be sure she couldn’t feel this.

  “I’ve got it,” Sprague said quietly beside him, mopping his brow again. It was Dan’s job to keep track of her anesthesia. Gediman trusted him, but…

  The initial incision was done. He manipulated the robot clamps, attached them to the skin, had them retract just enough. Then the laser again, to carefully cut between the muscles on the fascia, right on the Linia alba. Then, after that, the peritoneum. In moments, he was through. Bleeding was minimized as the laser cauterized as it cut. The incision looked good.

  “Excellent,” Wren breathed. “Okay, now, move the tank in place. Careful… Get ready with the amnio…”

  Gediman was ahead of him. He’d already signaled for the small incubator full of amniotic fluid to be delivered. He watched as it slid into place mechanically beside Ripley’s supine body, nestling near her ribs and hip. The surgeon could feel the anxiety in the room climb as the tiny chamber silently traveled to its destination, halted, then slowly raised its lid.

  “Good,” said Wren. “Good. We’re ready.”

  Gediman bit his lip. His right hand flexed in the control glove.

  A specially padded robot clamp moved into position at his urging, and cautiously snaked its way into the incision site, disappearing inside Ripley. Gediman turned back to the readout screens, following the clamp’s progress inside his patient. He manipulated the clamp carefully, skillfully.

  A bead of sweat tracked down his forehead, sliding toward the visor, but Sprague was there, mopping him, trying to control the profuse, nerve-induced sweating that had broken out all over the surgeon, in spite of the cold room.

  He watched the clamp and the color-enhanced images of the interior of his patient the biosensors provided. He smiled.

  “There she is,” he murmured delightedly.

  The prize. The goal of all their work.

  He tightened the clamp carefully, even as Wren whispered unnecessarily, “Easy! Easy!”

  “I’ve got her,” Gediman purred, as he slowly extracted the clamp from Ripley’s body.

  Every eye was focused on the incision site as the clamps drew out of Ripley’s abdomen.

  Cradled in the padded vise curled a tiny, red-stained, embryolike creature, its features blurred by the blood and connective tissue of its mother.

  “Readouts are good,” Wren told him, as he studied the parasite’s bio-scan.

  “Same here,” Dan agreed, reporting on Ripley’s.

  Dimly, Gediman was aware of the rest of the crew drawing closer to the glass, peering to see for themselves. No one spoke. All eyes focused on that one small bundle…

  “I’m severing the connections,” Gediman announced.

  “Go ahead,” Wren agreed.

  He moved another device around the creature, one that would cut and cauterize each of the six thin umbilical-like structures that tied the tiny Alien to its host. He moved the cutting clamp quickly, expertly, decisively… Four, five, six! It was free.

  The creature suddenly writhed and uncoiled, as if being severed from its mother had told it it was time to begin its own independent life. Time to breathe. Time to grow. Time to move.

  It squirmed, twisted in the padded clamp, lashing its tail, and finally opened its small jaw in a silent scream.

  “Damn!” Sprague swore at the tiny bundle’s raging protest.

  “Careful!” Wren ordered, all business. “Don’t release it. Get it in the tank.”

  Gediman nodded tersely. He knew he had the thing secure as it fought and twisted impotently in the clamp’s grasp. He slipped it into the amnio tank, not releasing it until the cover was nearly secure. He released the creature and extracted the clamp in one swift move that left the tiny Alien encased safely in the protective incubator.

  “Beautiful!” Wren exclaimed. “Beautiful work, Gediman.” He grasped Gediman’s shoulder in congratulations.

  The surgeon released the breath he was holding, as Sprague mopped his brow again. He felt his whole body relax and only then realized how tense he’d been. “Thank you, Dr. Wren.”

  They all watched as the small incubator tank—with the now frantically swimming creature searching for escape—disappeared from the surgical chamber the same way it had been delivered. Kinloch and Fontaine would accompany it on its journey to the growing chamber, and monitor it until it was out of danger.

  Gediman looked across at the observation deck, saw the rest of the team smiling at him, Kinloch giving him a thumbs-up. He smiled in return. Then, finally, he turned back to Ripley.

  Pulling off his visor, he hesitantly glanced at Wren. “Well…?” He indicated Ripley, still sleeping in the chamber.

  “The host?” Wren asked, not looking at her.

  Gediman glanced at the readouts. “Her ECG is normal… She’s doing fine.” He stopped himself, as he realized he was arguing for her. Wren already thought his interest in this specimen was unprofessional. He had to watch what he said; Wren hadn’t made up his mind about her fate. Gediman waited tensely.

  Wren looked over the screens, then took a second to gaze at Ripley. Finally, he said, “Sew her back up.”

  Gediman had to stop himself from blurting out, Thank you! He knew it was well within Wren’s right as chief scientist to terminate her. For some reason, Gediman couldn’t accept that. It was such a waste! Especially after all their work.

  “Dan,” Wren was saying to their associate, “close up here, will you? I think Gediman’s had enough excitement for one day.”

  Gediman smiled, and nodded at Dan.

  “Sure thing,” Sprague agreed. “Be happy to.”

  Gediman glanced over the readouts automatically one more time. Anesthesia, respiration, heart rate, all looked good. He let Wren pull him aside.

  “Well,” Gediman said, letting the excitement creep into his voice, “that went as well as could be expected.”

  “Oh, better than that, Doctor,” Wren said respectfully. “Far better than that.”

  * * *

  Something told her to wake. She ignored it. Once she woke, the dreams would all come real. Once she woke she would exist again, and there had been peace, finally, in nonexistence. She was sorry that it might be over.

  Something told her to wake. She resisted.

  Slowly, she registered a dim sensation. Something outside of herself. Something happening to her self. Something taken from her.

  Something she wanted taken?

  She couldn’t remember.

  In spite of the cold, in spite of the brightness, she opened her eyes.

  She could see everything happening all around her, see it perfectly. But she could understand none of it. Strange metallic and plastic armatures moved rapidly around her, pulling closed a gaping wound in her chest, even as a different armature moved to seal the wound closed. She registered the sensation, some slight pain that was easy to ignore. Her eyes moved around as she gathered information.

  Then she realized. It was gone. They’d taken it from her. Her young. Part of her felt enormous relief. Another part of her felt tremendous rage. She vacillated between the feelings, understanding neither, merely experiencing the emotional swings as she lay perfectly still, watching the surgical arms.

  Two of the mechanical arms, she realized, were somehow connected physically to one of th
e creatures looking into the strange, clear egg case she was trapped in. She was ringed by these creatures, all of them looking down at her while they presumed her helpless. The arms swung and moved, performing their work, completing tasks she had neither asked for nor wanted nor understood.

  She watched the creature manipulating the arms, watched it watching her so intently. With neither rage nor relief, she reached up quickly, snatched the forearm of the creature shielded from her behind the sealed egg case. With detached curiosity, she gripped the arm with a modicum of strength and twisted it, just to see what would happen.

  It was interesting. The creature instantly stopped hurting her. That was good. She twisted more, and there was a strange cracking, grinding feel to the part of the being caught inside the artificial arm. Even more interesting was the reaction of all the creatures outside the clear egg case. The one attached to the arm was flailing wildly, pounding on the case with its free arm, its mouth opening hugely as if to bite her. How funny. She wondered if it were making sounds. The strange egg case she lay in seemed to prevent any sound from passing through, because all she could hear was her own breathing.

  She blinked and twisted the arm again. More flailing, more writhing. And now more and more creatures racing around the one she’d caught, grabbing him, moving their tiny, ineffectual mouths open and closed, waving their arms. So much excitement.

  One of the creatures pushed the others aside, looking down at her in the case. He stared at her wildly, his tiny eyes opened as wide as they would go. He slapped at devices on his side of the case, manipulated things she couldn’t see, and suddenly, she felt her eyes grow heavy.

  She was sorry. She didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to watch the creatures. Learn from them if she could. And more than that, she wanted to get out of here… But sleep stole over her before she could worry about it further.

  * * *

  In seconds, the gleaming, sterile surgical theater had gone from exultant success to chaos. Wren could hear the horrible snap and crunch of Dan Sprague’s bones from ten feet away where he and Gediman had been discussing the Alien embryo. Dan’s screams could be heard throughout the entire station.