Alan Dean Foster Alien 03 Alien 3

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now instead of some inexperienced, overly ambitious underling.?
?And you, of course, have no personal ambitions.?
?I only want to help you.?
?You're a liar,?she said quietly. ?You don't give a shit about me or
anyone else. You just want to take it back. 216
Alan Dean Foster
These things have acid for blood where you Company people just have
money. I don't see a lot of difference.?
Bishop II studied the floor for a moment before again raising his eyes
to the solitary figure atop the crane platform. ?You have plenty of
reasons to be wary, but unfortunately not much time. We just want to
take you home. We don't care anymore what happens to it. We know what
you've been through. You've shown great courage.?
?Bullshit!?
?You're wrong. We want to help.?
?What does that mean??
?We want to take the thing out of you.?
?And keep it??
Bishop II shook his head. ?No. Destroy it.?
She stood, swaying, wanting to believe him. Sensing her hesitation, he
hurried on. ?Ripley, you're exhausted, worn out. Give yourself a moment.
Stop and think. I have only your best interests at heart. The ship I
came in, the Patna, is equipped with a state-of-the-art surgical
facility. We can remove the fetus, or larva, or whatever you want to
call it. We don't have a name for the different developmental stages
yet. The operation will be successful! You're going to have a long,
productive life.?
She looked down at him, calm now, resigned. ?I've had a life, thanks.
One I didn't have to ask anybody about or answer to anybody for.?
He held up a hand, imploring. ?You're not thinking straight, Ripley! We
admit we made mistakes. We didn't know. But we can make it up to you.
All the potential lost, all the time. You can still have children. We'll
buy out your contract. You'll get everything you deserve. We owe you.?
She wavered. ?You're not going to take it back??
?No. We realize now what we've been up against. 217
You've been right all along. But time is running out. Let us deal with
it. The surgery on the ship is ready to go.?
The biotech immediately behind him stepped forward. ?It's very quick.
Painless. A couple of incisions. You'll be out for two hours-that's all.
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Then back on your feet, good as new. Whole again.?
?What guarantee do I have that once you've taken this thing out you'll
destroy it??
Bishop II advanced another step. He was quite close now, looking across
at her. ?You're just going to have to trust me.?He extended his hand in
friendship. ?Trust me. Please. We only want to help you.?
She considered, taking her time. She saw Aaron watching her, and Morse.
Her gaze went back to Bishop II.
She slid shut the gate between them. ?No-?
A nod to Morse and he hit the control panel, putting the crane in
motion. It rumbled away from the stairs, out over the furnace. As it did
so, Bishop II lunged, grabbing at Ripley. She broke free and stumbled
away from him.
The commandos responded and Morse took a bullet in the shoulder,
dropping down behind the crane's control panel.
Aaron picked up a chunk of broken pipe, muttering, ?You fucking
droid!?The pipe landed hard on Bishop 2's head.
The impact was spongy. Then man staggered, twitching, as his troops shot
the acting superintendent down. Real blood poured from Bishop II's
cracked skull.
?I am... not a... droid,?the bleeding figure mumbled in surprise as it
crumpled to the floor.
Ripley clutched at her chest. ?It's moving.?Company men rushed to the
fallen Bishop II. He turned on his side, watching her.
?You owe it to us. You owe it to yourself.?
A beatific smile crossed her face. Then she almost 218
Alan Dean Foster
snarled. ?No way!?The crane platform was now directly over the caldron.
Her stomach thumped and she staggered. Calmly, in complete control, she
stepped to the edge. Below her feet boiled a lake of molten metal, the
proximate inferno raising blisters on her skin, rising tendrils of heat
reaching up invitingly.
?It's too late!?
?It's not!?Bishop II pleaded with her.
Staggering, she clutched both hands to her chest over the rising heat.
?Good-bye.?
?Nooo!?Bishop II howled.
She stepped off the platform and vanished into the bubbling caldron below.
Morse had staggered erect in time to see her fall. Clutching at his
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wounded shoulder, he watched, murmuring.
?Those who are dead are not dead. They have moved up. Moved higher.?
Having nothing else to do now, the biotechs bandaged Morse up. Other
Company men, silent, not talking even among themselves, went about the
business of methodically shutting down the furnace, the refinery, the
rest of WeylandYutani Work Correctional Facility Fury 161.
Out there messages linger. Ghosts of radio transmissions drifting
forever, echoes of words preceding and lives gone before. Occasionally
they're detected, picked up, transcribed. Sometimes they mean something
to those who hear; other times not. Sometimes they're lengthy, other
times brief. As in ...
?This is Ripley, last surviving member of the Nostromo, signing off.?
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