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 130

Alan Dean Foster

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 131

131

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. 132 IX

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.