In the corridor Dillon was waiting with Ripley. Everything was proceeding according to plan, though whether the plan would proceed according to plan remained to be seen.

He glanced toward her, analyzed the expression on her face. Not that he was particularly sensitive, but he’d seen a lot of life.

?You miss the doc, right??

?I didn’t know him very well,?she muttered by way of reply.

Ťg ?I thought you two got real close.?

Now she looked over at him. ?I guess you’ve been looking through some keyholes.?

Dillon smiled. ?That’s what I thought.?

The nausea didn’t slip up on her; it attacked hard and fast, overwhelming her equilibrium, forcing her to lean against the wall for support as she gagged and coughed. Dillon moved to support her but she shoved him away, fighting for air. He eyed her with sudden concern.

?You okay??

She took a deep breath and nodded.

?Whatever you say. But you don’t look okay to me, sister.? 152

Alan Dean Foster

Aaron surveyed the convicts who’d accompanied him-some nearby, others on the walkway above. All carried primed emergency flares which would ignite on hard contact.

?Okay, listen up.?All eyes turned to regard him attentively. ?Don’t light this fire till I give you the signal. This is the signal.?He raised his arm. ?You guys got it? Think you can remember that??

They were all intent on him. So intent that the man nearest the vertical air duct dropped the flare he’d been holding. He clutched at it, missed, and held his breath as it slid to the ledge near his feet.

His companion hadn’t noticed. Straining, he knelt to retrieve it, let out a sigh of relief …

As the alien appeared behind the grate on which the flare lay poised precariously, and reached for him.

The man managed to scream, the flare flipping from his fingers to fall to the ground below.

Where it flowered brightly.

Aaron heard and saw the explosion simultaneously. His eyes widened. ?No, goddamn it! Wait for the fucking signal! Shit!?

Then he saw the alien and forgot about the flames.

They spread as rapidly as the desperate planners had hoped, shooting down QTC-painted corridors, licking up air vents, frying soaked floors and walkways. In her own corridor Ripley heard the approaching flames and pressed herself against unpainted ground as the air vents overhead caught. A convict nearby wasn’t as fast. He screamed as heat ignited his clothing.

Morse rolled wildly away from the licking flames, in time to see the alien scuttle past overhead. 153

153

?It’s over here! Hey, it’s here!?No one had the inclination or ability to respond to his alarm.