Her fingers worked the keyboard. She paused, played the keys again, then sat staring thoughtfully at the information displayed on the small screen. Rising, she left the readout and turned to the cryotube that had conveyed her to Fiorina.

It was an effort to squeeze back inside, and when she turned to work on the keyboard her hand barely reached.

?You need some help??

She stared at Aaron’s sudden appearance.

?Hey, didn’t mean to scare you. Look, you shouldn’t be wandering around alone.?

?I’ve heard that one before. Do me a favor. Run the keyboard. I can’t reach over and see what I’m doing.?

He nodded and took the seat as she settled back into the tube. ?What do you want me to do??

?Very little, I hope. The procedure’s pretty straightforward. You ready??she asked, not turning her head to face him.

He gazed at the screen, willing but baffled by the multiple options and instructions. ?I guess so. What do I do now??

?Ignore the technospeak. There’s an option menu at the bottom.?

His eyes dropped and he found himself nodding. ?I see it. What next??

?Hit either B or C. What’s C??

He studied the glowing print. ?Display biofunctions.?

?That’s it.?

On his command the screen was replaced by another, 178

Alan Dean Foster

no less complicated than its predecessor. ?Okay, now I’ve got a whole page of new turkeytalk.?

?Same procedure. Menu at the bottom. There should be a V command, for visual display. Hit it.?

He complied, glancing back toward the cylinder.

Within the claustrophobic confines of the tube a small motor began to hum. Ripley shifted uncomfortably on the cushioned pallet, feeling very much like a bug under a microscope. Her surroundings suddenly pressed close around her, the wall and ceiling of the EEV threatening to collapse and pin her forever in place. She concentrated on keeping her heartbeat regular, her breathing steady as she closed her eyes. It helped, a little.

The display monitor in front of Aaron flickered. The incomprehensible technical information vanished, to be replaced by an in-depth medical percep scan of the inside of Ripley’s head.

?Okay,?he told her, ?we’re hot. I’m looking at your brain. The scanner’s also printing a lot of information next to the image, and there’s all sorts of option switches at the bottom of the screen.?

?They’re to make the scan system-specific,?she heard herself telling him. ?You know-nervous system, circulatory. Like that. Let’s keep it as general as possible. Leave everything alone.?

?No problem there.?He stared in fascination at the screen. ?What am I supposed to be looking for? I don’t know how to read this stuff.?

?Ignore the printouts and concentrate on the visuals,?she told him. ?Where is it now??

?Moving down your neck. Am I supposed to see something??

?If it’s there, you’ll know it when you see it.? 179

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