Alien: Out the Shadows

Things were heating up.

He closed a blast door behind him, but it immediately re-opened. He didn’t bother trying again. Maybe it was Ash still playing his games. Or it might just be the Marion, getting cranky in her final moments.

“Come on, come on!” he implored, urging himself on, Ripley slung across both of his shoulders now. He staggered along the corridor, bouncing from wall to wall as the ship shook and rumbled. Another explosion came from far away and he felt the pressure blast smack him in the back, pushing him onward so hard that he lost his footing and went to his knees. He kept hold of Ripley this time. She grunted.

“Yeah, me too,” he said. He stood again and passed by the Samson’s docking arm, moving quickly on to Bay Four and the Narcissus. He opened the vestibule doors and hurried through. In minutes they’d be away. He would look back and see the distant flare as the massive ship met its end.

Or maybe not. Maybe he wouldn’t look at all. He’d seen enough destruction, and he couldn’t help feeling sad at the Marion’s demise.

Ash would die with the ship. Hoop had never met an android that he’d liked, but he’d never disliked any of them, either. He’d regarded them as expensive, fancy tools. Sometimes they were useful, but more often they were rich playthings that did the jobs that any man or woman could do, given the right equipment and training.

But he hated Ash.

And they were about to beat him.

He opened the Narcissus’s door and entered the shuttle, keeping his eyes on the vestibule as the airlock slid closed again, followed by the shuttle doors.

Then Hoop heard something behind him. A soft, gentle hiss. The scraping of claws on leather. Something alive.

He turned around slowly, and Jonesy sat crouched on the arm of the pilot’s chair, teeth bared at him, hackles spiked.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Hoop relaxed, lowering Ripley to the floor. He went to the pilot’s seat and sat down.

Jonesy hissed again and jumped away when Hoop went to stroke him.

He switched on the ship’s computer and it powered up instantly. All good. He sat back and waited for the system statuses to load onto the control screens, looking around at the shuttle’s interior. Ash was here. He couldn’t be seen or sensed, but here more than anywhere Hoop had that distinct sense of being watched.

Hello Ash, he typed.

Good afternoon, Chief Engineer Hooper.

Good? he typed. No. Pretty fucking shitty, really.

Ash did not respond.

Initiate launch sequence, Hoop typed.

No.

I thought you’d say that. Hoop took the memory stick from his inner pocket, and slipped it into one of the panel’s interface points.

The computer screen before him flashed, then faded to blank. When it fired up again the previous lines of text had vanished, and the cursor sat ready to create some more.

I’m more than just a program.

No, Hoop typed, that is exactly what you are. Thinking you’re more than that is why this is going to work.

But I’m everywhere, Chief Engineer Hooper. I’m in the Narcissus, deeper and more entrenched than any of its former programs. I’m in the Samson and the Marion.

Do you really think a third rate virus program can affect me?

Probably not, Hoop typed. This isn’t third rate. It’s the best that money can buy… from your old friends at Weyland-Yutani.

No.

That was Ash’s total response. Whether it was a plea or a denial, Hoop didn’t wait to find out. He pressed a button on the virus purger, then hit the initiate button on the control panel. A splash of code lit up three screens. It started to scroll quickly, and every few seconds a particular line of code was highlighted red, isolated, and placed in a boxed area on the left of the central display.

Hoop left the purger to do its work. and went to where he’d propped Ripley by the door.

She was still unconscious, and for that he was glad. He carefully took the sheet from her and dressed her in some underwear he found in the small clothing locker. Jonesy the cat sat beside her and purred as he did so, eager to maintain contact with his mistress as much as he could.

Hoop struggled with her vest, laying her flat and stretching her arms over her head to pull it down. Just before he smoothed it over her stomach, he paused and looked closely at the fixed wounds there. They were visible as pale pink lines in her waxen skin. When she woke up, if she looked closely enough, she would find them. And he would be there to tell her all about it.