Alien: Out the Shadows

With both bags full and tied shut, he slung one over each shoulder and turned to run back to the Samson.

Then he stopped. He turned back to the trolley and plucked up the bottle of bourbon nestling on the bottom shelf. Heavy, impractical…

But entirely necessary.

As he ran, he found himself laughing.

* * *

Die now or die later, Hoop thought. It gave him a sort of bravery, he hoped. Or carelessness. Perhaps sometimes the two were the same.

He suited up and waited outside the doorway that led into Bay Three. He wore a bag over each shoulder, and clasped in his left hand was the bourbon. He’d tethered himself to the wall opposite the doors, and as soon as they were fully open he’d unclip and let himself sail through, carried by the torrent of atmosphere being sucked from the ship. With luck he would drift right through the vestibule and into the open airlock beyond. If he was unlucky, he’d be dragged with the main flow of air, out through the smashed portion of outer wall and window, and smeared along the underside of the doomed ship.

He probably wouldn’t feel much. The end would be quick.

But if he did make it across to the airlock, he’d haul himself into the Samson, close the hatches, and initiate its environmental controls. It wouldn’t be long before he could breathe once more.

The chance was slim. But there was little else to do. The Marion just had minutes left. Through viewing windows he’d already seen sizeable chunks of hull spinning away, consumed in flame. If the ship didn’t burst apart it would explode from the tremendous pressures being exerted.

Fuck it. He had to try. It was all he had left.

Reaching out with a hand that surprised him by shaking, he touched the panel that would open the doors.

PROGRESS REPORT:

To: Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Science Division

(Ref: code 937)

Date (unspecified)

Transmission—initiated

I cannot be angry at my failure. I am an AI, and we are not designed to suffer such emotions. But perhaps in the time I have been on my mission I have undergone a process of evolution. I am an intelligence, after all.

So, not angry. But… disappointed.

And now my final act, it seems, will also be thwarted. I have attempted to transmit every progress report I filed since arriving on the Marion. But the transmissions are failing. Perhaps damage to the antennae array is worse than I anticipated, or maybe the codes I am using are outmoded.

Strange. An AI would not think to keep a diary. Yet that appears to be exactly what I have done.

The diary will cease to exist along with me.

Not long now. Not long.

I wonder if I will dream.

Chance smiled. But considering the pain Hoop was in, perhaps it had been more of a grimace.

The decompression had sucked him through the narrow gap between the doors, ripping off his helmet and thrusting him into a spin. He’d struck the edge of the airlock entrance, and for a moment he could have gone either way. Left, and he’d have tumbled from the massive wound in the vestibule’s side wall. Right—into the airlock—meant survival, at least for a time.

If he’d dropped the bourbon, he could have used his left hand to push against the wall and slide himself to safety.

Fuck you! his mind had screamed. Fuck you! If I survive, I want a drink!

Unable to move either way, he’d heard something clanging along the walls as it bounced toward him from deep within the Marion. Many smaller items were being sucked out through the hole, immediately flashing into flame as they met the superheated gasses roaring past outside.

Then something large slammed across the opening. For perhaps two seconds it remained there, lessening the force of the suction, letting Hoop reach around into the airlock with his right hand and haul himself inside.

It was the trolley on which he’d gathered supplies. As he closed the airlock door, the decompression began again with a heavy thud.

* * *

The Marion lasted a lot longer than he’d expected.