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might get it inside.? The three of them stared into the storage chamber.
Dillon looked back at her. ?Lemme get this straight. You wanna burn it
down and outta the pipes, force it here, slam the door, and trap its ass??
She spoke without looking up from the map. ?Ummm.? 148
Alan Dean Foster
?And you're looking for help from us Y-chromo boys.?
?You got something better to do??
?Why should we put our asses on the line for you??
She finally glanced up at him, her eyes steely. ?Your asses are already
on the line. The only question is what you're going to do about it.? 149 X
Accompanied by prisoner David, Aaron showed Ripley through the vast
storage chamber. When they reached the section where the drums were
stored, he paused and pointed.
?This is where we keep it. I don't know what this shit's called.?
?Quinitricetyline,?David supplied helpfully.
?I knew that,?the assistant superintendent grumbled as he checked his
notepad. ?Okay. I'm off to work out the section assignments with Dillon
for the paintbrush team. David, you get these drums organized, ready to
move.?He turned and headed in the direction of the main corridor.
?Right, Eight-five,?David called after him.
?Don't call me that!?Aaron vanished into the darkness of the distant
corridor.
Ripley examined the drums. They were slightly corroded
150
Alan Dean Foster
and obviously hadn't been touched in some time, but otherwise appeared
intact.
?What's this 'Eight-five' thing??
David put gloved hands on the nearest container. ?Lot of the prisoners
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used to call him that. We got his personnel charts out of the computer a
few years ago. It's his IQ.?He grinned as he started to roll the drum.
Ripley stood and watched. ?He seems to have a lot of faith in this
stuff. What's your opinion??
The prisoner positioned the drum for loading. ?Hell, I'm just a dumb
watchman, like the rest of the guys here. But I did see a drum of this
crap fall into a beachhead bunker once. Blast put a tug in dry dock for
seventeen weeks. Great stuff.?
In another part of the storage chamber prisoners Troy and Arthur sorted
through the mass of discarded electronics components. Troy shoved a
glass bead into the cylinder he was holding, thumbed the switch, then
disgustedly wrenched the bead free and began hunting for another.
?Goddamn it. One fucking bulb in two thousand works.?
His companion looked up from his own search. ?Hey, it could be a lot
worse. We mighta got the paintbrush detail.?He tried a bead in his own
tube, hit the switch. To his astonishment and delight, it lit.
The two men filled the air duct with little room to spare, slathering
the interior surface with the pungent quinitricetyline.
?This shit smells awful,?Prisoner Kevin announced for the hundredth
time. His companion barely deigned to reply. 151
151
?I've told you already; don't breathe it.?
?Why not??
?Fuckin' fumes.?
?I'm in a fuckin' pipe with it. How can I keep from breathing it??
Outside the toxic waste storage chamber other men were dumping buckets
of the QTC and spreading it around as best they could, with brooms and
mops and, where those were lacking, with their booted feet.
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.
«g ?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.?
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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 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]