Life Line -
The chirp of the crickets provided a steady thrum in the muggy evening. Sitting with her feet curled underneath her, Amanda Ripley-McClaren sat completely motionless on the old porch's swing. Around her slender wrist, a medical bracelet glowed faintly as it monitored nearly a dozen different vitals of its wearer. A faint breeze gave the suspended bench a barely perceptible push. Enough to send the swing's rusty support chain emitting a chorus of little squeaks and groans. It only added to the late summer night's symphony.
The door to the kitchen opened and a flood of light from inside the house filled the dark back yard. A man, once tall, but now stooped by age, crossed the threshold and then closed the door. The night's shadowy darkness reclaimed its space from the light's retreat to the indoors. The man stood watching the old woman in the swing for a moment before crossing the short distance and setting down.
More creaks and moans came from the old swing as the elderly man added his weight. Planting his feet on the weathered wood he gave a little push and the whole old contraption began to sway back and forth.
The long silence which followed was familiar, something that only came from a couple who had lived life together for many years. But the quiet was not one of comfort between the married couple.
"You needn't sit out here in the dark," said Robert McClaren after he had judged enough time had passed.
"I wanted to see the stars," replied Amanda as she made room as her husband put his arm around her. Her hair, snow white, outlined against her wrinkled pale, almost translucent, skin.
A slow nod came from Robert. "Ah, you're looking again."
Amanda swatted his arm. "Don't be thick. I just want to see the stars." The hesitation which caught in her throat caused her voice to drop and octave. "It's nice to see the stars without having to be behind plexiglass or worry about atmospheric decompression."
"Much to the point of why I never traveled," sighed Robert as he tilted his head back and looked up at the sky filled with multicolored jewels.
Amanda plucked at his shirt absently. "Plenty of places you could have gone to on Earth. No need to fly off in a spaceship."
"I like it here," informed Robert dryly.
He could feel her shake her head in light exasperation. It was an old argument between them. "You've lived nearly your entire life in Wisconsin. Never had the slightest urge to travel."
"Like I said. I like it here."
Amanda went silent again. Robert's initial push on the old swing had long given out. Now only the couple's soft breathing coupled with the crickets filled the night. Words unsaid hung heavy in the air.
"She's still out there, Robert. Somewhere."
"I know."
"Those idiots at Weyland-Yutani put a colony on that moon."
"I know."
"Sooner or later they'll find that derelict. Start that whole goddamn thing all over…"
"Ripley," he called, cutting her off. He hardly ever used her maiden name. "Everything you could do, you did. You never stopped searching for your mother. You fought the company for nearly forty years, never once gave them an inch. Nothing but strength in you baby." Robert's voice took on an unsteady tremor. "You've done enough. Rest now."
"I'm not one to just lie down," countered Amanda.
"God, woman, I know," replied her husband. A widening smile grew on his face. "You're the most stubborn person I've ever met. Three times I had to ask for your hand before you said yes."
Her sudden tears did not surprise him. He could kick himself. Inadvertently he had stumbled on a long-standing truth in their marriage.
"I wanted you to have someone who could give you children. Not a woman who had floated around space for so long her body was riddled with tumors. Someone who wasn't going to be constantly harassed by suits wanting to know what happened on Sevastopol." Her voice growing weak from the tears rolling down her face.
"I know," this time his voice was as unsteady as hers. Robert swallowed hard, pushing down his own pain. "I wanted you, Amanda. Nothing but you. I've never had a regret." Reaching up, he gently dried the wetness on his wife's lined cheeks.
Again the silence filled the swing, the porch where it hung, and the night beyond. Even the crickets' chirps dulled to a faint echo. It was Robert who finally chose to break the peace. "I made a promise the day we married. By your side all the way. No matter how many times we had to visit the doctors. No matter how many times I had to run off some fool Company lawyer who had tracked you down." He took her hand in his. "I'm here to the end. Be it weeks, or months, or another damn century."
She leaned into him, letting him pull her close. "Promise me something."
"Anything, baby."
"When I'm gone. You'll keep looking for her."
A simple nod, he did not need to give any other response. She did need not even ask. He would gladly carry this torch for her until he drew his own last breath. But something he could not describe, something that tugged at his heart, and pulled on his old body to make a promise.
"I'll find your mother. I swear it," announced Robert. "And when I do. I will tell her how strong you were."
The shuttle for the Sulaco was leaving in fifteen minutes and Ellen Ripley was attempting to pull the strap of a duffle bag over her shoulder when the buzzer to her apartment rang. She let out a muttered curse and punched the switch on the video monitor. Half expecting to see Burke, she was surprised to see an old man staring into the door cam.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he began with an easy going smile. "But might I trouble you for a few minutes."
"I'm sorry, but I'm literally shipping out in a matter of seconds," she replied with a quick shake of her head and again reached for the duffle bag.
The old man's smile dropped and he leaned in closer to the camera. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm Robert McClaren."
At first the name meant nothing to Ripley. She was almost ready to cut the communication when his last name clicked in her head. The picture on the death certificate with her daughter's full name and the gaping pain that came with it.
"Amanda," she said in a ghost of a whisper. On screen, the man gave one knowing nod of his head.
She hit the door release as if her body was on automatic. Robert McClaren stepped into the room and the easy going smile was back on his face. Her mind reeling, it took Ripley a few long moments to compose herself. Robert waited patiently as if he read her mind and knew she needed the time. When she finally forced her mind into gear, she studied her elderly son-in-law. At one time, he must of have been a big, broad-shouldered man. He would have been handsome and tall, mused Ripley. But over the decades his shoulders had thinned and his posture pulled down. Worn down, like all things, by time.
"I-I tried to contact you," began Ripley when Robert held up his hand.
"I don't have much time. I had to bribe a number of people to get here…" Robert shook his head sternly as Ripley tried to interrupt. "The Company most certainly does not want us to talk. I never got your messages."
Ellen Ripley's first emotion was a surge of surprised anger over the Company's lies. But their duplicity was such a frequent occurrence in her life she knew her rage would serve little purpose. Not now, not when her last line to Amanda stood before her.
"Let me first say," said Robert, "how much of a privilege it was for me to be married to Amanda. I loved your daughter from the moment I laid eyes on her." A slightly sheepish smile grew on Robert's face. "She took a little more convincing before she would even give me the time of day."
A thousand requests swirled in Ripley's head. How had they met? What had their life been like? Had Amanda ever forgiven her for leaving? A million possible answers would lead her to more questions than there were stars in the galaxy. She could easily talk to this man for days. But in reality all she had left were minutes. Ripley swallowed hard.
"Were you happy together?" she asked.
"Very," replied Robert softly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white linen handkerchief. Only when he handed it to her, did Ripley realized she was crying.
Dabbing at her eyes with the cloth she continued. "Why doesn't the company want us to talk?"
Robert sighed. "That is a very long and complicated answer. I could easily take a few hours to explain it." He huffed, "Hell, I lived with her for more than thirty years and I never fully understand the hell she went through when she went looking for you."
Cold, icy dread began to pluck at Ripley's heart. "What do you mean?"
"Fifteen years after you went missing another ship found the flight recorder of the Nostromo. Amanda went to investigate. But the flight recorder was not the only thing that was found."
The ice in Ellen Ripley's heart turned into a full blown glacier of terror. "No," she whispered. She felt her legs begin to give out on her.
Robert reached out and helped maneuver her to the nearby sofa. They both lowered themselves down. "She once told me she knew exactly what the devil looked like. I think at first…well maybe for a while I didn't want to believe such a creature could exist. But her nightmares were very real. And after seeing how much the Company went after her, trying to find out what she knew, I know just how bad it was."
"She stopped it," said Ripley. It was not a question, only a statement of fact.
The smile Robert gave her was one of admiration. "She was…She is her mother's daughter. She survived them and sent them all straight to hell." But then his eyes grew sad and his own tears joined Ripley's. "But she paid a high price. She lay stranded in space around a gas giant for a long time. Her life support had nearly given out by the time she was rescued. She suffered a severe case of radiation poising."
Ripley began to put what little truth Burke had told together. "Her cancer…"
"Recurring malignant tumors for the rest of her life," answered Robert forlornly. "She fought so damn hard for so long. But in the end…" his voice trailed off as his grief strangled his words.
For a while, the two sat on the apartment's small couch and simply let the tears flow. At last Robert stood, a little unsteadily, and pulled a small folded envelope from his pants pocket. "She never recorded anything down. Didn't trust the Company or someone else wouldn't try to copy or steal it. But near the end she wrote out what happened to her." Handing it over, Robert said gravely, "I've held on to it, night and day, until now."
Ripley took the letter from her daughter with a trembling hand. She clutched the piece of paper like it was a lifeline and she was adrift in an endless abyss. "Thank you, Robert. So very much."
The chime coming from the video monitor startled them both. Rising on unsteady legs, Ripley crossed over to the video screen. An incoming message from the docking bay, imprinted with an urgency status glowed on the screen. A shuddering sigh made its way out of her body. Time was up.
Pressing down on the answer key put a young and pretty woman's face framed in light blonde hair on screen. "Ellen Ripley," she chirruped happily in greeting. Her smile was all too artificial. "The transport to the Sulaco is here and is waiting for you to board."
"Yes…Yes, I'm on my way," agreed Ripley to the android even as she was cutting the connection. Turning back to Robert she saw the old man was already getting ready to leave.
"I'm so sorry," whispered Ripley. "We should have more time."
"I know," replied Robert with an understanding nod. "But we only have the time we have. Best to make the most of it." He fixed her with a long stare. "You're going to that colony, aren't you?"
"I-I have to. I can't let this start again. I have to put an end to it forever," answered Ripley.
"No need to explain to me," said Robert with a half-smile. He surprised her when he enfolded her in a tight hug. Even if all his years had robbed him of his old strength, his embrace was still strong. It was like she was a little girl being held by her own father. She was so glad her Amanda had found this man. Against his shirt, Ellen heard Robert speak again, "If Amanda were alive, she'd be going out there herself."
Robert let go of her reluctantly. There simply was no more time. Still clutching Amanda's letter in her hand she pulled up her half-forgotten duffle bag. At the door, he said simply, "Take care of yourself out there, Ellen." He then walked out and did not look back. Instinctively she knew she would never see him again.
Ellen Ripley looked down at the letter. She put it in her shirt pocket, keeping it close to her heart. Her lifeline to her daughter. There was no time now, but when she had some privacy, she would read Amanda's letter. She was still reeling from the fact her precious daughter had to fight the very same monster. In their own ways, mother and daughter had sacrificed everything to stop the creatures. And now she was being called to do it again.
Starting down the hallway to the shuttle bay, Ellen Ripley began to hum a tune. It was the same one she had sung to Amanda when she was a baby. "You are my lucky star. You are my lucky, lucky star."
AN:For those who don't know, in the director's cut of Aliens, Ripley finds out Amanda had recently passed away from cancer. It's never explained in any detail and she never reaches out to Amanda's husband. It always kind of bothered me. It's the future after all and cancer might still be an issue, but something much more survivable. After playing Alien Isolation I came up with a plausible reason why.
(Spoilers)
Stuck in a low orbit around a gas giant isn't the best of places to find yourself. Jupiter has intense radiation belts and I reasoned the gas giant in the game would have similar properties. Radiation led Amanda to have chronic illnesses the rest of her life. The story came off a little sadder than I intended, but I felt it stayed true to the plot canon of both the movie and the game.