Chapter 1

Cold, alone and miniscule, the little life raft drifted along through the void of space like a glass bottle following the current of an invisible black ocean. Stars, both those being born from titanic clashes of stray rock and compressed gas as well as those dying like a candle at the end of its wick bore witness to the craft's effortless non-journey. The little craft had been drifting a long time going by the conventional perception of time of human kind, but to these monsters of the void, it was the merest moment. Like great aging turtles, they went about their business of creation, death and rebirth whilst watching the rest of the world's inhabitants speed by about their own business.

In that sense, the lifeboat's passenger was much like the heavenly bodies of slow light in that years seemed like the shortest heartbeats as well. In truth, it was even shorter. Shut off from the world in the clutches of a cryosleep there was no heed to the world outside other than a distant hope for contact. Rescue.

After the elation of survival had come the resignation of loneliness. The colossal distances required to be covered to find the nearest of her kind were too great to properly comprehend yet she knew it was so. Thus, it was deemed necessary to resign herself into a sleep not far from death as the life boat travelled.

The navigation systems were damaged during the final attack, precious circuitry burnt to uselessness, but in the moment before they had been destroyed, they had aligned the life boat with a trajectory toward known salvation. The survivor hoped the life boat's coarse would stay true and eventually send her home, but her rational mind would not let her delude herself with such hope. The chances were tiny at best. Even if the journey was successful, it would take years.

And so she resigned herself to cryosleep. In all practicality, she did not doubt the tube she now lay inside of plastic and glass was a glorified coffin. As much as complex machinery and artificial intelligence kept the more mechanical aspects of her being functioning, such as a heart beat and a regular rising and falling of her chest, she supposed herself dead.

To have survived that last fight, she had only doomed herself to death from another means. At least it would be a painless one, she reasoned. Free from terror and of her own choosing. Few people had such a luxury, she reminded herself.

But thoughts such as these did not mollify the fear of death and the sadness it brought, both for the loss of her own life as well as those she had made promises to that would suffer their breaking.

"Amy." The last scratchy word from her lips escaped into the cabin's stale air only to die quickly without echo. Ripley crawled inside the tube, snapped it shut and waited to fall into deathly sleep. Jonesy, her beloved feline companion nestled in beside her and the soft itch of his whiskers on her bare leg brought a slight smile to her face just as unconsciousness came. "At least I would die smiling."

Peaceful and resigned, the craft continued its weightless journey to nowhere perhaps somewhere as time watched, hidden from view amongst the shadows of eternity.

Long ago now the life boat's systems reset themselves to divert all traces of power towards the sole task of keeping its sole passenger alive. It was because of this, that when something intangible greeted it, the craft did not notice and issued no reply.

Again the cautious greeting came, flying through the void and bouncing back to its origin to report back nothing. A dead signal.

Piercing the void, like a hand pushing aside a curtain, another craft appears and regards the life raft, unsure of what to do next. Amongst the endless nothingness, one could suppose the newcomer is either elated or sad. Perhaps both.

Elated to find some other form. Sad to find it is dead.

Unsure, the new craft sends forth a small vessel to conduct a more physical greeting. Nearly identical in size, the newcomer's scout drifts silently alongside the life boat and quickly attaches itself to the hull with a series of probing arms. Soon they are joined at the hip and the first set of eyes in a long time looks into the life boat's cabin through a tiny, but clouded window.

The eyes pull away and a robotic finger erupts in a hail of fire and sparks, cutting an opening into the life boat's side.

Droplets of condensation that previously sat comfortably on every spare surface were flung away as the air pressure adjusted sharply. Swirling and dancing in the stale air, the droplets come alive and reflect the fire of the coming intruder.

Quickly it is finished however as the violation is completed, letting the life boat's door fall inward with a loud crash. Smoke wafted and swirled and obscured any view amongst the humid air. A new mechanical arm probed forward and scanned the room. Swathes of data are sucked into the machine's sensors and processed, looking for life, looking for death and looking for the unexpected.

Satisfied, the machine withdrew and the precision of the artificial was replaced by the unevenness of human feet stepping forward into the open. Torch light tried to pierce through and largely failed, but the new human invaders were curious and hungry. Garbed in triple layer enviro suits and facemasks, they wandered through the small space and were inevitably drawn to the cryo tube. Voices filtered with static cut through the silence.

"It's a woman."

"And something else by her hip. What is that?"

"Cat."

"Ginger fur."

"Bio readouts are all in the green, looks like she's alive."

"Cat too?"

"I s'pose so. The scanner's not telling me it's dead."

"Ah, shit."

"Yeah, there's goes salvage rights. Let's see if we can get a rescue fee. Who's this tub belong to?"

"She's from the Nostromo. Cargo ship. Looks like she was due back to Earth with a 10 million tonne payload of iron ore. She had a crew of eight."

"Any idea what's happened?"

"Says here, something about her being the only survivor."

Xxx

A sharp blur of white light slowly revealed itself and grew in intensity until it became less of curiosity and more a source of pain and discomfort. Feeling quickly revealed itself and Ripley became conscious of herself being awake.

She blinked and then winced when her eyes stung and her throat burned. She was sore all over, immensely tired. It was an effort to keep her eyes open. Slowly her vision sharpened and she could make out dots surrounding the light. Also, she became aware that she was lying down. A beige ceiling of plasterboard revealed itself and she tried to lift her head up.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down."

A soft voice came from an unknown direction, muffled but audible. It was soothing, yet disconcerting. Ripley did not relax, rather tensed up as painful as it was to do so.

"Lie down. Relax. You're safe."

"Wuh?"

Ripley fell back down and convulsed in a fit of coughing. Pain wracked her throat and spine with every push of her diaphragm. Her mouth, previously dry and feeling like sandpaper was now wet. Her tongue was numb, but she guessed it was blood.

"It's OK. Calm down. You're OK. Just relax."

I'm trying, Ripley wanted to scream at the unseen voice, but the coughing continued until it finally subsided. She could still feel a tickle in her throat and nose as though the slightest wrong move would trigger it again. Ripley closed her eyes, focused and felt her head cool. The source of the voice could sense she was calming down and uttered soothing encouragement, even if it continued to make Ripley uncomfortable.

"Are you calm now? If you're calm, I can tell you what's going on, OK?"

Ripley nodded, mindful that an attempt to talk would invite more pain. She kept her eyes closed.

"Your name is Ellen Ripley. You served on the Nostromo mining cargo ship. You were due back to Earth with seven others, but we found you on a drifting life boat way off course. A salvage team found your ship and brought you in. Do you understand?"

Ripley nodded, feeling the memory flooding back.

"Are you OK? Would you like some water?"

Ripley nodded again, needing something to distract her. She felt a panic rising from inside. Something dark and terrible. Her eyes still closed, she felt a straw placed gently on her lips and found cool water rushing slowly in. It was a glorious feeling, like some great flood extinguishing hellfire. It was cleansing and curiously also washed away the itch to cough. She swallowed it down without trouble.

Her head cleared quickly.

"It's got some Panazol in it. It'll help clear you up. That better?"

"Yuh."

"Would you like to sit up?"

"Yuh."

Small hands slithered in behind her shoulders and guided her up. The bed itself rose as well, probably doing most of the lifting, Ripley thought. Thankfully, her head did not swim as expected and she ventured the risk of opening her eyes.

She saw the owner of the discomforting voice sitting down beside her. He was a pale faced man, seemingly at home in the small confines of the sterile and bare room. He wore overly neat clothes, pressed and starched with a collar that appeared as though it may have some use as a cutting implement. Ripley imagined it slicing a sandwich and she was conscious of how hungry she was all of a sudden.

His eyes gave away his character in an instant, interested in her but gave no hint of genuine care even if his hands lay inoffensively on the chair arms and his slouch suggested casualness and familiarity.

Perhaps that was what set Ripley on edge a little was the feeling that he had perhaps grown accustomed to her presence. How long has he been watching me?

"That's better." he smiled.

Ripley smiled, not for him, only because she did feel better.

"What's going on? Is this Earth?"

The man squirmed in his seat as though it had grown pins in the cushion and he paused a moment before replying, "No. My name is Burke. Carter Burke. I work for the company."

"Company?"

"Yes, but don't let that fool you, I'm really an OK guy." He laughed nervously, but settled back into his slouched posture.

"What happened?"

"Well, that's mostly a question for you. Like I said, we found you alone on a life boat in the middle of nowhere. It's dumb luck that the salvage team found you at all, let alone after so long."

"Long? How long?"

"Um…. 57 years."

Ripley tried to speak, but her voice failed her.

"Yeah, I know. Something obviously happened, you jumped into your lifeboat and you've been drifting for a long time. There's no record of what happened to the rest of crew, or the Nostromo. It's missing."

"Amy….." Ripley whispered, but Burke did not hear.

"We would very much like to know what happened to you. You aren't under arrest or anything."

"Fif-… You said fifty seven years? What year is it?"
"Uh… 2351."

"What the fu-? Amy. Where's Amy. Is she alive?"

"Uh."

"My daughter! Is she alive? I promised her I'd be at her birthday! She's eleven!" Ripley shouted, grabbing the sides of her bed.

Burke raised his hands defensively, trying to calm her. "N-no. She died two years ago."

Ripley railed at the news, trying to jump out of bed, but instead fell back into the mattress and pillow. Her body spasmed and convulsed as she screamed. "No no no no no. I killed it! I killed that fucking thing!"

"What happened?" Burke tried to shout calmly above Ripley's rising screams. "You said something before about a monster. In your sleep. You said it over and over. What happened?"

"Nononononononono." Ripley was lost to reason and pain wracked her frame once more. "No! It's here! It's inside me!" She tore at her robe, trying to rip the fabric apart, but he fingers felt like butter and her arms rubber bands.

"What's inside you? You kept telling us something was inside you. We scanned you, but we couldn't find anything. What happened?"

Alarms beeped and two nurses rushed into the room as Ripley continued to flail and scream in a grief-stricken panic. Burke backed away and could only watch as the two women held Ripley down and shot her with a sedative. Ripley's face was a deep pink as she fought ferociously, and the nurses had to almost smother with their own weight in spite of her crippled muscles. Her hair had been brushed neatly beforehand, but now it was a tangled mess, snaking across her eyes and cheeks like blood from a deep wound, but fell back down to the sheets when she finally dropped into unconsciousness.

Xx

"There are no prejudices here. No judgement. You don't have to feel ashamed of anything you did, or didn't do. I simply want to hear your story. To know what happened."

Ripley sat in the chair hugging herself to try and stop the involuntary shivering. She refused to let her feet touch the floor, instead perching them on the edge of her seat, even as they ached with pins and needles.

"You don't believe me."

"I do believe you."
The psychiatrist was soothing much in the same way Burke was, but more practised. Perhaps it was because the man's motivations had less to do with money and more professional curiosity, but nevertheless Ripley did not trust him any more than she did Burke.

He was a fat man, old and white haired, which she supposed gave him a grandfatherly appearance that would normally serve to impart a sense of calm and trustworthiness. This effect was broken by the knowledge that Burke was listening in, watching from a camera mounted in the ceiling, even if it was unseen with the naked eye. Ripley knew it was there.

"Please Ripley. I'm not here to judge you or tell you did anything wrong. I just want to hear your side of the story."

"Side? You've got it already. I typed it out and gave it to the committee. You would have read it. If you're here then that means you don't believe me. Nobody believes me."

"That's not true."

"Oh yeah? You think I killed them don't you? Like I took a knife and went crazy or something like that. That's much easier to believe than a monster no one's heard of before. You want to know if I killed them? I'll make it easy for you. I did. I let Dallas bring that thing on board. If I'd done my job, everyone would be alive."

Ripley couldn't hold back the tears. They came again after having only just controlled herself before. Her eyes were red and stinging. The pain of her stiff muscles was supposed to recede as her strength came back ,but it followed her around like a bad smell. Her body constantly ached, especially in her chest where she always had to remind herself it was her heart still recovering and not the spined tail of an alien wrapped around it.

Images of all of the crew, especially Dallas paraded in front of her eyes whether they were open or shut. Beneath her fingers she felt the tangle of Dallas's chest hair on the odd times they managed to have sex. It wasn't quite love, but she cared for him nonetheless. She remembered the way his beard would always give her pash rash if they kissed for too long, but Dallas had made a joke of it, pointing out that there were plenty of other places on his person her lips could be used.

She thought of her lips on him when she last saw him alive. Anchored to the wall in a slimy cradle, a prisoner and dying, she gave him release, but she couldn't banish the sight of his face melting in the fire.

She thought of Amy, her dear child who had grown old and died without her. Amy was such a Daddy's girl, but when he ran out it took a long time to build a complete motherly love, made harder by the long trips into space. It broke Ripley's heart to be away for so long, weeks at a time. But this time it had been an entire lifetime. Ripley had killed her too, she reasoned. Amy had died when Dallas and the crew died as well.

Dead to her at least.

Now she was less than alone. She was surrounded by people who thought she was a liar or crazy or both.

Her hands tried to catch her tears, but they ran between her fingers and meandered down her forearms. But a scream escaped her when a pair of orderlies grabbed her arms away and dragged her out of the room. She yelled and fought and cursed and screamed warnings, but they held fast and silent and the psychiatrist already blocked her out, refusing to look at her. The heavy door swung shut with a thundering crash and a small pin prick to her neck signalled the descent into another drug addled sleep filled with blood, death and horror.

XX

"What's the score Doctor? Is she crazy?"

"Yes, I think so. No doubt something happened that she was responsible for, but it's more question of to what degree was it an accident or some premeditated murderous rampage. She shows guilt, but she's confused. The references to this monster are creative I'll have to admit, but it's a manifestation of something within. It could be caused by all sorts of things. It's in her file that her husband ran out on her and this 'Amy' child and being in long trips in space like that don't help matters. Isolation, cabin fever, claustrophobia, conflict, all sorts."

"Is it some sort of stress disorder?"

"Yes, I believe so. I'll prescribe sedatives and dopamine-blockers and we'll monitor her progress. But tell me Burke, do you really care enough to put this woman into a proper program? Even surgery? It's costly, and by no means certain to get useful results."

"No. If you say she's crazy, then that's enough for me. Let me know if anything changes or if you hit a breakthrough, but it looks like this is a bit of a dead end. I'll hand this over to the police to see if they want to book her. I suppose then it's more a question of where she's going to rot. A jail cell or a padded cell."