Narrator POV
Across an endless tapestry of stars, the massive research vessel, USS Auriga sits majestically just beyond Pluto's orbit. Inside are silent, empty corridors. At the end of an empty, closed-off hall, are two doors, each with two guards standing rigid, armedwith full armor, powerful shock-rifles, and empty, cold expressions.
One room belongs to Ellen Ripley. The other, to Ivy Kearney. In Ripley's room, a figure crouches in the middle of a small, dark chamber. She's wide-eyed, staring straight ahead, catatonic, hair tangled and wild. She stays this way for a time, until she finally lifts her hands, looking at them. She touches her face before pulling down the tunic she wears, fingering the scar on her chest thoughtfully. She glances at her forearm, a number eight tattooed near the elbow. She looks up, face unreadable.
In the other room, a smaller figure sits crumpled in a corner, face buried in its knees. Its knee-length black hair flutters as it breathes. The skeletal figure looks up as one of the guards shifts in place. Its small face is covered by a mask. It stretches, showing a female body, covered in a tunic and pants, both white. It crawls across the floor slowly, stopping whenever a sound came through the door. It finally settled next to the door, curling into a ball, hesitantly falling asleep.
—
Ripley sits on a table as Gediman draws blood from her, depositing it in a test beaker. He studies her eyes as Wren enters, looking at a chart.
"How's our number eight, today?" Wren asks.
"Appears to be in good health," Gediman answers in a strange tone.
"How good?"
"Extraordinary. As in completely off our projected charts." Gediman shows Wren photos, "Look at the scar tissue. See the recession?"
"This is from….."
"Yesterday!"
"This is good. This is very good."
"I'd like to run some tests; Strength, coordination… We're not looking at a normal cloning arc."
"Approved," Wren complies as he walks to Ripley, studying her face with satisfaction. "Well… It looks like you're going to make us all very proud." She attacks, grabbing his throat with amazing speed, applying deadly pressure as she pulls his face close.
"Why?" She rasps.
"Oh my God," Gediman gasps, eyes wide. After a moment, the shock wears off and he slams his hand down on the alarm. Klaxons and red lights attack their senses. A guard rushes in, levels his weapon at Ripley.
After a moment of staring him down, she lets go of the doctor as he falls to his knees, gasping. The guard fires his weapon at her, a powerful charge lashes out and send her flying into a corner.
"No! No! I'm alright!" Wren objects.
The guards keep their weapons leveled at Ripley. She recovers quickly, crumpled in a corner, looking at the wall ahead. "Why…"
—
Wren and Gediman watch through a one-way mirror as a scientist tests Ripley. The scientist holds up cards with pictures on them, a house, dog, boat. Ripley gives answers, looking pissed off and bored.
"It's unprecedented," Wren states.
"Totally! She's operating at a completely adult capacity."
"And her memories?" General Perez asks.
"There are gaps. And some degree of cognitive dissonance," Wren answers.
"She's freaked," Gediman clarifies.
Wren shoots Gediman a stern look before stating, "IT has some connective difficulties. A kind of low level emotional autism. Certain reactions…"
Perez looks at Ripley before leaving through the door to the hall. The two scientists follow. "But the thing is," Gediman starts, "we can't terminate her. It."
Perez looks at them, puzzled. "You haven't told me what you think has caused this. Cloned genes don't contain memory cells,not even when they're brought to adult term, right?"
"There's been cases," Gediman says.
"Not like this," Perez growls.
"Well, we don't have nearly enough data...but in some cases there is a collective memory passed down generationally. At a genetic level. Like instinct, only more complex. Structurally."
"In some cases. You're talking about the alien."
"Yes."
"You promised me there wasn't going to be any crossing."
"It's not like the other ones." Perez punches in code angrily, puts his hand on the scanner, and steps in as the secondobservation room door opens, the two following.
"But there is some genetic mix."
"Yes."
"Will there be further mutation?"
"Mutation isn't exactly...I don't think so."
"That's one of the things we need to study."
"Alright. You can keep it. But secure, under observation, and for God's sake keep it away from here. I don't want anymore surprises. And I don't want another failure!" As he yells at the two scientists, the alien rises behind him, a young queen, hisses, and lunges at his head. The reinforced window behind him stops it. A thin laser grid buzzes to life, shocking it into backing off.
"It took a hell of a lot to get us here."
"No shit." Another glare from Wren.
"How long before this one's ovulating?"
"Days."
"Is that normal?"
"No way of knowing for sure, but it seems to be accelerated...We're going to need the supplies."
"They're coming soon."
—
Later, Ripley sits across from Gediman, staring at her fork.
"Fork," he says.
"Fuck."
"Fork."
"How did you…"
"How did we get you? Blood samples from Fiori 16. On ice. Do you remember?"
"Does it grow?"
"Does it…Yeah. Rapidly."
"It's a queen."
"How did you know that?"
"It'll breed. You'll die. Everyone in the...fucking...Company...will die."
"Company?"
"Weyland Yutani," Wren cuts in. "Ripley's former employers. Terran growth conglom, had some military contracts. Before your time, Gediman. They went under decades ago. Bought out by Walmart. Fortunes of war." He pauses, then says to Ripley, "You'll find things have changed a good deal since your time."
"I doubt that."
"We're not flying blind here, you know. This is a United Systems military, not some greedy corporation. The potential benefits of this race go way beyond urban pacification. New alloys, new vaccines. There's nothing like this on any world we've seen. You should be very proud."
"Oh," she laughs, "I am."
"And the animal itself is wondrous. They'll be invaluable once we've harnessed them."
"It's a cancer. You can't teach it tricks." Wren backs off, Ripley silently repeating, "Them."
"Doctor, General Perez is asking for you. We've been hailed."