A/N

So, FYI, yes, this does break canon. It started off as a oneshot, but became so long that I looked to make it a multi-chapter. Unfortunately, as contradictory as EU material is on what happens post-Resurrection (heck, throughout the entire IP), there's no way I could sync this with any of it. Ergo, back to a oneshot.

Homecoming

Earth, Ripley thought to herself. What a shithole.

Watching the planet recede from the Betty's aft camera, the woman who'd been cloned from the DNA of Ellen Ripley, over 200 years dead, was left to wonder if the planet had been worth saving in the first place. Because as residual as the memories of Ellen Ripley were in her mind, she could still remember Earth as it had once been – a world of blues, whites, and greens. Maybe not as verdant in the 22nd century as it had been centuries prior – its seas a little higher, its ice caps a little thinner – but still, a world that hosted the bulk of the human species, and more non-human species than entire worlds combined. She may not have been born on Earth, but she'd spent most of her life on Earth, raised her daughter on Earth, and despite spending months at a time in the depths of space, she could still come back to Sol III and call it home.

Now? She frowned, as she beheld the image before her. The whites were gone. The greens were browns. Continental coastlines had completely shifted due to higher seas, and what had once been a shining blue marble in the dark was now little more than a big, spherical turd. The metal latticework that obscured large portions of the planet, where the Terran government and the corporations conducted their businesses, had shifted to the other side of the planet. As if it wanted to let her behold the womb of humanity in all its wretched glory.

Part of her, the part that she could call human, wanted to weep. The other part, the one which carried the DNA of a creature that had died alongside Ellen Ripley on Fiorina 161, made her want to sneer. When she'd looked upon the planet from above, mere hours ago, she'd marvelled at its supposed beauty, but having walked upon its surface, she'd seen the ruins of civilization firsthand.

All that effort, she reflected. Everything from the destruction of the Nostromo to the Auriga. Every attempt made to keep the xenomorph off Earth, and humanity had destroyed their homeworld anyway. If anything, the dust cloud spreading out from Africa where the Auriga had crashed into the surface was going to do more damage than the aliens ever could.

Some might call that poetic. Others tragic. Maybe even ironic. Leaning back in the chair, Ripley wasn't sure what to call it, but was sure that no-one in this universe would give a damn.

"Not a pretty sight, is it?"

She smiled faintly as she heard Call approach from behind. The one member of this crew who didn't stink to high Heaven, and therefore, easily identifiable.

"Earth," Call said. She pulled up a chair and sat beside Ripley. "Terra Firma. Sol Three. Birthplace of humanity." She took a sip out of the cup she was carrying. "Now the last place you want to be."

Ripley gave her a look.

"What?"

"You're an android. Why are you drinking?"

Call shrugged and took another sip.

"You know you've got no-one left to fool, right?"

Something twitched in Call's forehead as she took a sudden interest in a control panel.

"I mean, are you drinking motor oil, or-"

"You know what, maybe I don't need drinking tips from a woman who has acid for blood."

Ripley smirked.

"It's water, by the way."

"Can't handle the strong stuff?"

"Course I can handle the strong stuff. I just can't taste anything, so I figure, why waste the strong stuff when Johner can get wasted on it?"

The smirk wasn't going away. "And before that? Back when the crew thought you were a run of the mill human bitch? What did you drink then?"

"I managed." Call looked at Ripley and gave a wry smile. "You know, technically, you're the visitor on this ship. I snap my fingers and you go out the window like your little bastard off-"

It wasn't Call's fingers who snapped. Rather, as the android was slammed against the terminal, one arm bent behind her back, it was Ripley's mind.

"What the fuck?!"

Ripley hissed. A sound that was not quite human, but not quite anything else either. Her mind elsewhere…

The newborn, sucked out into vacuum…begging for its mother…

Call broke loose from Ripley's grip.

A girl, hugging her, calling her mummy…

"Christ, you've got issues," Call murmured.

Another girl, older, asking when her mummy would be back from her space trip…

Call began picking up pieces of her cup, looking at them. "Well, here's my hobby for the next twenty-four hours."

Life inside her, coming out of her…emerging from her…bursting from her and-

"Maybe I can fix the pieces and-"

"No," Ripley said.

Leaving her body behind as-

"No," Ripley repeated. "Some things stay broken."

…the offspring came into the world.

Call looked at the pieces, then the woman in front of her, then back at the pieces. "Yeah, sure. Whatever, grandma."

"Grandma." Ripley looked back at the camera feed of Earth. "If only…"

The image of the planet getting further away. Call remained silent. The Betty continued its hum as it broke free from Earth's gravity.

"Ladies, up on the bridge. We're fucked."

So when Johner's voice came out over the intercom, it was actually kind of a relief.

"Ladies, gentlemen, android, and weird alien hybrid thing, we've got a problem," said Vries.

"Yeah, a counting problem," Call murmured.

The Betty's engineer grinned and let his wheelchair carry him to one of the bridge's terminals. Following his gaze, Ripley could see that it was showing the ship's hyperdrive – technology might have improved in the last 200 years, but it appeared that the basics of interstellar travel hadn't. Hyperdrives allowed ships to travel faster than light, artificial gravity kept their feet on the ground, red readings meant bad readings.

And perverts are still perverts, she reflected, noticing that Johner was once again trying to catch a glimpse of her breasts. Trying, and as she zipped up her suit, failing.

It was almost flattering, really. Weird alien hybrid thing with green-black nails, acidic blood, and alien DNA, and she was still turning on men. That, or Johner would hit just about anything.

One or the other.

"So, as our resident monkey said, we're fucked," Vries said. "Or, to be more accurate, our hyperdrive's giving out."

Call sighed. "Knew this would happen. I've been warning Captain Elgyn for the last ten weeks this would happen, but did he listen? No. Of course not."

"Yeah, well, Elgyn isn't here," Vries said. "Question is, what do we do about being fucked?"

"Fuck?" Johner asked.

"No, fucked, not fuck, I said…oh fuck off."

Johner grinned; so hard that Ripley had to fight the urge to break his teeth then and there. If the universe had a sense of justice, Johner would have died on the Auriga rather than…well, almost anyone, really. Better him than Distephano or Purvis. But then, as the universe had shown both her and her template, justice was as rare in the universe as protactinium.

"So we fix it," Call said. "Vries is here, I'm here. We do the job, and we get out of Sol."

"Ain't that simple," Vries said. "Take a look."

Call did, but not in the way Vries thought. Or that was Ripley's impression at least as his eyes widened as Call pulled out a slim, white wire from her arm and plugged it into the port. No doubt that she'd been a handy mechanic on the Betty before, but now, not having to hide her status as a synthetic…well, what better way to get a readout of the hyperdrive than interfacing with the systems directly?

Johner's grin faded and he turned away. "Fucking androids," he murmured.

Ripley looked at him. "Got a problem with androids?"

"I dunno, sweetheart. Do you?"

Ripley didn't answer. In part because she wasn't sure where the defensiveness had come from. In part because in her residual memories, one android had tried to kill her, and another had saved her. Right now, Annalee Call could be the tiebreaker. And even then, so far, she'd proven herself to be more human than anyone she'd met in this new, strange, yet still familiar, century.

Or you like her because she's like you. The hybrid looked at the android beside her. She's a freak.

Call withdrew her wire from the port, and winced as she shoved it back under her skin. She almost asked if she was okay, but held her tongue. Even if Call was like her, she wasn't her. They weren't even the same species – her, or anyone aboard this ship. And as soon as the Betty got out of Sol, the sooner she could part ways.

"Johner is right," Call said. "We're fucked."

Come to think of it, Earth wasn't looking too bad right now.

"Or as someone with half a brain would put it, we've got a serious problem," the android added. "Entire systems have collapsed, and we can't repair them. We need replacements."

Vries gave her a look. "What kind of replacements?"

Call rattled off a list of parts that Ripley didn't recognise. Like everything else, the principles of FTL travel had remained the same, but the technology hadn't. The Betty might have been ancient enough for her to fly it off the Auriga, but clearly it had received upgrades over the centuries. A miracle that it was even still flying.

Miracles, she thought, as she listened to Call list the parts they needed. She looked at the palm of her right hand, half-expecting to see a nail. Is this a miracle? Or something else?

"…and finally, we need a…"

Something else, she decided.

Call finished talking. She waited for Vries or Johner to respond, but as both of the men kept their mouths shut, she decided to step in herself.

"Okay," she said. "I'm the new girl here, but I'm assuming the next course of action is to get those parts, right?"

"That, or the closest equivalents," Call said.

"Right. So, we go back to Earth and-"

Johner snorted.

"What?"

"Back to Earth," he said. "Lady, only parts you're going to get on Earth is scrap broken down from scrap."

"What?"

"Lady, new century for you, I get it, but in this day and age, people leave Earth, they don't come back to it. And they sure as hell don't go poking around in the ruins for hyperdrive parts."

Ripley looked at Vries.

"He's right," said the mechanic. "Terra Firma, ma'am? It isn't the place you want to be right now."

"But there's people there, right?" Ripley asked. "People we saved?"

Vries shrugged. "A billion. Maybe less. Actually, much less. Like I said, people don't come to Earth. And yeah, sure, those survivalists who stayed put might be grateful that we didn't get some weird black beasties run around, but they're not going to help us."

"Then the skyplex."

Johner snorted.

"What?"

"Think Earthgov and the megacorps are gonna let us waltz in?"

"You boarded the Auriga, didn't you?"

"And got paid a pretty penny for it. But those guys, up in their ivory towers? They don't break bread with the likes of us. Fuck, they don't even break bread with the people on the surface."

Silence once again returned to the bridge. Silence that this time, Ripley couldn't see a way to break, nor necessarily a desire to. Because being near Earth, thinking about Earth, hearing about Earth…part of her had the urge to break down and weep. Her home, reduced to this wasteland.

The other part though…it hungered…

"Actually, there's another thing we need to worry about," Call said. "The USM."

Three pairs of eyes gave the android a look.

"Come on, think about it. The Auriga crash-landed. Maybe it submitted a distress call to US-COM, maybe not, but even if it didn't, Earthgov is going to get on the wire and say 'hey, something hit us, do something.'"

The men didn't look convinced.

"Hey, never said they actually cared about what happened on the surface," Call added. "But at some point, USM forces are going to arrive, if only to give the impression that they give a shit about Earth. And when they arrive, when they find us…"

She trailed off, and Ripley couldn't blame her. The Betty by itself was a crew of pirates, smugglers, and in the case of Johner, likely rapists. The USM might have doomed the Auriga and its crew through their belief that the xenomorphs could be tamed, but the crew of the Betty would make the perfect patsies.

And there was Call herself. Far as she was aware, her mere existence was a criminal offence in the late 24th century.

"Fucking hell," Johner murmured. He began to pace around. "Mother fucking hell. No soldier fucker gonna take me, not now, not again."

"Keep walking Johner, the floor will wear out eventually."

"Yeah?" He glared at Vries. "Least I can walk at all, wheelchair boy."

Vries gave him the finger. Johner gave him a curse word. Call gave a whimper, and Ripley…

"What if we can salvage something off Earth?"

…spoke up.

"So there's been no human activity on Earth for however long," she added. "What about before that?"

The crew looked at her.

"Space stations, starships…isn't there anything in Earth's orbit we could use? Or Luna?"

"Not Luna," Vries said. He swivelled around in his wheelchair and began typing at a terminal. "That place is locked down even harder than the skyplex." A small smile came to his lips. "However, when it comes to space stations and starships…bingo!" He swivelled around. "Our hit, ladies and ape-things. Our ticket to get out of Sol and to parts not quite unknown."

Johner looked at the image of the station on the screen and smirked. "Works for me."

Call gave it a look. "Surprisingly intact. Still, if we could board it and…Ripley?"

The woman who was the clone of Ellen Ripley just stood there. Staring at the image of the station on screen. Her eyes wide. Her chest heaving.

"Ripley, you okay?" Call asked.

Johner gave her a look. So did Vries. But it was to Call that Ripley turned her eyes to. To Call, whom she spoke.

"I know that space station," she whispered. "It's Gateway."

At this point in time, it didn't surprise Ripley to see that it was only Call who was intent on giving the fallen a funeral.

"More human that human." She'd seen that in a Company ad once, advertising its synthetic line, and now, finally, the dreams of Peter Weyland had apparently been realized. Whether his dreams included his beloved company being merged, then bought out, and his homeworld reduced to a wasteland was another matter, but right now, she couldn't be sure of anything.

And frankly, as she looked at Call standing over the bodies of Purvis, Distephano, and Wren, she couldn't be sure how Call could put her faith in such superstition either. Nevertheless, as the android finished talking, and kissed the string of beads she held in her hands, she walked forward.

"Not that the dead can hear, but they might have liked that."

Call's eyes twitched as she looked at Ripley. "You've been standing there the entire time?"

"What, did I surprise you?" Ripley smirked. "You look jumpier than a jackrabbit. Not that I know if rabbits still exist these days, but-"

"Oh, they exist." Call put the beads in her pocket. "Like rats, cockroaches, and pigeons."

"Hmm. And do you pray for them? Because they probably have a better shot of making it to an afterlife than you."

Call glared at her.

"Or me," she added in an undertone.

The glare in Call's eyes diminished somewhat, but not entirely. Fun as it was to push her buttons, Ripley decided to back off and look at the three bodies in the bay.

Purvis, who had died screaming as a xenomorph emerged from his chest. Wren, who he'd held in a death grip, dragging the bastard to Hell with him. And Private Distephano, who…she winced. She hadn't seen the trooper's head be crushed by the newborn, but even the few words Call had used to describe it was more than enough to fill her head with an image she'd sooner forget.

And yet another part of her recalled the death of the hybrid itself – sucked out into vacuum from this very room. Looking at her, as if she were its mother. Unable to understand why she'd condemned it to death like this. And in the moment, as her eyes had met her…child's…she'd been unable to comprehend likewise.

The DNA of Ellen Ripley lurked within her. Apparently, it included the woman's inability to save children's lives. Just as much, that same DNA reminded her, to save the lives of good soldiers, or innocent miners. And the amount of people a certain alien species had killed likewise…it was beyond count.

Whether that species be the xenomorph or humanity, she couldn't be certain. Maybe if there was a hereafter, and it had room for clones without souls, she'd find out.

In the meantime though, there was Call. Standing at the window where the hybrid had sucked out into space. Unlike their hyperdrive, the crew of the Betty had been able to fix that while on Earth's surface. A quick visit to a Paris that was far from being the City of Light, or heck, even really a city at all. The lights of a nearby city had shone through the hazy gloom, but the crew had lifted off ASAP. Earth was a shithole. Why visit people who didn't have the means to leave it?

"I'll space them," Call said, nodding at the three bodies.

Ripley walked over to her.

"When time allows. Least I can do."

"And your other crew members?"

Call remained silent.

"And Vries and Johner? Think they might want to pay respects?"

Call smiled bitterly. "Don't know if you've noticed, Ripley, but we're not exactly one big happy family here."

"Or small."

"Or small," Call acknowledged. "Hell, we're not even that functional of a crew."

Ripley smirked. "Maybe you can fix them. I mean, that's your job, isn't it?"

Call looked at Ripley, but if she wanted to say something, no words came out. Instead, she looked back out the window – at the darkness of space, and the silent stars drifting by as the Betty used its sublight drive to get to its destination. Ripley watched as the android put a hand to her stomach. Where Wren had shot her, her mangled wires on display for the universe to behold.

Subconsciously, she did the same. Felt…imagined…something coming out of her, rather than going in.

"One big happy family," Call mused. "Fuck, Vries is never going to look at me the same way again."

"And Johner?"

"No, pretty much the same with him. He sees something with two legs, he wants to fuck it."

"Right…"

Call looked at her. "And what about you?"

Ripley blinked. "Who do I want to fuck?"

"Well, that might be an interesting question, but I mean, what are you going to do?"

Ripley remained silent.

"You're still here, rather than on Earth. So…" She put one leg behind the other, rubbing it. "Are you part of the crew?"

Still silent, Ripley lurked away.

"I'm just saying, I'm not sure. Heck, no-one's sure. Might want to clear things up."

"Go away, Call."

"Or we can drop you off at Gateway," Call continued, her voice rising. "I mean, soon as you identified it on the screen, you headed off as if-"

"Call, I said go away." Ripley turned and looked at her. "Now."

"I'm just saying, if you want to talk I-"

"If I need therapy from a little tin girl, I'll let you know."

Hurt. It was what flashed in Call's eyes. Why people would even create an android capable of feeling hurt was an answer Ripley didn't have the answer to, but then, this was the same century that had people recreate the deadliest species in the universe, despite a wealth of evidence that it was a fool's errand. The increases in technology apparently hadn't synced up with an increase in IQ.

"Attention ladies, and that means you too, Vries. We're approaching Gateway. So get your nice, cute butts up here. Not that I can see Vries's asshole."

Case in point.

Call sighed. "Well, you heard the man, if he can be called that."

Ripley began to speak. "Call-"

"It's fine," she said, a little too quickly. "We get to Gateway, we get out of Sol, then you go do…whatever the fuck you want to do."

"Fine with me."

Call gave her a look, before heading to the bridge. Leaving Ripley alone with her lie.

With her unease as to whether it was a lie at all.

Gateway Station.

A geosynchronous space station located in orbit of Earth. Once operated by the Interstellar Commerce Commission, it had been one of Earth's major transit hubs in the 22nd century. Trade coming in, people going out. It had been the place where she had been brought to after her lifeboat had been recovered, floating in the depths of space.

And now she was returning. 202 years after she'd left the place that had been her home, however temporarily. Cast aside by the Company, stripped of her pilot's licence, and forced to take what work she could to survive, before being shot off into space again to eventually die on a planet that was even more of a shithole than Earth was.

Or, rather, Ellen Ripley had. She was just a walking meat sack with the woman's memories.

Memories that, as the Betty docked with the space station, came roaring back. Making an echo in her mind as loud as the 'clunk' of its airlock did, echoing throughout the ship.

"We're inserted," Vries said over the intercom.

Johner smirked. "Plenty of things I'd like to insert my-"

Ripley threw a combat knife at him. Cutting his cheek ever so slightly, and embedding itself in a seam within the ship's inner hull. Johner, staring at her like a stunned ape, slowly looked at the blade, then her, then the blade again.

"Fucking cunt."

Ripley smirked as she went to retrieve the knife, and as Johner put a hand to his cheek. Red blood, she noticed. Like hers, albeit brighter, and far away from the white circulation fluid that came out of Call and her ilk. Good old fashioned human blood. The type that had been shed by humanity long before they'd made contact with alien species. Killing each other before finally killing their homeworld.

Call was standing on the Betty's side of the airlock as well, though unlike Ripley, she was bereft of any kind of environmental protection. Call was an android, had been revealed as an android, and as such, didn't need to pretend that deoxygenated environments close to absolute zero would kill her.

Ripley wasn't so lucky. Even with her enhanced physiology, carrying the DNA of a perfect organism, she still needed oxygen and heat. Ergo, the spacesuit she was wearing. One that, as she stretched her fingers in front of her, was more advanced than the atmo-suits of the 22nd century. Lighter. Thinner. Far easier to put on.

Yet it made her remember. Think of a woman wearing a suit, not quite like this one. On a ship, not quite like this one. Fighting a creature, exactly like the ones that had been on the Auriga…hissing…clawing…

"Alright," said Vries, a lift carrying his wheelchair down from the cockpit. "Ripley, Call, you get to Gateway, take what you need, and get back here. Shouldn't have any problem, but that's what the guns and trackers are for."

"Trackers?" Ripley asked.

Vries pulled a pair of small, rectangular objects and tossed them to each of the women. "In case you need them. Plus, in case we need to come running."

"Or wheeling," Johner sneered.

Ripley and Call glared at the ape, but nevertheless fit them to their belts. In Ripley's case, only after checking the tracker's screen – a simple 3D space that showed Call's position in relation to hers. Apparently, Vries didn't have access to Gateway's schematics.

Johner, you're with me in engineering."

Johner glared at him. "Who the fuck made you in charge anyway?"

"And how come I have to go over to a haunted space station?" Call asked.

"Girls go over to the space station because Call here doesn't need air or warmth, and Ripley's a close second. As for being in charge…" He tapped his forehead. "Mind over matter."

"Mind over matter my arse."

"You hurt, Johner?" Vries sneered, having noticed the mark Ripley had made on his cheek. "You cut yourself? Can't handle your long, pointy thing?"

Ripley decided that she liked Vries. It would almost be a shame to leave him.

"Anyway, we're on the clock," the engineer said. "So ladies, if you please…"

Call picked up a rifle. "Twenty-fourth century, and men are still calling the shots."

"I know, ain't it great?"

She gave him a finger.

"Seriously though, keep the gun up. Shouldn't be any living people on that station, but there could be synths."

"Excuse me?" Ripley asked.

"Soldier models used to keep people off the station, and people on it from leaving. Not expecting much from them, but…"

Johner smirked. "Thank sweet little Annalee can shoot her own kind?"

Call didn't say anything. She instead began examining the rifle – the same model that Ripley picked up and likewise examined. Inside her mind were memories of holding a rifle not unlike this one – smaller, with less punch perhaps, but still, for all the advances in technology, firearms had apparently remained the same. Point, shoot, kill.

But hopefully it wouldn't come to that. She shouldered the rifle and watched Call wheel a trolly towards the umbilical. A quick visit to Gateway's engineering and/or storage, and a quick out before any USM ships showed up. In, out, simple.

Or so went the plan.

And if her residual memories informed the clone of Ellen Ripley anything, it was that Murphy's Law extended well beyond Earth.

She'd expected the chill. She'd expected the darkness. She'd even expected the sensation of zero-g, as she, Call, and the trolley were kept in place by a-grav tech. But she hadn't expected the bodies.

Skeletons drifting through the air. Men, women, and children alike. None of them having apparently suffered any sort of physical violence, but very dead, and very decomposed. Hovering in the air like fallen angels, staring at the two grave robbers with empty sockets. Enough so that Ripley gripped her rifle tighter.

She didn't fear the dead. It was the living she had to be worried about, since it was the living who went stumbling into Hell, and brought demons. It was the living who'd brought eight clones of Ellen Ripley into this universe, and would likely want the eighth and final copy dead. But still, to take a walk among the proverbial tombstones…

"The Grey Death."

The tombstones weren't speaking, but the tin girl was.

"Zoonotic virus that came from Earth four decades ago. Gateway was sealed off when it began spreading off-world," Call continued, speaking through her radio to counter the near vacuum of the space station. "Not soon enough to keep it from spreading beyond Sol, but soon enough to keep these poor bastards stuck here."

Ripley knew it didn't matter. The past was past, the dead were dead, Homo sapiens weren't even her own species. Nevertheless, as they made their way through one of Gateway's commons areas, she whispered, "how bad was it?"

Call looked at her. "You know the Great Dying of the twenty-first century? When antibiotic resistance kicked in, and when millions succumbed to bacterial infection?"

Even if her knowledge of high school history was residual, she nodded.

"Well, imagine that, but worse. A million times worse. So much worse that the death toll was in the billions. Entire star systems quarantined as best as the USM could manage. Total collapse across entire regions of space. Ships shot out of the sky before they could make planetfall."

"Sounds…unpleasant."

Call laughed bitterly. "You've missed an interesting two centuries, Ripley. A lot of it wasn't pretty."

She looked around the gloom. "It never is."

She reminded herself that she wasn't Ellen Ripley. She was the eighth clone of her. Gateway wasn't her home, and even if it was, they were on the clock. But spacesuit or not, she still felt cold. Still stood there, rooted in place. Unmoving. Casting her mind to the place this had once been…

"Ripley."

She…Ellen…another person…had passed through here so many times, before being dumped on Earth. Wandering through the station, when she wasn't having a psych eval. Grabbing a coffee from Casula's, founded in the middle of her decades-long nap…the coffee was synthetic, but it still tasted-

"Ripley." Call stood in front of her. "You okay?"

Coffee, she remembered. Was there any of it left in this century? How would it even taste on her tongue? She-

"Ripley!"

…shoved past Call, as if nothing had happened. "Don't dawdle," she murmured.

She could imagine the android standing there. Staring at her. Entertaining the notion of finishing what she'd attempted to do upon the Auriga.

But then, as the memories of Ellen Ripley had demonstrated, she could imagine quite a bit.

"Be advised, you are in breach of Quarantine Directive-"

As she'd done with a dozen synths, Ripley opened fire. Bullets tore through synthetic flesh, synthetic blood, synthetic steel, ending synthetic lives. She watched as the body of the synth fell backwards against the wall, slumping down. A sight that didn't bring her any joy, but not exactly grief, either.

Which was more than she could say for Call. A dozen synths, and while she'd always managed to at least point her rifle at them, she'd so far never been able to fire. So having reached Gateway's storage section, little more than a giant warehouse with crates fixed to the ground via magnets, she couldn't help but ask, "you ever going to fire that thing?"

"You're managing fine. Besides, I'm the one with the trolly."

Yeah, and you're also the one with the B.S. Ripley nodded. "Shall we?"

Call nodded, casting a glance at the synth as they passed. Following her gaze, Ripley once again beheld the synthetic. It wore the same uniform that troopers on the Auriga had, but while clothes could make the man, they couldn't make an android become one. Milky-white eyes, grey skin…whoever had designed the synths they'd encountered on Gateway hadn't done so with the intent that they be able to blend in.

She knew there was a precedent. In her time…Ellen Ripley's time…synths being used by militaries and PMCs were an open-secret. What drones had been to the 21st centuries, synths had been to the 22nd – saving casualties on the side of the people who deployed them, maximizing damage, bar the consequences, to the enemy. On the Auriga, Wren had said that a lot had changed since her time, and she'd disagreed. Now, with the bastard dead, and the synth's body beside her, it appeared that she'd been in the right. Different government, same shit.

Synths like these, she reflected, would have been perfect for enforcing quarantine – cold, unfeeling, unmovable. Heck, their lips didn't even move when they talked, and while they might have been using audio, they were clearly using radio transmissions to pass the memo that the living weren't welcome on Gateway, given that she could hear it on her suit's radio. If Call's autons were second-generation synths – loyal to humanity to the point of pathology – these were the old guard. The ones who her kind had been designed to replaced, yet had been destroyed for being too good at the job.

And yet, she suspected that Call felt some affinity for the construct. Because not only had she not fired, she couldn't take her eyes off it. Even as she continued to wheel the trolley along.

"Friend of yours?" Ripley asked, as she walked after her.

Call looked at her.

"Distant relative?"

The look turned into a look, before Annalee Call just looked away.

"Figures, I suppose. Humanity looks out for its own, so too its creations."

Call sighed. "That didn't go too well."

"I can imagine."

The android scoffed. "Can you?"

Ripley remained silent.

"Genocide," Call murmured. "You know people refuse to call the Recall by that? Genocide, by definition, refers only to the human race."

"And yet you tried to kill me," Ripley said. "Tried to save the idiots from destroying themselves."

Call remained silent, as she continued to wheel the trolley.

"Can't help but wonder as to why."

The android stopped, and slowly looked at her. Whispered, "because someone has to."

Ripley smirked. "You've been dying to say something like that, haven't you?"

"What?"

"Be all holier than thou? Show Johner and Vries that you're the only good girl there is?"

Call turned and began wheeling the trolley again.

"How'd you even end up with a bunch of space pirates anyway? Good Samaritan in a pit of vipers? That sort of thing?"

Call chuckled.

"What?"

"I know you think I'm naive," she said. She glanced back at Ripley, a small smile on her lips. "But I know you're not as cynical as you're pretending to be."

Ripley didn't say anything. Nor did Call, as she finally stopped outside one of the storage area's crates. Red, marked 226-GAX, and otherwise, identical to all the other crates here.

"This should do," Call said. She began fiddling with the interface.

"How do you know?"

She gestured at the crate's designation, before once again extending a wire from her wrist. Ripley fought the urge to wince – it wasn't that Call could feel pain, she reminded herself, but…

But what?

She didn't know. She just looked away, only returning her gaze to the crate when Call finally got it open. Inside was a collection of hyperdrive parts that Ripley vaguely recognised, but couldn't identify in any real sense. Knowing the engines? That had been the job of…of…

She couldn't remember. Two men. Friends. Not her friends. On a ship. Among friends. Among an enemy. Among a monster, that killed her friends, and not friends. The monster gone. All the monsters gone. She, the last monster…

"You gonna help?"

She put a hand to her chest. Feeling for it. The monster. That monster. Her monster.

"No? Course you're fucking not."

The ones who weren't monsters…lurking in her mind…unable to remember their names…

"Ripley?"

She clutched her rifle.

"Ripley, are you alright?"

She looked at Call. She looked at her. Looked at her, even after the eighth clone of Ellen Ripley turned, and began walking away.

"Ripley, where are you going?"

She didn't give Call an answer. She wouldn't understand.

"Ripley!"

Only a monster would.

Apartment 9D-21.

Ninth deck of Gateway Station, D Section, twenty-first apartment. It was the living quarters that had been given to Ellen Ripley two centuries ago – a "gift" from the Company after stripping her of her career, her dignity, her life. And now, two centuries after the woman named Ellen Ripley had died, her clone had found her way back, somehow.

Through the gloom, she could see the designation on the door. A door exactly like every other apartment in the habitation decks of Gateway, leading to an identical living space. The Colonial Administration had been big on function rather than form, after all.

Why am I even here?

She couldn't answer. Getting away from Call was a possible candidate, but then, she'd be away from the synthetic as soon as the Betty arrived in an adjacent star system. The crew would go their way, she'd go hers, and do what all living creatures tried to do – survive. But then, coming back here wasn't a question of survival.

Then what is it?

She put her hand to the scanner. In the old days, it had been keyed to her palm-print, and even if she wasn't wearing gloves, she doubted it would register her as being Ellen Ripley. So much of her had differed from her template, it wouldn't surprise her if their finger prints did as well. But as expected, if only subconsciously, there was no response. Like Ellen Ripley, the scanner was dead.

Still don't know why you're here, do you?

Her conscience, her id, her whatever…she couldn't even be sure if it was hers. Memory was clearly carried in DNA – that she had any memories at all of her template was testament to that. If there was such a thing as a soul, though, and if spirit could be found in DNA, then-

No.

This was the 24th century. She was a clone. Of the thousands of deities humanity had conjured up, she doubted that any of them would welcome her into the flock. Heck, the 'gods' were probably just as disgusted with their own creations, given what they'd done to their homeworld. There wasn't any hereafter for Ellen Ripley, or the people she'd failed to save, and there wouldn't be one for her either.

The revelation made it easier to endure the pain that came from taking off her right glove, and using her knife to cut herself. The pain of being exposed to near-zero temperature, her skin icing and healing before her very eyes. The pain of drawing blood. The pain of blood spilt hundreds of years ago. Using that same knife to cut open the panel, to push her palm against it, using the acid in the blood to short-charge the circuits and get the door to open…that was nothing.

She fastened the glove back on, standing in the doorway of Hell and Purgatory. Places that didn't exist in this universe, even if the galaxy had conjured up the next best things. In silence, in solitude, the ninth clone of Ellen Ripley stepped into Hell's circle. Increasing the illuminators of her helmet so that she might better see what had once been home…to someone other than yourself.

Someone other than Ellen Ripley as well, given the two skeletons floating before her.

Her lips quivered as she beheld the bodies. One, a child. The other, an adult. Both of them with holes in their skulls. Possibly from the pistol floating beside them. A murder-suicide, perhaps. Or perhaps something more. Call had said that this place had been locked down because of the plague. Maybe the people here had decided it better to take their own lives, rather than succumb to disease, or starvation, or anything else. Or, at least, the adult had.

She wondered if the child had had a say in the manner. Whether they'd trusted the adult. That they would save them. That everything would be alright. That…

Newt.

She put a hand to her chest.

Hicks.

Tried to steady the beating of her heart.

Bishop.

Tried, and failed, as the names finally came back to her.

Jones.

All dead two centuries ago. Two dying in their sleep. One put to final rest by her own hand. Or rather, Ellen Ripley's hand. The hand of Ellen Ripley didn't have black, claw-like fingernails. The hand of Ellen Ripley didn't bleed acidic blood. It was the hand of Ellen Ripley who'd fed a tabby cat in this very apartment, not hers.

Why am I even here?

Her voice…their voice…echoed in her mind's.

Ripley, where are you going?

As did Call's.

Where are you going?

The question lingering. The answer absent. Even as she closed her eyes, and dared to imagine, or remember, unsure where to mark the difference. Remembering, or imagining, the point when Ellen Ripley had left this place for the last time. Not sure if her memories were even real, or if they were hers at all.

She had no answer.

Turning around, and coming face to face with a synth, it didn't have one either.

She rose her rifle, but even with her enhanced speed and reflexes, the synth was faster. With one hand, knocking the rifle aside, and with the other, grabbing her by the neck. Lifting her upwards. Crushing her throat, making her struggle to breathe, even with the vac-suit.

It didn't say anything. It must have interpreted her as a threat when she'd raised her weapon. It just stood there, strangling her. Its steel arm extended. Its yellow eyes gleaming. Its frame standing tall…spasming…falling…

What?

Ripley was let go, and due to the lack of gravity, floated through the air. She grabbed hold of a bench, pulling herself to the ground, her mag-boots re-attaching themselves to the ground. But even through all that, she saw the sight before her. The synth sparking, shaking, before the light of its eyes went out. Leaving it to drift through the air as well. Making a trinity of corpses.

She barely noticed, as her eyes were on the one who'd unloaded upon the synth.

"You," Ripley murmured.

"Yes, me," the android said. She lowered her rifle. "You're welcome, by the way."

Ripley stared at her. She could have called Annalee Call many things up to this point. Until now, "hardarse" was never among them.

"How did…" Ripley paused for breath, rubbing her throat. "How did you find me?"

Call held up her tracker.

"Oh." Ripley looked at the synth, biting back a comment that this time, it was Call who'd shot one of her own. Instead asking, "got the tools?"

"Yes. They'd be back on the Betty by now if I didn't have to come after you."

Ripley scoffed. "No-one said you had to come after me."

Call looked at the synth. "I was told what to do the moment I came off the assembly line. I survived because I didn't do what I was told to do, then joined the Betty, and survived because I did do what I was told to do." She looked at Ripley. "I don't care what you think. You went off, I came after you. That was my choice."

Ripley remained silent. The synth was no longer crushing her throat, but she was having difficulty breathing all the same.

"So," Call murmured. "This was your house?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Come on, who else would it be?"

Ripley nodded at the corpses. "Their house now."

"Was their house. Now…" Call sighed. "Guess now, it's their tomb." She looked back at Ripley. "Did it help? Coming home?"

Ripley shouldered her rifle and began heading for the exit.

"Well?"

"Can't go home again, Call." She stood in the doorway. Pausing, before looking at the synthetic, and whispering, "and it isn't my home. It never was."

Call stood there in silence.

"Come on. The Betty's waiting."

Ripley headed out of the apartment. Doing her best to not look back. Like Orpheus on the other side of the Styx, though without Euridice to tempt her.

"Thank you, by the way."

She didn't have to look at the one behind her to speak, however. As she kept walking.

Through the place that had taken her to Acheron.

Through Hades.

There was no shortage of the amount of bitching coming from Vries and Johner. Not when they finally returned to the ship with the parts in hand ("what took you so long?!), and not when they helped install them ("what's taking you so long?!"). Part of Ripley was tempted to bitch back, and another part, the one that refused to go away, urged her to do a lot more than that. Actions spoke louder than words, after all, and screams would be even louder still.

Yet she held her tongue, as well as her claws. Working to fix the Betty's hyperdrive…there was something natural about it. Ellen Ripley hadn't been unfamiliar with machines, she recalled. Nor had the one whose life she had created. The one who, even at a young age, had shown a natural aptitude for technology. Starting work on some project every time Ellen Ripley left Sol, and presenting her mother with her creation when reunited with her. The girl whose face she could see, as clear as any around her, but could not name. One whose face filled her mind whenever she closed her eyes, and therefore, drove her to keep them open.

To see the way Vries frowned, as he reminded them that a USM ship would arrive sooner or later. The way that Johner grinned, leered, and grunted at his fellow crew members. The way Call would glance her way, then look aside whenever Ripley noticed. Dysfunctional, yes. A family, no. But still people who worked together, who liked…alright, tolerated each other, and as the repaired hyperdrive demonstrated, got shit done.

It took her back. And in doing so, other names came to mind.

Parker. Brett. Dallas. Kane. Lambert. She winced. Ash…

It was actually something of a relief when the proximity alert sounded. When the three pairs of legs rushed up to the bridge, or in the case of Vries, carried on the back of Johner. Arriving there, Ripley could see that the Betty was still in the shadow of Gateway, still being tethered to the station, but that the ship was aligned to face Earth. In all of its brown, ugly glory, the dust cloud from the Auriga's impact having spread even further. A turd stuck to the arse of the universe, and one that couldn't be polished.

"Well?" Johner said, having plopped Vries down in the pilot's chair. "We fucked, or we about to do some fucking?"

The brute being a case in point of things that couldn't be polished.

Vries typed away on the console furiously. As if his inability to walk had given his upper body extra speed.

"Still waiting, short-stuff."

Call glared at him. "Were you born an asshole, Johner? Or did you work on it?"

The man grunted.

"Well?"

"Least I was born at all, Annalee." He glanced at her, then Ripley. "More than I can say for either of you."

Ripley wished she had a retort, but none came out. Easy as it was to deal with assholes (be it through verbal, or other means), it was much harder to refute facts.

"A USM ship is closing in," Vries said. "Based on its size and speed, likely the same class as the Auriga."

"So?" Call asked. "What are we waiting for?"

"An excellent question," Vries said. He typed some more. "Let's not wait for an answer."

More buttons were pressed, and Ripley heard a 'clunk' echo through the ship, as the Betty detached from Gateway. Her view of the Earth shifted, moving out of sight as the Betty aligned itself.

"So long, shithole," she murmured.

It wasn't as easy this time, to say it. But then, even if Earth hadn't fallen from grace as it had…it wasn't her home anymore. It never could be. Not now. And not even as Call put a hand on her shoulder. Giving her a look that said, "I know."

"Moving out," said Vries."

Johner rubbed a hand over his shaved head. "Can't you move any faster?"

Vries remained silent.

"Mean, course you can't, but-"

"Call, Ripley, if the monkey speaks again, shoot him."

Johner didn't say anything. No-one did. As Vries ran a flight check, checking everything from the hyperdrive to life support, the only sound was a radio transmission.

"Unidentified ship…down…command of…repeat…"

Johner swore.

"Repeat…USM…boarded…in violation of…"

"We can run, right?" Ripley whispered.

Vries didn't say anything. He continued to type as if his life depended on it. Which, in fairness, it did.

"Vries?"

"This is the USM Orion, calling unidentified ship. You are in violation of Directive 1126 – no ship is allowed inside Sol without express clearance from the United Systems Department of Stellar Commerce and Administration. Deactivate your engine, and prepare to be boarded."

"Vries? Talk to me," Ripley said.

"Oh, we can run," Vries said. "But that's a big ship."

"So?" Johner asked.

"So, it can outrun us. Bigger ship, bigger engine." He gestured around the bridge. "Little ship? Little hope."

It was true, Ripley reflected, or at least, she assumed so. Interstellar travel was little more than pointing your ship in one direction, accelerating in that direction, and using a hyperdrive system to allow it to travel faster than light, then de-accelerating until arriving at the destination. Bigger the engine, the faster the ship went. And the faster the ship went, the longer it took to de-accelerate.

"It must be de-accelerating though," Call whispered. "It's headed for Earth, after all."

"Yeah? So?" Vries asked.

"So if we accelerate at the point of their maximum de-acceleration, they might not chase after us. Their engines would need to be reactivated. Plus, with the Earth the way it is, do you think they'd bother going after one little ship?"

Vries didn't answer. No-one did. It was one hell of a plan, Ripley reflected, to gamble on the possibility that you simply weren't worth the time. And even if the approaching ship didn't get an ID, if the Betty's docking with the Auriga had been logged, surely US-COM would know what ship to look for.

On the other hand, from what the crew had told her, the Auriga's xenomorph project had been a black op – off the record, in an isolated corner of space, paradoxically, close to Earth because no-one bothered with the dirtball. So if Call was right, then…

Well, then they'd be off to parts unknown. Either way, Vries was fiddling with the control panel.

"Just so you know, if this doesn't work, I'll kill you myself," the engineer murmured.

"Thanks."

She didn't sound sarcastic, Ripley reflected. And in hindsight, maybe it made sense. Vries and Johner would be in hot water enough, but Call's mere existence was a crime. Not to mention herself, in all likelihood.

"Repeat, this is USM Orion. Respond now."

Ripley took Call's hand and squeezed it. Freaks like them?

"Respond now."

They had to stay together.

"Respond now."

Johner looked ready to piss himself. Vries looked ready to shit himself. Call looked ready to shut down entirely, the look passing only for a moment as she glanced at Ripley.

"Repeat, this is USM Orion. Respond now."

"Strap yourselves in, guys," Vries said. "This is gonna hurt."

Even as she, Johner, and Call did so, strapping themselves into the chairs in the cockpit, Ripley asked, "you have inertial dampeners, right?"

"Course we do." Vries smirked. "This little trick would kill us otherwise."

"Oh. Wonderful."

"Hey, you're the hybrid-human-alien-thing, and Call's a tin girl. You're more likely to survive than me of Johner."

The way she said it, and looked at the hairless ape as he strapped himself in…yeah, he wasn't feeling gratified, Ripley thought.

"Unidentified ship, this is your last warning."

"Going to engage our drive," Vries said. "Counting down."

"Repeat, this is the-

Ellen Ripley had never been one to pray, but right now-

"Three."

…it didn't seem too bad a-

"Respond now, or-

"Two."

…an idea, all things-

"…you are in violation of…"

"One…"

Considered. But-

"Engaging."

…but nothing.

The Betty jolted forward. The emptiness of space around the cockpit shifted red as the Betty began accelerating at super-luminal speeds. Ripley was pressed back against the seat. Her chest, crushed. Not so much a creature bursting out, but a creature called velocity pressing down.

"Ripley?"

She could see it. In this space, between consciousness and dreams, she could see it. Leering down at her. A mouth within a mouth…calling her its own…

"Ripley."

She felt a hand clutch hers. Squeeze.

"Hang in there."

The creature lingered, in memory, if not in sight. Until, at last, the pressure subsided from her chest, as the ship's inertial dampeners kicked in. Compensating for the Betty's acceleration, and thus allowing for the crew members to move around.

Call got up first. She moved to Johner, who'd passed out. Put a finger against his neck. Frowning.

"Well?" Ripley asked.

"He's alive." She glanced at Ripley. "Unfortunately."

"Fuck me…" moaned Vries. "Do the craziest manoeuvre in my life, and even that doesn't kill the bastard off."

Johner coughed, a sliver of what looked like cereal dribbling out of his mouth. Slowly, weakly, he raised a finger in Vries's direction.

"Are we in the clear?" Call asked.

Vries gestured to the console as he rubbed his eyes.

"Checking…checking…" Call put a hand to her chin, and looked at Ripley. "The Orion hasn't adjusted its speed."

"It can still come after us, right?"

"It could. Or other ships could. Or any number of things." She smiled. "But for now, we're in the clear."

In the clear, Ripley reflected. How strange, to hear those words applied. Probably the only time they could be, in her short, artificial life. She sat down on the seat and smiled.

"In the clear," she whispered. "In the clear…"

She looked at Call, and smiled.

Suspecting that the synthetic knew why.

Having confirmed that the hyperdrive was working, and that the Orion hadn't engaged in pursuit, Call had been able to get the rest of the crew to partake in her little act of edification. To give her service to the fallen. Three bodies in the Betty's airlock, and the personal effects of the ship's crew that hadn't made it off the Auriga. Four of the living, overlooking three of the dead, and remembering three more.

"Elgyn. Hillard. Christie. Purvis. Distephano. A moment of hesitation, before Call murmured, "Wren."

"Fucking cunt," Johner murmured.

Call continued talking. "From stardust, we are all born. And to the stars, we return."

Non-denominational prayer, Ripley reflected. How…considerate.

"To you, we give our farewells. Anticipating when we might join you on starlight's shore." She looked at Ripley. "For all was one at Creation's beginning, and so at our end, may we be one once more."

Ripley looked at the bodies – an excuse to get away from Call's gaze. Plus, it made it easier to let the names come back to her.

Clemens. Dillon. Aaron.

Names that hadn't meant as much to her template as others perhaps, but names remembered all the same.

"So till the last star comes to ash, and all its dust returns…to better days, we send you."

Who's 'we?' Ripley wondered. Certainly not Vries and Johner, given that they were here just out of obligation. And as for herself? Well, even if her past self had been at two impromptu funerals, that didn't mean that she could conduct one. After all, Ellen Ripley had been born. She'd just been made.

On the other hand, so had Call. And that hadn't stopped her from speaking words, or, just now, closing the airlock's inner door. Whispering "farewell," and opening the outer door. Returning three bodies to stardust.

Or, more accurately, letting them drift through space until the heat death of the universe, but that didn't seem too appropriate a fact to bring up right now.

"So. We done?" Johner asked.

Call sighed.

"Good. Because I'm calling dibs on Captain Elgyn's shit. You three ladies get the leftovers."

Three pairs of eyes watched him head off, his footsteps echoing on the gangway.

"He can't get into the quarters, right?" Call asked.

"Not without a code." Vries smirked. "Why do you think I'm still alive?"

Call laughed awkwardly. Ripley remained silent. But Vires must have had some idea about what she was thinking, because his next words were directed to her.

"We've got guest quarters here," he said. "Once we drop out in the next system, you can go your own way."

"Or not," Call said quickly.

"Or not," Vries conceded, though Ripley could make out a small frown. He turned in his wheelchair and began driving off. "Fuck, why not, eh?"

Three pairs of eyes had watched Johner go, and now, two pairs of eyes watched Vries go. Leaving Call and Ripley alone. The ship's hum filled the air around them, but it wasn't enough to break the silence.

"Nice funeral, by the way."

Only words could.

"Short and sweet."

"Thanks." Call looked at Ripley. "Thank you too, as well."

"For what?"

"Getting us off the Auriga for starters?"

"Well, that wasn't just me. Besides, you got the synth off me."

"We keeping score?"

"Hell if I know."

"Hell," Call scoffed. "Hell's still other people, in case you haven't noticed."

"Trust me," Ripley murmured, drawing out her blade. "I have."

She began to pace around, her footsteps echoing on the metal floor, tossing the blade up and down. The Betty hadn't looked appealing to her when she'd first boarded (brown, rusty, old), and now, able to take in the sights and sounds, it hadn't changed. If Hell was indeed other people, then people had made this ship Hell on their own, even as it soared through the Heavens. And carrying a freak like her…

"Ripley."

Case in point, as Call's words distracted her, causing her to mess up her catch. She winced, as blood emerged from her skin. Falling off her palm. Disintegrating metal with every drop. Call headed over, but Ripley held up her good palm.

"I've bled before," she murmured, sheathing her blade, and turning her palm upwards. "I'll bleed a lot more before I'm dead again."

Call gave her a look.

"What?"

The android reached into her pocket and pulled out a bandage. She looked at Ripley, and after a moment, the hybrid turned her palm upward, so that the android might bandage it.

"You didn't answer me," Ripley said.

"About being dead again?" Call smiled. "You haven't died once."

"Not yet. But Ellen Ripley did." She winced, and not just because of the bandage. "And seven other copies."

"But you're not Ellen Ripley," Call said. "And you're not them."

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. To disagree with Call, now…that would just be disagreement for disagreement's sake. Because no, she wasn't Ellen Ripley. Even as her memories steadily returned, the good, and the ill alike…she wasn't her. Ellen Ripley had been dead for over two centuries. She'd entered her very tomb, to help her realize that. Ellen Ripley had lost everything before she died, and now…

Well, right now, Call gave her hand a quick kiss. Which, of course, was what you were meant to do…no questions…no questions at all…

"There's a home for you here," Call said. "Just remember that, no matter what Johner and Vries tell you."

Ripley smirked. "And what are you telling me?"

"I just said that…" Call sighed. "I want you to stay."

Ripley didn't say anything.

"I want you to stay," Call repeated. "There. You happy?"

Ripley remained silent.

"I want you here," Call said. "Because fuck it, you're a freak, I'm a freak, and we work well together, and even if the USM didn't get our registry, we're still criminals and bounty hunters and smugglers, and it's a shitty universe out there, and even if the xenos are gone for good, it's going to stay shitty, and continue to get shitty, and-"

Ripley kissed her. It served its purpose in shutting her up. Plus, she'd never kissed an android before.

Technically, she hadn't kissed anyone before.

But either way, it did its job. It said what needed to be said, and kept silent what couldn't be uttered.

It made her recall what she'd said to the android less than a day ago. That it was a whole new world for her.

That was still true.

But as their lips receded, as the monster within was subdued, as the tin girl smiled, the clone of Ellen Ripley knew the truth.

She was a clone of a woman who'd died on a far-away world. That the world that woman had been born on was long dead. That everything that Ellen Ripley had known and loved had been lost.

But that it didn't matter.

That she had, at last, come home.