A Sleeper Amongst the Stars.
I
The grav-train snaked along the magnetic tracks built upon hundred-foot, concrete supports high above the surface of Skeritt V, the cold void of space kept at bay by the elctro-shield - known as the 'Dome' - ninety-eight miles above.
The train left the sun-bleached, rocky vista of the barren wastelands and slid silently into the walled city of Dolonine, the final destination on it's journey from the outer, industrial habitats that lie at the edges of the dome.
Amanda Mclaren stared through the glass of the grav-train window, her head resting on the cool surface. Air conditioning units in the outer habs were old and in need of repair, and really only served as a mechanism for pushing stale, warm air around in an endless cyclone. Here, in the city, they didn't have that problem - everything was new and expensive. The icy touch of the down-draft from the vents in the carriage ceiling made Amanda shiver, and she pulled the beige shawl she was wearing tighter around her bare shoulders.
She saw her face reflected in the glass, illuminated by the rainwashed, multi-coloured neon from the city beyond. She looked tired. Her dark, brown hair had grown back (lice infestations are common in the habs, and shaving was the only known way to cure it), but it was still too short for her liking. Even now, dressed up to the nines for the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn't feel beautiful (mutton dressed up as lamb, as her mother used to say about a woman who lived across their block when she was a kid). She smiled wryly to herself, making the tired lines around her eyes more prominent, and even faintly comical, as her reflection was framed by a fifty-foot holographic image of a pretty asian woman sensually applying red lipstick.
She picked up her handbag as the train began to slow, the blinding colours of the myriad advertising screens outside replaced with the dull, yellow glow of the station's interior lighting.
An automated voice droned out information from unseen speakers as Amanda walked quickly to the escalators at the end of the platform. The station was almost deserted, apart from a few groups that had gathered around the food stalls at the entrance (only passengers to and from the spaceport, and workers from the outer habs, ever used the external train system). The aroma of frying onions hung in the air as she headed outside, though it did nothing to improve her appetite.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the glass of the station windows as she walked by. The black dress and beige shawl had seem so refined and elegant on the model in the brochure, that she was disgusted how such a beautiful outfit still couldn't flatter her body. She didn't have the model's tits, granted - but it seemed so cruel to think her slim and rangy figure was suited to only flannel boiler suits.
She didn't know why she agreed to meet Van Leuwen in the first place. The dating server had paired them as a match, but Amanda found little in his bio to suggest that they were in any way compatible. She guessed she was just getting too old to be able to snag anything better, and anyway - what did she have to lose?
She took a taxi from the station. It was a dirty, old, diesel vehicle, yellow with black, checked markings - someone had told her they were fashioned on the livery of old taxi's back on earth - but she didn't know how true that was. The interior was cramped, and smelled of stale smoke and sweat. The driver talked endlessly, but she barely heard a word - simply grunted affirmations every couple of minutes, hoping he would just shut the fuck up.
"Nineteen credits, sugar," the driver said, looking over his shoulder at Amanda through the plexi-glass partition. He was a jowly man with a clammy complexion, and he gave her a leering smile. He wore a grubby cloth cap that read: 'Ferro's Cabs'.
Nineteen credits? That wasn't expensive, that was extortion! She maintained a neutral expression as she pressed her wrist to the scanner beneath the partition - the machine reading the implanted chip beneath her skin and unburdening her of her hard-earned pay.
She climbed out of the cab and crossed the eight lanes of rumbling, honking city traffic. She stared up at the immense building before her, shielding her eyes from the rain (of course, it wasn't really 'rain' - it was a man-made perceipitiation formed by the city's atmosphere processor's that recycled billiones of tonnes of water, and eventually vented it off as steam).
The Globus complex was a city within a city - at nearly two-square miles and thirty two stories high, it was the glittering jewel in Dolonine's fading gold crown. It was the place the social elite called home. There were luxury apartments, schools, restaurants, bars, casino's, religious temples, and over a thousand retail outlets, all contained in this microcosm of Dolonine. Amanda couldn't have felt more out of place - or any more of a cheap fraud - than if she had been wearing a soiled, hesian sack. She wanted to turn and run back to the station, to take the train back to her grimy, little apartment in the habs, to cry and drink a bottle of warm beer.
Van Leuwen's memo (A fucking memo! Not even a personal message - that should have been enough for her to call the whole thing off) had said that the restaurant was on the eighth floor. Amanda wandered amongst the crowds in the massive foyer, looking for the elevators. Everything here was marble and quartz, and glass chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Expensive and out of reach - just like most things in Dolonine.
The people around her spoke in strange lilting accents that she found incredibly iritating. The women's clothes were loud - all primary colours, with uncessary frills and tassles and bows - the complete opposite to what Amanda had chosen to wear. Should have worn your fucking boiler suit, she thought. The men primarily wore suits of dark or light grey, and those with hair wore it thick with product, slicked back flat against their scalps.
She scanned around for the elevators, finally spotting them down a wide corridor that lead off from the foyer. She headed in that direction, and was relieved to see that there were groups of 'normal' people congregating here, away from the main plaza. She suspected many of them were the unskilled workers from the city, out on a Saturday night to experience how the other half lived for a few precious hours. Most of these folk wore jeans and t-shirts, and many of them sported baseball caps with various logo's and designs emblazoned on the front. She felt a little more comfortable as she slipped into an elevator just before the doors closed.
"What'll it be, miss?" said a man stood next to the control pad. He wore a tan cowboy jacket and matching stetson. His partner wore a yellow and white, gingham dress, and her blonde hair tied up in pig-tails. Amanda wondered if they were going to a fancy dress event, but wasn't convinced.
"Eight, please," she replied.
The only other occupant in the lift was a muscular, black man with a moustache, leaning against the mirrored back wall. He wore all black and was smoking a cigar.
"And you, sir?" the cowboy asked him.
"Floor twelve," the black man said in a deep voice. He pulled the cigar from between his lips, and with a low chuckle added, "please."
The elevator pinged as the doors opened up onto the eighth floor, and Amanda hurried out, giving a forced smile to the cowboy and his girl. The black man had made her nervous. She risked a glance over her shoulder as the doors slid shut, and saw the man in black tilt his head back and point at the roof of the elevator.
Floor eight was bathed in a surreal green, ambient lighting, and there were glass tanks on every corner teeming with fish and swaying fingers of reeds. The sound of synthesized wind-chimes blended with the sound of conversation and laughter, and the clack of shoes echoed on the polished, brown, marble floor. She tipped her head back to look up at the ceiling. She saw that the green lighting effect was provided by long strips of halogen tubes that intermittently faded in and out, and big spot lamps hanging at intervals down the centre. She squinted against the glare into the darkness beyond. She could just make out the metal struts that supported the roof, and electrical conduits snaking between them in the shadows.
She shook her head, blinking away the sun-spots in her eyes. She had no idea what message the black man was trying to convey to her. Probably just some weird, fucked-up city gesture she didn't understand, she thought. Amanda checked the slim, silver watch on her wrist. "Shit!" she whispered under her breath.
She dodged swiftly between the crowds of people, most of them shopping or looking for somewhere to eat. Families with children dashed in and out of the arcades full of flashing video-game screens and holo-simulators; the sounds of electronic beeps and jingles spilled out onto the concourse like pennies onto a tin roof. Amanda hurried past the din of the arcades, the cacophony of noise doing nothing for her slowly building anxiety.
She finally saw the neon sign for the Narcissus restaurant, blinking in stylised, orange, italics in the distance. She looked down at her scuffed, heeled shoes. Fuck it, she thought. He'll take one look at me and run a mile, anyway. May aswell just get it over with. A dozen drinks will numb the pain.
The interior of Narcissus wasn't so bad - lots of dark wood and soft cushions, and tall plants in stone pots. The floor was a mosaic of brown and orange tiles, and heavy, wooden fans spun slowly overhead. The smell from the kitchens suggested the food could actually be pretty good (Mexican?), though despite her stomach's protests she still didn't feel like eating. A man in a light, grey suit was stood up at one of the booths waving her over. She recognised Van Leuwen from his profile picture.
"Sorry I'm late," Amanda said as she slid into the booth opposite him.
"No, it's fine...you're right on time," he said, retaking his seat. "It looked like the place was starting to get busy, so I took the liberty of ordering us both a margarita - I hope you don't mind?"
"No...no, that's great." Amanda felt a flutter of relief at the fact she might have been wrong about this guy. He seemed ok - although Amanda had made plenty of bad judgements in the past. He had an easy smile, and had the decency to act nervous himself, even if he wasn't. His cologne smelled expensive, though she found it a little overpowering. Working down a sweltering mine shaft with nine other people for twelve hours, you got used to the odour of the human body pretty damn quick - wearing deodorant didn't do shit down there, so nobody bothered. Up until the last two minutes, she would have given her right arm to have been back in that stinking, sweltering mine shaft rather than here.
The drinks arrived, and after downing half of the margarita Amanda felt herself start to relax. Just a little.
Van Luewen seemed perfectly at ease making small-talk, and she hadn't been in the least bit suprised when he told her he worked for the Company (the suit had given that away). His bio said he was fifty-six, but she had to admit he looked a lot younger. His hair was grey and receding, but he looked trim, and his confidence didn't stray into arrogance.
"I'm glad you came," he said, twirling his glass on the table between his fingers. "I'm not very good at this kind of thing."
"You're doing ok, so far," Amanda said. She gave him a smile, and was suprised to find, that for once, it didn't make the muscles in her face hurt. It was obvious he was being modest, but at least he was making the effort.
Van Luewen laughed. "You're very kind, Amanda," he said. "I've only done this dating thing once before and...well, let's just say she didn't get back to me."
"If it makes you feel any better - this is my first time," Amanda told him. "I nearly threw-up on the train here, I was so nervous!"
"What? Why would an attractive, young wom -"
"Ok, don't push it!"
They continued to chat and break the ice, her stiff laughter eventually relaxing into natural giggles. As they got aqauinted, Amanda noticed a couple enter the restaurant, and she couldn't help but think they seemed totally mismatched. The man was tall, with close cropped, blonde hair, and the woman was short and olive-skinned with fierce, dark eyes. They had a swagger that came across to Amanda as mildly threatening - as though they were willing someone to pick a fight with them. They both wore shades of green: him a swirling jungle-effect shirt, and her, a figure-hugging, emerald dress. But it was the red headband she wore that made Amanda uneasy. There was something...something familiar about...
...Drake, come on, man...
...Drake, come on!...
...Noooo!...
"So, you're bio says you work in the mining business?"
Amanda drifted back to reality at the sound of Van Leuwen's voice. She didn't know where she'd zoned out to, but she could taste smoke and kerosene on her tongue, and her ears were ringing with the clatter of gunfire and shouting. There had been another sound aswell...a terrible screeching that made her flesh crawl.
"I'm so sorry...what were you saying?" Amanda said, looking back at Van Leuwen. If he had noticed her lapse, he was polite enough not to show it.
"I was just saying that your bio says you work in the mining business," he said.
"Oh...yes, that's right," Amanda replied, trying to regain some composure. "I'm a geologist by trade. It's just a lot of studying charts and sweating your balls off down a five-mile mine-shaft..." She stopped at the sound of Van Leuwen's embarassed laugh. "Sorry, that's not very lady-like language. When you work with a bunch of roughneck miners you...well, you sort of become one of the gang."
"No! It's perfectly fine - I like a straight talking woman," he said, flashing that easy smile again.
"Good. Then let's order some more drinks and get some menu's. I'll be happy to give you my forthright opinion on any subject of your choice."
"Sounds good to me, Amanda," he said, clicking his fingers at a passing waiter.
Amanda quickly scanned the room for the odd couple, but she guessed they must have taken seats on the other side of the restaurant. She noticed a waiter holding a large silver plate emerge through the constantly swinging doors to the kitchens. The booth Van Leuwen had reserved for them was one of several that were slightly raised, overlooking the main floor of tables below. The waiter headed down there now, approaching a table occupied by a young couple who were laughing and holding hands, and drinking garishly coloured cocktails. The waiter slid the plate onto the table and the man held his wrist up to the portable scanner. The waiter nodded graciously and left them to their meal.
Amanda felt bile rise in her throat at the sight of the contents of the plate. It looked like some sort of spider or crab, with multi-jointed legs and a long tail, but it was a pallid-grey in colour. It had been garnished with green salad.
The couple seemed completely oblivious to the repulsive 'meal' that had been set before them, as they tucked napkins down their fronts and snatched up their cutlery.
Amanda averted her eyes as the young girl eagerly held up her plate as the man began to carve off one of the legs.
II
"Are you ok?"
"What?" Amanda was desperatelty trying not to look back at the gruesome feast that was occuring down to her right.
"Are you ok?" Van Leuwen asked her again. "You look pale."
"Oh...no, I'm fine...really." She pulled a packet of Yutani cigarettes from her bag and extracted one with a shaking hand. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
"No, not at all," he said, pushing the ashtray towards her. "Go right ahead."
"Thanks...do you...?" She offered the pack to Van Luewen.
He waved a hand. "No. I did, but...doctor told me I had two choices - if you get my drift?"
Amanda nodded. She didn't smoke that much - but, combined with the months of exposure to the dust in the mines, she probably wouldn't end up with a second choice. She lit the cigarette and purposely blew the stream of smoke away from him.
"So," she fixed her gaxe on Van Luewen, "what do you do for the Company?"
"Oh, gosh...I'm sure you don't want to me to bore you with that?"
"No, come on! I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't interested," she said, before taking another drag on her cigarette.
Amanda focused on Van Luewen; she tried to count the grains of salt on the rim of her glass; she let her eyes drift up with smoke trailing from the tip of her cigarette - anything not to look down at the abhorrent scene on the other table.
Van Luewen talked about aquisitions and mergers, and the cut-throat business of insuring trillion-dollar starfreighters. She smiled and nodded, and she spoke at the right times to maintain the illusion of interest.
Their meals arrived: a beef and bean burrito for him, a chorizo and feta salad for her. Amanda's resolve failed at the sight of the food before her, and she glanced down at the young couple's table...and let out a shuddering breath of relief. They appeared to be eating a perfectly normal desert (pancakes and ice-cream, maybe - she didn't care what it was). She forced down a few forkfuls of her salad, with the help of a cold beer. The conversation with Van Leuwen turned to more personal matters: family, friends, where they grew up and other such anodyne topics. When they had finished eating, Amanda excused herself. "I'll be right back," she told Van Luewen.
She followed the glowing signs for the restrooms, which directed her to the rear of the restaurant. There were more pots filled with spikey, green plants lining the walls, and there was a long, whicker bench between the doors to the restrooms. She walked through the entrance to the 'female-only' section, passing a couple of boistrous woman making their way out. Inside, it appeared to be empty. She counted eight stalls along one wall, and eight wash basins against the other (she couldn't help it - it was something she had done since she was a child. A lack of symmetry made her anxious). Everything was white and chrome, and the smell of dienfectant hung heavy in the air.
Amanda ducked into the third stall along. She checked her personal communication cell as she perched on the cool, metal seat of the toilet.
There were no messages. She hadn't expexted there would be.
She heard someone else enter the restroom and hitched up her panties, waving a hand over the sensor and activating the flush. Amanda didn't see anybody as she emerged from the stall, and she quickly washed her hands at one of the basins.
As Amanda shook the excess water into the sink, she heard a voice say: "Wake up, pendjero."
She turned to see the dark-skinned woman with the red head-band, casually leaning against one of the stalls. She appraised Amanda as though she were a piece of bruised fruit on a market stall, unsure if the merchandise was still fit to eat. The woman's dark eyes gleamed like shards of ebony in moonlight. She would be pretty, Amanda thought, if she wasn't so angry.
"Excuse me?" Amanda said haughtily.
"Wake up, lady," the woman repeated. She spread her arms and gestured at the bathroom around them. "None of this is real, you know?"
Amanda laughed, but the woman's face twisted into a snarl, and the anger in her eyes flared. "Well, if this isn't real, then I guess I've just taken a piss all over the floor then?" Amanda snapped, turning away from the woman and walking quickly towards the exit.
"What did you eat for breakfast, tio?" the woman said.
Amanda stopped walking as an icy trickle of fear ran down her spine.
She didn't remember waking up this morning.
No matter how hard she tried she coudn't recall a single memory of anything before the train journey to Dolonine. She turned back to the woman. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"It's not what I want...it's what you need," she said, smirking
"Do you always talk in fucking riddles, pendjero?"
The woman laughed and moved to stand nose to nose with Amanda. "That's more like the badass bitch I remember. You don't have much time, honey. Take this." The woman pulled up the hem of her dress to reveal lithe, muscular thighs and a garter belt holding a pistol.
"That's a fucking illegal weapon!" Amanda spat. "Contraband - you could get sixty years for carrying that -"
"Keep. Your. Fucking. Voice. Down." The woman's voice was the hiss of a venemous snake. "Sixty years is better than dead though, right?"
"I'm leaving now," Amanda said. "Enjoy your meal, and stay the fuck away from me, you hear?" She turned and made for the restroom exit. She'd had enough of all the bat-shit crazy stuff that was happening. She would arrange to meet Van Leuwen some other time...maybe. She just wanted to go home.
"Hey, Snow White," the woman called after her. "Don't let them take you alive..."
Amanda burst out of the restroom and somehow found her way back to the booth, the thoughts in her head whirling round like clothes on a spin cycle. Van Luewen was nowhere to be seen. She scooched back into her seat and lit another cigarette. She downed what was left of her margarita, then picked up a bottle of beer from the ice-bucket in the centre of the table. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her vision was blurring. She felt a migraine starting behind her eyes.
She heard a voice - a little girl's voice...
...Ripley!?...
...Help me, Ripley!...
III
Ripley.
She didn't know anybody called Ripley, but the name had a familiarity to it that she couldn't quite put her finger on.
And who was the little girl? Amanda felt a tightness in her chest as she recalled the desperate terror in the girl's voice.
There came a series of beeps from her handbag, and she reached inside to retreive her personal communications cell. She pressed a key and a flickering, holographic image of Van Luewen appeared. It was a recorded message.
"Hello, Amanda, I hope you get this message," the projection of Van Luewen said, his lips half a second out of synch with the audio. He looked as though he was sat in the back of a limo. "Look, we've got an emergency on one of the colonial outpost's owned by the company, and I was the only senior executive available...I had no choice. I know I've probably screwed this up completely, but if you can give me a second chance, I'll make it up to you. Got to go, Amanda. Bye."
There was a wash of static and the image faded out. Amanda didn't feel any anger towards Van Luewen...hell, she didn't know what she was feeling right now. She took a long draw on the bottle of beer and rested her head against the soft leather of the seat.
She finished the drink and called over the waiter - the young man informing her that the 'gentleman-guest' had settled the bill. That was something, at least. She probably would give Van Luewen another chance.
Amanda wandered out onto the concourse of floor-eight and let herself be pulled along by the tide of people. There wouldn't be a train back to the outer habs for almost two hours, and she couldn't afford to stay in one of the Globus' hotels overnight, so she figured she may as well explore the complex while she was here.
She stopped occaisionally to stare through the shop windows of various boutiques. There was one - named Durnford and Shinoda, it's frontage highlighted in a tasteful gold and blue - that was selling lipstick made with real whale oil for only eighteen-thousand credits. There was a pet shop offering genetically modified animals for equally outrageous prices. Amanda stood alongside a group of teenagers who were watching a cat, with a luxurious plummage of crimson feathers, prowl around it's glass enclosure. The kids pointed and took photo's with their retina-cams. Amanda wondered if the creature knew what it was...whether it was suffering in agonising pain, just to satisfy the fleeting fads of the rich people.
She took a seat on a bench next to a gurgling water fountain and a cluster of old fairground-type attractions, and rubbed her ankles. She couldn't remember the last time she had worn heels, and her feet were paying the price now.
A man in a straw tombola hat was tending a stall that gave you the chance to win prizes for tossing glowing rings over a set off rotating poles. He wore a white waistcoat trimmed with red, and gold trousers. She watched a young boy throw his hoops, missing with every one.
"Sorry, little dude," said the vendor, "that's it. Game over, man!"
"But I want another go!" the boy demanded.
"Another turn needs another credit...why don't you go ask your mom?"
The boy huffed and stared down at his shoes. The vendor offered him a goldfish in a plastic bag, the gesture seeming to appease the kid. As the boy walked away, the vendor looked across to Amanda and waved at her. She checked over her shoulder to make sure he wasn't gesturing at somebody else. She tentatively got up and walked over to the stall.
The vendor had an infectious smile, the gap between his teeth giving him a certain boyish-charm. "Would the pretty lady like to try her luck?" He had a drawling southern accent (his family probably originated from one of the 'cattle states' back on Earth - New Texas or Missouri possibly).
"Don't you think I'm a little old for this sort of thing?" Amanda told him.
"Hey, you're only as old as you feel - am I right? And you don't look that old, if I may say so?"
Amanda allowed herself a smile. He was a charming bastard, she had to admit. "You may. Now what can a girl win herself?"
"Take your pick: there's stuffed animals, candy, goldfish - of course they're not real - but hey, who cares!...check it out..."
"...We got nukes, we got knives, we got sharp sticks!..."
Amanda felt her stomach lurch, as though she was hurtling down a rollercoaster. She could smell body odour and machine oil, and she could hear a klaxon wailing in the distance.
"...and the big prize could be a couple of drinks with me! I'm just kidding...hey, are you okay?"
Amanda stared at the man in the Tombola hat, her vision had blurred and she was struggling to focus. She felt her body shaking. She was scared now, she was...angry.
"Who are you?" she said coldly.
"What do you -"
"What's your fucking name!"
The man's smile faded and he looked around nervously. "My n-name," he stuttered. "I don't...I mean, nobody's ever asked me before," He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. "I don't have a name."
"Stop with the bullshit already. Everybody has a name."
The man looked as though he wanted to cry, his youthful looks giving him the appearance of a scolded child. "You didn't give me one." he said with trembling lips.
"What do you mean, I didn't give you one?...why would I give you a name?" Amanda felt her heartate increasing, and she suddenly found it difficult to catch her breath.
"This is your dream, Amanda. We're all in your head...all of us," the man said. His face broke out into a big grin once again, and he tipped his hat at an silly angle. "What about I throw in a free turn, how does that grab ya?"
"A dream? What are you telling me?" she yelled at him.
"I'll give you a bonus turn, at no extra cost!"
"No, the dream dammit! If I'm dreaming...how do I wake up?"
A couple of girls approached the stall, and Amanda watched as they held their wrists up to the vendor's scanner. One of the children had big eyes and long blonde hair, and she smiled at Amanda. It was a sad smile that made Amanda think that the child knew something she didn't. The girl rolled her eyes to look up at the ceiling.
The last threads of her sanity snapped. "Please," Amanda said. "I'm begging you...how do I wake up?"
The man handed a set of glowing rings to each of the girls, then turned to her. "Hadley's. It's a nightclub on the twenty-eighth floor. You'll find who you need there."
Amanda Mclaren staggered over to the wall of the precinct, trying and failing to stifle her sobs. She felt as though her legs were going to buckle underneath her. She saw the elevators across the way, shiny-gold beneath a halo of blinking, white lights.
"Newt," she whispered.
IV
The elevator slowed to a stop, the doors opening to reveal the twenty-eighth floor. There was a wide corridor that seemed to stretch on for miles.
This must be a mistake, she thought - the place was derelict. She pulled her shawl tighter around herself and stepped out of the elevator. One of the tall windows over to her left was exposed to the atmosphere outside, the glass pane now just jagged shards on the floor below.
She jumped at the sound of the elevator doors closing behind her.
From the open window she could feel the wind-swept rain on her face, and in the distance she could see the ghostly outlines of skyscrapers, their red beacons flashing on the rooftops. The wind moaned like a disgruntled phantom.
Amanda set off along the corridor, careful as to where she placed her feet, as sections of the carpeted floor were missing in places, and crackling power lines hung from broken grills in the ceiling. Debris had collected against the metal stanchions that lined the middle of the corridor, and had gathered in the doorways of shuttered-shops that looked as though they had been abandoned years ago.
Where the hell is everybody? she wondered, as she kicked her way through soda cans and hamburger wrappers and other detritus. People must have been here at some point, she reasoned.
Amanda came to a narrower corridor that lead off from the main thoroughfare. It was dimly lit, the lighting in the ceiling flickering and buzzing, the sound reminding her of a hornet trapped behind a window. She saw fire in the distance, burning in a trash can about two-hundred metres down. A figure was silhouetted against the orange flames.
Amanda looked back at the elevators. Maybe she should just go down to the lobby and take a taxi back to the station. She would wake up in the morning, in her apartment in the habs, and all this would be just a horrible dream.
"This is your dream, Amanda. We're in your head...all of us..."
The flickering firelight looked warm and safe - more tangible than anything else she had experienced this evening. She heard a noise coming from the ceiling above - a scraping sound like metal on metal, that then became a scurrying sound like vermin...only, whatever was making the noise, had to be much larger than a rat.
The wolves are gathering, she thought absently. Amanda hoped they were scared of fire.
The figure by the burning trash can was a man. He wore a long, dirty trenchcoat, and turned at Amanda's approach. He had a long face with a high forehead, and his hair was thick and dark. The lines in his face made him appear weary, but his black eyes shone with alertness and intelligence.
"I've been waiting for you, Amanda," he said. "Come and stand by me, next to the fire. They don't like the fire." He smiled. "My name is Rook."
Amanda moved to stand on the opposite side of the trash can to Rook, unconciously holding her hands up to the flames. "I'm tired, Rook," she said. "Which is strange since I keep getting told I'm asleep. Just tell me what's happening - no riddles, no bullshit...just the fucking truth."
"Okay," Rook said, his head snapping back as something clattered overhead. "I don't think we have much time, anyway."
"What's up there?" she said, jutting her chin at the ceiling.
"Those are the feral ones - the one's your mind doesn't know how to process - so it keeps them in the shadows. You can deal with your trauma more easily if you pretend they don't exist...but the threat they pose is very real."
"When I said no riddles - that included daytime TV psychobabble, Rook! Get to the point!"
"You're asleep - this is a dream. I'm just a manifestation of your concious mind that is desperately trying to wake you up," Rook said. "You need to escape the dream or you won't survive...your body is just going to shut down."
"So where am I - in the real world, I mean?"
"I can't say for certain, but your safe. You've been asleep for a very long time, and your physical body is resisting any attempts to revive you," Rook told her, his dark eyes reflecting the firelight. "You need to face your demons. You need to go into the club -Hadley's - and make it up to the roof."
"And then what happens?" Amanda sucked in a sharp breath as she felt a stabbing pain in her chest.
"You'll find your way to the light, Amanda." Rook said. "Go, now. Follow the corridor - you'll see it on your right-hand side. There is another who will help you. Find him, Amanda."
Amanda didn't want to leave the sanctuary of the warm flames. She wanted to curl up on the floor and go to sleep, just drift away into oblivion. She forced her legs, stiff like wood, to move her along the corridor. She heard a scream from behind, and turned to see Rook's thrashing legs dissapear up into a vent in the ceiling.
She ran. She ran towards the strange, electronic sounds and gut-shaking bass that came washing out of a doorway ahead. A white, neon sign read: Hadley's. Two men stood at the entrance.
"Not tonight," the taller of the two men said. He had a shaved head and an angular, hawk-like face. "Guests only. Come back next week."
"But I'm expected," Amanda said hopefully. "There's someone waiting for me inside."
"Nice try, kiddo," said the other man. He was dressed in slacks and a body-warmer. His hair was dark and curly, and he had a well practiced smile that Amanda found unsettling. "Guest list only tonight."
"Well, check the guest list then!" She yelled. The pain in her chest had subsided, but Amanda couldn't shake off the feeling of something moving inside her.
The man with the shaved head pulled a data-tab from his shirt pocket, the light from the screen giving his face an eerie glow. "Name?" he said.
Amanda thought for a moment, then answered: "Van Luewen."
The two men laughed. "That's impressive," said the man in the body-warmer. "Ten out of ten for effort."
"Look, just..." Amanda doubled over as the pain in her chest flared again.
"Probably high," said crew-cut. "Get outta here, lady."
"No, wait," the other man said, and came over to stand next to Amanda. "Just a second." The man placed a hand against Amanda's back, and then slid his other between her breasts, pushing the flat of his palm hard against her sternum. Amanda turned her head away, shaking with anger at the man's casual violation of her body. The man smiled his greasy smile, "I think we've got room for one more."
V
Amanda climbed a steep, narrow staircase, illuminated only by strips of tiny bulbs along the lip of each step, her feet sticking to the tacky carpeting. The air was damp and she could smell the sweet, cloying aroma of a cleaning product that was barely masking the stink of piss and vomit. She continued her ascent until she reached a small landing. There was a hatch to a cloakroom on the left, the woman behind it casually filing her nails. To the right was a bouncer, dressed in a suit and a long, black jacket. He opened a set of double doors and ushered Amanda inside.
The club was the size of a cavernous warehouse, and as hot as a furnace. Every breath Amanda took seared the back of her throat. Strobe lights pulsed and twirled, creating the effect of everything moving in slow-motion. If the music had been loud outside, in here, it was at the point of being physically debilitating. The sound from the speakers was a high-pitched keening - like whale song - underpinned with a diaphragm-crushing bass that phased in and out relentlessly...
'BWOOORG. . . BWOOORG . . . BWOOORG'
Along the ground was a layer of fog that snaked around her legs in tendrils. Amanda could see figures in the mist, most of them seated in cove-like booths along the walls. The place reminded her of a church - the old, gothic ones in Europa that she had seen images of at school. There was a blue, neon sign, unreadable in the haze, blinking over to her right. She pulled herself up onto one of the high-stools that lined a central partition. Further along, on the opposite side, she saw the orange glow of a cigarette, the smoker obscured by the imposing gloom.
She was considering lighting one herself, when a metallic hospitalty robot approached with a tray of drinks. She snatched up two of the fluted glasses (they were filled with a silver fluid, like mercury) and downed them both, one after the other. It was like she had just imbibed liquid nitrogen. Her veins swam with ice-water, and she enjoyed the brief respite from the oppressive heat, her head swimming pleasantly.
She let her eyes take in the rest of the nightclub. There were cylindrical podiums of varying heights, reaching up from the ground like stalagmites. People were stood on top of them, heads resting on their chests, their bodies appearing to be moving from the kinetic force of the 'music' alone.
There was a DJ in a raised pulpit at the centre of the building. Amanda couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman behind the screen, as they were wearing a clear, spherical helmet like a goldfish bowl, with tubes and wires trailing from it like tentacles. The person waved their arms like an evangelical preacher calling down the wrath of God.
It was then that she saw the gallery, directly above the DJ.
She saw creatures, large and malevolent. She saw what were undoubtably the things that had been up in the ceiling...the things that had taken Rook. The things that the strangers had been trying to warn her about.
They were huddled together, swaying like kelp caught in a current on the ocean floor. Their elongated craniums were oily-black, both absorbing and reflecting the light in equal measure. One of them raised it's head, and even from the this distance, Amanda could see rows of teeth like silver daggers. The creature looked like it was grinning.
A spotlight fell a podium only a few feet away from Amanda. The young woman in it's glare was barefoot, and wearing a white, knee-length dress, the blonde hair on her slumped head covering her face.
The awful music began to build again, and Amanda gripped the seat of her stool for fear of falling off. The woman in white began to shake violently. The intesity of the music inreased and the woman's head snapped back, the tendons in her neck straining against the skin. The bass shook the floor...
'BWOOORG . . BWOOORG . . . BWOOORG'
The woman's chest exploded outwards, the spray of blood glittering like rubies as it caught the light. The woman fell to her knees, and Amanda could see the pale, white bone of the poor girl's ribcage jutting out through the flesh. Something uncoiled itself from the steaming pile of viscera on the floor. It scampered down the podium and bolted into the darkness.
The creatures in the gallery erupted into a frenzy, quickly turning on one another. The music had become a tortured shriek, the scream of someone burning alive. Pressure was building behind Amanda's eyes and she slipped from the stool, fearing she was about to lose control of her bowels.
Something gripped her elbow, firm yet gentle. She looked up to see a man had taken hold of her arm. He had short hair, his face handsome, with a thin scar that bisected his lips. The man gave her a grim smile as he guided her away from the horrific carnage unfolding in the club.
He lead her through a door to a service corridor, and the din from the club subsided. She saw metal trolleys and discarded cardboard boxes piled up along the walls. "What was that?" Amanda said eventually. She coudn't decide whether to throw-up or shit herself. Her chest ached and her throat burned like hot ash.
"It's a ritual," the man said. "But I don't want you to worry about that now, Amanda."
"Do I know you?" Amanda wasn't suprised in the least that this man knew her name - everybody else did. Ironically, she wasn't convinced she even knew herself anymore.
"You will...one day," the man said, as they aproached a T-junction at the end of the corridor. He let go of arm and she followed him left, over to a dented, steel cabinet affixed to the wall. The man lifted a fire-axe from it's bracket and smashed the lock from the cabinet in one swing. He took out two matt-black guns from within the cupboard.
"What the hell are those?" Amanda asked him - although she feared she already knew the answer to her question.
"This is an M41A pulse rifle. Ten millimeter with over-and-under thirty millimeter pump action grenade launcher." he told her, passing Amanda one of the rifles. "Feel the weight."
It was lighter than she had expected, but it was cumbersome to hold. "I don't know how to use this!"
"It's not difficult," he said. Amanda could see the urgency in his eyes, but the man's voice remained calm and patient "Just pull it tight into your shoulder...that's it. Then just point it at the bad guys and squeeze the trigger. It's got some kick, so don't aim to high."
"I can't do this..." Amanda looked the man in the eyes. He seemd familiar. "Do you have a name?"
"We don't have time for names. We don't have time for anything much except getting you up onto the roof." The man set off towards an elevator at the end of the corridor. Amanda jogged to keep up, avoiding the power cables that snaked across the dirty, beige carpeting.
The man jabbed a button on the control panel of the elevator and then stepped back against the rear wall, pulling Amanda with him. "Come on!" he said, leaning forward to prod the button again. Something dropped from a vent in the ceiling down the corridor, landing with an almost feline grace. It was humanoid, as black as midnight, with a long tail that coiled up lazily behind it's back. The creature advanced towards them in a rapid, jerking motion.
Amanda fumbled with her weapon, but before she even had chance to aim, the man had started firing his own rifle. The noise in the enclosed space was deafening. She watched the creature dodge left and right, until finally, it burst apart in a spray of limbs and yellow blood. The walls and floor around the thing began to steam and hiss, the smell of melted plastic drifting into the elevator. The man jabbed the button again, and the doors grumbled in protest as they juddered shut.
"Acid for blood," the man said, as though he had read her mind. "Don't let them get close."
The rooftop was vast and empty, save for a handful of small utility buildings, and clumps of bristling antennae. Squalls of rain swirled across the roof's flat surface, turning the cityscape beyond into an abstract, watercolour painting.
"What now?" Amanda said.
"Should be here any second!" the man shouted over the noise of the wind. "Come on, we need to get clear of these antennae!"
Amanda felt the rainwater soaking into her shoes as they crossed the rooftop. She could only imagine at how ridiculous she must have looked - dressed in evening wear, carrying a handbag over one shoulder and a military rifle in the other.
They took shelter against a brick wall with a plastic overhang, as the man scanned the night sky, shielding his eyes from the rain. "It's here!" he said. Amanda followed the direction of the man's gaze. She saw a star, brighter than the others, and getting brighter and larger by the second. She saw something in her peripheral vision.
"Over there!" she cried. One of the creatures was pulling itself out of one of the ribbed, metal exhausts that littered the roof. It's body, shrouded in steam from the vent, gleamed like molten ebony.
"They're coming," the man said. And he was right. The creatures were everywhere now, appearing out of the shadows like stalking nightmares. "Pick a target!"
The muzzle of the man's weapon flared orange as he opened fire on the monsters, spent cartridges clattering on the floor around him. Amanda pulled the weapon up to her shoulder, trained it on one of the things and squeezed the trigger. She staggered backwards at the kick from the weapon, the front of the gun rearing up to fire at nothing but the sky.
"Short, controlled burts," he told her, as he sent another stream of rounds into the darkness. Amanda tried again, targeting a creature that had managed to get within fifty metres of them. She felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she fired, and then a sense of breathless elation as the creature gave a tortured squeal before Amanda's bullets tore it to shreds.
Overhead, there came the whine of powerful engines, and Amanda saw an armoured transport descend through the storm. It was squat, with a forked tail at the rear. She crouched down as the ship opened fire with it's own weapons. The sound was like the scream of an industrial drill against granite, and white-hot tracer fire licked out in a constant stream towards the monsters. The rooftop became a warzone in the blink of an eye as the ship's guns ripped apart everything in their path. She heard the pitiful screeching of the monsters as they were vapourised by the death-bringer overhead.
"This way!" the man said, and he dragged her towards a set of ladders fixed against the brick wall of a raised platform. "You go first!"
Amanda slung the strap of the rifle over her shoulder and began to climb, her fingers struggling for grip on the the metal rungs slick with rain water. Amanda hauled herself up onto the platform, almost getting blown straight back off again by the hot wash from the transport's engines, the ship sat hunched and idling before her.
She looked back down at the stairwell to see the stranger following her up the ladder. "Don't wait for me!" he yelled. "Get to the ship!"
"No, come on!" She reached an arm down towards him, and as the man stretched out his own hand his jaw suddenly clenched in a rictus of pain. With their fingertips only inches apart, Amanda watched, helplessly, as a gout of blood erupted from the man's mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head. The man who had saved her - the man who's name she would never know - was yanked back down the ladder like a ragdoll.
Amanda cursed into the howling wind, pushing herself to her feet and turning to run towards the transport. A ramp had descended at the rear of the ship, and a woman dressed in military fatigues was waving her over with her free hand, the other holding a rifle at her hip. The female soldier grabbed Amanda and dragged her into the transport. "Clear!" the woman shouted into the mic attached to her helmet. "Immediate dust-off!"
Amanda gripped onto a section of cargo-webbing as the ship lurched into the air, spinning in a lazy circle as it did so. As the rear door began to close, she saw the creatures swarming over the spot on which she had just been standing. She heard the whine of the ships guns as they unleashed their fury on the monsters. She saw the skyscapers of Dolonine in the distance, obscured by the smog and the rain.
"You did good, kid," the soldier told her - although she must have been ten years Amanda's junior. "Let's get you strapped in." The ship bucked in turbulent air, and Amanda realised they must be passing through the 'Dome'.
She took a seat as the woman knelt before her and opened up a plastic medical bag. "I'm just going to -"
"No," Amanda said, cutting her off.
"It's just a precaution," the soldier told her, gently squeezing Amanda's knee.
"No," Amanda said again. A pressure was building in her chest, like floodwater behind a dam (she'd gotten so close...so fucking close). Choking hot tears down her throat, Amanda leant towards the woman and whispered, "Kill me."
The soldier yelled something into her helmet mic, but Amanda didn't hear what it was. Her entire upper body felt as though it were about to burst. A thumping started in her ribcage - a peverse imitation of her own heartbeat. She spasmed violently, her back arching at such an angle that she thought (hoped, maybe?), her spine would snap. She heard the dull crack of her ribs breaking. She swam in a sea of pain that she had never known before...and, thankfully, never would again.
She screamed as the creature tore itself free from her chest.
x x x
She bolted upright, clasping a hand to her breast, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Her skin was dripping with sweat, and her bedclothes were saturated.
The terror of the dream slowly subsided, and she blinked away the sleep from her eyes, gradually coming to recognise her room at the infirmary on Gateway Station. Monitors beeped, and tubes with probing needles quickly administered calming drugs into her bloodstream. Beyond the windows she saw the blue-green curve of Earth, shrouded in drifting white clouds. There came a soft chime, and the monitor next to her bed flickered into life to reveal a woman in a nurses' uniform. "Bad dreams again?" the nurse asked her. "I'll get something to help you sleep."
"No," said Ellen Louise Ripley, last survivor of the Nostromo. She just about managed to work an air of defiance into her voice before she spoke again. "I've slept enough."