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- Алан Дин Фостер
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’
Parker
?
’
Ripley
spoke
anxiously
into
the
pickup
,
jabbed
a
switch
,
adjusted
a
slide
.
’
Parker
?
What
’
s
happening
down
there
?
’
Her
attention
was
caught
by
a
green
light
winking
steadily
on
her
console
.
’
What
’
s
going
on
?
’
Lambert
leaned
out
of
her
seat
.
’
Did
it
work
?
’
’
I
’
m
not
sure
.
The
inner
hatch
is
scaled
and
the
outer
hatch
has
been
popped
.
’
’
That
should
do
it
.
But
what
about
Parker
?
’
’
I
don
’
t
know
.
I
can
’
t
get
a
response
out
of
him
.
If
it
worked
,
he
should
be
screaming
fit
to
bust
the
speakers
.
’
She
made
a
decision
.
’
I
’
m
going
down
to
see
.
Take
over
.
’
She
slipped
out
of
her
chair
,
raced
for
B
corridor
.
She
nearly
fell
a
couple
of
times
.
Once
she
stumbled
into
a
bulkhead
and
nearly
knocked
herself
out
.
Somehow
she
kept
her
balance
and
staggered
on
.
The
alien
was
not
uppermost
in
her
mind
.
It
was
Parker
,
another
human
being
.
A
rare
enough
commodity
on
board
the
Nostromo
now
.
She
raced
down
the
companionway
onto
B
corridor
,
headed
up
toward
the
airlock
.
It
was
empty
,
except
for
a
limp
form
sprawled
across
the
deck
:
Parker
.
She
bent
over
him
.
He
was
groggy
and
half
conscious
.
’
What
happened
?
You
look
like
hell
.
Did
.
.
?
’
The
engineer
was
trying
to
form
words
,
had
to
settle
for
gesturing
feebly
toward
the
airlock
.
Ripley
shut
up
,
looked
in
the
indicated
direction
,
saw
the
bubbling
hole
in
the
lock
door
.
The
outer
hatch
was
still
open
,
ostensibly
after
blowing
the
alien
out
into
nothingness
.
She
started
to
rise
.
