Work Text:
Liminal Spaces and Destinations Unknown
“So, you can see here, there are the standard six berths you’d expect for the crew of a ship this size, and each even has its own door for privacy. I know the quarters are a bit on the small size, but I’m sure you’ll agree the common spaces more than make up for…”
The words flowing in one ear and out the other, Ripley walked the hall separating the hold from the crew quarters on the small cargo hauler she was almost convinced would be the one she’d settle on, not that she was letting Williams in on that fact just yet. The station head – and she used ‘station’ very generously given the pitiful state of this particular repair and supply hub out in the back of beyond – was slimy enough that she figured she’d want a shower after they finished negotiations.
Assuming the shower units in this little tub were functioning. And assuming they could afford the exorbitant prices of the water rations here. She made a mental note to add an extra day’s cycle to their “moving” time off of the Sulaco with its fully stocked tanks to whichever ship they traded it for.
Up ahead, Williams continued nattering on about this “feature” or that, desperately trying his best to make the hauler look anywhere near enough of a score to trade for a ship the size of the Sulaco, even in its damaged state and with its questionable title notwithstanding.
Ripley didn’t feel guilty about ignoring the man, any more than she felt guilty about appearing to ignore Hicks trailing behind her with Newt up in his arms, the perfect picture of a father and daughter. No, ignoring that particular sight was better for her focus right about now. And she didn’t need to pay attention to Williams, not when she’d crewed on a hauler very like this one some two jobs before signing on with the Nostromo. She knew what to look out for, where lazy crews could easily half-ass repairs or jury rig “expert” modifications in a way that would leave a ship crippled in the void. Which, she didn’t doubt, had been a part of leaving this one stranded here on a place like this.
In the aftermath of the xenomorph queen and the hell they’d left behind on LV-426, after tending all of their hurts and disabling the Sulaco’s company beacon though a mix of voice commands from Bishop and clumsy attempts at assistance from Dwayne and Newt, Ripley’d set a course for this out of the way, old enough as to be just shy of derelict, waystation she remembered from the old days on the Nostromo and that the Sulaco’s computer confirmed was still functional and open to those seeking repairs or trade if desperate.
And they were, of course, desperate.
She wasn’t quite surprised no one had argued with her suggestion; Newt had admitted she had no extended family left, and Hicks – Dwayne, she reminded herself with a soft smile – didn’t expect anything good of reporting back to Command as the only survivor of his entire squad even with the injuries he’d sustained to prove what it had taken to survive. Honestly, she’d worried most about Bishop – Weyland-Yutani’s loyalty programming in their androids ran deep. But Bishop had only paused momentarily as he worked to hook himself into what he’d told her was an automated nanite-driven repair unit, and gave her a painfully sorrowful smile.
“Hudson was better with computers than anyone ever gave him credit for. He and I shared concerns that certain company commands might directly conflict with my most central programming. When altering the problematic coding proved impossible, he simply removed it.” Bishop’s cheek twitched, and he turned away, back to the task at hand. She’d started to turn away and leave him to it when he spoke again, almost too quietly for her to hear. “If he hadn’t, company priorities would have been to save the investment – the equipment. I’d have never come back for any of you.”
Ripley hadn’t asked him about it again, not wanting to hear any more of that edge of bitter self-loathing in his voice. She hoped it was the right decision. Dwayne had been under the influence of too many pain meds at that point for her to consult him in too much detail, and in any case, he’d trusted Bishop long before Ripley had known either one of them. Trusted Hudson too, she guessed, even with that soldier’s tendency toward dramatics. She hadn’t considered it before, how an android might feel so out of control, driven by conflicting programming, forced into actions they might otherwise wish to avoid.
She didn’t want to consider it any further. Not now. Maybe not ever.
In any case, she was too grateful now for Bishop, both due to his actions during the shitshow, and now with his expertise available to them just when they needed it, both back on the Sulaco, where he was carefully doctoring the records and auditing the supplies and parts they’d be keeping, and soon on whichever ship they chose, adding his eyes to hers when it came to kicking the tires, so to speak.
Ripley made another mental note to see what capability this hauler had for interfacing with an android, even one in the shape Bishop was currently in. Honestly, the damage to him had helped sell their identities as freelance salvage collectors, the kind that would have jumped on a find like the Sulaco and could easily be mistaken for regular folks instead of Company hires and Colonial Marines.
Behind her, the soft tread of a boot and a tug on her shirt sleeve warned her that Hicks and Newt had come up behind her, closer than they’d followed as yet. She smiled down at Newt who still had her hand wrapped in the fabric of Ripley’s sleeve. “Yes, honey?”
Newt blinked, then bit her lip, some of her initial shyness back on the colony still remaining even after the week awake on board the Sulaco for their performance of a limping final approach of the station. She let go and pointed to the crew quarters just to the right of their little cluster, one whose door Williams had left open to “display.” Ripley had no doubts it would be in far better shape than the other still closed berths.
“Would that one be my room?” New finally asked, her voice soft.
Ripley turned around to wrap her arm just above Dwayne’s where it held the little girl on his hip, turning them into a unit as they all surveyed the small room – honestly not much more than a bunk above storage with just enough space next to it for one to stand upright assuming said storage wasn’t open. They’d have to pack the drawers either from the bunk itself or leaning in from the doorway. Still, it wasn’t the smallest such space Ripley’d seen.
And hell, even on the comparatively massive Sulaco, the Marines like Dwayne had only had a locker and a single shared bunk room for the whole squad. This much privacy was damn near luxurious.
Ripley glanced at Dwayne and found him smiling consideringly, likely sharing her opinion. Ripley let herself smile down at Newt and run a hand over her hair. “If we choose this ship, it certainly could be. We could decorate it up nice with some of your pictures taped to that wall. Maybe even get a pretty quilt and some pillows next place we stop. Would you like it if it was your room?”
“Affirmative,” Newt said, in the way that inevitably had Dwayne grinning down at her adoringly.
Ripley chuckled and smoothed Newt’s hair down again. “Well good to know. We’ll keep that in mind when we make our choice.”
She turned and continued down the hallway, opening the doors Williams had avoided and determining that yes, yes that berth had been in much better shape than these. They’d have to work in some time to clean and repair the others into their contract as well before they moved in.
It was sad that this still was the best of the available options so far. Ripley shook her head as she looked at the sixth and final set of quarters.
“Mrs. Hicks? Mrs. Hicks, are you ready to check out the common areas or not?”
A nudge to her shoulder shook Ripley out of her reverie, and she glanced back to see Dwayne nod deliberately in Williams’s direction. She blinked and turned to their guide. “I’m sorry – what were you saying?”
Williams tried to hide an impatient scowl, but failed miserably. “I was asking, Mrs. Hicks, if you were ready to move on to the common areas.”
Ripley blinked, struck not for the first time by the sense of giddy pleasure at being referred to that way. It had been Bishop’s idea that she and Hicks pose as a married couple with their young daughter. At the time, it had seemed sensible, just one more way to separate them from their true identities.
And yet, nothing about it felt sensible. It felt like something Ripley wanted almost more than she could bear to think about.
Still, as far as Williams knew, Ripley was the long-married pilot and captain of their little crew. That Mrs. Hicks wouldn’t bat an eyelash over her married name, now would she?
With that in mind, she all but wrapped her persona back around her and gestured for the station head to lead on.
Mrs. Hicks. It wasn’t that different from who she really was, after all, aside from the name and the lack of marital benefits, so to speak.
A lack at least for now. A girl could hope after all.