Chapter Text
What was it worth? The fight to stay alive, to barely escape from death and return home. There she would be, her little sunshine enveloped in her arms.
“Mommy!” she would say. It drove her to live—to survive. Her adrenaline has never taken hold of her so strongly. Her body lit on fire, her limbs light and nimble, her mind so clear and sharp.
Ripley fought for her future. And in her vision, Amanda was the whole of it. That was it. Ripley fought for her. She fought for Amanda.
Special Order 937 may have told her the crew was expendable, but Ripley believed no life was. In that white room with Mother, she realized that day could be her last. She sat immobilized watching as the green cursor flickered across the display.
Blink. Blink. It pattered with her heart.
Her obligations exceeded the simple leash she held on her crew. Her concerns shifted from keeping them in line, to keeping them in line behind her. Ripley, a shield of her own. And at the first warning: Kane chosen by a parasite—Ripley sought to keep him in quarantine. Keep him safe and keep the crew safe.
Everyone can have their dreams. Because the only one who managed to survive was Ripley.
A heavy weight hung over her. The sensation that she was next. What unsettled her was the silence of each death. Each crew member plucked off, one by one, without her notice. The only indication of their death was their absence.
Fear animated her limbs like string, except its puppeteering steered her away from anything useful. It would freeze her, demean her, and weaken her.
Maybe she was too hard on herself. She always was. But there was a time she felt it was justified. She felt weak then—against Ash. Ripley was reminded of her lack of muscle and that she was a woman. The very thing she tried to reduce. What did being a woman have to do with being a Warrant Officer? Nothing. But on a crew full of men and with her title it meant she had to carry her weight. Against the android, well. It meant she could only lose. No matter how hard she fought.
She thought she was going to die when Ash shoved the rolled magazine down her mouth. His eyes, she would never forget how they looked. They were devoid of soul, glassy like a doll’s and hollow like a puppet’s. Her arms pushed against his, but he was might as well have been a wall. All her strength, no matter how futile it felt, went to keeping her consciousness upright. To last just a bit longer for someone to help.
“You are my lucky star,” she chanted to herself, her voice resonating in her mind.
Ripley affirms again. “My lucky star.” The lyrics are like a spell.
“My lucky star,” she sang to Amanda when she was holed up in her blankets, too scared to sleep. Ripley would make her daughter’s toys come to life, her teddy bear or doll. They would say words of affirmation and talk in silly voices, all carried out through loving hands and a creative imagination. When that didn’t work, her song did. “My lucky star.” She wrapped Amanda in her arms, consoling her with gentle whispers. Her words were strong enough for her daughter to find courage. The song a chant her daughter sang. And Ripley would sing it again, and again.
Now she sat on a crate on the escape shuttle panting. She was beaten and disheveled.
Her body still aches from when Ash tossed her around. Bruises of purple and blue were proof.
Her heart still pounds. It could rip through her chest if it weren’t for the vessels that tethered it.
Her breath still quick. The xenomorph curled in the ship’s walls instills more fear.
Ripley grit her teeth and bit back a cry. Everything in her body told her to run and hide, but there was no hiding. There was only ‘fight.’
“My lucky lucky lucky star,” she said in squeezed breaths. Her whole body trembled as she anchored herself to the ship, eyes locked on the alien. Her hands shook despite her chant, but she remained focused. The goal was in front of her: survive and see Amanda. Only, she just had to get this thing out of the way.
Puffs of air rose from tired lips. Ripley’s face was blotchy with red blooms and shiny from sweat. Curls stuck to her face. The rest of her body felt cumbersome, but she was veiled in some type of mirage. Adrenaline made her believe she was light and quick despite reality saying otherwise.
In her adrenaline, Ripley was fortunate to find a harpoon gun, and fortunate the ship even had one. She timed herself, a gentle brush against the trigger, a blast of icy air to lure the xenomorph out of hiding.
With her eye on the perfect shot, Ripley opened the hatch and watched as the hook knocked the creature out. Like a roach that never quits, it clung on. It’s no problem for Ripley, she’s the one who doesn’t quit. The alien loses hold as the ignition’s flames blast it off.
And like that everything goes quiet. There’s no noise, only the sensation of pure nothing. Ripley stares out of the airlock to watch the specs of stars that glimmer. The tension subsides and her heart settles. When she’s gotten her fix she closes the hatch with a resolute click.
It’s done and over.
A melancholy cloud hovers. This bittersweet feeling of surviving while bearing the weight of being the survivor wasn’t pleasant at all.
She resumes where she was before the terror was on the ship. Shedding off the suit, left in nothing but her underwear. She had already torn off the rest of her clothes, each garment a soiled memory. As they were removed, so did the weight of what happened. The same was said for the space suit, it now carried a new experience she was happy to shed.
She craned her head up with shut eyes. Fatigue tested her will to stand up straight. She sighed and brushed hair from her forehead. One lone human on an escape shuttle, stripped of her nightmares. There was only her. Not even a distant Nostromo. Simply Ripley. Just Ripley.
She stepped into her hypersleep chamber, lips quirked up at the sight of Jonesy curled in slumber. She gets comfortable alongside the cat and closes her eyes. Her eyelids fall with ease; there’s the proof of her exertion, her determination.
She’ll sleep, for what she hopes will be a minimal amount of time. Perhaps just in time for Amanda’s eleventh birthday. Before she completely separates from the waking world, she recounts her flight recorder message. She had recorded it with a heavy heart and finished it with a quiet plea. Let this be found. For now, the escape shuttle’s lights flicker. Its machine parts buzz and pieces click.
“This is for my daughter. Hi, Amanda. I’m recording this for you, my sweetheart, and I hope you get to hear it one day. You see I...I got into trouble. My ship. There was an accident, sweetheart, and we found an alien creature. It was very dangerous. And the only way we could stop it was to destroy the ship. I’m okay. I’m stuck on this life boat. Long way out. But we had to destroy the ship. We had to destroy the Nostromo. We just couldn’t risk bringing that thing home with us. I needed to protect you. Don’t worry. Don’t worry about me. I'm sure I’ll see you very soon. I love you, sweetheart.”
Ripley’s consciousness dwindles as fatigue lulls her into sleep, and her chamber into hypersleep. She couldn’t remember if you could dream in that state. She can’t remember if she ever had. But she hopes she dreams of Amanda, just this once, before she sees her again. Let the world be kinder this time.