The Complete Alien Omnibus by Alan Dean Foster

Author:Alan Dean Foster [Foster, Alan Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Fiction, General, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9780751506679
Publisher: Warner Books
Published: 1993-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

In the Operations bay Ripley peered over Gorman’s right

shoulder, and Burke around the other, while Newt tried to

squeeze in from behind. Despite all the video wizardry the

lieutenant could command, none of the individual suit cameras

provided a clear picture of what the troops were seeing.

‘Try the low end gain,’ Burke suggested.

‘I did that first thing, Mr. Burke. There’s an awful lot of

interference down there. The deeper they go, the more junk

their signals have to get through, and those suit units don’t put

out much power. What’s an atmosphere processing station’s

interior built out of, anyway?’

‘Carbon-fibre composites and silica blends up top wherever

possible, for strength and lightness. A lot of metallic glass in

the partitions. Foundations and sublevels don’t have to be so

fancy. Concrete and steel floors with a lot of titanium alloy

thrown in.’

Gorman was unable to contain his frustration as he fiddled

futilely with his instruments. ‘If the emergency power was out

and the station shut down, I’d be getting clearer reception, but

then they’d be advancing with nothing but suit lights to guide

them. It’s a trade-off.’ He shook his head as he studied the

blurred images and leaned toward the pickup.

‘We’re not making that out too well ahead of you. What is it?’

Static garbled Hudson’s voice as well as the view provided by

his camera. ‘You tell me. I only work here.’

The lieutenant looked back at Burke. ‘Your people build

that?’

The Company rep leaned toward the row of monitors,

squinting at the dim images being relayed back from the

bowels of the atmosphere-processing station.

‘Hell, no.’

‘Then you don’t know what it is?’

‘I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.’

‘Could the colonists have added it?’

Burke continued to stare, finally shook his head. ‘If they did,

they improvised it. That didn’t come out of any station

construction manual.’

Something had been added to the latticework of pipes and

conduits that crisscrossed the lowest level of the processing

station. There was no question that it was the result of design

and purpose, not some unknown industrial accident. Visibly

damp and lustrous in spots, the peculiar material that had been

used to construct the addition resembled a solidified liquid

resin or glue. In places light penetrated the material to a depth

of several centimetres, revealing a complex internal structure.

At other locations the substance was opaque. What little colour

it displayed was muted: greens and grays, and here and there a

touch of some darker green.

Intricate chambers ranged in size from half a metre in

diameter to a dozen metres across, all interconnected by strips

of fragile-looking webwork that on closer inspection turned

out to be about as fragile as steel cable. Tunnels led off deeper

into the maze while peculiar conical pits dead-ended in the

floor. So precisely did the added material blend with the existing

machinery that it was difficult to tell where human

handiwork ended and something of an entirely different

nature began. In places the addition almost mimicked existing

station equipment, though whether it was imitation with a

purpose or merely blind duplication, no one could tell.

The whole gleaming complex extended as far back into

C-level as the trooper’s cameras could penetrate. Although it

filled every available empty space, the epoxy-like incrustation

did not appear to have in any way impaired the functioning of

the station.

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