Чужой
I
’Where’sEarth?’
Examininghisownscreencarefully,Kanediscernedblacknessspeckledwithstarsandlittleelse.Grantingthepossibilitythatthey’demergedfromhyperspacetoosoon,thehomesystematleastshouldbeclearonthescreen.ButSolwasasinvisibleastheexpectedEarth.
’You’rethenavigator,Lambert.Youtellme.’
Therewasacentralsunfixedsquarelyinthemiddleofthemultiplescreens.Butitwasn’tSol.Thecolourwaswrong,andcomputer-enhanceddotsorbitingitwereworsethanwrong.Theywereimpossible,improperofshape,ofsize,ofnumber.
’That’snotoursystem,’Ripleyobservednumbly,givingvoicetotheobvious.
’Maybethetrouble’sjustourorientation,notthatofthestars.’Kanedidn’tsoundveryconvincing,eventohimself.’Shipshavebeenknowntocomeoutofhyperspaceass-backwardtotheirintendeddestinations.ThatcouldbeCentauri,attopamplification.Solmightbebehindus.Let’stakeascanbeforewedoanypanicking.’HedidnotaddthatthesystemvisibleonthescreensresembledthatofCentauriaboutasmuchasitdidthatofSol.
SealedcamerasonthebatteredskinoftheNostromobegantomovesilentlyinthevacuumofspace,huntingthroughinfinityforhintsofawarmEarth.SecondarycamerasontheNostromo’scargo,amonstrousaggregationofbulkyformsandmetalshapes,contributedtheirownlineofsight.
