My mommy always said
there were no monsters.
No real ones.
But there are.
She's perfect.
Careful.
Two centimetres.
Yeah. Ready with that amnio.
And...
there it is.
But be careful.
Jesus!
Clamp.
What about her? Can we keep her alive?
How's the host?
Doing well.
Sew her back up.
Excellent work. Everybody.
- How is our Number Eight today?
- Appears to be in good health.
- How good?
- Excellent.
As in completely off our projected charts.
Look at the scar tissue.
See the recession?
- This is from three days ago?
- Exactly.
Well, this is good.
This is very good.
You're gonna make us all very proud.
Don't! I'm all right!
Now try this.
- Hand.
- Close.
Glove.
Number Eight?
- Fruit.
- Good. Cherries.
- It's unprecedented.
- Totally.
She's operating at
a completely adult capacity.
- What about her memories?
- There are gaps.
Some degree of synaptic dissonance.
She's freaked.
It has difficulties, caused by a biochemical
imbalance, causing emotional autism...
Wait a second. It has memories!
Why does it have memories?
I'm guessing, but inherited memories,
passed down generationally by the aliens,
like its strength.
Plus a highly evolved form of instinct.
Of course.
An unexpected benefit of the genetic process!
I didn't even think of that!
Let's try this one.
Ripley?
Ripley?
Ripley, what is it?
Ripley? Ripley?
- You're not thinking termination?
- Oh, boy, am I!
General, this is not a problem.
Ellen Ripley died
trying to wipe this species out.
For all intents and purposes, she succeeded.
I don't want her taking up old hobbies.
- That won't happen.
- We won't tell her.
Oh, I see. And that's supposed to comfort me.
Identification, please.
Please try again.
Thank you, General Perez.
The bottom line is, she looks at me funny
one time, I'm putting her down.
OK, as far as I'm concerned
Number Eight is a meat by-product.
Her Majesty here is the real payoff.
- When does she start producing?
- Days.
Less, maybe.
- We need the cargo.
- I told you, it's on its way.
Fork.
- Fuck.
- It's a fork.
How did you...
How did we get you?
Yes.
Hard work. We used blood samples,
from Fiori 16, on ice.
Where you died.
We've remade you. We cloned you.
Fiori 16.
Does that ring a bell?
Are you remembering something?
Does it grow?
Yeah. Very rapidly.
- It's a queen.
- How did you know that?
She'll breed.
You'll die.
Everyone in the company will die.
In the company?
Weyland-Yutani.
Ripley Eight's former employers.
A terran growth conglomerate. They had
defence contracts under the military.
They went under decades ago, Gediman.
Way before your time.
Bought out by Wal-Mart.
Fortunes of war.
I think you will find that things have
changed a great deal since your time.
I doubt that.
We're not flying blind. This is United Systems
Military, not some greedy corporation.
Well, it won't make any difference.
You're still gonna die.
How do you feel about that?
I wish you understood
what we're trying to do.
The potential for this species goes beyond
urban pacification: New alloys, new vaccines.
Nothing like this
we've ever seen on any world.
You should be very proud.
I am.
And the animal itself,
wondrous.
The potential, unbelievable.
Once we've tamed him.
Roll over? Play dead?
Heel?
You can't teach it tricks.
Why not? We're teaching you.
Hey, son, I'll give you
my authorisation code.
It's E-A-T-M-E.
Could you repeat that?
Little prick.
You know, no matter
how many times you see it,
the sight of a woman all strapped up
in a chair like thatjust...
What?
Just bring us in on a 3-0 descent.
And ride the parallel.
- Darling, it is done.
- Good girl.
You want anything?
Hm, yeah. How about a cup of coffee?
Anything else while your mouth's warm?
A little milk.
Hey, don't cut thrust till about 600 metres.
We'll give 'em a little scare.
Vriess! Call!
Goddamn, we're gonna die!
- Hey, Call?
- Yeah?
What has two thumbs, one eye,
a