Ripley: Ash. Any suggestions from you or Mother?
Ash: No, we're still collating.
Ripley: [laughing in disbelief] You're what? You're still collating? I find that hard to believe.
Ash: What would you like me to do?
Ripley: Just what you've been doing, Ash: nothing.
Ripley: Ash, can you hear me?
[slams her hands down on the table]
Ash: [awakens and starts speaking in an electronic and distorted voice] Yes, I can hear you.
Ripley: What was your special order?
Ash: You read it. I thought it was clear.
Ripley: What was it?
Ash: Bring back life form. Priority One. All other priorities rescinded.
Parker: The damn company. What about our lives, you son of a bitch?
Ash: I repeat, all other priorities are rescinded.
Ripley: How do we kill it, Ash? There's gotta be a way of killing it. How? How do we do it?
Ash: You can't.
Parker: That's bullshit.
Ash: You still don't understand what you're dealing with, do you? Perfect organism. Its structural perfection is matched only by its hostility.
Lambert: You admire it.
Ash: I admire its purity. A survivor... unclouded by conscience, remorse, or delusions of morality.
Parker: Look, I am... I've heard enough of this, and I'm asking you to pull the plug.
[Ripley goes to disconnect Ash, who interrupts]
Ash: Last word.
Ash: I can't lie to you about your chances, but... you have my sympathies.
Ripley: Ash, that transmission... Mother's deciphered part of it. It doesn't look like an S.O.S.
Ash: What is it, then?
Ripley: Well, I... it looks like a warning. I'm gonna go out after them.
Ash: What's the point? I mean by the-the time it takes to get there, you'll... they'll know if it's a warning or not, yes?
Ripley: Come on, Ash. I mean, the Science Department should be able to help us. What can we do to drive it?
Ash: Yes, well, it's adapted remarkably well to our atmosphere considering its nutritional requirements. The only thing we don't know about is temperature.
Ripley: Okay, what about temperature? What happens if we change it?
Ash: Let's try it. I mean most animals retreat from fire, yes?
Dallas: Fire, yeah.
Ripley: Did you ever ship out with Ash before?
Dallas: I went out five times with another science officer. They replaced him two days before we left Thedus with Ash. Hm?
Ripley: I don't trust him.
Dallas: Well, I don't trust anybody.
Ripley: Micro changes in air density, my ass.
Ripley: Open the door!
Ripley: [Ash is observing the facehugger] That's amazing. What is it?
Ash: Uh, yes, it is. Um. I don't know yet. Did you want something?
Ripley: Yes, I, uh... have a little talk. How's, uh, how's Kane?
Ash: He's holding, no changes.
Ripley: And, uh, our guest?
Ash: Well, as I said, I'm still... collating, actually, but uh, I have confirmed that he's got an outer layer of protein polysaccharides. Has a funny habit of shedding his cells and replacing them with polarized silicon, which gives him a prolonged resistance to adverse environmental conditions. Is that enough?
Ripley: That's plenty. What does it mean?
[Ripley bends down to look through the micro-scanner]
Ash: Please don't do that. Thank you.
Ripley: I'm sorry.
Ash: Well, it's an interesting combination of elements making him a... tough little son-of-a-bitch.
Ripley: And you let him in.
Ash: I was obeying a direct order. Remember?
Ripley: Ash. When Dallas and Kane are off the ship, I'm Senior Officer.
Ash: Oh, yes. I forgot.
Ripley: You also forgot the Science Division's basic quarantine law.
Ash: No, that I didn't forget.
Ripley: Oh, I see. You just broke it, hm?
Ash: Look, what would you have done with Kane, hm? You know his only chance of survival was to get him in here.
Ripley: Unfortunately, by, uh, breaking quarantine, you risk everybody's life.
Ash: Maybe I should have left him outside. Maybe I've jeopardized the rest of us, but it was a risk I was willing to take.
Ripley: That's a pretty big risk for a Science Officer. It's, uh, not exactly out of the manual, is it?
Ash: I do take my responsibilities as seriously as you, you know. You do your job and let me do mine, yes?
Ripley: [nervously eyeing Alien while she pushes buttons] You are my lucky star. You... Lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky.
Ripley: This is commercial towing vehicle Nostromo out of the Solomons, registration number 1-8-0-niner-2-4-6-0-niner. Calling Antarctica traffic control. Do you read me? Over.