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]

Ripley: Ash?

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 All other priorities rescinded.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Ash: I repeat, all other priorities are rescinded.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.

Ripley: What?

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: Um.

Ripley: Hm?

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.