Hudson: [puts his rifle against Burke's head] I say we grease this rat-fuck son-of-a-bitch right now.
Hicks: It just doesn't make any goddamn sense.
Ripley: He figured that he could get an alien back through quarantine, if one of us was... impregnated... whatever you call it, and then frozen for the trip home. Nobody would know about the embryos we were carrying... me and Newt.
Hicks: Wait a minute, now... we'd all know.
Ripley: Yes. The only way he could do it is if he sabotaged certain freezers on the way home... namely, yours. Then he could jettison the bodies and make up any story he liked.
Hudson: Fuck. He's dead. You're dog-meat, pal!
Burke: This is so nuts. I mean, listen - listen to what you're saying. It's paranoid delusion. How - It's really sad. It's pathetic.
Ripley: You know, Burke, I don't know which species is worse. You don't see them fucking each other over for a goddamn percentage.
Hicks: All right, we waste him. No offense.
Ripley: No. He's gotta go back.