There was no noise, no sound of anything other than his own breathing. No thump as he walked no hum of engines from the ship. Nothing. Only the long, gunmetal hull stretching out into the distant stars and blackness and the gentle glow of light from the portholes.

Corporal Mark Travis was on the hull of the USS Iroquois. Corporal Travis was the ships' mechanic and engineer; a non-com stuck with some of the toughest, most 'bad-ass' hard-nuts in the galaxy. And, right at this moment in time, he absolutely hated them. It didn't seem to matter that Travis was a Colonial Marine, too. To them, he was a POG, a Person Other than Grunt and that was all that mattered. But it wasn't they who had been wakened from cryo' to fix this damn problem.

Travis crouched, rather awkwardly, in his EVA suit over the damaged panel he had been sent to fix. It was affecting the comms array dish on the dorsal of the ship, making the mass of antennas and aerials stretching from Iroquois' nose useless for the moment. Travis fiddled with some wires, used a plasma torch on part of the panel, and then replaced the covering. Done, in about five minutes work. Kind of made the twenty minute wake up time, the fifteen minutes finding out what the problem was, then another half an hour gearing up, seem a little superfluous. All from a thumb sized rock hitting the panel at the wrong angle.

With a sigh, Corporal Travis slowly made his way back to the airlock.

The Iroquois had been sent out from Marine Space Force Eridani, Headquartered at Helene 215, almost four weeks ago. Aboard was a full platoon of the 104th Marine regiment, 2nd USCM Division. They were answering a distress call from one of the Weyland Yutani colonies, and the silence from a nearby research station in the same system, owned by the ever-present Company. WY had paid well, so the USCMC had sent some of its best.

Travis thought on the size of the force being sent out as he walked through the ship towards the mess. A full platoon, along with the necessary pilots and mechanics from his own 24th Squadron of the 3rd Aerospace Wing to pilot and service the transports. That was a lot of firepower and hardware for a distress call and investigation mission. But, he supposed, this would be the norm from now on. Any distress call in the outer colonies was to be answered like this now. More serious situations could even be responded to with a full Company and additional support elements. But as this was simply a settlement requesting some security presence due to civil unrest it only required enough firepower to level half a city, and not the full thing.

Travis felt a little shiver go up his back regardless as he sat with a tray of food in the empty, eerie mess hall. Travis was in his late twenties, with dark hair and shining Emerald eyes. He was well built, as were most marines. Also, being a grease monkey, there were times he'd had to do a lion's share of manual work. Travis wasn't an ugly man, but he wasn't the best looking kid on the block either. He was just a normal, REMF marine.

The corporal considered going back to the cryo chamber and settling in for the rest of the trip. He checked his wrist chrono for the date.

21st August, 2183. They had left for LV-813 on the 29th of July. Two more days travel.

"Fuck it. I'm awake now. Computer, any more word from LV eight thirteen?"

There was a brief pause, as the computer analysed his voice.

"No more notifications from the colony, Corporal."

"Brilliant. That's all." Travis snorted. Typical colonists. Begging for help with the vaguest of messages, and then nothing more.

Unless...

The corporal shook his head, and stood. He needed to get over it, and soon. It was ruining his prospects in the Corps, ruining any camaraderie between him and the others, and was slowly driving him mad.

"Time to get some exercise," he muttered.

The Iroquois sped up, returning to cruising speed, now the repairs were complete, drawing ever closer to LV-813.

Selkirk Grace, or by its official title, LV 813, was a perfect world. There was desert, ice, jungle, and grassland on the different continents. It was another Earth. Plenty of fertile soil, rivers, vegetation of which much was highly similar to some found on Earth.

But their perfection was not why Weyland Yutani wanted it.

It also had massive platinum, iron ore and titanium fields below the rich ground.

The man who had discovered it, some five years past, was a rather drunken Scotsman with a bad sense of humour, hence the name. This world was one of the few not to need terraforming. In fact, the world would have been mass-colonised by now if it wasn't almost 6 months travel from Earth, and that WY had bought most of the rights to it for their own use.

There was now a substantial colony of some 400 people, mainly WY employees, but many had families with them. There were several farming families, producing food for the colony, and there was even a small security detachment.

The colony area itself was slowly sprawling outward to accommodate everyone. There were some businesses such as shops and bars, and then there was the Weyland Yutani mining operation, making up the bulk of the colonists.

But there was something rotten at the core of Selkirk.

"You know the rules of this place; the rules we all agreed on," the darkened figure in the shadow spoke. He had a defined Russian accent.

"You are all mad! Something must be done!" Jorge Eriksson screamed back. He was being manhandled through the forest by two more figures in WY overalls. Not that he could see any of this; he was blind-folded and could only feel the rough hands and hear the multiple footfalls.

Jorge was one of the department heads in the titanium mine. He was a family man, in his thirties. His family was with him, back in the colony.

"You have risked everything by making contact. You have brought the forces of Evil upon us. As such, the lottery is forfeit this round, and you take the place of the intended,"

That sentence brought Jorge's head up sharply.

"No! You can't! Why? What about my family?"

"Do not panic. For your sacrifice to keep the Saviour sated, we will look after them well," the Russian voice continued.

Jorge began to struggle. He shook and wriggled in his captor's grasps, but they held on tightly. He head-butted one in the gut, and he was dropped for a moment. Jorge surged to his feet, his bound hands ripping the blindfold off.

He was in a clearing, on a rise of some hills. They overlooked the colony, some four kilometres in the distance, on the plains.

And the caves were before them.

"No!" he screamed, his terror growing tenfold, making a run for the woods.

A heavy blow landed on the back of his neck. He lolled and fell, face down. Blood covered the back of his head. Jorge struggled to turn, and saw his would-be-executioner.

"I wish you hadn't done that," the man hissed. He was holding a pistol, the grip now coated in Jorge's blood and hair.

The two men who were holding Jorge kicked the prone man several times, before backing off when a low hiss issued from the shadowy cave. They backed right away, back to the cover of the tree line.

"Goodbye, Eriksson. I really wish you hadn't sent that message." The leader of the group said, and fired the pistol.

Jorge bellowed in pain, and blacked out for a minute.

Only minutes later, he came-to. There was a fierce pain in his leg where he had been shot.

Jorge struggled to sit, thinking on how he could escape. He had to make it back to the colony; to his family. He wanted to see his little girl grow up.

His vision blurred the back of his skull in utter agony. Jorge moved to a kneeling position, whimpering with the pain in his leg.

The pain, however, did not deter him from trying to escape. He would see those he loved.

Now below the tree line, the sun was going down, and the clearing was slowly growing darker. Eriksson knew he had to leave, and soon.

He used a small rock to break the plastic cable ties that bound his hands. A little unsteady, Eriksson stood up and tried to limp.

Jorge heard a low growl from behind him. A hiss from the cave. He felt terror spike through his heart as he slowly turned.

In the black mouth of the cavern, there was something even darker, blacker than the shadows, blacker than black. It moved slowly, edging out the cave, slithering towards him, as if swimming through the murky twilight.

The creature came into the greying light, and Jorge lost control of his bladder.

Jorge Eriksson screamed, shrilly and loud for a moment, startling some bird-like creatures half a kilometre away. Then there was silence.

"Come on my beauties, get up! Another day in the corps! A day in the corps is like a day on the far..."

"Shut up, you stupid Jock,"

"Come on, sergeant, not again,"

"Fuck off!"

The insults came thick and fast. Staff Sergeant Jim McAllister scoffed, but stopped his speech anyway.

"You pussies wouldn't know a rousing speech if it reached over and tickled your balls," he replied, a slight smile on his face. The speech wasn't original, though. He had learned it from another marine who had gone through boot with him, back in the day.

"Whatever you say," one of his marines replied.

On this side of the cryo room, ten marines were waking. These were 1st squad, 3rd Platoon, 1/104th Marine Regiment. Their staff sergeant, an ex-pat from Glasgow, was the second most senior NCO's on-board. And, he was only the second toughest aboard, too.

"Stand to, I want a roll!" he bellowed. His marines were all still in their underwear, some shivering from the awakening process, some still light headed. "Call out when you hear you name. Benton?"

"Sergeant," a tall, blonde woman answered, blinking drowsily.

"Good. Cavan?"

"Yes, sergeant," that was stocky, well-built man with several scars.

"Dalton?"

"Sergeant,"

And the roll went on. Jefferson, Lerr, Martinez, Nassan and Ross.

"Very good, people. Nice to see you all awake and breezy. Gear up, fatigues, and then head to the main mess."

"Sarg, the main mess is there, beside the lockers," Nassan pointed to wide central area about twenty feet away.

"I know that, private! But I want you all dressed, and there, before those ugly arseholes from 2nd squad get there!" he shouted Nassan down.

"Sorry sergeant."

"Good," McAllister grinned. "Right, get to it!"

Around the mess hall, in the little alcoves that held the cryo tubes, similar conversations were happening. Sergeant Liam McVeigh and Klivian Janovic were barking at their marines in a very similar manner.

In a separate room, the pilots and mechanics were reviving too. They had a separate cryo, separate equipment-storage, even a separate mess. This was nothing to do with deliberate segregation, but a simple space situation. Fitting thirty marines into one cryo area was hard enough, never mind the supporting elements.

In the 'grunts' area, a stocky, tough woman stamped through the door, a slimmer, attractive man following her.

"Ten hutt!" the woman shouted. She wore the chevrons of a Gunnery Sergeant. The man behind had the double silver bars of a captain.

Semi-naked marines snapped to attention, facing towards the captain.

"Listen up, people! We have arrived over LV-813. I want you all in the briefing room by 0800. That gives you an hour to get robed and fed. Try and bring your brains with you." The captain said, barely able to control a smile. Jeff Costa was a fair officer, well loved by his marines. He had been at the sharp end with them in several missions, and would never order them to do something he wouldn't.

The room filled with chatter, and friendly insults between squads. Liam McVeigh's squad had an especially strong rivalry with McAllister's, one seeing themselves as the 'Jocks', and the others the 'Micks'. Their insults and banter were especially colourful.

Valenski scowled for a moment, then followed her officer out. She was a hard line, Corps-is-everything kinda girl. She lived and breathed marines, and had no illusions about leaving. She would be in the marines until she died.

As the captain left, the first marines were already grabbing trays of food and sitting down.

Travis flinched as he walked by the marine's mess. He hoped none would see him as he walked by for his own mess area.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. He was stopped by the ships' Synthetic, Cardinalé.

"Good morning, Corporal. The computer tells me you have been awake for the last two days. Is everything okay?"

Travis tried to turn his body so none of the marines could see it was him talking to Cardinalé.

"We had a problem with the comms array,"

"Yes, I saw that in the reports." The android said, interrupting Travis. Cardinalé had a habit of doing that, and Travis hated it. He scowled and continued.

"I have the higher rating for repairs on communication systems, compared to the other staff aboard. I was wakened by the computer. We were a couple days out, so I stayed awake and put some training time in."

"Ah. Not a problem, corporal, I was just curious..."

"Look who it is! Little yellow-box," a voice bellowed from the mess. Travis turned and saw PFC Brett Faraday, from 2nd squad, was the one shouting. Travis flipped him his middle finger.

Faraday, built like the broadside of an APC, was on his feet in a heartbeat.

"You getting wide, grease-monkey? I'll rip you a new assh..."

"Private, be quit and sit down!" Sergeant Janovic bellowed, standing from his food and setting his stance agressively. "You will NOT speak to a corporal that way."

"But sarg..."

"Eat. Your. Food." Janovic emphasised each word. Travis nodded gratefully to Janovic, who just sneered before speaking back. "You should head off, corporal, before something bad happens."

Travis sighed deeply, nodded to Cardinalé and walked away quickly. Behind him, he could hear the jeering.

"Bastards," he grunted. Travis headed for his own mess. The mechanics there may not like him, but they didn't treat him with such utter hate, either.

At least, not yet.

"3 Platoon, listen up!" Valenski bellowed, trying to get the chat to the minimum. There was just over fifty personnel squeezed into the briefing room; privates had to stand around the exterior of the curved chamber, packed into the passageways.

Costa could always have called an officers and NCO meeting, and then they would pass it to his marines, but that wasn't the Captain's style. He wanted to personally tell his boys and girls what situation they may be going into, face to face. Costa walked in, Valenski bellowed the necessary alert, and the troops came to attention.

"As you were. Right, ladies and gents, here is the situation; we have the colony of Selkirk Grace on LV Eight Thirteen..."

"Did the sarg name that place or something?" corporal Jefferson hollered. There was a little guffaw from first squad.

"Keep it doon," McAllister muttered. More laughter.

Valenski let them have their fun, but knew when to shut them up as well. "Enough!"

"Thank you, Gunny. As I was saying, the colony, Selkirk, is a big one. Four hundred and thirteen colonists. Gateway received a distress call from one of the Mining Administrators, saying there was some civil unrest. There was no more details, but according to the message this is a simple miners' strike or some such. No bugs, no aliens, no androids. Nothing fun,"

There was an audible groan from all involved.

"There is some good news. In what we hope is a totally separate circumstance, Weyland-Yutani have lost contact with the scientific research station over EG-345, a gas giant at the furthest extreme of the system. So, we will be splitting into two groups to sort this one out."

"Who is going where, sir?" McVeigh asked. Unlike McAllister, 2nd Squad's sergeant's accent was completely Brooklyn now, no hint of his ancestry in his voice at all. His hair wasn't even ginger, which often led to many the disappointed marine looking for an easy punch line.

"Well, sergeant, the plan is to send two squads to Selkirk Grace, with three dropships and an APC. They will take control, and sort out any disturbances. The final squad will go with the Iroquois and the rest of the hardware and re-establish contact. Now, Weyland-Yutani informs us that the base loses contact every couple of months, sometimes for a couple of days at a time, but they would still appreciate if we could check out what's happening. They have also given us the supply run for this month. Third squad, that is your job."

3rd Squad erupted into shouts and groans.

"Sir, come on. Delivery boys?" McVeigh exasperated.

"Liam, your lot got the glory last time we went out. This time it's Janovic and McAllister who get the fun.

"Yes, sir," McVeigh chimed reluctantly.

"Good. Right, pay attention. This," Costa used a laser pointer on a holo-display in the centre of the room. "Is Selkirk. It is a large colony now, in this river meander. It has two bridges out to some industrial warehouses where they store minerals for transport, and some shops. This quadrant here, in the planetary 'West', is the dorms, and this central sector is the heart of the company operations."

The squad leaders, and the four pilots assigned to the mission, took notes in data pads.

"1st and 2nd squad, you will be issued with riot shields and knight sticks. Side arms are allowed, but M41's stay in the drop ships." Valenski spoke up. "I don't want any of you trigger happy grunts to kill these ugly bastard colonists."

"Gunny is right. No drawn arms unless ordered. RoE, people. We're here to help, not destroy."

"Devil Dogs really are the best choice for that kind of mission then," Janovic joked, before saying more seriously. "I thought we were trained to wreck shit!"

There was more laughter.

"Yes, sergeant, you are. But you are also following orders, and those orders come from the people being paid by the Company, so you will do it happily," Costa replied. "Beside, you were never that good at shooting things anyway. That's what I have 3rd squad for,"

There was a small cheer from 3rd, and some jeers from 1st.

"What about MacLean? He's nothing but a badass!" someone from 2nd called.

"Dalton will snap off a hundred metre shot and take his face off," Ross chuckled.

The captain raised his hand for quiet. "Right, settle down. With the ground force, I want Flight Lieutenants Bendace and Dale, and flight sergeant Cole, to pilot the UD4's. Malakai, you are with Bendace again, Fraser, you are with Dale. Cole can choose whichever Gunner he wants.

"Yes sir"

"Aye, sir

The answers came back.

"Good. McAllister, Janovic, we were issued crowd control gear at Eridani headquarters. Get your squads and collect them. Load up the UD4's and the APC. Cardinalé, you will drive the APC. Cole, you have the UD4L," Costa issued his orders thick and fast now. His troops were used to his style, squad leaders taking short hand notes. "Lieutenant Dale, 6 grease monkeys to go in the UD4L with the APC. I want smart guns and pulse rifles loaded, just in case. You can never be too careful. Right, people, I want the planet team ready to go in an hour. Snap to it!"

The whole room stood, coming to attention as Costa left the briefing room.

"Carry on!" Valenski bellowed again.

"How can such a small woman make so much noise?" Warnes, 2nd's smart gunner, leaned forward and whispered to MacLean.

MacLean turned to speak. "Where the hell are you getting 'woman' from, Ray?" he grinned. He was rewarded by a thump on the head from Janovic.

"Get to it, now."

Two dropships were prepped, and one of the UD4Ls, the vehicle carrying version of the UD4. The loading deck was a hive of activity as 1st and 2nd prepped for drop. Travis was in one of the loaders, slotting missiles into the dropships. He watched with interest as the marines prepared in their own ways. Some, already in gear, held a small prayer meeting. Several of the Latinos, many of them devout Catholics, led this. Others joked and slagged one another. A trio from 1st squad were duelling with their riot shields.

He wished for that sort of camaraderie back. He missed having fun with his buddies.

But they were all gone now...

Travis' spirit picked up as he heard the prayer the Latinos rhymed off, Martinez leading the chant.

"Yea, though we walk through the shadow of the valley of Death, we shall fear no evil, for marines are the meanest mother fuckers in that valley, and we carry pointy sticks..."

Laughing, Travis tried to shake the sense of melancholy off and loaded the last missile.

"Twenty seconds!" Dale spoke into his mic, broadcasting to all the dropships. 1st squad was in his cargo compartment, 2nd were with Bendace, and Travis and his squad of techs were in the APC in the UD4L with Costa.

"Looks like you didn't get the easy break this time, Travis," one of the engineers, Kelly, muttered.

"Fuck you," Travis snapped back.

"Quiet!" sergeant Bosun, chief Tech, called. He wanted the Captain to see how good his marines were, not arguing away. And whilst Costa was sat with them, Bosun would keep them in order.

"Very good, lieutenant Dale." Costa replied, ignoring the minor argument. "Go ahead,"

Travis was about to snap back a smart comment, when the dropships snapped out into the vacuum, before hitting the atmosphere.

"Here we go," Travis muttered said instead.

Iroquois powered up and sailed away, as the 3 dropships powered towards Selkirk.

At the edge of the caves, the black shadow faced the dawn sky as three burning shapes entered the atmosphere.