Before you begin reading, please take a moment to note: This fanfic is written mostly from how the events were described in the novelizations of the ALIEN-movies written by Alan Dean Foster (Alien, Aliens & Alien3) and A. C. Crispin (Alien Resurrection). Any inconsistencies that you may, and probably will find to the movies are therefore unintentional, unless I state otherwise. I have otherwise attempted to stay true to the movies as much as possible. Equipment designations, names and other descriptions are also picked up from the books, so if there are any misspellings or wrongly descriptions of something in particular, I cannot take the blame as I have only followed the sources I had available in those books.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alien and I am not making any money on publishing this story. It does not belong to the official story-line; it is simply written as a tribute to the characters and shared between me and those who love them and want to see more adventures.

Enjoy the story…

Quiet.

It is a word that is synonymous with several situations – many of them were good, but there were some bad cases that could fit that description as well. Most people uses the word as a description for a peaceful hour of the day where the only pleasant sounds heard were the ruffle of leaves in the trees or the songs of a bird in the background. It was those kinds of sounds that helped to calm one's senses - while to others, 'quiet' was just an expression of a not-so-loud moment of an otherwise hectic environment in the middle of a noisy town-square. Those were the good situations – on the other hand, in environments were one could feel insecurity; quietness could instead become quite unnerving.

To the deserted refinery complex constructed on the surface of the planet of Fiorina 16 however, quiet meant nothing but complete and utter silence. The complex had originally been a facility for mining platinum-group minerals built by the Weyland-Yutani Company, but after the ore had run out it had been reformed into a maximum-security prison. It was by that time designated as 'Fury 161' and was meant to hold some of the worst scum of Earth: the murderers, rapists, child molesters and psychos among others. It was a good solution: no law-straight citizen was comfortable with having somebody with a psychological disorder around his own person; it felt good to the people of Earth to know that those kinds of criminals had been shipped off and was isolated on another planet far away from their own neighborhood.

Three years ago the prison had still been active - today it was abandoned and devoid of all human presence. The story the people had been told was that the solitude of the small all-male society had resulted in a stress-related syndrome that made the prisoners revolt and they had instigated a full scale riot that inevitably led to a complete massacre amongst themselves - the wardens and a large number of the inmates had perished. "Good riddance with them." was all that the citizens of Earth had to say about that – none of them really cared about the fate of some felons. They might've been a little more concerned though if they'd known what really had happened.

The true, but secret story was that all the prisoners had been slaughtered by an alien life-form who had arrived there with a crash-landed EEV. The hostile creature was an immigrant from another planet, from a small planetoid formally designated as LV-426, also known as Acheron. There was a sad story involved there as well: there used to be a terraforming colony housing several families – but word had reached Earth that the entire colony had been vaporized in a thermonuclear explosion just a few days before the massacre of 'Fury 161'. Reports stated that an Atmosphere Processing-station had malfunctioned: the cooling systems to the primary heat exchangers had sprung a leak which in turn had resulted in the fusion containment to shut down, and that caused the whole power-station to overload. The investigators reported that there were no survivors.

What the people of Earth didn't know was that those reports had also been sanitized. One colonist actually had escaped the disaster thanks to the aid of a visiting observer, but that information had been classified. The truth was that the alien xenomorph had been indirectly responsible for that incident as well. There was a fear amongst the chairmen that if anybody would listen to the real story from the survivors, it would become a major problem for the Company. Would it come out that the Weyland-Yutani Company themselves had secretly set things in motion for the alien-outbreaks to occur so that they could capture the species for their own researching-departments, their stock would quickly drop to zero. So for the best interest of the Company, they had to make sure that a lid was to be put on every operation that concerned the aliens in order to keep everybody outside the Company oblivious about it. As for the surviving colonist – a little girl named Rebecca Jorden, nicknamed 'Newt' – that was a problem that had solved itself. The unfortunate child had perished when the EEV had crash-landed on Fiorina. From the Company's point of view, this was excellent – it saved them the trouble to secretly having to put her away somewhere in order to cement the 'plausible denial' of all involvement. The adult that had helped her was also dead, but that was another matter all together.

While there was nothing left of the colony on LV-426, the complex of Fiorina had after the incident with the alien been declared a 'write-off', left behind to be worn down by the howling winds and to be torn apart by the indigenous rodents of the planet. The little critters enjoyed the silence, doing what they liked to do best; chewing on power-cables that were a favorite snack, with no two-legged mammals around anymore to chase them off. They knew they could go on undisturbed without keeping their guard up, because this place would stay deserted for a long time ahead….

However, tonight was an exception…

The transport tunnel was wide enough to accommodate giant loading vehicles during the time when the mining-operation was still in effect. The large door that sealed it screamed loudly in protest as it was forced to open on un-maintained and oil-less servomotors. To really point out its objection, it stopped only halfway slid inside the wall, wedging itself stuck and would never move again. It didn't matter to the nine people who entered though; the space that had been cleared was more than enough to pass through. The label on the uniform of the leading visitor said 'Colonel' and he was followed by a very small man - the midget didn't even reach half the height of his superior. Next came four biotechs, two of them radio controlling a pair of high-stalked, motorized sarcophaguses that rolled between the four. Making up the back of the line there were two simple marine soldiers, assigned as security guard to the team and also to escort the last man in the group. All of them were dressed in sterile protective suits with complete face-covering breath-masks, the type used for hazardous areas. Whatever those were meant for protection against the common indigenous carnivorous arthropods, (or lice as those were technically preferred to) that liked to chew on the keratin in their hair or if was meant for protection against something else, nothing did say.

The leading man halted the rest of his team, taking a few steps onward by himself and stopped, then acted like he was sniffing the air. (This was of course impossible to do through the breath-mask.) A more likely explanation could be that he simply surveyed the corridor ahead. Apparently satisfied, he made a half-turn towards his companions.

"Get him up here." The voice was somewhat low, but strict. It had a tone that left absolutely no room for argument. You'd get the feeling that if somebody would try to argue, he would instantly live to regret it. The two marines came up to the colonel, half-dragging the man they escorted with them.

The ninth member of the group was frail-built, which was evident with the protective suit he was wearing hanging sluggishly over his scrawny body. He was neither marine nor a tech - he wasn't even military. He was a convict, the only survivor of the massacre of 'Fury 161' - his name was Robert Morse. The colonel looked him over with obvious disgust. As a military man, he resented the level of lowlifes that this prisoner represented. There was no order or structure among these people; they rather went by primal instincts seeking to cause disorder and chaos. Had the colonel had his way, he would simply execute this man and call it 'mission accomplished'. But ironically, this particular lowlife was actually vital for a success of the mission, so the military man couldn't do away with the felon no matter how much he would've liked to. But that didn't mean he had to tolerate him.

"Morse," the colonel said with a deep and cold, uncaring voice that sounded even more menacing as it was being muffled behind the breath mask. "You know what it is we want. Lead the way."

"I'm still not sure that I should," was the prisoners reply. Had the glaring sights of the colonel's eyes been able to kill, Morse would have been dead on the spot.

"I've told you before that it is unwise to defy me!"

"And it is unwise to defy God," Morse countered. "Remember, God created man after his image. The souls of men are his servants and the bodies are vessels of the souls. When those bodies pass on, the souls move up, move higher and they're being reunited with God, and they should be honored for their service by letting their bodies rest in peace. It is blasphemy to disturb the dead vessels."

"Spare me of that ludicrous superstition!" the colonel spat back. "Those 'vessels' of yours are just husks that are legally dead and officially destroyed – that means we can do pretty much what we want with them without anybody knowing better. And might I remind you that your note of parole depends solely on your full cooperation of this mission! Are you willing to jeopardize that considering what it means for the work of your own 'holy missions' that you keep tiring our ears with talking about?"

Morse thought this over, and evidently he came to a decision: "I think God will find it in his heart to forgive a small little sin in favor for the greater glory of my holy work." He gestured with a hand towards the direction the corridor was leading. "It's this way." The former resident of 'Fury 161' took the lead, flanked by the two marines assigned to keep tabs on him. The colonel and the rest of the group followed close behind. Moving along, one of the soldiers took the opportunity to taunt the felon a little.

"So? Feeling a bit homesick, jailbird?" The soldiers snickered amongst themselves. "Bet you missed this place. How's about we leave you here when we're done? A nice solitary place all by yourself. Only place you ever felt right at home, like a bird in a cage. Am I right?"

"Home, Mr. Crabbe…" Morse started to say wantonly. "…is where your heart is. And my heart is with God and with the holy work that I've got ahead of me. It is with the will of God that I…"

"Forget it!" the marine cut him off, annoyed that his attempt of taunting had failed to strike its mark.

Arriving at the end of the large corridor, they had reached the heart of the complex: the furnace area where the mined minerals during the operational service back many years ago had been melted and processed before being shipped out. Now the furnace was nothing but simply cold dark caldrons, not giving a hint what they were used for to the untrained eye. One of the biotech people, a woman, moved passed the team towards the edge, looking over the entire facility.

"This is it," she said. "The last stand."

"What're you talking 'bout?" the taunting soldier named Crabbe asked, but without being particularly interested.

"It was here my boss hoped to capture the alien life-form that was so rumored. We came just in time to see the beast get destroyed by Ellen Ripley."

"How so?" the dwarf asked her.

"Ripley was actually impregnated herself with the creature," the female continued. "I can still hear my boss pleading to her to surrender to us so we could remove it. But rather than letting us have it, she jumped in there." She nodded towards a dark caldron.

"You mean she killed herself?" the second soldier asked, moving towards the edge to have a look. "Huh, silly broad. Had it been me I would have perforated it with my baby here," indicating his M-41A 10mm pulse-rifle, a standard military weapon.

"Even when it's inside of you? I'd like to see you try that."

"Inside of me? What kind of animal are we talking about here?"

"That's of no concern of yours, Private Dagger," the Colonel interrupted. "Have you forgotten that we're on a classified mission here, Dr Roman? We don't talk about them unless the others have a need to know."

"Sorry, Sir," she said, no sounding a bit embarrassed.

"I might as well remind you all that we are not here for sightseeing," the colonel rumbled on. "We're on a mission, and the only thing that concerns us is the special objects that have been left behind here which we need to collect in order to get on with the next phase of the operation. Everything else is irrelevant! Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir!" everybody said in unison.

"Is that clear to you too, Mr. Morse?"

"I'm willing to do what you require of me," Morse replied in a somewhat somber tone.

"Then first take us to the remains of the EEV from the Sulaco, and be quick about it! I do not tolerate time-wasting hold-ups or detours. Time is important to this unit! Doing a job within a time limit is what gives this unit its glorifying reputation and I won't have it ruined by some measly civilians who can't appreciate the beauty of organization! Do you get me, Mr. Morse?"

"Clearly, Colonel. This way," Morse said, turning to his right towards a side corridor with the rest of the team following. While the colonel had ordered end of discussion, Private Dagger wasn't about to dismiss the subject yet.

"Hey Roman, what kind of bad-assed creatures are we talking about? If they're so tough, it must be a great challenge to meet one of them."

"They're tough alright. It took only one of them to wipe out all the prisoners here."

"Oh, c'mon, the prisoners had no weapons; sure it was easy for the thing to do that when it didn't meet any resistance?"

"If you think that was the case," Roman answered, tired of the soldier.

"Will we meet any? I'd love to go hand on hand with one of them. He he hee…"

"Well, if we're unlucky, those two which we lost three years ago were the very last ones."

"I said, enough!" the colonel roared, this time ending the discussion.

The team now reached an open space. The big area had once been a vast unloading bay - therefore it was surrounded with several cranes and the ground was littered with support blocks of all sizes. But it wasn't the equipment that interested the group – it was the big hulk of the crash-landed EEV that rested quietly in the middle of the tarmac. It wasn't much to look at: most of the bulkheads were smashed in, crumpled and bent. Rust had even taken hold of it during the three years it had been left there. Space vessels used to be rustproof, but when left abandoned and unmaintained in an environment full of moisture, nothing was foolproof – especially when the moisture was vaporized from seawater that was rich with salt particles. The colonel strode up to the entrance of the vehicle.

"Finally! Fixer!" The dwarf came up to his superior. "Get in there," the colonel ordered. "We need the hard-drives of the cryotubes."

"Yes, Sir!" the little man said and went for the battered airlock. Because of his small frame, it was hard for him to get inside as the EEV rested elevated on some support blocks. But with a little effort, he managed to climb in. He hadn't been inside for long though before he stuck his head out again.

"Err, excuse me? From what I been told, we need two specific hard-drives, but there are four tubes in here. Which ones is it I'm supposed to remove?"

"Use your brain, Fixer, you're supposed to be a smart one!" the colonel growled. "If you can't tell which ones we require, then take them all out and we'll sort them up later! Is that too much for your own imagination to comprehend?! Don't waste our time!"

"U-understood, Sir," Fixer gulped and scrambled back inside.

"Civilians," the colonel muttered under his breath.

Crawling on top of the cryotube that was farthest in, Fixer fished out his favorite and most important tool from his utility belt; his polysizable screwdriver. It was a battery-operated motor-driven tool, but its specialty was in the tip: it was a multi composite – layer upon layer of extremely thin titanium plates formed the flat top that would magnetically catch on to the head of the screw that needed to be exerted. If required: a twitch on a knob would move the layers around to either enlarge or shrink the tip so it could fit all sizes. It could also change shape from a flat-form to a star-form. It was a very expensive tool, provided by the Company to all employed technicians – the worth of the poly-driver was much higher than Fixer's contracted life-insurance. The midget technician adjusted the size of his screwdriver and activated its motor to remove the screws that held in place the access plate to the cryo's internal circuitry. He tried to avoid looking down at the tube that was next in line. The cushioned pallet inside of it was discolored with a large brown stain. Fixer winced by the sight of it: it was dried blood. Whatever had happened to the occupant of that tube, it was undoubtedly clear that the damage he'd sustained had been quite severe, and undeniably fatal.

Fixer couldn't allow himself to be distracted by that gruesome sight. Instead he concentrated on finishing his task quickly so that he could get out of the EEV; not just because that the damaged interior disgruntled him – this small space somehow reeked of death – but mostly because he had unwillingly attracted the colonel's annoyance. Fixer was not part of the colonel's military unit; he was employed by the Company. But he had been lent to this group under Company orders since his ingenious and mechanical skills had matched him up to be a perfect candidate for some special on-the-spot engineering they wanted him to do. However he was still required to do his work and to follow the colonel's orders to the letter, just as if he was still back in his own workshop. If word would reach the Company that Fixer for some reason had caused foul-ups, it could earn him a spot on the bad records. Nobody wanted to have his name marked there - it would look bad by the time he reached the end of his active service as it could very well result in a major penalty cutdown on his pension. It was hard to survive on a low pension these days.

Fortunately for Fixer, from the colonel's perspective, that tiny man was an experienced mechanic – he worked fast despite his puny size and had managed to recover all four drives without too much time wasted. Fixer was another 'obstacle' the colonel didn't like to have around him as he too represented the group of people that could never fit within a military unit: too short in height which made him a slow runner, too inferior muscular in the scrawny arms to carry a rifle, too small a frame for a driver's seat to run a vehicle… therefore all in all quite useless. It despised the colonel that this was the kind of people he was obliged to protect as the military fought for the rights and freedom of mankind. That was quite a wasteful effort in the officer's mind. But as long as Fixer could contribute with something useful, like his mechanical skills, the colonel could live with it momentarily – at least as long as the Company took the civilian back when the mission was over. After all, Fixer was there under orders and orders were meant to be followed, even if you disagreed with it. Everything else beside that was an offence to military protocol.

Fixer did not expect some kind of commendation for his accomplished task from the colonel once he was finished and jumped out of the wrecked EEV, and true to the thought he received nothing of the kind. The only thing now that mattered to the military officer was that they could carry on with their mission and it was now the prisoner Morse that would take his wrath if any more delays were presented. The former resident of 'Fury 161' now led them back into the complex, but into a different section this time. There was a circular stairwell that would lead them quickly to their next destination from the area where the EEV was stashed, but Morse had to lead them through a longer rout in order to bring the radio controlled sarcophaguses with them. But soon they had reached their primary destination where they would acquire their main objective.

There wasn't much to what the naked eye could see that would hint what the group was after in the room. It was a cold chamber with several hatches in the wall, most of them standing open and showing empty drawers inside. To the ones who did know what this place was for, it could cause certain uneasiness among those who were uncomfortable around death. But Fixer was the only one present who fitted into that category. The others: the military, the bio technicians and the prisoner had faced quite a number of different deceases in the past (some of them had even caused it) so they were no longer bothered about it. The room was a morgue.

"I hope that the superintendent Andrews really did as the reports said that he would do," the colonel muttered. "Otherwise…"

"Otherwise what?" Dagger snickered. "You would shoot him, Colonel? That's going to be hard since he's already dead. He he hee."

"Who gave you permission to try to be funny, Dagger?" the colonel growled at the underling.

"Sorry sir, couldn't resist. He he hee."

"We'll see if you still find this to be funny with three shifts of peeling potatoes."

"Aw, but sir…"

"Shut up, Dagger! We're only wasting time with this. Which ones of these is it?"

"These two, Sir," one of the other biotechnicians; a man named Arnolds said. "The hatches have been welded shut."

"Good. Fixer, cut them open."

Fixer got to work immediately, bringing forward a cutting torch that had been loaded on one of the carriages. It took a few minutes to loosen the hatch, and when he was done he attempted to open it. It wouldn't immediately budge - a hissing sound was instead heard, the sound of air rushing inside to fill out an airless void. One of the biotechs took over as the sound of rushing air silenced, indicating that the inside had been leveled out in pressure, and then he opened the hatch and pulled out the drawer. On it there was a motionless form, covered with a sheet. Dr Roman took the edge of the sheet and pulled it back, uncovering that which lay under it. The colonel nodded in satisfaction.

"Corporal Dwayne Hicks. Even though his face seems to be a bit disfigured, I still recognize him."

"What? You mean it's the sissy?" Dagger blurted out.

"I said shut up, Dagger! What's his conditional status, Dr Roman?"

"The freezing temperature is optimal, and his skull doesn't seem to have taken any damage other than his facial wounds. The rest of his body shows damage of impalement through the chest. From what I can tell, his left lung and heart is completely lost and rib-bones were of course shattered in the process."

"That was all anticipated from the reports. We have what we need to patch him up." The colonel turned towards Fixer, who had already started to cut through the other hatch. "Have you got much left?"

"Almost there," he answered. "There, it should open now."

The sound of rushing air was again heard as the process of filling out a void on the other side of the hatch was repeated. Arnolds was immediately ready as the sound diminished, opened it and pulled out the drawer. On it was another sheet, covering a much smaller human form. They uncovered the face and looked down at the small child. Even in death, the little girl still had a childish beauty. But that wasn't what interested the biotechs right now.

"I don't like the look of that bloodied sheet." Arnolds said, and removed the sheet completely.

"Blast it!" Roman was now also at the drawers side. "The rumors were true. They did conduct an autopsy on her!"

"How unfortunate," the colonel simply grumbled, clearly not letting the discovery of the violation on the girl's corpse have any affect him. "You can really wonder why? Cause of death was without doubt, she drowned plain and simple. There was no need to cut her open, and definitely not against given orders. That's the most disturbing part: the bodies were to be kept on ice and not to be touched!"

"Ripley thought that the child might have been infested…" Roman explained.

"That's no excuse to defy standing orders. What's her status?"

"Temperature's good, but… who knows how long she was outside in the warmth? Being put back in the freezer a second time after being thawed is not good for the quality of the flesh."

"Do you think deterioration of her body and brain might have gone too far to be able to reverse?"

"I can't tell, sir. Not with these puny instruments we have with us here. All the inner organics are in place and we might be able to fix the ribcage – but as I said: the flesh could very well be ruined because of repeated freezing. She's a critical case, I'm afraid."

"We'll see how much attention she requires back up in the ship. All right, bring here the cooling sweepings to cover the bodies and then put them in the sarcophaguses. But carefully, we don't want any more damage to them."

All the biotechs got to work. The colonel turned his back on them and instead walked over to Fixer. The little man cringed somewhat under the officer's stare, but didn't back away. That was good – any signs of weakness earned more and more of the colonel's disrespect, not that he had much respect for civilians in the first place.

"You have one more task to attend to while they take care of these matters," the officer said in his low, commanding voice. "I don't need to remind you what that is?"

"No, Sir, I haven't forgotten." Fixer had to concentrate to keep his voiced leveled. He almost squeaked. "I need Morse to lead me there, though."

The colonel indicated with his head to the two marines to bring the prisoner forward. "One last objective to acquire," he told Morse. "You will lead him to it. After that your usefulness will have reached its end. If you want us to waste the effort on dragging you home with us like the worthless garbage you are, you better not try any deception or do any other attempt to delay us. I do not have any scruples with the thought of leaving you here to rot as I think this place is where you truly belong. The idea of doing just that is actually more tempting than anything else. You understand what I'm saying?"

"I'm certain that in your own way, Colonel, you're a wonderful human being," Morse replied.

"Get him out of my sight!" he ordered his soldiers, obviously somehow insulted. The marines motioned Morse forward, and the group of four left the morgue to fetch their last item on the list. After several turns, they finally reached the end of a long corridor. Opening a large door, they found themselves within the medical wing.

"What are we supposed to fetch here anyway?" the soldier who'd taunted Morse earlier asked.

"I wonder if there are some drugs here left behind?" Dagger wondered aloud, looking around.

"Don't tempt your luck, you dimwit!" Crabbe told him. "I don't know why the colonel is letting you keep your usual brand, but if he catches you smuggling aboard any other illicit contraband on the ship, you can be certain that he will show it up in your rear, and he won't be gentle about it!"

"Well then, tiny," Dagger addressed Fixer. "What are we doing in here?"

"We're here to pick something up that's been left behind," Fixer answered him.

"I already knew that much!" Dagger spat back. "I want to know what it is!"

"It is easier to show than tell you, if only I can find it," Fixer said, looking around. Morse just stood back, not offering any help for reasons known only to him. Fixer showed aside a draper. Behind it there was a worktable with a pile of rubble lying on it. At first glance it seemed to resemble some kind of a shattered bust of a human, with fiber-optic cables running underneath it.

"Here it is," Fixer said triumphantly. "We found it."

"What is it?" the soldier asked.

"It's the android Bishop. It was said that it had been left behind here and it was true. What a mess…" Fixer said as he walked in for a closer look. It looked like the indigenous rodents had chewed on those remains as well.

"It's just a pile of junk!" Dagger said in a disbelieving tone.

"Yes, it was smashed up so badly when the EEV crashed here. But there's a chance that he can still be salvageable."

"What do you want with a broken android, tiny?" Dagger persisted.

"This is not what I want – it is the Company who wants me to take a crack at fixing him up as it might know something that could be vital to our mission, something perhaps we don't know. And I would appreciate if you didn't refer to me as 'tiny'."

"Oh, and just what do you think you can do about that, tiny?"

"You just watch it!" Fixer shot back.

"Or what?"Dagger asked meanly.

"We're under orders to pick those remains up!" Fixer explained matter-of-factly. "You want me to tell the colonel that you made me disobey those orders? What would he do to you then, you think?"

"Are you threatening me, you little punk?"

"Cut it out, Dagger," Crabbe cut in. "If we are under orders to pick this junk up, then we'll do it. It's not our place to question those decisions and you know it."

"Fine!" Dagger surrendered. "But I'm not carrying any of that shit, it's not my job! Let tiny and the jailbird do it!"

"I'm not going near that thing!" Morse protested. "It's an abomination! God created mankind in his own image and gave it the ability to copulate into more images of our lord. That thing is not created after the ways that our lord had intended! It is a false image – it is an insult!"

"You've got a choice, jailbird," Crabbe said menacingly. "Either you'll help tiny carry that junk…"

"Don't call me 'tiny'!" Fixer objected. He was ignored.

"…or you'll stay here and rot, just like the colonel said!"

"Why are you testing me like this, O lord?" Morse spoke upwards to the ceiling. "My belief is absolute. I am your humble servant…"

"Oh, do shut up!" Dagger snapped. "You're making my trigger-finger itch! Now take it up and let's go! I've had it with this place!" Morse sighed and scooped up the remains of Bishop, making no more objections.

A half an hour later, the landing craft that had brought the team to Fiorina took off with their acquirements, once again leaving the facility designated 'Fury 161' deserted and quiet.

Author's notes: Perhaps you are wondering how come the bodies were still in the morgue? All will be revealed in due time.