Stiles watches the files scroll by on the display screen on one end of the conference room. He hugs his arms around himself, trying to get warm. Since he returned he feels cold all the time. Cold and tired. Behind him are the suits from the Company, the same sort of suits that ordered his father to go to a planet to 'investigate' a spacecraft there - and signed his death warrant. Stiles listens to their inane babble for a moment longer before turning, amber eyes flashing.

"I don't understand," Stiles says tiredly. "We've been here for three and a half hours – how many ways do you want me to tell the same fucking story?"

Van Leuwen, the head suit, speaks calmly and reasonably. Stiles imagines him trying to maintain that calm and reasonable exterior when the thing that killed his father was standing in front of him, mouth gaping wide and the glint of another, smaller, mouth residing within. It relaxes him enough to listen to the man.

"Look at it from our perspective, please," Van Leuwen says. "Now you freely admit to detonating the engines of, and thereby destroying, an M-Class star freighter – a rather expensive piece of hardware. Millions of dollars' worth, in fact … minus payload." Van Leuwen crosses his hands in front of him. "The lifeboat's flight recorder corroborates some elements of your account – in that, for reasons unknown, the Beacon Hill set down on LV-426, an unsurveyed planet at that time … that it resumed its course and was subsequently set for self-destruct by you for reasons unknown."

Stiles bristles. "Not for 'reasons unknown' – I told you. We set down there on company orders to get this thing, which destroyed my crew … and your fucking million-dollar ship."

"The analysis team went over the lifeboat inch by inch. It found no physical evidence of the creature you describe," Van Leuwen says almost triumphantly.

Stiles snorts in disgust and stands. "Good! That's because I blew it out of the fucking airlock!" He turns to watch the files of his friends and crewmates … of his father … still scrolling on the screen. Their lives turned into brief little blurbs of training, job experience and meaningless stats. Death date is the same year for all. Stiles blinks back hot tears at his dad's picture.

Miss you, dad … miss you so much, Stiles thinks. He hears a voice talking and tunes in again.

"Are there any species like this hostile organism on LV-426?" one of the suits is asking.

A woman who should not be wearing her imitation of a man's suit sits beside Peter Hale. She answers smugly. "No. It's a rock. No indigenous life."

Stiles rolls his eyes and turns to face the woman. "Did I.Q.'s just drop sharply while I was snoozing? Ma'am, I told you already – this thing was not indigenous! It was a derelict spacecraft. It was an alien ship." Stiles taps his index finger against his desk. "It was not from there. Do you get it? We homed in on its beacon –"

The woman regards Stiles blankly. "And found something never recorded once … in over 300 surveyed worlds?" She pulls up a file. "'A creature that gestates inside a living human host and has concentrated acid for blood."

Stiles sighs. "Look, I can see where this is going … but I'm telling you that those things exist."

Van Leuwen nods dismissively. "Thank you, Officer Stilinski. That will be all."

"Please … listen to me. Finnstock … he was the crewman that went into that ship … he said he saw thousands of eggs there. Thousands."

Van Leuwen leans forward. "Thank you … that will be all."

"Fuck you, that's not all!" Stiles barks, jumping to his feet. "If one, just one of those things gets down here, then that will be all! Then all this shit that you think is so important? You can just kiss all of that good-bye!"

Stiles watches as the suits pick up their various files and walk out of the room. None of them believe him. None of them think he has a sane brain cell left in his head. Peter regards him sadly but Stiles doesn't care. He's lost in the thought of what waits on that planet for an unsuspecting ship like his had been. Looking over, he spots the head suit.

"Van Leuwen?" Stiles blocks the man's path. "Why don't you just check out LV-426?"

The man sighs. "Because I don't have to … there have been people there for over 20 years. None of them ever complained about any hostile organism."

Stiles feels the blood drain out of his face and extremities. "What do you mean? What people?"

"Terraformers. Planet engineers. They go in, set up these big atmosphere processors to make the air breathable. Takes decades. It's what we call it a 'shake 'n bake' colony."

Stiles slams his hand into the doorjamb to keep the man put. "How many are there? How many colonists?"

Van Leuwen shrugs. "I don't know … 60, maybe 70 families." He looks pointedly at Stiles' arm until the young man moves it.

Stiles stares in shock at the floor. "Families …oh God in heaven …"

Later that week, Stiles stares at the wall in his Company-assigned apartment. All things considered, the Company had gone easy since they believed him to be the sole reason they lost a million dollar payload along with a 'very expensive ship'. He has a job doing the same damn thing every single day until he dies. The pay is just enough to survive on and no more. No hope for advancement. No hope for much of anything else. He drinks to help himself sleep with no dreams. He visits his counselor a few times a week. He keeps a loaded gun purchased just a shade on the black market side under his pillow. He has no concerns about human danger. But if one of the monsters that creeps into his dreams nightly ever appears, Stiles intends to die before it reaches him. Such was his life.

Lost in thought, Stiles jerks when the door chime rings. He blinks in surprise and somehow manages to muster up the strength to walk to the door. Opening it, he finds himself looking at Peter Hale and a sharply dressed Colonial Marine behind him.

"Hello, Stiles. This is Lieutenant Harris of the –"

Stiles shuts the door. He has no reason in any universe to want to hear what either man had to say. He wants to walk to his bed and ignore them but he hears Peter's next words. Words that make his heart skip a few beats.

"Stiles … we've lost contact with the colony on LV-426."

Stiles opens the door.

"Let me get this straight … you guys throw me to the wolves – and now you want me to go back out there?" Stiles asks while adding a little something stronger than cream to his coffee. He hands the other mugs to Hale and Harris. "Forget it. It's not my problem."

"Can I finish?" Peter asks.

"Nope. No way."

"Mr. Stilinski, you wouldn't be going out with the troops," Lieutenant Harris explains. "I could guarantee your safety."

Stiles snorts. Peter spoke up.

"These Colonial Marines are very tough hombres … they pack state-of-the-art firepower … there's nothing they can't handle," Peter looks over at the Marine.

Harris nods. "That's true … we've been trained to deal with situations like this."

Stiles grins. "Then you don't need me … I'm no soldier."

"True," Peter says. "But we don't know exactly what has occurred … it may just be a downed transmitter. If it isn't, I would like you to be there as an advisor … that's all."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I don't have time for this; I need to go to work."

"Right," Peter says softly. "I heard you're working the cargo docks – running loaders and forklifts, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah," Stiles answers. "So?"

"Oh nothing … I think it's good you're keeping busy. And I know it's the only thing you could get … nothing wrong with that."

Stiles puts on his watch and looks over at Peter. The older man has a look on his face like he has the knowledge of the universe sitting at his fingertips.

"What would you say if I told you I could get you reinstated as a flight officer?" Peter offers. "The Company has already agreed to pick up your contract."

"If I go."

"Yes, if you go. It's a second chance, Stiles. I think it would be the best thing in the world." Peter smiles broadly. "Get back out there! Face this thing and get back on the horse!"

"Spare me, Hale," Stiles grumbles. "I've had my psych eval this month."

"I know," Peter says and stands to face Stiles. "I've read it. You wake up every night. Your sheets are soaking with sweat – "

Stiles rounded on the man. "I said no and I fucking mean no! Get the hell out of here … I'm not going back and even if I did – I'd be fucking worthless to you anyway."

Peter nods. "Fine. Think about it. Call me."

Peter puts his card on the table and leaves with Harris. Stiles looks at the floor and wonders which is worse – murdering aliens or plain ordinary humans holding his life in their hands.

"Noooo!" The scream punches its way out of his lungs just like the alien he'd been dreaming of would have if he'd been caught by the face hugger. He rubs his chest helplessly for a long time, tears streaming down his face. After splashing water on his face, Stiles makes a decision. Going to his comm panel, he inserts Peter's calling card and waits while it connects. A bleary-eyed man answers. He frowns at Stiles.

"Stiles? Are you alright?" Peter asks.

"Just tell me one thing, Hale. You're going out there to destroy them, right? Not to study? Not to bring back? You're going to wipe them out, right?" Stiles asks.

"That's the plan," Peter answers. "You have my word."

"Fine, I'm in," Stiles replied. He cut the line and stared at the dark screen. Glancing over at Jonesey, he smiled weakly. "Well, look at it this way, fuzzy butt…if I die, I get to meet up with mom and dad a little before schedule. Not a bad trade-off."

Jonesey regarded the human with an unfathomable gaze and went back to sleep.