Seven Zero Six Twenty Two Hours Moon P-133, Military Outpost

The marines were jumbled about the main room of the complex, their heads spinning with the realization of the futility of their situation. Katie and Suzie sat back to back, talking about old memories and the slow days back on earth. Silvio sat hunched in a corner, his good fist wrapped under his chin, no smile crossing his face. Mager, for his part, sat in a corner, gazing up at the rising sun in the crimson sky. Every few minutes, he idly thumped the back of his head against the concrete wall behind him, as if to clear his mind of the reality of the group's situation.

Off in his own corner, Naylor studied a host of maps he had sprawled over the floor. His mind was in a whirl as he sought some way to make sense of their current situation and find some loophole he had missed earlier. As for Wilkins, he sat just inside the metal door to the outside, staring at the lifeless hulk of the dropship, contemplating his current condition.

Several hours had passed before Suzie looked up from her hands and stopped talking to Katie. Her head was on fire from memories before reaching the alien moon, and she could feel her sight fuzz with the old memories. She shook her head to clear her vision and then stopped to look at the faces around her. Each of them looked as if they had been hollowed from the inside out and smudged with a layer of red mud. She realized that to survive, they need a chance.

"Guys, the APC may have survived the blast," she quipped.

Only Silvio bothered to look up. "Yeah, and monkeys –"

"Don't say it," Katie interrupted with an ice-cold stare. She fondled the pulse rifle lying across her lap, her gaze digging straight towards Silvio's heart. Silvio turned away, cursing to himself.

Wilkins looked away from the dropship long enough to add, "Suzie may be right. That thing has got armor two inches thick."

"Man, that thing was at ground zero for a predator self-destruct. Those things have a half-kilometer blast radius." Mager stated.

"What if it wasn't at ground zero?" Suzie asked.

Even Naylor looked up at that remark. Suzie sensed the sudden doubt, and leapt on it. "I mean, no one's bothered to check that out. The predators may have been fighting outside of the building."

"That's a hundred kilometers away, Suzie," Naylor stated. "We'd be travelling through a host of aliens – and maybe a few predators – just to check it out."

"But," Suzie pouted, "Isn't it worth trying?"

Wilkins suddenly broke into the conversation again. "There may be a way to check…"

Naylor turned his focus from Suzie to Wilkins, as the other marines did so as well. "How?" Naylor asked.

Wilkins paused for a second, as if contemplating what he was about to say next. Then he quickly spat the answer out as he rose from his sitting position. "Homing beacon."

Wilkins noted that he suddenly saw the marines break out into a grin. It was a few moments before Naylor stood up, realizing what Wilkins meant. "Of course," he mumbled. "Tuned to the dropship's frequency for emergency pick-up, right? Can we pick it up from here?"

Wilkins nodded, as the rest of the marines began to stand up and make their way to the dropship. Wilkins rushed ahead, half-jogging, and clambered into the cockpit first, followed by Naylor who took the copilot's seat next to the pilot. Behind, the rest of the marines watched from the gantry walkway.

Wilkins quickly stepped through the power-up procedure for the dropship, with Naylor aiding at Wilkins's command. Within a few minutes, the ship was powered up, and Wilkins reached for a clear plastic cover over a panel of buttons. Tentatively raising the shield over the buttons, he gazed at Naylor and remarked, "Cross your fingers."

Behind the two, in the hall, Silvio, followed by other marines, starting crossing their fingers. Wilkins fingers danced over the buttons he had uncovered until he found the one he was looking for. With a deliberate motion, Wilkins jabbed the button, which began to immediately pulsate off and on with a yellow light. As it did, Wilkins looked up to the radar scope set between the pilot seats.

"There," he finally bellowed, pointing to a tiny blip in the northeast corner of the radar. Behind him, Naylor and Wilkins could hear the other marines shout in relief and give each other high-fives. Even Wilkins let himself break out in a wide grin. Naylor, however, kept his expression level, though he did nod in appreciation.

"How much fuel have we got?" Naylor asked.

Wilkins checked the gauge, and sighed heavily. "With the fuel we found, we can get most of the way there. I think I could set you down where we landed last time. The rest would have to be on foot."

"That's still two klicks on foot through enemy territory," Mager stated, "Pretty barren terrain at that. No cover."

Naylor sat emotionlessly as the banter continued behind of him. He stopped listening as Drafe's death replayed in his mind. Now, not only did he have to face his friend's death, he had to face planning to return to where the marine had died, and putting the others into the same danger again. He knew this was trip he was going to regret going on, and it tore at his stomach like an incubating alien in his chest.

Katie had just finished saying something Naylor hadn't caught when Mager screwed his face into a wrinkled ball. The marine clenched his fists as his voice rose, stating "Better to put up a fight instead of dying of starvation!"

Katie looked up from the floor and smiled slyly as she slowly whispered "Okay. Count me in. I didn't get enough action the last time. This time, it will be different."

"Yep!" Silvio stated, giving a hoot of delight. He raised his arm and punched the air with his stump. "Give me some red hot action! We'll be ready for them this time!"

Naylor kept quiet as the others kept talking. He sank into his own thoughts as he wondered if he would be able to lead the group back to the APC without losing anyone else. As he looked around, he suddenly noticed the talking had stopped. Everyone was looking at him, with puzzled expressions on their faces. He had not been listening and quickly became annoyed as he could feel their eyes beginning to burn into him. He suddenly stood and faced them, his face contorting into a mask of anger and disgust. Then without a word, he pushed past the marines and walked out of the dropship clutching his head in his palms.

"Something I said?" Silvio quipped, but his remark was greeted by nothing but evil stares from the others.

The cold, red rain had started again, and Naylor walked through the pouring rain as he made his way back to the main building. He hated everything about the world they were on, the atmosphere, the terrain, and the position they had found themselves. He felt a terrible gnawing inside him, as if something had eaten out a part of his body, leaving it to cave in on itself. He felt sick, and almost wondered if it might kill him.

Naylor entered the old installation and slumped down the wall to the floor on the far side of the main chamber. He could see the red rain dripping in from the holes in the ceiling, running along conduit lines and eventually collecting in crimson pools of blood-like mud on the floor.

The sight reminded Naylor he had seen all kinds of death during his life. He had seen one of his favorite professors ripped apart at the military academy when a captured Predator the professor was using had broken free and killed the old man before the guards watching over the creature were able to bring the brutal being down. He remembered the horror he felt when he was called in to identify the remains of his parents shortly after his graduation – they had been brutally slain by predators while camping on a remote world. He remembered the death of Jacqueline – an officer-in-training he had taken a special interest in – during the alien hive raid where he had lost three marines. Every time, Drafe had been there to help him through the loss. But this time, it was Drafe he had lost.

Clank

Naylor reacted instantly, whirling to face the noise as he drew his pistol from his hip holster. Naylor brought the gun to level at a shadowy figure just inside the main door. "Relax Naylor. It's me." The femininely shaped figure stated, raising her arms to show she was unarmed. Naylor squinted at the figure as slipped the pistol back into his the pseudo-leather holster. "Katie? What do you want?"

Katie strode towards Naylor, wending her way between the muddy pools of blood-colored water and piles of debris in the room. She squatted down next to Naylor, and idly gazed down one of the old installations abandoned corridors. Naylor watched her intently as she seemed to ignore him. She finally seemed to sense Naylor's stare upon her, and turned her head to face him, tossing several strands of grime-stained hair aside from her eyes to stare back at Naylor. "I know you still miss Drafe." She stated softly.

Naylor's gaze flicked away as he sought to focus his sight on something other than Katie. He settled at staring at the scraps of wires and broken concrete as his feet. Katie sat tensed, but said nothing. Finally, Naylor sighed and stated. "We go back a long way."

"I know," she replied flatly. "I know all about it."

Naylor's gaze snapped back up to look at Katie as she met his stern gaze. "Everything?" Naylor nearly choked.

"Yes. I know about your parents, your time at the academy, how you and Drafe finally came to know each other," she stopped, sensing Naylor understood. She tipped her head slightly to one side, and added, "I also know that you're hurting much more than you're letting on." She finally got to him and slumped down next to him.

"How do you know that?" Naylor stated, turning his gaze back to his boots.

Katie let her gaze fall to the same spot. "Drafe talked a lot when you weren't around," she stated, to which Naylor grunted. "Usually he talked about you."

Naylor picked up a handful of pebbles from the rubble around him, and started plopping the stones, one by one, into a pool of reddish rainwater. "He always did like to brag," he stated, stopping for a moment to look back at Katie.

Her gaze held his as she stated, "He said you were the bravest man he knew. He said he would do anything you ordered him to, because he trusted you completely. He said he'd even be willing to put his own life on the line to save you."

Naylor stopped tossing the pebbles, and his eyes slowly slid back towards the ground. "He said that, did he?" Naylor mumbled, dropping the rest of the pebbles.

"Don't blame yourself, Naylor. You didn't cause Drafe's death," Katie stated.

Naylor felt a throbbing pain grow in his mind. A hundred possibilities ran through his head, pulling his feelings into a thousand different directions. "If I hadn't been running – if I had taken the rear to make sure all of you were safe…"

"Then you'd be dead with Drafe," Katie stated. "It was a freak accident. You couldn't have stopped him from falling. If you had been in the rear, you and Drafe would have been overwhelmed. You'd both be dead, and we wouldn't have someone to lead us forward."

Naylor shook his head. In his mind, he still felt he had abandoned Drafe when Drafe needed him most. If he had died there, so what…

Katie reached out and suddenly grabbed Naylor by the shoulders, and began shaking him out of his stupor. "Naylor, we need you here, right now. If you don't lead us, we're…going…to…die."

Naylor couldn't fight it any longer. The pain had to get out. It was just too much for him to take. It felt like someone had drilled a hole in the back of his head and was whisking his brain into a stew. He doubled over, his breathing becoming raspy and quick. He suddenly grasped a handful of hair and let out a sobbing scream as all the pain he felt came gushing forth. The agonizing scream brought Naylor to his knees, and when he finished, all that was left was Naylor gasping for air, with clumps of his hair in each of his hands. He lay on the floor wheezing for breath as the last remnants of resentment, regret, anger, fear and hatred left his body and left him hollow and empty.

Katie looked down at him as he laid on the floor gasping for breath. The other marines, who had been waiting outside, came running into the main chamber to see what happened. Before any of them could ask a single question, Katie quickly raised her finger to her lips and waved them away. They all nodded and quietly left the room.

Once they had left, Katie bent down and gently rubbed the agonized marine's shoulder as she asked. "Naylor?"

Naylor grunted, too exhausted to speak.

"We're going to rest for a while, okay? I'll be at the console over there," she stated, pointing to the bank of computers not more than five meters away. "If you need me, just let me know." Naylor nodded as he slowly slid his hands over his face. "You get some rest, and …when you feel better, we'll talk about the base, okay?" From behind the cover of his hands, Naylor nodded. Gingerly, Katie stood up and moved over to the computer console, though she kept a sharp eye on his motionless form. After a somewhat tense half hour watching the motionless marine, she heard the first snores slip from Naylor lips. Sighing in relief, she quickly slipped out to talk to the others.

They were waiting just outside, and nabbed her as soon as she walked out of the main chamber.

"It's okay." Katie whispered, holding her hand up and answered their inquiring looks. "He just had some… issues… with Drafe's death."

"What exactly happened in there?" Silvio's voice sounded strangely concerned for once. "That cry he gave sounded either like you were caving his head in or…," he paused, motioning with his hands and concluding with, "Well, you know – um, comforting him."

"I'm not saying anymore," Katie said dryly as the other marines gave Silvio a withered groan. Silvio only shrugged. "If Naylor wants to tell you about it, that's his decision, but for now, don't mention this or Drafe, okay?"

They all nodded, except for Silvio. Soon, the marine found all eyes staring at him.

"That goes double for you Silvio!" Katie glared at him. Silvio gave Katie a "Who me?" look, and she warned him "We know what you're like. So just keep your trap shut!"

Silvio shrugged, looking genuinely disappointed, as he quietly whispered "Okay."

Zero Seven Hundred Hours Moon P-133, Military Outpost

Inside the complex, Naylor's rage and self-hate had finally been expelled. He had slept, but not dreamt. He slowly sat up, feeling somewhat empty and hollow. There was a pang deep within him that felt as if his soul had been wrenched from his body, and he desperately wanted it back. He felt the empty spot begin to fill with rage, and a desire to get things done. His mind fixated on the task ahead of him – a grueling march to the alien's stronghold, the recapture of the APC followed by a flight back to Dengor. The prize at the end of the crusade was simple. All he wanted was McGarrett's lips wrapped around the barrel of his pulse rifle's grenade launcher barrel as he pulled the trigger.

Getting to his feet, he felt an incredible lightness flow over him. He was tired of taking commands. Now it was time to give them, and expect results. Turning squarely on his heels, he marched towards the main doorway towards the dropship. Nearby, he could hear a cacophony of voices sharpening into a conversation between his marines. As a telling grin began to creep across his face, he defiantly marched towards the chamber, into the midst of the marine's idle conversation.

The whole room suddenly dropped into silence as Naylor's shadow-cloaked form filled the frame of the doorway. Despite the shadows that surrounded him, his cocky grin spread from ear to ear. As the marines stared at their leader, he asked Mager, "How much weapon ammo do we have left?"

Mager looked to Katie, who seemed as dumbstruck as he was. "Um, er-" Mager fumbled, trying to quickly think and count. His eyebrows danced as he made the mental calculations. "About ten or so pulse rifle mags, …and maybe seven smart gun belts," He stopped to consider if he'd left anything out, and then added, "Oh yeah, and a case of grenades for the pulse rifles – about thirty rounds."

Naylor nodded as if to thank Mager for the count, and then swaggered into the room, ambling past the marines to the dented card table that had been used a few nights before. Naylor sat down in one of the metal chairs and motioned for the others to take seats nearby. They quickly obeyed, nearly leaving Wilkins in a blur of motion. After a moment's pause, the pilot found himself a seat and joined the others at the table.

"That was Drafe's chair," Naylor stated coldly to Wilkins as the pilot finished sitting down. Caught off guard, it took Wilkins a moment to catch on, and he quietly slipped out of the chair, and stood beside the table.

"This isn't going to be easy," Naylor stated levelly. "I'll carry the smart gun, and the rest of you will have to split the ten mags. That gives me about seven hundred rounds, and each you about two extra mags each – three hundreds shots apiece. Everyone gets five grenades – even you Silvio."

"That won't last very long," Katie replied tersely.

"Could mean we end up in hand to hand combat with those things," Naylor stated quietly.

"Isn't there any more ammunition in the APC?" Suzie asked, gazing about at the others, hoping she remembered the looting of the APC wrongly.

"None, Suzie. There's none in there whatsoever," Silvio's gravely voice bemoaned, sounded dead serious for a change. With so little ammunition, the whole affair didn't sound even remotely fun anymore. "Damn it!" he fumed, slamming his fist into the metal table and denting the area where he struck it.

Previously, Zero Six Hundred Hours Dengor Base, Sublevel 3

He would have sole control and no one would be able to stop him. Once Dengor was under his finger, he could start spreading his control further and further once he had bred the xenomorphs in enough numbers to stop any attack. One by one, he could spread his power base until it all belonged to him. One day, he would reach earth - The main military stronghold against the alien menace - and take that planet as well.

The younger Longman smiled in delight as he watched the remote cameras positioned on the alien moon. The xenomorphs had finally completed their hive as he had specified, fortifying it against the marines, for when they would attempt to return. All he needed now was a hive brain – a singular xenomorph from which he could control all the others, rather than scatter his thoughts across a wide range of alien minds. He needed a xenomorphic brain that would allow him to complete his work on Dengor while the thing took care of the marines. He hovered over the transmitter and fiddled with the frequency to highlight just one alien. He knew what he could do and he moved his mouth over the microphone and spoke just one phrase - one soft, powerful phrase.

"Make a queen."