000 Disclaimer, I still - sadly enough, own absolutely nothing at all except the OC's :) 000 Huge thanks to Volley, Begoogled, and The Libran Iniquity for reviewing the last chapter, huge apologies for not getting this chapter out sooner but there were (and still are actually) four pieces of coursework that have to be in after the easter holidays and I didn't have the time to get this chapter sorted.

Enjoy! 000

The Planet loomed large on the view screen; the three men silently gazed at it momentarily lost in old memories. Walters patted his leg absently, almost like he was checking something was there.

The PIT suddenly jerked emitting a loud screeching noise as several mechanisms seemed to clunk into place.

"Trip…" said Malcolm slowly staring round the room.

Trip pushed past him, sliding in front of the nearest console. "It's the autopilot trying to take us in to land."

"And that's a bad thing?" Walters glanced around apprehensively. "This thing's obviously well past it's time for retirement. Setting down before it falls apart would be a great idea."

The machinery within the PIT screamed, a high pitched wail that had all three desperately trying to cover their ears, gasping at the aural onslaught. It juddered fitfully as it hit the atmosphere of the planet, bucking and rocking, throwing it's occupants around mercilessly.

Trip made a grab for the console as he slid past, wincing as the noise from the PIT continued to assault his hearing. "It's starting to come apart!" He fell as the ship rocked again, falling on top of Malcolm who'd been trying to crawl over to Trip's position.

Malcolm grunted as Trip knocked the wind out of him, rolling to one side to move out from beneath him only to be hauled to his feet by a rather battered looking Walters holding onto the console for dear life with his free hand.

Walters cast his gaze to the view screen; the PIT had entered the planet's atmosphere and was on its way down. Fast. "This is gonna hurt," he whispered.

With a loud groan the PIT suddenly came to a complete stop, throwing the three men to the floor again, before it gently landed.

Stunned, all three lay still breathing heavily until Malcolm rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. "C'mon," he hauled them both to their feet. "Time to blend in."

Walters eyed the door apprehensively. "Blend in, find sensitive equipment, make it go boom."

Malcolm nodded. "Exactly."

"If we get separated remember the signal," Trip added. He grinned reassuringly at them both. "Good luck."

They fell silent clearly hearing the heavy clomp of boots coming towards them. Malcolm took a deep breath carefully rearranging his expression, not daring to look at Trip or Walters. This was it.

Several clones of Walters came through the door, for a moment they stood completely still vacantly staring, Malcolm held his breath silently praying that he, Trip and Walters weren't discovered. The moment past, the clones moved on flooding the room, their hands passing gently over the tortured equipment.

Malcolm released his breath slowly and discreetly before taking the plunge and stepping forward. The clones ignored him as he slowly marched past them, hearing the clunk of Trip and Walters' boots behind him.

The first thing that struck him as he exited the PIT was the lack of sound. On the grey sandy surface of the Planet the clones' boots made no noise, and they may as well have been ghosts drifting from one task to another.

Malcolm kept marching slowly through the ranks of silent clones his eyes on the large grey square building in front of him; one side was shinier in appearance, the metal newer covering up some hurt to the building. Malcolm struggled to keep his expression neutral as his thoughts threatened to wander.

Out of the corner of his eye Malcolm saw a piece of machinery tumbled from a half constructed PIT crushing one of the clones beneath it, a loud agonised scream ripped through the air – all heads turned to face the fallen clone and it was regarded with eerie silence before the clones resumed their tasks with five splitting off from their assigned task to move the fallen piece of machinery leaving the clone twitching on the ground, blood streaming from it's mouth. There was a quiet gasp from behind him.

It took all Malcolm's self control not to react, his stomach tying itself in knots at the effort, praying that no one had noticed the quiet gasp not knowing whether it was Walters or Trip who had been unable to stop themselves from reacting.

He continued marching, a whistle sounded, piercing through the blanket of silence.

All the clones immediately halted in their task and stood stock still, waiting.

Malcolm stopped in his tracks, his gaze fixed on a point straight ahead of him.

In the building ahead he could see part of the wall suddenly slide away revealing clone soldiers marching slowly towards them guns at the ready. He forced himself to breathe evenly as he mentally reviewed his options. It was possible the clone soldiers weren't there to kill them; it was entirely possible they were boarding one of the completed PITs to prepare it for takeoff.

The clone soldiers steadily marched on, moving past the three men, but two at the very back of the group came to a standstill, one in front of Malcolm, one in front of Trip. Wordlessly the two remaining soldiers gripped onto them both, and Malcolm forced himself not to stare into the eyes of the clone soldier – his eyes, but not. Lifeless and vacant reminding Malcolm the clones were little better than hollow shells with programmed instructions.

The whistle sounded again, as one the clones started to move and the two clone soldiers pulled Trip and Malcolm in the direction of the building leaving Walters trailing along behind them trying to mask his uncertainty.

Part of the wall of the building swung aside again to admit them, with a feeling of sudden horror Malcolm belatedly remembered the sensors within the building that had sensed their arrival before.

He closed his eyes in anticipation as they were pulled into the main building. Any second now it would all be over.

But nothing happened, no alarms went off, no computerised voice welcomed them to the facility, only a faint cry from behind as the wall slide seamlessly back into place. Malcolm immediately opened his eyes to find an almost familiar person waiting for them, it was like a punch to the gut – it was Hathaway, the Captain of the Alva.

But not.

The lank, straggly, dirty blonde hair and grey uniform suggested a clone. But the eyes held a spark of life that irresistibly drew him to hold her gaze.

"You may go," she said timidly to the soldiers. "Thank you."

The soldiers turned and marched away down the long, metal corridor, their boots echoing oddly against the silence.

She clutched hold of their arms gazing wildly round the corridor, after a moment she seemed satisfied. "C'mon, hurry!" She hissed. "I know who you are!" She turned on her heel and slammed her hand against one of the panels on the wall; it slid away revealing another section of corridor.

Malcolm stared back round the corridor making direct eye contact with Trip. Trip closed his eyes briefly.

Walters was nowhere to be seen.

Malcolm followed on after the clone of Hathaway down the eerily silent corridor and then into a small room filled with monitors. The clone immediately shut the door behind them, before turning back to face them, her eyes wide and frightened.

"Do you know what I had to do to stop the sensors picking you up?" she asked trembling, "do you? I thought for sure I'd be discovered at any moment!" She sank into a nearby chair, one hand clutched over her heart. "Oh my life, I never thought it would come to this. Drop the act, I know who you are."

Malcolm glanced over at Trip, Trip shrugged helplessly.

"How?" Trip asked eventually, stretching to ease his tense muscles.

"I watch the sensors," she whispered, "I see the readouts from the ships. The second you boarded you were both lit up like the stars at night."

"What about our friend?" Malcolm asked cautiously, deciding for the moment to trust her.

She stared at her hands bitterly. "I don't know, he didn't register, just registered with the same blood type as some of the clones."

"Will the sensors pick him up?" Trip ran a hand through his hair.

"Not the ones I'm monitoring," she replied evasively.

Malcolm sighed subconsciously settling into a defensive stance. "Why are you helping us?"

She tugged at her hair in disgust. "You see this? This face? These eyes? They aren't mine." She dropped her hand to her lap glaring at it. "Ever since I've woken up I've seen this face reflected off the monitors… it's ugly, it's wrong. I feel like a thief." She sighed. "I hacked into the records, found the original…the woman whose body they gave me. They downloaded her – they didn't just take her body, they took her mind as well. I could tell you her father died when she was twelve leaving her mother to raise her and her brother alone. I could tell you that she had a secret stash of her favourite ice cream on the Alva, I could tell you –"

"Stop!" Trip exclaimed horrified. "Stop it!

"We don't have time for this," Malcolm hissed. "Walters is still out there, and those PITs are getting closer to the fleet and earth by the second!" He rounded on the woman glaring at her. "What do you want? Why are you helping us?"

"Because I don't want the future of my people founded on the death of millions," she snapped back all traces of earlier timidity gone. "My race died out a long time ago; there were just some who refused to accept it. I will help you destroy this facility; I need to put my people to rest before the universe's lasting memory of us is that of murderers as opposed to the peaceful, cultured society we once were." She rose to her feet and stared at them both defiantly. "Now are you going to accept my help or not?"

0 0 0 0

Cold. Every part of him felt like ice, the floor beneath him leaching away all the warmth from his body. His head throbbed painfully. Where was he?

With a groan he remembered. He had been only a step away from the entrance to the building when someone had whacked him from behind.

He inhaled sharply and attempted to open his eyes.

"Don't get up," said a male voice from somewhere to his right. "You'll only make yourself feel bad."

Walters immediately forced himself into a sitting position only to groan and clutch his head as the room swam around him.

"Told you."

Walters waited for the dizzy spell to pass and blinked rapidly as everything blurred into focus around him. "Who are you?"

"The others will take you to the machine in a moment," said the man ignoring his question.

Walters moved slowly to look at the man. The man before him seemed oddly familiar, like they'd met before, just in passing. After a moment's scrutiny of the man a name came to him. "Lieutenant Lewis," he said confused.

"After that you'll be recycled," said the man idly, still ignoring him. "It'll be for the best, you won't be of use to anyone after the machine."

"Lieutenant Lewis," Walters repeated frowning. "You served with Lily."

"No!" the man snapped forcefully suddenly darting forward and backhanding Walters across the face. He relaxed and settled back down again. "I shouldn't think it'll be too much longer. So you might as well enjoy your memories whilst they're still yours."

Wincing Walters gingerly touched his cheek, glaring at the man. "I'm not going in any machine."

The man laughed coldly. "You speak like you have a choice!"

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