2175

Gorman had underestimated how long it would take every file with his great-uncle's name on it to be downloaded onto his drive. It looked like it was going to be awhile. As he waited, he continued digging through other files, looking for anything incriminating against what was left of Seegson.

It didn't take long for him to find various messages between leaders of the remnants and hired mercenaries about planned strikes on not only Weyland-Yutani facilities, but USCM bases as well to slow a response. He glanced toward the doors, becoming aware again of the horrific pain in his arm. Blood was beginning to dry on his uniform sleeves, but there was still more flowing freely from the deep scratches and bitemarks.

Gorman pulled a second drive from his bag, plugging it into another port on the computer. He swiftly began putting the messages inside, knowing this was more important to take care of.

No, both were important. Personally and professionally. Both would provide immense satisfaction for something on his mind. His heart pounded harder and harder and he looked at the progress of the drive downloading all the files on Jethro. He cursed to himself when he saw it wasn't even a quarter of the way done.

He froze when he heard someone knocking on the doors, and grabbed his gun, despite pain surging through his arm when he moved any muscle inside it.

"If you don't open the door, Marine, we'll open it for you!" someone snarled. "We know you're in there!"

Gorman looked back at the computer screen. Both drives were taking their sweet time downloading, and he had no way of speeding up the process. He stepped back, and tapped his headset. "Valen, move in. I need a distraction. I need time."

"How much time?" Valen whispered.

"I need at least an hour."

"I'll see what we can do."

Gorman kept his gun trained on the door. In any other situation, he would scramble back up to the vent. His heart was in his throat when he heard the guards trying to break into the room. He glanced around frantically, then aimed the gun at a panel controlling the lights. One shot later, the lights above flickered and turned off, plunging the room into darkness, save for the glow of the computers. He climbed on top of one of the servers, putting his night-vision goggles over his eyes.

There was a hiss, and the doors slid open. Four guards entered, each holding a rifle. Gorman fired first, catching one guard's helmet. The remaining three turned in Gorman's direction.

Gorman backed away, and dropped into the maze of servers behind him. Here, it was dark, and he would have the upper hand.

"Quit staring! Go shoot his brains out!" one of the guards ordered.

Gorman waited behind another server. He heard the three head into the maze, and waited for one of them to appear before shooting him. The bullet sank into the right side of the man's chest as Gorman disappeared further into the maze.

"Son-of-a-bitch is gonna play games." The same guard who spoke before pushed past his injured comrade, trying to follow Gorman.

What kind of soldier just abandons the wounded? A sudden sense of hatred pierced Gorman's heart. He darted around a corner before the guard had any chance of seeing him.

"You're gonna get sick of running soon! Come on out and fight, coward!"

Gorman got on top of a server, silently crawling behind the guard. He held his breath. OK, he wants a fight? I'll give him one-

He waited. The guard kept spitting insults, taunting Gorman even though he couldn't see him. Then Gorman dropped down behind him, silently, like an owl swooping down to catch a mouse in the grass. He tapped the guard's shoulder. The guard turned around, and before he could shoot, Gorman punched him square in the jaw.

Reeling, the guard dropped his rifle. He spit blood on the floor, and looked up. As soon as he did, Gorman punched him again.

"You wanted a fight," Gorman hissed. "Get up and fight, bastard."

The guard let out an inhuman snarl before lunging in the direction of Gorman's voice. In a second flat, Gorman kicked him in the side. The guard tried grabbing Gorman, and wrapped his hand around one of the wounds on Gorman's left arm, prompting the Marine to grunt in pain.

The guard found a weakness. He grinned before squeezing Gorman's arm.

Spots exploded across Gorman's vision. His grunting turned to growling as he pulled his knife and drove it into the guard's back. The other man's laughter turned to cries of pain, which intensified as Gorman began twisting the knife.

Yanking out the knife, Gorman shoved the guard away, watching him fall and grope around for his weapon. He grabbed the guard's shoulders, then his head. "Is this it? Is this the fight you wanted?"

The guard was terrified. He couldn't speak. Then he whispered, "God help me."

"He's the only one who can help you now," Gorman snarled. He had to end the fight. He had to get back to the computers and check the progress of the two drives. In a swift move, he snapped the guard's neck.

As he stood up, he heard the click of a weapon being readied, and looked to see the third surviving guard aiming his rifle at Gorman's head. The wounded guard that their commander had pushed aside was propped against the survivor's back, his pistol also pointing at Gorman.

"Don't move," the guard hissed. "Don't even-"

Someone emerged from around the corner behind them. Though their facial features were obscured by the darkness, Gorman could tell they were a Marine by the shape of the armor on their shoulders. The Marine raised their weapon, taking down the two remaining guards with a few rounds.

Towers blinked when Gorman turned on his flashlight. She was breathing hard, and shaking. "H-Hi." She tensed, half-expecting him to discipline her for such an unprofessional phrase on the job.

"Hi," Gorman replied.

Towers became aware of the blood completely covering Gorman's left arm. "You're hurt. I'll get Maxie-"

"No. I'll be fine. I need you to stand in the hallway, make sure they can't send anyone else in." Gorman left the maze of servers, returning to the computer. The download of attack plans was nearly complete. The download of his great-uncle's information was a little past halfway. "I just need time."

"We can't hold them off forever!"

"I said, I need time!"

"You're hurt! Get someone else to take care of this!"

"No."

"You were almost shot!" Towers looked on the verge of tears.

"You need to get your mind back on track, young lady! This sure as hell isn't my first time nearly being shot, and it won't be the last!"

Towers struggled to breathe evenly.

"There's no going back. Sweetheart, you have no idea what I've faced in missions before this one. You can't panic. Come on, I know it's not in your nature to do this. I also know you've never cared about anyone like this before. You have courage. I know you do. I want to see that from you. Where's that determination I saw in you when you wouldn't stop messing with my stuff? Oh, and speaking of my stuff . . . where'd you put my armor?"

"Valen gave me this oversized duffel bag and I left it near the door. Everything's in there."

"Good. Like I said, we need time." Gorman looked back at the computer screen. If only he could will the downloads to go faster.


2137

They never found the worm-creature. The vents were so complex that no one would be able to look through every inch without getting completely lost. None of them were trained to be in there for long periods of time, especially not Waits.

He emerged from the vent feeling ashamed he hadn't found the creature. If he had a much bigger staff, he would send them searching the station in groups of two. With so few people, it would take longer to find that thing.

It would take so long that the other transports would arrive before we finished. At least . . . we'd be able to all board and leave the little shit to die. Waits mulled over his options. He could only hope that thing was more scared of them then they were of it. Perhaps it would just hide and avoid them.

He needed more time to think. After ordering his men to continue locking down San Cristobal, he went to check on Lingard. She was outside the hospital, trying to set up a temporary medical center for the patients she and Morley had to move. Most of them were asleep, sedated to keep them from getting stressed. Lingard was walking among them, checking their vitals. She paused when Waits approached her. "I'm kinda busy," she said.

"I know. I . . . W-We didn't find the creature. It might be awhile before we can put everyone back inside." Waits looked down, then regained eye contact with Lingard. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You're just doing your job. Like I'm doing mine."

"Yeah." Waits tried to smile. "I just . . . I need some time to think about what to do. I don't have enough Marshals to do a full sweep of the station. I don't know where that creature could've gone. All we found was shed skin in the vent-"

"Hang on. You found shed skin in the vent?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"If I can recover it, I can study it and try to figure out what it is."

"Honey, we don't have time for science-y shit. Besides, you said there's no data on it."

"No, but I can start compiling data. I don't think this is something we want anyone else running into."

"Fair enough, but-"

Lingard started heading back toward San Cristobal. "Morley, take over for a little while."

"You're not going in that vent to retrieve that skin," Waits said. "That's an order."

The doors to the entrance closed behind them. Lingard glanced around before turning to face Waits. "What vent did you find it in?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Oh, I'll get it out of you somehow."

Waits glared at her. "Try."

Lingard put her arms around his neck, kissing him. "Now?"

Waits sighed. "How the fuck am I supposed to say 'no' to your face? You could get away with anything around me."

Lingard didn't smile at that. At all.

"Um . . . that was a joke, and you're supposed to laugh."

"It'd be funny if it wasn't true." Lingard had lowered her voice. She looked down, eyes full of shame.

"What do you mean? You haven't done anything wrong. You woulda told me."

Tears ran down her face. "I have." She looked up at him. "Ransome was right; there's something you don't know." She took a breath. "I was in on the black market, Waits. I had no choice, sweetie, people were getting hurt over shortages and I needed supplies to help them."

Waits let go of her, shock hitting him hard, like a punch in the stomach. If this was any other person, any other person at all, he would have been infuriated. With Lingard, he felt disappointed, and sad. Betrayed, even. "I can remember when we first met, that . . . you said you enjoyed my company because I was honest, and you said you'd take my honesty and crudeness and crappy people skills over the backstabbing and untrustworthiness you had gotten used to around here."

"I didn't stab you in the back."

"In a way, you did. You knew I was trying to deal with the black market. You knew I was trying to kick Sinclair's ass for letting so much contraband get in. You knew, and you did it anyway. Who'd you get your stuff from?"

"Ransome."

"Of course. Why am I not surprised? You didn't have to fuck him to get it, did you?"

"No."

Waits fell silent, struggling to process everything. He managed to look Lingard in the eye.

Lingard let out a sigh. "I don't know if it helps, but . . . I still want to marry you. This . . . This whole thing doesn't effect our relationship."

"I have one question for you, honey; what matters more to you? Complete strangers, or someone who gave you things you didn't have before? Does . . . the satisfaction of helping someone you don't know outweigh everything I've done for you? Have you been so deprived of people caring about you and your wellbeing that the only thing that can make you even remotely happy is caring for people who probably don't even thank you for what you do? Is there . . . Is there something I'm failing at? Something I'm not doing to make you happy?"

She didn't respond.

Waits didn't know what else to say. "I think . . . maybe we just need to be apart for a little while. Give us both a chance to think. Oh, and if you still want that creature's skin, it's in the vent in the room with all your surgical equipment."

Without a word, Lingard turned and headed back toward the operating theater. Waits watched her go, and began to wonder if he had said the wrong thing entirely.


Waits wasn't sure how much time had passed between since the creature had come out of the woman from the Anesidora. Several hours, it seemed.

It was. It was late at night when the incident happened. Now it was almost ten in the morning. Waits hadn't slept at all. After his argument with Lingard, basic things like sleeping and eating were out of the question.

The Bureau was down to only a few more cans of coffee grounds in storage, prompting Waits to declare everyone was limited to one cup per day, including himself. He was used to having two or more, and struggled with not showing his irritability over it. When he couldn't handle it anymore, he found a quiet spot down in the Spaceflight Terminals to have a cigarette.

He wished the last few transports were in view. He wished he knew when they would arrive.

He also wished he knew what to say to Lingard to make things better.

Exhaling smoke against the cold window, Waits looked down at his boots. He was just now feeling so tired, worn down, beaten. He felt like if he lay down, in a comfortable position, he would sleep for a week. The terminals were silent. Very few people were wandering around. Waits took his time with going through his cigarette, taking slow, deep breaths.

He became aware of someone jogging up behind him. He was expecting it to be Morley or Lingard, but when he turned, he saw it was a young woman he had never seen before. She looked out-of-breath and scared, like she had been running a long way.

"Marshal! Marshal Waits, please! I need help!" she called.

Waits put out his cigarette. "Alright, alright-" He grunted when the woman grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. "Easy, lady! What's going on? Take a deep breath, and talk to me."

"It's my husband." Tears were streaming down the woman's face. "He didn't come home this morning. He works down in the maintenance tunnel, near the transit station of habitation! No one's seen him. Someone said they saw him go into one of the other tunnels and never came out-"

"OK, OK. Relax. Keep breathing. We'll find him, alright? Take me down there, and we'll look. He's probably lost."

"He's been working there for years."

"I've been working here for years and I still get lost. Don't jump to any conclusions just yet, ma'am."


The maintenance tunnel darkened the further Waits walked into it. The woman walked alongside him, cautiously stepping over pipes and puddles of water and electrical wires. Waits didn't seem fazed by anything.

"What tunnel did your husband's coworkers say he disappeared in?" Waits asked.

"At the end. Second one to your left," the woman replied. Their voices echoed through the enormous tunnel.

Giving a nod, Waits kept walking. The tunnel's length meant it would take a few minutes for them to reach the other side. When they did, Waits examined the four splitting tunnels' entrances with his flashlight. The small beam of light couldn't penetrate the sheer darkness of each. "Second one to the left, huh," Waits muttered.

The tunnels to his left led under the habitation towers. The ones on his right ran under the transit line.

"Don't stray too far," Waits said, glancing over his shoulder at the woman. He held out his hand. "What's your name?"

"It's Lissa."

"Lissa. OK. Just hang on. Don't need you getting lost here, too."

Her thin, tiny fingers gripped his hand tightly. Waits massaged her hand with his thumb reassuringly, like he always did with Lingard. He knew he'd be as distraught as Lissa if Lingard went missing, and he wondered if Lingard would be distraught if he went missing.

Of course she would. She was upset when I got hurt last year. She was upset when I was almost shot by a looter. She does love me. Waits paused, glancing at Lissa. Here I am, helping someone I hardly know, someone who might not thank me for what I'm doing, yet . . . I'm helping her, like Lingard helps her patients. He let out a quiet sigh. I really was wrong with Lingard. I have to apologize.

"Marshal?" Lissa stopped, squeezing Waits's hand hard. "What's . . . W-What's that?"

"What's what?"

"Something on the wall just moved. To your left."

Waits pointed his flashlight at the wall. At first, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, just tubes and cables, but . . . something wasn't right about those tubes and cables. Waits frowned, then backed away when he saw a long, black, bladed tail unfurl from something on the wall. The tail was connected to a large, horribly thin creature. Black ribs lined its chest, and its long, smooth head turned slowly to face them. Its lipless mouth was full of sharp, silvery teeth, and it had no eyes. No visible eyes, that is.

The creature hissed and started crawling down the wall toward Waits and Lissa. Without hesitating, Waits pulled his revolver. "Lissa, run!" He fired a single shot. It struck the creature in the shoulder, and a greenish-yellow fluid sprayed from its wound, making it scream. Waits's stomach turned hard when he recognized the scream. It sounded so much like that first cry the little worm gave when it came out of the woman from the Anesidora . . . was this that worm? All grown up? This fucking fast?

Waits didn't have time to think about it. The creature's blood was extremely acidic; that spray was eating through the pipes on the wall and the wires between them. Sparks flew and gas erupted, starting to flood the dark tunnel. Waits could hear the creature continue to scream as it left.

He didn't want to know what kind of gas was filling the tunnel, so he turned to leave, running faster than he had in years. Once he caught up with Lissa, he grabbed her hand, pulling her with him as the two fled the more massive maintenance tunnel.

"What was that?!" Lissa shouted.

"I have no fucking idea!" Waits replied. "Just keep running!"

"What about-"

"I think it's safe to assume that son-of-a-bitch killed your husband. Sure looked like it wanted a piece of us."

They didn't stop running until they were outside the tunnel. Waits pushed his body against the massive door, and nearly collapsed when it was sealed shut. Lissa was shaking and crying. Regaining his breath, Waits said, "I'm sorry. I had no idea the damn thing bleeds acid. Even if I managed to kill it, it . . . that whole area's gone toxic."

"It's not your fault, Marshal. Y-You did what you could . . . and you didn't know . . ." Lissa looked at him with wet, red eyes.

"You got a family?"

"No."

"Alright. Come up to the Bureau. I'll have to tell the others what we just saw."


Question: If Waits was present on Hadley's Hope during the infestation, would the situation have gone differently, or would it play out similarly to Sevastopol?