2137

Waits returned to the Marshal Bureau the same way he had left-alone. He refused to make eye contact with anyone inside, and simply headed into his office. Almost as soon as he sat down, someone knocked on the door. "What?"

"I need to speak to you for a moment, sir," Raine said.

Waits sighed. "Fine."

Raine entered, quietly closing the door behind him. "One of the teams picked up someone outside San Cristobal. A medic. Hatcher, I think her name is."

Waits found himself wincing a little just hearing the words "San Cristobal."

Raine lowered himself into a chair, giving Waits a sympathetic look. "Sir . . . I really am sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. It's my fault. I couldn't save her."

"It's not your fault," Raine said, softly. "You have no control over that creature."

"No, but I should've destroyed it a long time ago."

Raine was quiet for a moment. "Would . . . Would she blame you?"

"Probably not. She even told me she doesn't want me giving up."

"Then . . . that's what you should do. Don't give up. Keep fighting. I-I know I haven't been the best help-"

"I'll give you credit for trying. You're the only person in the Goddamn Bureau who's had the courage to actually talk to me. The only fucking Marshal I have left is Ricardo, and I hear him whispering to people that I'm stubborn and don't listen to anyone. The fact that my own personnel are talking shit behind my back . . ." Waits swallowed. "The fact that I'm trusting a civvie more than my own deputy says a lot, doesn't it?"

"That's not your fault, sir," Raine said. "The rest of us don't have any leadership experience, so . . . we're all turning to you."

Waits nodded.

"We're all counting on you, sir. I know it's not . . . it's not easy when you're grieving, but I don't think Lingard would've wanted you to hole yourself up."

"She wouldn't." Waits rubbed his face. "How are we on supplies?"

"We've got enough food and water for everyone. We've got flashlights, ammunition, batteries. I think we'll be able to hold out here for a few days before things start running low."

"OK. No foraging parties for a couple days, then. Give you all a break."

"We still have some groups out."

"When they get back, let them know."

Raine nodded. "I'll go get you some food."

"I'm not hungry. Save it for someone else."

"You haven't eaten or slept in a few days. You need it."

Sighing, Waits hung his head. "Alright."

A slight smile crossed Raine's face before he went back out into the lobby. Waits caught a glimpse of the medic they had picked up. She was kneeling next to someone, talking quietly. A minute later, she stood up, absentmindedly adjusting her ponytail. She looked in Waits's direction, and picked up her kit before walking over to his office door. "Hello, Marshal." She looked over her shoulder, and sighed. "I'm sorry about Lingard. I worked with her a lot. Such a nice lady. And she could go on about you."

Waits didn't respond. He should have taken that as a compliment, but he wasn't in the mood.

Looking a little unsure about what she was saying, Hatcher set her kit on one of the tables, and quickly changed the subject. "Mind if I check you over, Marshal?"

"What for?"

"To make sure you're healthy." Hatcher opened the kit. "Can I see your wrist?"

Waits sighed, holding out his left wrist. He figured it was best not to argue her, despite his own irritability. We all gotta be friends here.

Hatcher was quiet as she worked. She wrote down Waits's pulse, then took an electronic thermometer from her bag, gently pressing it to Waits's forehead. "Normal . . . Any headaches? Nausea?"

"No."

"Any complaints at all? Pain, weakness, fainting spells?"

"No."

Raine strolled back in with a ration pack. "Hatcher. Good to see you." He grinned. "I see you two are getting along."

"I wouldn't necessarily say that," Hatcher replied. "I'm just looking him over."

Raine nodded, setting the pack on a desk. "Alright. I'll leave you be, then."

Hatcher finished up her exam, declaring Waits to be in good shape, though slightly malnourished and dehydrated. She closed up her bag. "I didn't bring a lot of supplies," she said. "I might have to go back with a foraging party to get more."

"Whatever you need, go get. Just make sure you have people with you, and arm yourself." Waits glanced at the ration pack. He still felt torn up inside from grief. How could he think about food or water or sleep? If Lingard wouldn't want me to give up, that means I need to take care of myself. I always got on her case about not taking care of herself. And she did the same for me.

Waits had been reminding Lingard to slow down since before they started dating. It wasn't hard to notice she didn't take a lot of breaks, so he took it upon himself to help. Eventually, Lingard started doing the same for him.

In the latest hours of the night, it was easy to think they were the only living beings on Sevastopol. Waits would forever hate going to San Cristobal at night, but he did it anyway. There were times where Lingard really couldn't leave the hospital because of certain patients, so Waits slept with her on the cots in the nurse's quarters. It wasn't comfortable, but he didn't mind as long as she was kept warm.

Waits smirked as he thought about that. She told me I was pretty good with spooning once. Never gonna experience that again. He waited until Hatcher had left before taking the ration pack. None of its contents looked particularly appetizing, but Waits wasn't complaining. His primal needs had finally won over. The rations were highly salty, but rich in nutrients Waits hadn't put in his system for quite some time. He resisted the urge to eat faster when he realized how hungry he was.

"You're gonna make yourself sick." Lingard had to stop Waits from eating to his heart's content on nights where he was late for dinner and skipped lunch. "Just . . . slow down, would you?"

"Sorry." Waits took a minute or so to breathe before putting another forkful of food in his mouth.

Lingard tugged Waits's cap, not saying anything else. She smiled, though. "This is all store-bought. I can't cook."

"You say that every single time I come over." Waits sighed. "Look, maybe it'd boost your confidence if somebody taught you how."

"Well, I know it wouldn't be you. I've seen you cook, sweetie. You burn everything and don't get me started on that chicken creation you did a few months ago."

Waits smirked. "At least I tried. You haven't."

"It would be a disaster."

Standing up, Waits adjusted his belt before looking Lingard in the eye. "Come on. Give it one shot. I'd like to see you more confident."

Blushing, Lingard looked at the floor. "Waits-"

He touched her chin, gently lifting her head. "Hey, it'll be OK, sweetheart. You're smart. You could figure it out if you set your mind to it. Plus, one of us is gonna be cooking when we get off Sevastopol."

Lingard looked up at him. "If I'm going to learn, you're going to learn, too." She hugged him, standing on her toes to nuzzle his face.

Waits tried to pull himself from his thoughts. He missed those little nuzzles and every rapid heartbeat that led to a passionate kiss. He didn't want to forget, but he didn't want to remember, either. Her death was still fresh. The memories were still pounding down on him, and he couldn't hold them back.

He had managed to finish half of the ration pack before feeling his throat close. Tears rolled down his face, and he gave a heavy sigh. Sweetheart, I miss you so much.

Things became quiet over the next several days. Waits's grief came and went in waves. As more and more time passed, the less intense the waves were. He felt numb on occasion. He had no desire to sleep. He stayed awake and sat with a shotgun across his lap while watching over the survivors who somehow could sleep. It was during those long nights where he felt most broken.

He tried not to think about the nights he spent with Lingard. Memories that were supposed to be happy took a different turn when he told himself that when he finally left Sevastopol, he would be sharing a bed with no one. He tried not to think about turning onto his side and seeing no one next to him.

"You will start to heal when you get out of here," Raine told him. "That's just how grief works. It might take longer in some people, but . . . it eventually happens."

Waits wasn't entirely sure what kept him going every day. Most likely, he thought, it was the group of people gathered with him in the Bureau. They were all scared, broken, distraught. He thought about what he would want if he was in their position. I'd want someone doing their damnedest to fight every single day. He had to be that. It was painful at times, but he had to be that.

There was a day where he finally managed to doze. Raine insisted on it, while he and Jav watched over the rest of the survivors. Waits rested his head in his arms on his desk, feeling his heartbeat slowing down. A somewhat relaxed feeling flooded his body, as if it were thanking him for finally resting.

That feeling didn't last long. He became aware of something flashing on the desk. A jolt of energy exploded through him. A ship trying to call? Rescue? Please, let this be rescue! Swallowing, he grabbed a set of headphones and pressed a button, letting the message through.

A female voice filled his ears. "This is the commercial vessel Torrens out of Saint Clair, registration number MSV-7760, calling Sevastopol traffic control. We're carrying three passengers on a Weyland-Yutani bond. You're holding the Nostromo flight recorder unit. We request immediate permission to transfer the passengers port-side. Over."

That's not rescue. Waits's heart sank. The energy drained from him. They can't dock. They shouldn't dock. It's too dangerous. He paused, taking a moment to breathe. They probably have functioning long-range comms, though. They can call for help. He swallowed again, taking another breath before sending his reply. "This is Waits, Colonial Marshal at Sevastopol Station. We have a serious situation here. Non-local comms are down and we need you to send out an emergency message, do you read me? Repeat, our ranged communications are down, and we need help. Stand off, and send help."

He waited. One heartbeat. Two. Nervous sweat ran down his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, under his cap. Anxiety snowballed in his stomach. A full minute passed by, yet it felt like an hour.

The Torrens didn't respond.

"Shit," Waits hissed. The message may not have gotten through. Oh, God, how am I gonna reach her? "Raine!" he shouted.

Raine jogged in, his shotgun slung. "Yes, sir?"

"I just got a message from a ship approaching. I can't get a reply out to them."

"Are they a rescue vessel?" Raine asked.

"No. Some Weyland-Yutani ship that was sent out to pick up something. They must've left before shit got bad here. I have to make contact with them. Is there anyone out there who can build some kind of device that can help us boost a signal or something?"

Raine's face paled. "I don't think so. Someone would have to go to Seegson Comms, and . . . it's crawling with Working Joes and Security guards."

Waits groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Fuck."

"I'll go see if any of our people used to work there. We'll figure something out."

When Raine left, Waits headed into another section of the Bureau, punching in a code to access the station's security cameras. More than half were down. Miraculously, the outer ones were still up. He spotted the Torrens parked outside the station. "What the hell?" he breathed when he noticed the ship's airlock opening. Oh, they really didn't get the message . . .

He watched as three suited figures emerged. A horrible sinking feeling pressed in his stomach. Jesus, I gotta reach them somehow-

An explosion rocked the camera. Waits nearly jumped back. The tether the three figures were using had been severed. Blood drained from his face, but he couldn't watch anymore; a huge piece of debris smashed into the camera. There was nothing but gray and white static.

"Shit!" Waits slammed his fist on the table. That hadn't been one of his traps. He knew it wasn't one of his traps. This piece of shit is falling apart! He stood up, holding his head, groaning, pacing. Oh my God, they're dead, and I have no way of calling the captain. Son-of-a-bitch! He sat back down, cycling through the camera feeds, and getting nothing.

His body sagged. Great. Something malfunctioned and killed all the passengers in one fucking heartbeat. He felt sick, covering his face and continuing to moan in sorrow and disappointment.

With no means of contacting the Torrens, Waits felt powerless. He sat for several hours, hoping the ship would try to contact him again, but he got nothing. Raine suggested waiting for the foraging parties to return, perhaps someone among them knew how the dishes in Seegson Comms worked. Waits couldn't tell how much patience he had left in his stores, but he willed himself to just sit and gather up what little patience he still had. The only thing granting him any kind of hope was the fact that another trap had been set over in San Cristobal. All he could do was hope. Hope that he would finally dispose of that hellish creature. He was starting to think he needed to try something else if the explosives failed again.

Needing a moment to breathe, he stepped outside the Bureau, holding a cigarette Raine had given him. As he searched his pockets for his lighter, he felt something hard and plastic. Frowning, he pulled out a set of I.D. tags.

Lingard's I.D. tags.

His heart ached. Absentmindedly, he kept searching for his lighter while staring at her picture. He wondered when it had been taken. She told him she had been excited to start working here. That sweet and innocent smile suggested it had been taken shortly after she arrived on Sevastopol. That sweet and adorable smile actually warmed his insides, and he smiled back.

He found the lighter in one of his jacket pockets. His gaze remained focused on Lingard's picture as he flipped on the lighter, and touched the tiny flame to the end of his cigarette. After putting out the lighter, Waits slid it back in his pocket. He drew in a breath, then took the cigarette from his mouth to exhale. His posture relaxed, and he sighed, smoke flowing around him.

He loved that smile on her. He could remember seeing that smile every time he showed up to her office. Even if she was having a rough day, she smiled when she saw him. She smiled when holding his hand, or cuddling with him. She smiled when she woke up every morning next to him.

"Good morning," she'd whisper.

Waits was usually still asleep, snoring away. With a sigh, Lingard would gently shake him. That was enough to wake him most of the time. If that didn't work, she hit him with a pillow.

His eyes would open, and he would grin at her. "Good morning," he whispered back. "Sweetheart."

"Big goof." Lingard smirked. She moved closer to kiss him. "Hi."

"Hi." He nuzzled her. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good. Ready to face today?"

"After coffee," Waits said.

He smiled at the memory. He sighed again, exhaling smoke. I'm gonna miss little things like that.

One of the survivors stepped outside, looking at Waits. "Sir? We've got . . . a bit of an issue."

"What?" Waits asked.

"Someone who was wounded on their last foraging trip. The wound's gotten infected, and we don't have supplies."

"Where's Jav or Hatcher?" Waits stood up, taking his cigarette out of his mouth.

"Hatcher's out with a group. Jav and Raine are out as well."

"Dammit." Waits took a moment to think, rubbing his face. "I'll go. I'll . . . get a kit from San Cristobal."

"Are you sure you want to do this, sir?"

"I'm positive. I've done enough sitting around." Waits headed into the Bureau, the survivor following him. "I'll take Ricardo with me."

"Who would you like in charge while you're out, sir?"

Letting out his breath, Waits glanced around the room. "Ah . . . Relinka, I need you to watch everyone for a few hours, alright, son?"

Perched on a desk, a thin, young man with blond hair nodded.

"Thanks." Waits opened the cylinder of his revolver. After making sure the gun was loaded, he put a small box full of bullets in his pocket. A part of him didn't want to go back to San Cristobal, but he knew this had to be done. He couldn't let his people down. Lingard wouldn't want him to.

He glanced at Ricardo as his reluctant deputy loaded a shotgun. It wasn't difficult to see the two didn't get along, though Waits refused to let his personal differences get in the way of duty. As they left the Bureau, Waits managed to finish his cigarette. He didn't say a word to Ricardo as they headed to the elevator. I just hope the transit works. Waits felt sick while thinking about the possibility that he could get stuck in the transit tunnel again. At least he knew what to do, and how to get to San Cristobal from there. I should've gotten Jav or Raine to come with me instead. He wouldn't be able to wait for them, though; they were both getting supplies from the Systech Spire, and that was a long walk if the transit had failed.

Waits was cautious as they entered the elevator, glancing around for the creature. He half-expected to see trails of saliva or blood or something. Today, there was nothing, but he didn't release his breath just yet. Of course, there was more than the alien. There were the broken androids and hostile civilians and Sinclair's goons. His thoughts turned to the explosion that killed the passengers from the Torrens. He had to worry about the station itself turning on him.

He wanted Lingard's comfort and Morley's optimism. He wanted Lissa's words of encouragement and Sterling's brains. The only other person he could think of was his sister, and she was millions of miles away. Safe. He couldn't bear to think of her in this situation.

Waits held the railing on the elevator wall, trying to steer his thoughts to something else. Something other than Lingard . . .

It was difficult to think about something else. Waits kept his eyes shut, but quickly realized that wasn't a good idea. The movement of the elevator was lulling him off. Every muscle wanted to go slack, until he forced himself awake. He grabbed the railing with his other hand, now focused on trying not to fall asleep. His sleep-starved brain was begging him to drop off.

He spent the ride down fighting himself. I gotta stay awake, he wanted to moan aloud. He adjusted his stance, and stood straight, feeling joints pop. He knew he was pushing himself, physically, and it hurt. If everything outside didn't get him, he imagined he would probably collapse if he tried doing something like this again.

I just gotta make this one run, and then I can't go out anymore. Raine was right; I need to rest. If I don't rest, I'll wear myself out, and these people won't have anyone to lead them. Waits let out a quiet sigh. His decision was final. He would get a medical kit for the injured survivor, but he needed to take it easy for a little while. Just as he had told Lingard.

The elevator stopped at the transit station. Waits nearly cursed aloud when he saw the station and platform were pitch-black. It's completely down! He turned to Ricardo. "We'll have to go through the Engineering Deck."

"That'll take ages," Ricardo replied.

"Do you have a better way? The transit control room is all the way in fucking SciMed. We can't restart it from here. Now, we can stand here arguing, or we can get moving before that gentleman with a fever gets worse."

Waits had never gone through the Engineering Decks on his own, or at least without someone who actually knew their way around. Jav and Raine had spent weeks holed up down there, and knew it by heart. Waits trusted their knowledge. It was a pity neither of them were engineers; they would be able to restart the transit when they reached SciMed.

Regardless, Waits couldn't afford to wait for them. God only knew how they were doing out in Systech.

The walk was long, and Waits could tell he hadn't made such a long walk in awhile. Then again, he had been down in the Engineering Decks before with different people. People whose company he had come to appreciate.

Raine offered to have Waits accompany him and Jav on a foraging expedition not that long ago, just so Waits could get out of the Bureau for a little while. It was more than just another supply run; most of the walk was spent talking to one another. Raine revealed he had been an intern in the research facility of Sevastopol's Science and Medical division.

"I came here on a college pass a couple years ago. September, 2135. Why, I'll never know," Raine said. "The place was already starting to look rundown."

"Same person who lied to my boss about Sevastopol being a busy hub probably lied to your college as well, son," Waits replied. "Willing to bet it was Ransome." He looked at Raine, giving a small smirk. "You really don't look like the scientist type."

"To be honest, I . . . thought that's what I wanted to do. I scored high on my tests. Everyone told me the medical research field paid good money, so . . . that's what I did."

"Oh, bullshit, son, you should've done what you really wanted to do. Come on. Tell me what you really wanna do. You don't seem like the type that wants to sit and play with chemicals all fucking day."

Raine grinned. "Well . . ." He rubbed the back of his head. "I'm . . . I-I've always been good at building models of things. Small-scale."

"Then go do it. If that makes you happy, go make a career out of it."

"I-I'd have to back out of my major entirely. Spent a lot of money."

"Don't worry about it. I'll help you out."

"I couldn't do that to you, sir."

"My plans for when I leave Sevastopol were royally fucked. Least I could do to just . . . feel like I'm doing something, and repay you for all you've done. You can crash on my couch so you have somewhere to sleep at night. You wouldn't be intruding."

"Take his offer, buddy," Jav said, not looking up from a box of batteries. He was testing them in his flashlight to make sure they worked.

"You're welcome to join him," Waits added.

"I'll visit for the holidays. I got my degrees and shit a long time ago. They'd be nuts not to hire me on Gateway when we get the hell outta here."

Waits was pulled from his thoughts and memories when he and Ricardo approached the elevator that would take them to San Cristobal. A chill suddenly moved down his spine. The darkened station had been eerily silent. There was nothing to suggest anyone else was there besides himself and Ricardo, yet Waits felt like there was someone else nearby.

"We're not alone," Waits muttered. He looked around, searching for signs of the creature. When he didn't see any, he gestured for Ricardo to follow him. As they moved further into the transit station, he could smell blood. Either someone's hurt, or it's just something left behind by that-His thoughts stopped when he spotted a man kneeling by a younger woman with glasses. The left side of her suit was badly stained with blood.

"Colonial Marshals," the man whispered. "Thank God." He stood up. "Are either of you Marshal Waits?"

Waits gestured to himself. "Who are you two? I've never seen either of you here on Sevastopol."

"I'm Samuels. Taylor and I . . . we spacewalked from the Torrens."

Question: How does Waits's perspective change the opening of the events of Isolation?