This story is primarily written for entertainment purposes. All copyrights belong to their respective owners.

Finally, Spilman returns. Sorry for the long time it took for this update.

Chapter 5: On the pedestal

Spilman found himself lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Having just awoken with a sour face, he felt as if a part of him was missing. He took a few seconds before reaching for something that was in between the mattress and the edge of the bed frame. He pulled back his hand and then stuck a cigarette into the corner of his mouth. In the same motion, he had also retrieved a lighter, which he promptly made use of.

After inhaling and exhaling calmly a few times, he was beginning to come to his senses. Now he remembered where he was. This room was part of Jacobs' quarters. The man himself was no longer in any sound state of mind to lead or administer anybody. In fact, these days he was hiding in the basement lockers most of the time.

Spilman hadn't taken up Jacobs' position, though; merely his quarters for the night. The new leader was Bryant, who had her squad of guards backing her. They had enough to worry about at the moment, so he could relatively easily slip by their attention.

Three days had passed since he had last seen the Xenomorphs. Ever since Noser had let him into the main complex, he hadn't gone outside. Bryant and her troops had been carefully monitoring all movement outside their own fortress and they did not permit anybody to leave. But the Xenomorphs weren't their only problem.

The little stuttering scientist turned pyromaniac, Wilson, had formed a separate group that was holed up and locked-in on the upper levels. Several times each day, he would address Bryant's group via the speaker system in an attempt to convince their people to join him instead. His reasoning was that if they did not join him, the decommission crew would kill them for having gotten in the way of the research.

Of course, Spilman had let it slip that Wilson was a fire-obsessed maniac, so the people in Bryant's group were reluctant to believe those broadcast claims. Nevertheless, more and more people were beginning to believe that the company was going to cover this up. They just could not agree amongst themselves about the approach they would take when they would finally arrive.

"Wilson, you sack of shit." Spilman said to the ceiling. The man was up there somewhere, acting like a certified wacko that was making the situation unnecessarily complicated.

By chance, Spilman looked to his left and was reminded of the pedestal he had been put on by several members of their group. He remembered it clearly now. Last night, Samantha Cismoni, one of the interns who he had never exchanged more than five words with before all this began, had offered to be his bodyguard. Spilman, finding such a thing quite ridiculous, had refused. However, she had been very persistent, and Spilman had been very tired.

The thought that this jumpsuit-and-sneaker-wearing young woman could be an effective bodyguard was laughable to him. For starters, she appeared to have no qualifications for such a physical job, since she was an intern to become communications officer. Also, she was so short and lean that Spilman himself could probably lift her off the ground by the collar of her jumpsuit with only one hand.

Speaking of which, those sneakers and that jumpsuit were probably still on the floor somewhere in the room. She certainly wasn't wearing them right now. Her completely bare shape was positioned beside Spilman on the left side of the bed. Perhaps that was not a fully accurate description, because she was still wearing her double-display digital wrist watch.

She appeared to be fast asleep; lying on her stomach, her face towards him. She was sort of snoring, though it didn't make that much noise. Also, she was drooling on the pillow.

Spilman, having absolutely no problem with the fact that Jacobs' pillow was being drooled on, let her be. He guessed that all this body-guarding must have taken its toll on her. Last night, he had been too tired and too uninterested to fully register what she had done after having refused to leave the room. Now, he remembered something she said about showing she had nothing to hide, in case he did not trust her. At this point she had taken off her clothes and had said something about warming his bed for him.

He watched her silently, as she continued sleeping undisturbed. She had a light colored skin and short brown hair, which she normally made to be spiky and standing on end by using hair gel. Her hair was a bit messier now, obviously. She had several moles in her face and on her arms. Spilman was too cynical in his head to call them beauty marks. Now it was clear they were also present on her back and on her behind.

This reminded him of something. He now thought about how his forest-witch-troll of a grandmother had condemned such brash and forward women when he had been younger. She would say that they deserved to be smacked and had once demonstrated how to deal with one.

Spilman momentarily saw that poor woman of his past in the person currently beside him, and thought for a second that maybe he should do something about this personal space invader. However, the thought lasted only a second. Immediately thereafter, he decided he was not going to beat her and her protruding behind.

"May you forever choke on your own shit, granny." Spilman said to the ceiling. Then he reached out to Cismoni, to gently brush some of her hair out of her face.

Suddenly, Spilman saw in his mind the image of Isaacs, who was slowly shaking his head in disapproval, looking down on him in a judgmental way.

"And you…you stay out of this!" Spilman demanded from the ceiling. He had raised his voice a bit too much, because Cismoni now stirred and moaned sleepily.

"What…who…are you… talking to?" she asked as she turned over on her back and lazily stretched.

"The cleaning lady." Spilman improvised swiftly as he got out of bed in a sudden motion. He was bare chested and wearing striped pajama trousers. "I think we're about to be evicted. Now get some pants on, damn it." he added as he tossed her jumpsuit at her feet, before disappearing into the bathroom.

Later, when Spilman made his way down to the mess hall, he stopped just outside, in front of the door. Noser was standing there, seemingly waiting for him.

"Spilman!" his colleague announced loudly and enthusiastically.

"Noser." Spilman said as a kind of reserved and reluctant greeting in response.

"So, I take it you didn't get any sleep last night, huh?" Noser asked with a teeth baring grin.

Spilman didn't get what he was going on about. Perhaps Noser was referring to his permanent bags under his eyes, or his standard bloodshot-eyes look. "What do you mean? I slept fine." Spilman shrugged.

"Really?" Noser asked incredulously, at the same time sounding somewhat disappointed. But a moment later he already appeared to have shaken it off. "Anyway, something else did happen last night." he added. "It would appear that one of Bryant's men got dragged off by the beasts, while inspecting the storm shutters outside."

Spilman nodded quietly as the two of them entered the mess hall, with Noser lowering his voice and giving some additional details. They finally stopped speaking when Bryant and her guards entered through the side door.

Although Bryant and her right hand man Oldham were effectively assuming command over the group, Spilman knew that this wasn't their idea of a promotion and that they were looking for a way out of this mess. Surely they understood by now that their situation was unsustainable.

Now that the group of survivors had gathered in the mess hall to receive their daily share of the supplies, Spilman decided it was a good time to throw up the proverbial ball.

"Here's an idea: Why don't we fly that freighter out of here?" he suggested out of the blue, while stretching his arm horizontally and pointing two fingers right at Bryant, in between which he was pinching a cigarette.

Bryant appeared to want to ignore him, but Oldham burst out laughing. Some of the other security guards joined in. Oldham was a tall and somewhat slender man with a face that looked so stern and cramped up that it was perhaps a small miracle it could produce such laughing noises at all.

"Good joke. Now shut up." Oldham barked several seconds later, causing everyone to stop laughing.

The pompousness of it was simply an invitation for Spilman to provoke him further. "Why? If you want to tell a joke yourself, you may need to consult my award winning book of joke-telling tips." he said somewhat theatrically.

Oldham lost his temper now. It really was too easy. The man lunged forward to prepare to hit Spilman in the face with a fist, but multiple people sprang up or stepped in between them, causing Oldham to freeze his motion.

The first was Isaacs, who was as loyal to Spilman as ever. The second was Noser, who had developed a great deal of respect for Spilman since he had returned from the dead. Spilman could hardly consider him a rival now. The fact Spilman had, in private, revealed the general outline of his plan to unleash the beasts on the company also seemed to inspire his colleague. It did not appear to bother Noser that certain important details hadn't been worked out yet, though.

The third person to defend him was Cismoni, who appeared to take this bodyguard thing quite seriously. Although she was standing with her back towards Spilman, he imagined her to be quite mean-looking. At least now she was fully clothed and awake, so surely she didn't look so harmless anymore.

Spilman couldn't help but look a bit smug as he silently shook his head at Oldham, who now seemed to be moments away from breathing out fiery blasts. The man was about to receive some backup, however.

One of the other guards, a muscular woman with olive-colored skin and short black hair, promptly pulled her pistol out of its holster, and aimed it at Spilman in a firm two-handed grip. She looked quite ready to put an end to any and all bullshit she was hearing. The whole room went silent now as everyone stood momentarily frozen due to the unexpected escalation. Bryant then intervened.

"DuPont, Oldham, that's enough. Stand down, right now." Bryant ordered calmly, but with urgency and seriousness in her voice. Only when DuPont had lowered her gun, did Bryant turn to face the person who initially asked her a question. "So Spilman, you really have something intelligent to say for once?"

Spilman, who had remained undisturbed and unimpressed, took a long drag on his cigarette, causing the tip to burn brightly momentarily, before exhaling some words: "Call me Geoffrey."

Once again, Bryant seemed to be disinclined to grant Spilman his wish, but at least now she was listening.

"We need to refill the reactor coolant, which will be the most difficult part of the plan. Then we take the ship, and leave." Spilman insisted in a most straightforward manner.

"And who's going to captain it? You?" Bryant inquired while trying to suppress a patronizing grin. She did not appear completely out of patience, though.

"You." Spilman said simply. "I can't think of anyone else more suited for the job."

Perhaps he was laying it on too thick, but he decided it was best to try and convince her first so that she would take the lead in organizing this whole endeavor. She remained silent for a moment, and Spilman made use of the opportunity.

"Let me ask all of you: why do you work for the company?" Spilman began as he turned around to face the rest of the group. "No better way out there to earn a living, right? So they send us to this ball in the middle of nowhere to do shitty jobs. Then, when we have finally learned to accept that fate, when we have adapted to being neglected and isolated despite relaying communications for important worlds, they piss on us some more by decommissioning this place. But that isn't the worst of it, no. Now we are here, dying one at a time because one of their secret and illegal experiments broke free."

Spilman paused for a few seconds. He definitely had their complete attention now. There was no need to keep them all hanging in suspense, so he proceeded swiftly.

"I know some of you think we should wait for the decommission crew to arrive." he continued. "Maybe they'll rescue us from the beasts. Let's say they will. Then maybe they're going to make us disappear for having witnessed what we did. You all know their priorities. They don't care about people, or about individuals. They care about profit, about the masses. How would this look if the truth was to come out?" Spilman said in a deliberately pessimistic tone, taking advantage of people's fears.

"Well, I say we are done accepting their shit. I say we should get out of here. I say we can create something better for ourselves. We can say "Fuck you" to the damn company and start making our lives matter. If we each do our parts, if we start today, then I know we can show them we are the masters of our own destiny."

Noser was the first one who cheered loudly, followed closely by Cismoni. Several others from the group subsequently joined in.

As the people around him were clapping and shouting, Spilman simply looked intently at Bryant. When she made eye-contact with him, she nodded once, appearing to accept the nomination and the challenge.

Now things had really started rolling, with people no longer waiting for something to happen. They were inspired. They were preparing themselves, thinking up tactics on how to deal with Wilson, the beasts, and the imminent arrival of the decommission crew.

After some effort, Spilman had finally managed to separate himself from the bustle. He had slipped away from Cismoni when she had been momentarily distracted. She was hard to get rid of; she followed him everywhere, even shadowing him when he thought he was alone. He needed no witnesses for what he was about to do.

Spilman knew that sooner or later, he had to confront Morrison about his role in having set Lizzie and Ripper free. Perhaps he had already waited too long with this.

Though most scientists were dead or were presumed to be, Dr. Morrison was not counted in that list. Curiously, she was with their group, and apparently refused to join Wilson for some undisclosed reason.

Likely she was aware that Spilman had turned up, even though he hadn't come face-to-face with her yet. According to Noser, she stayed mostly within her assigned quarters, and did not mingle with the rest of the group.

Spilman suspected that beside Isaacs, Morrison was the only one in Bryant's group who knew of the role he had played in causing all of this. He believed she was keeping quiet about it in order not to implicate her own role in it.

When he reached the door to her quarters, he knocked impatiently several times. "Open up in there. Come on. Your conscience wants to speak to you." he added as he was knocking.

Not long after, the door opened. There was Morrison, looking exactly the same since he last saw her, unfortunately. He stormed inside without saying anything, and promptly slammed the button that made the door close again.

"You seem to be quite stressed, Spilman. Why don't you sit down? Stress isn't good for your health." she said. Whether it was truly to mock him or not, Spilman didn't care. All he heard was someone being arrogant, while being responsible for almost killing Lizzie and Ripper.

His hand immediately went for her throat. He soon had her pinned against the wall. Her eyes widened and bulged. With only one arm, Morrison couldn't break free from his grip.

"Wilson nearly killed them. I know you ordered him to do it!" he roared at her.

"If you kill me… you'll never get them… off the planet." she struggled to say as she was being choked.

Spilman was so surprised by her reply that he instinctively let her go. She had to take a few moments to cough, rub her throat, and straighten her lab coat before she started elaborating further.

"I know what you want, Spilman, because that is what I want."

"Get who off the planet?" Spilman asked.

"Your two lady friends."

Spilman had to chuckle. He thought for a moment before answering. "I don't believe for a second that you want to join me on my rampage through the stars."

"What options do you think I have? If the people downstairs, in their current state of mind, find out I was the one in charge of the experiments that caused the deaths of so many of their colleagues, I would be lynched. And if the company finds out the Xenomorphs escaped under my watch, I would be imprisoned, and perhaps even executed." Morrison replied dead calm.

"Why hasn't Wilson tried to put the blame on you in one of his speaker speeches?" Spilman demanded to know.

"Because I believe there is still a human being in there somewhere." Morrison said as she looked away from him. "But, I don't know what they would do to you, if they were to learn of your role in this." she continued, starting to sound smug again.

"So, you think you can threaten me, standing where you are?" Spilman barked at her.

"Haven't you just tried to kill me a minute ago? I would say we are about even. And truthfully, I think all this bickering is a waste of time. Instead of us trying to blame the other for being responsible, we should work together to bury this secret. It's the only way we can work towards getting what we want. So I'll get straight to the point." Morrison said before briefly pausing.

Then she revealed what she had been holding back. "There is a way to put the Xenomorphs into artificial hibernation. I am the only one who knows the procedure."

Neither Morrison nor Spilman said a word for a while. It was obvious that both had a hard time trusting the other. However, each of them also knew the uses they would have for the other. Eventually, Spilman was the one who broke the silence.

"Alright. I'll keep quiet about it. And I'll make sure there is a place for you on the ship, but only if you can really do what you just said." he answered, not sounding enraged for the first time since he had entered the room.

"Good. I shall get to work then. None of this is going to be easy. I will surely need your help to draw them into the right location." Morrison replied in her usual stately manner.

Spilman gave her a quick nod, before pressing the button to open the door. A moment later, he had left the room.

Spilman was in one of his storage chambers, in between stacks of old equipment that reached the ceiling, rummaging through a large crate, when he heard someone come in.

"Hey!" a sharp girlish voice suddenly announced. Spilman did not need to look up to know that it belonged to Cismoni.

"Where did you run off to? You could have been grabbed." Cismoni insisted, while walking closer towards him.

"You know they won't harm me. Isn't that why you think I'm your savior?" Spilman said, unconcerned. He did not even look up from the crate whose contents he was inspecting.

"Well yeah, but Wilson's people can still grab you. You shouldn't go anywhere without someone watching your back." she said in a tone that seemed to imply he was the one being unreasonable here.

Spilman snorted, still without looking up. He supposed he could make a joke that he had been watching her back this morning, but decided not to. It was nice having a fan and someone who was willing to stand by his side, but this whole 'being god on a pedestal' thing was getting a bit old.

"Here, hold this." he said suddenly, while handing her a large box of napkin-sized floppy disks.

"Five and a quarter inch, huh?" she said as she briefly examined the half-open box. "They always were a bit unreliable. I wouldn't waste my time with them. Nothing beats the old eight inch."

Spilman opened his mouth, expecting that he could easily criticize everything she had just said, but then he realized she had expressed the exact same opinion about these disks that he also held.

"Couldn't have said it better myself." he replied instead. "But these were a special production series. These can hold 800 tracks reliably."

"For longer than a few weeks?" she asked as a confirmation. Spilman answered her with a simple nod.

"Could I have a few of them?" she requested carefully.

"Sure, take the whole box if you want. I've got a couple more of those standing around here somewhere." Spilman said as he continued rummaging through the crate. It was at this point that he realized he had forgotten what he had been looking for in the first place. Something else came to mind, though. When was the last time anyone had shown any interest in his stuff or what he was doing with it?

He decided he had a test for her. If she passed it, he might actually have found someone who was really interested in his line of work for a change, and not just pretending to be.

"Come on." he said as he stood up. "If you're interested in this, then I have something even rarer to show you."

As he walked past Cismoni towards the door, he could see her radiating happiness and enthusiasm. It looked like she might even be putting effort into preventing herself from jumping up and down out of joy.

Out in the main corridor, Spilman walked towards the VidTech workshop, followed closely by Cismoni. To his surprise, they weren't the only ones here. There was always a chance one would run into Isaacs in this area, but this particular person he had never seen here before.

DuPont, the one who had aimed a gun at him earlier today, was moving a two-wheeled box cart with some supplies on it. She was wearing her usual combat fatigues; a tank top, baggy trousers with a camouflage pattern, and big combat boots. Also, she had her weapon in its holster. As the two of them drew closer, something fell off the cart, causing DuPont to stop and bend over to grab it.

Spilman narrowed his eyes. He knew that something was not quite right about any of this. If anybody was transporting anything in this base, coming through this corridor would only be a detour.

Just when he passed her silently, she got up, turned around, and angrily called out to him.

"You were looking at my ass. Don't think I didn't see you." She commented sternly. It was obvious to him now that she had meant to provoke him one way or the other.

Spilman closed his eyes momentarily and sighed to himself before formulating a response: "Why don't you go spy on someone else, yeah?"

"That's just what I should be telling every dirty old geezer, yourself included." she retorted swiftly and bluntly.

"Why don't you just fuck off?" Cismoni added as she followed Spilman into the nearby workshop. They both left DuPont standing right where she was.

Inside the workshop, Isaacs was standing at one of the workbenches, drilling holes into some component he was working on. He looked up when he heard Cismoni commenting on the vast amounts of tools, parts and other stuff she was seeing.

"You do remember that you once decreed that no women are to be allowed in here?" Isaacs inquired matter-of-factly.

"Never mind that." Spilman replied, quite irritated at having to deal with yet another obstruction. "Where's the JR? Has it dried up by now?"

"Right there on the desk." Isaacs answered, before he blew some metal particles from the component he was holding.

Spilman looked around and soon spotted what he was looking for.

"Well, what do you think?" he said as he turned to Cismoni, sounding as if there had been no interruptions. He gestured towards the rectangular device that had a small CRT screen and several turning knobs.

Cismoni carefully inspected the device before replying. "It looks old, but sturdy. Kind of like a decoder… yeah I think it is a decoder of some kind. Pretty advanced for everyday tasks, though. Maybe it's from a time when there were different regulations?"

It wasn't completely the answer he had been hoping for, but it certainly came a lot closer than what he had heard from the people on this planet up until now. Before he could compliment her, another voice interrupted them.

"That's a model 55-JR, also known as a Jolly Roger. Rare, but known to be used by pirates, thieves, generic scumbags, dirty old geezers, you name it." DuPont said condescendingly as she walked into the workshop.

Spilman immediately turned around and frowned in disbelief, his cigarette almost falling out of his mouth. In the meantime, Isaacs grabbed the largest spanner within his reach without hesitation. It was as big as a baseball bat.

"Stay right there, baldy." DuPont commanded, having immediately noticed what Spilman's synthetic colleague was up to. "Don't do anything stupid." she added as she drew her pistol again and aimed it at him.

"Have you ever shot a synthetic?" Isaacs inquired calmly, while steadily holding the spanner in a somewhat threatening manner.

"Take it easy, all of you." Spilman insisted in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

"I could really nail your ass to the wall for this." DuPont threatened as she turned to Spilman.

"Ah yes, pulling a gun on someone because you find out they own an illegal decoder. Quite in proportion." he replied sarcastically, before a strange but familiar sense came over him. Somehow he knew they were close and about to make their move.

"I think you have bigger problems than the one on this desk." Spilman said whilst giving a single nod towards the sealed off window in the back. A loud bang could be heard. After several more loud crashes, the storm shutter was unhinged and promptly fell to the ground. One of the 'beasts' could then be seen, peeking through the window from an upside-down position.

Spilman immediately regretted not having taken the opportunity to distract DuPont, because she opened fire indiscriminately as soon as she saw them. The bullets went straight through the glass. A bony, scorpion-like tail soon shattered the window completely. All the firing did nothing to stop them, however. Both Xenomorphs crawled inside via the ceiling, ready to strike at their prey.