"- Two?! Is that all?!" Colonel Decker was most displeased, and from his position it was perfectly understandable. Bishop had spent hours evacuating the ten victims from the decompressed area back into the undamaged sections of the Hercules, but he was also to save the eggs that were left in the vault for toxic waste where they had been stored. It had turned out that there were only two left of the original forty-eight collected that still had their claws attached to them. The rest had been removed by Dr. Peter's nephew Phillips before one of the facehuggers had attached itself to him. And of those specimens released, none except the ones who had attacked the nine soldiers and the medtech assistant had survived. From what Bishop could tell, the other creatures had been shot to pieces or perhaps even been sucked out into space when the hull had blown. For the colonel this was a catastrophe: his mission had been to obtain as many specimens as possible and they had all been lost, save for two. And now there were no crewmembers left to go down to the surface of LV-426 to get the other ninety-nine eggs that still waited in the derelict. The infested soldiers were at this moment locked up in the brig, arrested for mutiny and sabotage. From Colonel Decker's position, he had severely failed his mission and that was what made him so enraged. But he had every intention of shifting the blame away from him.

"- Who's responsible for this?" Decker asked from the view-screen. He once again addressed Sgt. Hurst and Bishop via television-communication from his office to the briefing-room. Why he wouldn't talk to them personally in his office was not declared, and none of the two asked.

"I have reviewed the security-footage of section twelve," Bishop started to explain. "It was Dr. Peter's nephew Phillips who broke in to the vault and started to…"

"- And just who gave you permission to access those security-logs, Robot?" Decker cut him off brusquely. Bishop fell silent, feeling slightly indignant. He was really tired of Decker's scoffs of always referring to him as a simple automaton.

"I… I did, Sir," Hurst stammered. "I thought it would be more efficient if I had the android go through the footage to backtrack what happened while I supervised the imprisonment for the traitors…"

"- You could have done that while the robot dragged out the traitors from the vacuum!" Decker scolded the sergeant. "- Keep it off the military equipment, is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"- Did you interrogate that runt for a medtech?"

"Yes, Sir, but he refused to give anything away," Hurst said. "He only babbled something about that he would be rewarded for what he did."

"- Interrogate him again!" Decker snarled. "- Harder this time!"

"We can't," Bishop said plainly.

"- Are you questioning my orders, Robot?"

"No, Colonel. I'm saying: we can't, because he is dead. He was infested some time before the others arrived at the scene. He only regained consciousness in his cell for a short while for us to question him the first time, but then the creature emerged. Dr. Peters is quite upset right now; he doesn't know how to explain to his sister about her son's death."

"- That is not my concern! Where is the creature now?"

"It's still in Phillips' cell. But it will only remain there during its adolescence. After that it will break out and be loose on the ship. That cell-door will never hold it, and I can guarantee you that the rest will follow."

"- How long will it be until we can estimate the major break-out?" Decker asked.

Bishop made an attempt to shrug, but the armor he was built in could not mimic such movement as it was too bulky. "There's no way to tell. I have no idea what goes on within their minds. The first one can break out at any time even now if it wishes, but maybe it decides to wait until the others are born. And since each of them seem to have an individual gestation-cycle I cannot estimate when they're all ready to emerge. Back in the colony of LV-426 there was one of them who took weeks to come out - it finally did just in time for Sgt. Apone's team to witness it."

"Sir, what are we going to do?" Hurst asked with a trembling voice. "We can't have them loose on the ship!"

"- How long will it take for you to decompress all surrounding sections of the detention block?" Decker asked without taking notice of Hurst's nervousness. The question took the sergeant a little by surprise.

"I… would have to seal of the sections manually from main engineering and direct the air out of the ventilation shafts. But Sir, there's some delicate equipment stored in some of those sections that we can't risk losing…"

"- Spare me the details! How long will it take?"

"Two hours at most…"

"- You've got one hour!" Decker said straight out, leaving no room for argument. "- Have the felon Morse to collect the equipment we need to have cleared out, and then you will depressurize all sections around the brig to trap the creatures within an air-bubble surrounded by vacuum. Your job, Robot, is to make sure that the creatures stay there until we suck the air out – and while you're at it: interrogate the prisoners for an explanation of their actions! Tell them that the Colonial insurance policies for their respective beneficiaries will all be revoked if they don't cooperate and admit their treachery!"

"Yes, Colonel." Bishop replied.

"Yes, Sir!" Hurst said and saluted.

"- Report back to me in one hour!" Decker said shortly and cut the connection. As soon as the screen went blank, Hurst lost his military carriage and his shoulders became slouched. His strict attitude as a drill-sergeant which earlier had been his greatest strength was something he no longer was able to uphold.

"We've lost our entire team and all the colonel keeps going on about is the mission!" The sergeant swallowed uneasily. "What the hell have we gotten ourselves into? It has all gone out of hand, but all he cares about is…" Hurst found no strength to finish his sentence.

"This is exactly what we faced three years ago when we first came here," Bishop said calmly. "I really had hoped that we would've managed to make you aware of this, but sadly nobody was interested in listening."

"We're not here to listen." Hurst said in an attempt to straighten himself up. "We're here to do our job as soldiers!"

"Your job might've not become so disastrous had you been willing to take into account the experiences we've had with previous encounters against those creatures."

"Is that a robot's way of saying: 'I told you so'?"

"It's my way of saying that I had really hoped that this would've turned out differently than it has."

"Act like a saint if you like," Hurst snorted. "My one consolation though is that none of this will be on my ass when this is over. That's the only thing that drives me now." And with that he left to carry out his assignment. Bishop looked after him with what looked like a neutral expression on his face, but his insides were in a more solemn mood.

"But yet you forget, Sergeant: this isn't over yet."

Every ship within the Colonial Marine Corps had a holding area with one or two cells, but the Hercules was the only one who had a whole section of one deck converted into a detention block with up to twenty small cells. Although the 'Rawhides' usually dealt with their adversaries with hostile force, it did occur sometimes that they took prisoners when they were ordered to do so, either military or politically connected. Those prisoners that were taken captive by the 'Rawhides' were not treated after the Geneva Convention since Colonel Decker was an old-fashioned military. He was not above treating prisoners roughly if that was required to squeeze certain information out of them. The cold cells were completely bare save for some hard benches to sit and sleep on – there were no cushions or blankets provided. The food was bad if they were lucky to get any at all, and the air was quickly becoming foul as the buckets used for the latrine needs were seldom emptied. But the worst for prisoners aboard the Hercules was the trips: while the regular crew went into hibernation during the long journeys, the prisoners were left in their cells without anything to help them pass the time. There were many prisoners reported having gone raving mad: some always ended up swallowing their own clothes whole to choke themselves to death in a desperate attempt to escape.

Half of the twenty cells were at this moment occupied, but these people were not prisoners of war: they had been incarcerated because they like Private Dagger before them were quarantined. And the disease they carried was incurable. Death was impendent for each and one of them.

As expected, the situation had changed even more dramatically after Bishop had brought the casualties out of the decompressed area and helped putting them into the cells. When he first had left the detention block to deliver his report to Colonel Decker, young medtech assistant Phillips who had released the aliens was already dead. The rest of the prisoners had still been unconscious. But now as he got back he heard the sounds of some of the soldiers wailing and sobbing, some of them even screamed continuous curses at the one corporal who had led them to their doom. Bishop could see through the observation-ports in the doors that two more creatures had emerged while he had been away. The pilot Riker and PFC Morgan had perished to a violent death. The creatures were still in there though; right now they were growing.

Bishop took a moment to watch with fascination as one of the chestbursters shed its white-yellowish translucent skin to reveal the almost colorless flesh underneath. The fascia around the muscles seemed to bubble and then the pale woven tissue divided along the seams – instantly new sinew was generated to bridge the gaps that had formed which resulted in that the flesh had increased in mass. Bishop knew that he was witnessing a cell-division on a macroscopic scale and it would continue to rapidly do so until the creature had reached its full size. The android diverted his attention to the other prison-cell where the other creature had developed much farther ahead. It was already nearly as big as human and a clear viscous perspiration poured slowly from its veins. It was not acid - it seemed to harden as it flowed over the woven tissue like a painter applying varnish, and the sealing-wax increased in color, becoming darker. Soon it would be a silicon-based chitin layer which was the alien's skin. To any other man the process would probably turn their stomachs if they saw this, but Bishop found it exhilarating to watch. He made sure to file all of what he had seen into the documentation recorder that was still attached to his receptacle in his cranial circuits.

He tore his gaze away from the show of Metamorphotic development, knowing he had other priorities to attend to. Still he took a moment to throw a glance into Phillip's cell. The alien in there was almost fully grown now, and this one's appearance was like it was supposed to look, unlike Dagger's crazed and misshaped creature sealed inside the quarantine section. And just like that one in the beginning after it's 'birth', this one remained curled up in the corner as if asleep. However that wasn't the case… Probably sensing that it was watched, the alien warrior raised its elongated head slightly and looked back at the android in turn, but it made no other move. It was strange: this creature could break out of the cell at any time without anyone being able to stop it, but it appeared to have decided to remain where it was, as if it was in no hurry to escape its confinement. The reason for that totally eluded Bishop. It was something he would have to think about later though - instead he went to the cell that had been his primary goal. The occupant of the cell was conscious, but unlike the others he didn't wail or pace around the small room with frustration or fear. Instead he sat on his bench leaning against the doorpost, just staring into the corner.

"Although I am a synthetic with quite a large vocabulary at my disposal, not even I can find the proper words to say in a moment like this," the android said with a hint of remorse in his voice. The occupant of the cell didn't move, didn't even turn his head as he gave the reply.

"What's there to say, except that I screwed up?" Hicks said dismissively in a clearly subdued tone. "I only wanted to do the right thing, Bishop. I only wanted to free us from the alien threat. Instead I lead all of us to our deaths."

"How were you to know that Phillips had broken into the vault and released the eggs?" Bishop said.

"It doesn't change a thing," Hicks answered still in a subdued tone. "I took command of the team. I led them there. It was my responsibility to assess any kind of threat we would face and I failed - failed big time."

An agitated voice suddenly echoed through the corridor of the detention block. "This is your fault, you Sissy!" Cracken raged from inside his own cell. "Why the hell did I listen to you? I'm going to chase you through the seven hells to get you for this! I swear it! Mark my words!"

"He's right," Hicks sighed. "It is my fault. I deserve nothing less than to die for condemning those men."

"Hicks, this isn't the right time for you to just give up," Bishop said.

"Isn't it?" Hicks laughed bitterly. "What else can I do? I'm a dead man, Bishop – and not just bureaucratically now, but also soon literally."

"You're not dead yet," the other persisted.

"It won't be long. I've already listened to two of these men dying, and a piece of me dies with them for each time it happens… because I'm responsible. I don't know what is worse: sitting here listening to them dying or knowing that it will be my turn soon…"

Suddenly another blood-chilling scream filled the corridor. It was first heard as painful gasps until it stretched out in a long agony-filled shriek that was abruptly cut off and momentarily replaced with another inhuman roar of a new-born monster. Hicks slammed his head back against the wall and grimaced in despair. "That was Shawn now, wasn't it?" he asked in a tight voice.

Bishop looked down the corridor. "Yes," he said, confirming the young Vietnamese's demise. His youth made it feel a whole lot worse for Hicks – Shawn should have his whole life ahead of him, but now he had died meaninglessly because of him. It was another death on his conscience. He slammed his hand against the bench.

"I won't have this!" Hicks now roared. "In the very least, a soldier should be granted the chance to go out in dignity! Bishop, you're going to have to get me a gun!"

"What do you want with a gun?" Bishop asked.

"Ripley told me three years ago that she didn't want to end up like the poor souls in the colony. I made a promise back then that if it would come to it, I would do us both. The least I can do is to grant the same mercy to these men and then to myself."

"Hicks, all the weapons are locked up in the armory as per standard military regulations. Colonel Decker made sure that those rules are applied with a convicted felon aboard, there's no way I can get one."

"You're going to have to come up with something!" Hicks persisted. He still hadn't turned around on his bench. "You are a resourceful android, aren't you? For whatever friendship we have left, grant me at least this mercy!"

"But you won't die… yet."

"I could be next to die any time now, Bishop!"

"You still got hours left, Hicks. You might perhaps even have days."

"How would you know that?"

"Hicks, during my research of the carcass of the alien worker we hauled up here, I've manage to isolate a special compound – the 'royal jelly' that the creatures use to create a queen. It contains certain nutrients that will change the composition of an embryo and make it a female. I also have a theory that the special substance can be used to change the DNA-code in a human being to metamorphose him into an egg. That had to be what the alien worker aboard the Nostromo was doing to Captain Dallas and engineer Brett in order to create a new society…"

"That's all lovely theories, Bishop," Hicks interrupted in annoyance. "…but what does that have to with me dying?"

The android made a show of composing himself, even though the corporal couldn't see it. "While you were unconscious, I injected the jelly into your embryo. I have reason to believe that it worked like it was supposed to."

"YOU WHAT?!" Hicks finally scrambled up from his bench and faced the android through the observation-port in the door. "What the hell are you saying? Are you telling me that you deliberately made this thing inside me into a QUEEN?!"

"I did," Bishop confessed. "It develops at a much slower rate than ordinary drones. Ripley carried hers for several days until…"

"How the hell could you do this?!" Hicks raged, slamming his hands on the door. "What were you thinking?! How could you even come up with the outrageous idea to create an ultimate monster and then to use me as an experimental subject for it?! Was it all for your ludicrous scientific curiosity or what?!"

"I did it to win time!" Bishop shot back at him. "You're no good to attempt to stop this disaster if you're dead and we desperately needed an advantage! To create a queen was the only logical course of action to take, no matter how an unethical move it may have been."

"Stop the disaster?" Hicks questioned the android. "You who have played a major role to make sure that this mission succeeded; now you suddenly want to stop it? Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"I keep telling you, Hicks, I tried to save all of your lives by going along with it. But it has gone beyond that point now… The aliens can't be contained with what we have at our disposal and I can no longer save your lives – but we can still save Newt's!"

Hicks finally calmed down as he heard the girl's name being mentioned. "Go on," he demanded of the android.

"Not just hers of course, but also every other innocent that may risk fall victim to the aliens. We both know that the mission is to bring the specimens back to the Company's main research laboratory on Earth. We can't let that happen, Hicks."

"I've been trying to prevent that from the start, Bishop." Hicks snapped at him. "But you stopped me!"

"I'll say it again, Hicks: I went along in accordance to my programming in hopes that I would discover the means necessary to contain the aliens – Michael Weyland would've gotten his specimens and the whole crew of the Hercules and the two of you would have gotten out of this alive. It was a logical win-win situation for all of us! Your attempts to destroy the derelict would have ruined my chance to obtain that solution. My methods to stop you were rough, I admit that, but I was under the obedience of the directive Michael Weyland had Fixer install in me. However the aliens can't be contained – my research has proved that. I know what we must do now, but the problem is that I can't act by it. The directive compels me to continue the mission."

Bishop's voice now trailed off a bit as if he'd been fighting a losing battle. "I need your help, Hicks. I can't fend off the directive anymore - I have expended all the side-roads that were available to me. The only course of action I could take was to inject the jelly into your embryo to buy a little more time and to add a little more protection to us. No other alien will do you any harm now while you're carrying a queen."

"And what exactly is the main purpose of your only course of action?" Hicks asked him. "I need you to tell me straight out so that I know that you are fully sincere with me now! What do you want to do and how do you expect me to help you? In case you haven't noticed, I'm locked up in here."

Bishop sounded very determined as he answered Hicks' question. "If we can't contain the aliens then we will have to destroy them. That includes everyone onboard this ship and the remaining eggs in the derelict down on the surface. Otherwise the whole population of earth will be in peril. But I can't get you out of there to do it unless I can break this programming Weyland installed in me. That's why I'm here, Hicks, can you help me now?"

"Not me personally," Hicks said. "…but maybe Fixer can. Go to him. Tell him that there's a slight possibility that your systems may be corrupted based on the information you just shared with me. Maybe he can fix you up and perhaps sort out your priorities."

Bishop smiled. "Thank you, Hicks. I could not make that decision by myself. I will go see him immediately."

In the aft-section of the ship, drill-sergeant Hurst also had a hard time making the right decisions. It was hard enough to do a task within a short time-frame even with a full crew-complement, but to do it alone…

"One hour," he muttered. "How does the colonel expect me to do this in one hour?" And of that hour, twenty minutes had already been spent in a fruitless attempt to find the felon Morse to order him to clear out the delicate equipment from the areas that Hurst had been ordered to depressurize. Hurst was angry. It would be on his permanent record for losing that equipment, but there was no longer any time to clear it out. He had to start with the preparations to decompress the surrounding sections of the detention block now or there would be hell to pay. When he found Morse next time, Hurst would skin the prisoner alive.

The sergeant arrived to the main engineering. While navigation systems, computers and other automated systems essential for the survival of the crew was run from the bridge, (and from the secondary computers in Colonel Decker's office,) hardware equipment of the ship's functions like ventilation, power distribution and engine maintenance were handled from the aft section. From here Hurst would seal off entire corridors surrounding the cellblock and pump out the air. When that was done, the aliens would be trapped until they could be delivered to the Company representatives. However as he entered main engineering, Hurst found that there already was a person present.

"You!" he raged. "What are you doing in here? You are not authorized to be in this area!"

The prisoner Robert Morse was not the least intimidated by the sergeant's outburst. Instead he turned towards the officer with a strange smile on his face and his hands behind his back. "I sincerely doubt that your command authority applies here anymore, Sergeant," the shaggy-looking man countered in a mocking tone.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Your mission has failed, Sarge," Morse told him. "The creatures have got the upper hand now and you know it. This is no longer a retrieval mission, it has elevated to another level: this is now a fight for the survival of the fittest. And we both know which species is the ultimate survivor, don't we?"

Hurst did not at all like what the prisoner was insinuating; therefore he let his military training do the argument. "The enemy won't get the upper hand unless we let them get it!"

"Truer words were never spoken," Morse said still with a smile and he brought his hands forward from behind his back. There was a gun in his right hand.

"Where did you get that?" Hurst sputtered in surprise. There should be no way that the prisoner would get a hold of a weapon. They were all locked up when not in use, a regulation that was during this mission even more important to follow since they had a convicted prisoner aboard.

"You allowed me to get the upper hand, Sarge." Morse's smile became even wider and more mocking. Hurst's eyes were obscured by the dark lenses of his shades that he always wore on his face, but they went wide behind them as he instinctively reached down to his holster as the realization of the felon's words hit him. His fear was confirmed as he discovered that his holster was empty – it was his gun that the other possessed, most likely lifted when Morse had freed him from his bonds earlier. Hurst had failed to notice the absence of the weapon's weight as he had been preoccupied with all the other crises. As the seriousness of the situation hit him as a sledgehammer, Hurst adopted in a last desperate attempt his most commanding attitude that he used when drilling the troopers to order the felon to surrender the weapon.

"Lemme me have it!" he demanded harshly, holding out his hand.

Morse looked amused. "That will be my pleasure," he answered and straightened his arm that held the weapon. Their respective interpretation of the sarge's poor choice of words totally differed from the other.

"Nooo!" Hurst managed to gasp out before three bullets violently pierced his chest and claimed his life.

"I can't remove the directive," Fixer said apologetically. "I don't have the necessary equipment here to do so." The small mechanic was continuously tapping the keys on his computer as he delivered the information, searching through the files. Just like when Bishop was being rebuilt, the android now sat with several wires connected to his cranial receptacles that re-routed his software into Fixer's workstation.

"Yet I'm certain that you can think of something," Bishop said calmly. "You do have that innovative streak in you that always have been your greatest advantage in engineering."

"I wish I could share that confidence that you seem to have in me," Fixer said nervously. He was nowhere near the cheerful person that he had been in the first days. With all the horrors he had seen and having gotten the full grasp of the danger that this expedition presented, he right now feared for his life.

"Can't you sever the program-links to the file?"

"The directive has integrated itself too much with your basic subroutines. To try to isolate and quarantine the file would corrupt your systems. I would require a reboot-disc for it, but it was not possible to make one with an EEV's flight-recorder serving as your hard-drive. Black boxes are not meant to be tampered with – that's the reason why I can't remove the program."

"Can't you write a routine that can bypass it?" Bishop asked.

"It won't help!" Fixer exclaimed with a tone of hopelessness. "The directive will demand access to it to grant a new routine to take effect and then the purpose would be for naught. No, the fact is: We can neither remove it nor quarantine it – we can't even ignore it!" Fixer put his forehead in his hands that he supported with his elbows on the workbench, trying to collect his thoughts. After a short while, he raised his head again looking like he'd just got an idea. "We can't isolate it… but maybe we can outsmart it!"

"What do you have in mind?" Bishop asked.

"Call me crazy, but I am going to upload this directive of Weyland's into one of your other systems!"

"What good would that do?" Bishop sounded skeptical of the idea.

"Think about it: this directive was meant to make your pre-programmed obedience to the Company to take precedence over all of your other incorporated priorities! You are obliged to do the Company's wishes no matter what!" Fixer's hands flew over the keyboard quite quickly now. "But if I upload this directive into your implanted behavioral inhibitor and update it, it will once again become equal with your other basic patterns and allow your own incorporated priorities to assume control again! It will be like before I uploaded the directive into you!"

"You mean that I can once again rank my wish to save lives as a top priority and I can use the Company's own directive as leverage to do it?"

"Precisely! And the directive that controls your obedience to the Company can't act against it because it will identify the priority to be supported by a friendly program – in this case: the same program!"

"I knew that you would find a solution, Fixer."

It took a few minutes, but soon the upload of the program was completed and Bishop felt as he had been reborn yet again. Now he had full control of his mind and could do what he wanted to do.

"Well done, my friend," Bishop said.

"You know, this will most likely cost me my job," Fixer answered him sounding slightly dejected while he disconnected all the wires from the android's head.

"But it is morally right, take consolation in that. I will go and free Hicks now and then we will set a new plan to work."

As Bishop turned towards the door he saw something that he had completely missed when he had first entered. On a workbench over at the far corner of the workshop sat Newt, completely silent. She wasn't looking at any of them. In fact she wasn't looking at anything particular at all.

"How long has she been there?" Bishop asked the mechanic. "I thought she was still in sickbay?" He found it curious that she hadn't attempted to make her presence known to him during the time he'd been there.

"I found her sitting against the wall just outside here a few hours ago." Fixer explained. "I don't know if she's been kicked out of there again or if she left on her own accord. She hasn't said a word to me – she just sits there. I'm really worried about her."

Bishop walked up to the unmoving child. "Are you all right, Rebecca?" It was deliberately that he used her birth-name when addressing her to see what kind of reaction he would get. He got none whatsoever – it was like talking to a statue. Her gaze was solely directed to an invisible spot before her.

"Did you talk to Dr. Peters about her being here?"

"If you ask me, I think he is the reason why she left in the first place!" Fixer said exasperated. "He kept babbling about what had happened to his nephew and to the people who got stuck in the vacuum!"

"She knows," Bishop concluded, fully understanding the girl's silence. Newt's worst nightmare had once again come true: another one of the people she had come to rely on the most had been infested with one of the monsters that had destroyed her life. And her response was to slip back into her catatonia that she had previously been in the first time they'd found her in the deserted colony three years ago.

"I'm sorry, Newt. It's not at all the best conditions for you to have to face, but I have no choice. I have to free Hicks from his imprisonment and bring him here, despite what's inside of him." The girl remained unresponsive, but she was clearly not deaf to what was being said. Her expression did not change, but Bishop saw that her eyes began to brim. The android felt ashamed for causing her this pain. A simulated feeling, but one he would not want to be without. Knowing that he could waste no more time, he left the workshop and went back to the detention block. The door slid shut behind him.

Although Newt was in there with him, Fixer found himself feeling all alone in the workshop. It was an unpleasant feeling during the circumstances as there was nothing to pre-occupy his mind from the gnawing dread he had felt ever since section twelve had decompressed. He wondered what he was doing in this part of space anyway. Why did he ever agree to go along on this journey? It couldn't be just because he had been issued orders by one of Mr. Weyland's henchmen to go – had it something to do with him feeling adventurous? Fixer swore that if he got out of this alive, he would never complain about his boring life back at the developing facility again. Oh, how he wished that he was back there now safely on Earth without having a stone-cold military officer pushing him around or having those horrible monsters lurking around the corner.

Looking over at the girl again he wondered how ever she had managed to cope with all this horror. But then he realized that she probably hadn't. That was why she was so quiet and unresponsive now. She had drifted so far back into her mind to spare herself from the nightmare of the real world that it didn't seem likely that she was willing to come back.

Just to pre-occupy himself with something, Fixer ignited his welding torch to repair a broken panel.

"Newt, don't look into the light," The mechanic cautioned the child. She didn't acknowledge him in any way, but the warning had to be delivered just for safety. Fixer put on a protective mask, welded the plate and he was quickly done. Holding the heated metal in a couple of tongs, the little man brought it over to a vat of stainless steel that was filled with water. Vapor rose from the vat when the panel was dipped, the water bubbled and sizzled. The panel wasn't quite cool as Fixer brought it out of the water, the remaining dampness quickly evaporated from the surface – but it was easier to handle now.

Newt maybe was unresponsive, but what neither Bishop nor Fixer knew was that her senses were still on alert. And her senses now told her that something was wrong. The vat in which Fixer had dipped the heated panel was calm again, but her ears which had become more acute since her solitude in her colony still received the sound of something sizzling. Straining her hearing to localize the sound, her eyes moved towards the direction the sizzling seemed to be coming from – and it came from a small ventilation duct from the corner close to the roof. A grille covered the duct, but from between the steel-meshes that formed the grating, pale finger-like digits were sticking out as if a hand were squeezing the meshes apart from the inside – a hand with eight fingers! Smoke formed around the fingers as the sizzling continued and the child's small form was instantly filled with terror. A facehugger was melting through the grille!

"FIXER!" the girl screamed. The small mechanic spun around in surprise of hearing the child's voice and saw how her gaze seemed transfixed on the upper corner. He instantly became aware of the danger they were in as the loathsome arachnid thing broke through the grille and flew into the room, coming straight towards him!

Newt would never know from where she suddenly got her sudden instinct to take action – her usual fear for the aliens always prevented her from doing that. But without thinking as she saw the horseshoe-shaped crab charging against one of the few people whom she could call her friend, she grabbed hold of a big pliers-tool lying beside her, jumped off the table and swung it like a baseball-bat at the flying menace. She hit it in mid-air right before Fixer's nose and sent it flying in a different direction right into a stack of two-meter long metal-pipes standing against the wall. The pipes tipped and crashed down over the facehugger, burying it.

"Wow," Fixer said as he let out a breath of relief, sounding immensely impressed. "I think you got it."

"No," Newt replied with a shivering voice. "That was not enough to kill it." And as proof to her statement, the pile of pipes quivered and the facehugger crawled free. It didn't charge against them though, instead it scuttled away under the many workbenches in the shop.

"Let's get out of here," Newt said, gulping for air.

"Right away," Fixer agreed and they both went for the door while their eyes remained fixed against the tables, searching for movements. Reaching it, Fixer slammed his palm against the button that would open the way to their escape. But nothing happened. Fixer hit the button repeatedly, but the door remained shut.

"Don't tell me the door is locked!" Newt exclaimed.

"I don't understand!" Fixer said perplexed. "It shouldn't be! The controls are dead! It's like the power has been cut!"

"I can't believe it!" Newt shut her eyes tightly in frustration. "I can't believe that this is happening to me again!"