ALIENS: CHRYSALIS (Book 1)
Chapter 4: Snake's Pit
'Entry 252:
A week has passed since my last entry. I know this is not acceptable, but the station's speed has accelerated to 'crazy' ever since 'Orthanc' arrived twenty-one days ago - for the first time… and then the various scientific staffs in the laboratories have been working days and nights in changing shifts since the ship came back from its second trip to LV-426 only two days ago. They've been successful out there, but at a high cost. We lost three of the six synthetics... among them Daryll, whom I'm really going to miss... but the high security compound of Lab 1 - Darwin's 'Ivory Tower' - is brimming with life now. Alien life. Kurtz and Darwin are careful though not to have too many of those things around at a time.
The salvage team's instructions had been to bring back eggs only... or cocoons, chrysalises, or whatever they are. We're breeding them after demand. Right now we have two adults and one of those hand-things. From the way Darwin's been cursing while she's been trying to find a way of handling those things while they are still alive, I get the impression they are a big challenge to her. Probably the first she encountered in her entire career. That molecular acid those things have for blood makes it impossible to use any kind of standard equipment on them. No scalpels, metal or laser, no needles, nothing that penetrates their bodies. It all either dissolves in a matter of seconds, or the high-pressured blood sprays around and kills everybody standing there. Skin's got the hole in his hand to prove it! Not that I'm overly sorry that this annoying wanker got what had been coming to him for a long time... but it's been very impressive. Nobody wants to touch them anymore. So cloning is out of the question... at least for now. We've got to achieve whatever it is Darwin wants to achieve with the specimen we've got... unless we find out how to procreate them, that is. Right now we're concentrating on developing and studying their different forms.
It's probably the first time I have to agree with Carter Burke: the creatures' potential is obvious. It was already obvious from the 'Sulaco's' footage which I saw together with Darwin in the Ivory Tower, even though those had been only two-dimensional images which didn't offer the full scope of what really happened in Hadley's Hope. The transmission was bad, the images dark, blurry and grainy. No, we didn't know then what we were about to be dealing with... But we all witnessed the full capabilities of these aliens yesterday, when Finnegan (another one of my artificial brothers Kurtz likes so much to assign to this project) went into their compound and – literally – lost his head. The thing didn't even look his way when it attacked him! Just one incredible pounce and it had him, and the next thing we knew his head – minus his body – crashed against the window we all were standing behind, gaping. Guess it didn't like him.
Well, things are certainly going to be very interesting over the next weeks or months. It's as if the whole station's just been waiting for this... except 'The Zoo' of course. They know something's going on from the rate their number diminishes. That von Sontheim-character's a busy little bee... or rather, a major pain in the ass! It's getting harder and harder to separate the volunteers from the mob protecting them. So hard that we have to constantly come up with new strategies of separating them... like the lock-in for the night. Everybody sleeps in his own cage, so to speak. No more bothering with the other angry inmates. Still, I wish Kurtz would dispose of von Sontheim rather soon-ish. He's a notorious trouble-maker. I can only guess my boss in planning something special for him, or he'd done so already.
Speaking of which: Kurtz assigned me a wonderful new task: I'm now officially the one to pick up the lucky winner from the 'Zoo' and guide him up to Lab 1. Probably because I'm the only one who will do it with a bland face They're all cringing at the thought of being the one who's got to lead the lambs to their slaughterer... so let's do the synthetic do the dirty job, right? I can't say no, and combined with my superhuman strength and lack of moral education, I'm the ideal person. I'm stronger than them all, and if everything else fails, we can still shut the inmates off and carry them to the lab. But since we're no sadists (ha ha!), we're trying to traumatize our testing objects as seldom as possible.
As for 'troublemakers': That marine 'Orthanc' brought back the first time actually pulled through…. I'm duly impressed… and duly pissed, because Darwin assigned me as his babysitter. Great. Kurtz' is giving me hell, Darwin's giving me hell, and whenever I find the time to actually breathe, I find myself running down to Sickbay to see whether he's finally woken up. Alexander's pissed at me too because I don't have any more time left for him anymore (still haven't told him yet we've broken up… don't need any mores stress than I already have… plus his information on Raven is very valuable ), even though he seems to be in desperate need of unloading his thoughts about that maniac he's working with. I've had the time to notice he's looking bad, yes. I even noticed he traded the orange pills for the much more concentrated liquid version you take in through the retina – but I can't act on it. He's a grown man, and not dump. He must know what he's doing to himself.
Even at night my two bosses are keeping me busy. Right now I'm on my way down to check on my patient once again, even though it's 3.30 in the morning. Hikahi called half an hour ago. Apparently, the soldier opened his eyes for the first time, and now I've got to see for myself. I'm not really happy though. If he's really recovering, what does that mean for me? That I have to sit at his bedside and hold his hand from now on? What does Darwin want from him? Why is he so special? Man… I'm sure if the day had 48 hours, they still would find was of making it hectic for me. They're really taking advantage of the fact that I don't need to sleep, but does being an artificial person mean that I don't need any kind of private life? Any more questions? Thanks Rogue! That's a great place you brought me to!'
In spite of the late hour Hikahi' awaits me when I arrive. He's looking deeply satisfied. It's not like I can't understand him. He's beaten the odds here. Let's face it, that guy was DOA. Hikahi's making him pull through is nothing short of a miracle. The result of some of the research this station has been developed for, but a miracle nevertheless. I'm sure Kurtz will be pleased too, not just for having this soldier at hand now for whatever his plans are, but for having the first true proof of what his staff is actually capable of. Having the one and only cure for radiation poisoning of these proportions will earn Weyland Yutani big bucks! It's also proof that we are able to design something beneficial to mankind for a change. Congratulations, Doctor, I think silently as I'm walking up towards his smiling shape. You're going to get a personal handshake from the big boss for this!
"So," I begin. It's late. I want to go home. No time for talking around it. "The Marine corporal is up and rocking again, I understand? Did he say anything?"
Hikahi gives me a mild, somewhat derogatory smile.
"I said he opened his eyes for a few moments, Isis. Not that he's parading around again. Right now he's sleeping." He motions me to follow him. I frown.
"What do you mean, sleeping? I didn't come don at this hour to watch him sleep! I thought you said he woke up!"
"From the coma, yes. Sleeping and coma are two different pairs of shoes, Madam Super-Computer."
Did I hear him right? Did he just call me a -?! I stop dead in my tracks. Just who the hell does this guy think he is? I narrow my eyes. My nature's keeping me calm though, thank... Rogue. I need information. If I start making a fuss now, it'll be morning before I can return to my place... where Alexander the Unhappy is waiting for me. So I just readjust my tone to 'sugar-sweet' instead of turning the man's face on his back.
"That's 'Miss Super-Computer' to you, Doctor Hikahi. And yes, I know coma and sleep are quite different, even though the first can never happen to me and the latter would be a waste of my time, but thank you. You're not talking to an ancient Pentium here, okay?" Hey, I guess I'm finally getting the hang of this, because he seems to be a little disappointed. I can top it. "You know, being this super-computer also enables me to come to the conclusion that - unlike from a comatose state – you can wake him for me, right?" 'You started this, Doctor. I'm just playing along.' He's miffed. Another round won - yeah! Now he's stopping, too. Fun's over, I guess.
"I won't wake him, Isis. He might be recovering, but he needs the rest."
"Are you kidding? He just had three weeks! More!"
"That was-"
"Coma and cryo-sleep, I know. I don't care." I start looking around. "Look, Doctor, I don't have all the time in the world. My boss wants to know, I want to go home and get some rest myself. And you certainly don't want to bother with me any longer than necessary, too. So let's get this over with and make us all happy, what do you say?" It's nothing but sense that's coming from my mouth. But that cheap Arcturian apothecary doesn't look as if he can truly appreciate it. However, he's thankfully keeping his mouth shut this time – as he turns on his heels and practically runs down the corridor again with a sinister look on his face. Like I care! If he thinks I'll have problems following him, he's mistaken. I feel halfway tempted – tempted? That's a good one, Isis! – to speed up even further and outrun him... but something's telling me not to overdo it. He's taking me there, so I won.
We round a corner and he turns toward the first door on the left. It hisses open. I'm surprised to see the corporal's not alone. The girl is with him, checking his bio-readouts. I sigh inwardly. Of all the people on this station, I've got to put up with the two most annoying ones at this time of night? I keep my face void of these emotions. Hikahi wanted the machine, so let's give it to him.
"Keisha?" He steps up to the bed and takes a look himself, while I decide to stay a little behind and observe. "How is he?" He's keeping his voice down. Man, he's supposed to wake him up anyway, so why bother? The youth casts me another one of these nasty glances she seems to have reserved for me, only, but talks to her boss.
"Sleeping." She points the finger. "Deep in R.E.M. sleep. See the eye movement? He's dreaming. I'd say his condition has incredibly improved over the last 24 hours."
That's all very nice, but doesn't get me anywhere.
"So, then let's wake him, shall we?" I suggest cheerfully. It earns me another glare. I ignore her. Hikahi sighs. "What's the problem, Doctor? I thought you hated the USCM. Shouldn't you be rather enjoying this? And what about you, Keisha? You're both from Arcturus!"
He turns around again to face me, face so earnest I'm tempted – again! – to laugh.
"First and foremost, Isis, I'm a doctor. I took an oath.-"
"Oh, yeah, I forgot," I murmur, uninterested. "That stupid oath... something about honor and morality and...I'm sorry, I forgot the rest."
"It doesn't involve torturing patients by uselessly-"
"Torturing?" This is absurd. "I didn't know waking people falls under that term, Dr. Hikahi, but right now I frankly don't have the nerve to discuss this interesting topic with you. You said you'd wake him. Would you do that now, please?" I even said 'Please' - I'm proud of myself. Perfect manners, Isis!
"What do you want from him? He won't be able to give you anything anyway. I'd be surprised if he'd be coherent enough to say anything at all, let alone telling you the story of his life!"
"I don't want anything from him, Doctor. Kurtz wants. Go on and call him if you must! I'm sure he will be delighted to hear your reason for not waking the man for me." I'm in the middle of going on when I notice something. A piece of gauze on the back of the still peacefully sleeping soldier's neck. I'm surprised. "You didn't tell me you already gave him the implant! When-"
"Just this morning, Isis, okay? I would have told you if you'd let me." He's not looking at me, but down onto his patient. "I had to wait until he was stable enough for the surgery."
I step closer. Of course – I should have seen it at first sight. The corporal's not hooked up to all those wires anymore... but his readouts are still there for us to admire. I also must admit he's looking somewhat better than before. His raw face has all but healed, although he's still deadly pale and very skinny.
"Any complications?"
"None. He's definitely going to make it now."
"What about the leg?" I look down to the shape under the sheets. "Will he be able to use it as before?"
"Why do you care, Isis?" Hikahi narrows his eyes in suspicion. "Kurtz was hell-bend on saving him in one piece, even though it caused a lot more complications. Don't tell me he did it because he's such a humanitarian!"
"Again, ask him, not me." Time's ticking away, and we're still standing here, discussing. I'm in the middle of repeating my request to the two, in the middle of making it an order, when – I notice a slight movement from the soldier. He's stirring, hardly perceivable.
"Well," Hikahi sighs, "congratulations - you did it. You woke him."
"Grand." The man's breathing rhythm has changed from slow deep breaths to an irregular pattern. He turns his head a bit, hands flexing involuntarily, one slowly crawling up to his neck and touching the gauze there. A soft, barely audible moan escapes him.
"Corporal? Corporal Hicks?" I say. Hikahi groans.
"Damn, Isis, this man's just beaten death. He's going to be very confused and miserable. You could at least address him without this military bullshit."
I don't look at him.
"This 'military bullshit' is what he's been living by, Doctor. Also, what did you expect? After all, I'm just a machine!" He's mumbling something behind my back, but I don't care any longer. The soldier's eyelids are fluttering, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of green, an expression of profound exhaustion and confusion – and then he jerks back when he sees my face. There's not an ounce of strength left in his body, but the intention to get away from me is clear. Wonderful – he's afraid of me. From the corners of my eyes I notice Keisha's sour smile.
"Get… away from me…" It's hardly a whisper.
"You're scaring him, Isis. Why don't you let him be for now?"
"I'm scaring him? That's -"
"Ridiculous? Have you looked into a mirror lately?" That stupid bitch Keisha's actually laughing at that! Hikahi steps up to my side. "Look, he's disoriented and miserable and drugged out of his scull! Everybody would freak if he woke up and saw a horror-mask hovering over himself! He probably-"
'Horror-mask?! '
"-thinks you're Death! This tattoo-"
Okay, it's about time I really switch to 'machine-mode', or I will decapitate this arrogant prick! Time for the infamous 'Master of Ignorance' to show her stuff! Ever cursed at a computer? It doesn't help you!
"How do you feel, Corporal?" He blinks, and I'm not sure for a second whether he actually understands me. But he's United States citizen, is he not? He should speak English... and he already did. Those few words a second before.
"Neck…hurts…" It's a raspy whisper, and it's immediately making him cough. Grimacing, he closes his eyes again. I look up to Keisha.
"Why don't you give him something?"
"It's already in there." She points at the drip and casts me a dirty look, letting me know that she would like to say more, but doesn't because she knows she's not in a position to. "His circulation is still weak. We can't give him more."
'And you guys say I'm torturing him!' I shift my attention back to the soldier who seems to be in danger of dozing off again. "You're safe here. Don't worry… What happened?" I hear Hikahi groan behind me. But I need to know: The Sulaco's record went only so far. What happened after it – presumably - crashed is still a mystery.
"…am… I?" His voice trails off. He manages to open his eyes for another two seconds. I'm impressed. He's hardly seen anything, yet he already knows he's not home.
"You're on Phooka Station. You're safe." Something tells me to take his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. Must be one of Rogue's superfluous programming details. Something about body contact as a means of building trust. Whatever… as long as it works. Another glimpse of green.
"Foo… Fooka…?" I see some lines forming on his forehead, but before I can say anything, he forces his eyelids open again, and I'm surprised to see the drowsy expression gone. His fingers clasp mine in a tight grip.
"Newt…?"
"What?" His throat's moving, but I don't hear anything. "Noot?" I throw in questioningly.
"…girl?" He stares at me for another moment, and I get the impression it's important to him.
"The girl?" I turn around to Hikahi, who's slowly shaking his head no. "She didn't make it."
"Damn, Isis, I want you gone. NOW!"
'Don't you understand it yet, Doctor? What you want is not important!' The soldier's still staring at me as if he's having trouble understanding my words. But his fingers let go, and I take my hand back. Finally, I see something like dull realization seeping into his questioning glance. The hard stare's getting hazy again, and I don't know whether it's his failing strength or sorrow that's slackening his body. He's practically deflating in front of me, slowly exhaling…eyes shut tight in obvious pain. I can't tell whether it's bodily or-
Someone yanks me around.
"I don't care who you are or what your boss wants, Isis! You're leaving this room NOW, understood?" Hikahi's mad like I've never seen him before. He shoves me towards the door. I ram my heels into the ground.
"He wanted to KNOW!"
"He wasn't ready for it yet!"
"You shook your head when I asked you!"
"To NOT tell him! To give him an evasive answer! Damn, Isis, you don't understand ANYTHING about humans!"
Somehow I manage to turn around against his fierce grip on my shoulders and face him.
"If I understand one thing, Doctor, it's that we would see it if he were upset!" I point at the instruments where the soldier's heartbeat and blood pressure are still looking reasonably low.
"That's because he's STONED, Isis! Heavily sedated! He's not capable of showing a normal reaction yet! But thanks to you, he's got something to mull over in his dreams now! You've effectively sabotaged my work of three weeks here with your stupidity, but before you'll do anymore damage, I'll remove you myself if I have to."
He really means it. Rogue help me, he's serious for the first time since I've known him! For the first time, the wimpy, skinny, middle-aged man doesn't back down. I would surely be able to appreciate the occasion if his rage weren't directed at me. Still, I've seen enough to know he's right. The Corporal's not going to talk any further tonight. I stop struggling and raise my hands.
"You don't have to, Doctor. I'm going anyway. See? No need to get all hectic and hostile." He still glares at me, and from behind I see the girl's satisfied expression. Man, it must be a field day for her! But I can't go like this – I must at least claim back some authority here! I stare at Hikahi. "But you're going to call me the minute he wakes up and is clear again. Or whenever anything unsuspected happens. You got that?"
"Go, Isis!"
"Did I make myself clear?"
"I'm neither stupid nor deaf. And since I don't think you are, you' re going to keep your end of the deal now." A nod into the general direction of the door. I straighten my jumpsuit he messed up and depart through the opening door without haste, feeling two pairs of hostile eyes on my back. I got what I wanted. Now all I want is some bloody rest, okay?
["She didn't make it… she didn't make it… didn't make it… didn't…"]
The words bounce around in Hicks' head. To the left side of his brain… back … to the front… back… He's chewing on them, grasping for their meaning even though they're nothing more than a swarm of slivery, slippery fish, darting apart whenever he's sticking a hand into the water to catch them. It must be something bad. Must be, because… he can't feel her weight against his arm anymore. He's hardly able to move it, but he's already noticed the difference. No tiny, living, breathing body huddled against his side, keeping him a little warmer. And his keeping her warm.
["…didn't… make it. Didn't…"]
A bright light is blinding him, and his mind's making the immediate connection: The radiant blue-white glow of the descending dropship, the gale-force wind's howling mixing with the powerful roar of its twin turbines as it's making its way towards them. A notion of pure, utter joy at the vehicles sight, even though he is already to weak to move... to get up, or at least sit. The overwhelming desire to let her know that help has finally arrived… against all hope.
"Newt…"
"DwayNe, do you hear me? Dwayne?"
There's a face in the sky now, in fact, the sky's becoming the face, the clouds moving to form a full mouth, a noses… eyes... For a moment the bizarre double image continues to confuse him. The face gets clearer. It belongs to someone young, female. It's dark. Huge eyes watch him. What the fuck is this? Death again? Back to claim him after all?
"Leave me alone…" he manages to croak against the splitting pain in his sand-dry throat. Again pressure against his hand. A feeble attempt of wrenching it free, to no avail. "Let… go…"
"Don't fight, Dwayne… you're safe. Just go back to sleep. No need to worry… everything's going to be okay…"
God, he's feeling like lead again. The sliver fish are swimming in circles before his eyes, making him lose his sense of orientation. But those words… those terrible words… He tilts his head to the left, looking down at this side… she's not there. Nothing but the wet, cold steel of the atmosphere processor… and the omnipresent roaring of the storm in his ears.
["… didn't … make it?!"]
A blood-streaked face appears in his line of vision… Ripley's.
["…didn't… make it…!"]
Hudson, his eyes huge, despair and regret written all over them. A finger-big hole in his right temple... blood spurting through the air onto Hicks's face... Vasquez, yelling in pain...
He groans in agony, the enormity of the three words comes to him in pulses… like waves… each one mightier than the one before. It's beginning to sink in.
"… all… dead…"
"Shhhhhh… don't think about it now. You're tired. Just go back to sleep…"
Somebody touches his forehead, but he doesn't even notice. It's the Acheron-scenario all over again. The dropship has landed, its dark silhouette barely visible in the blinding white cloud of dust and rain it landed in. The bottom ramp opens to let out four shapes in likewise white suits, oddly looking like old spacesuits he saw in history books back at school over a decade ago. Well,… not entirely… There's definitely something very futuristic about them, too, as they close the distance at a slow pace, bent forward to fight against the raging storm. He watches their approach with a sudden sense of dread. He knows those uniforms. He doesn't need to see the labels printed onto the left arm. They're Weyland Yutani elite-forces. Fear replaces the initial joy over having been found. 'Burke's people… they're Burke's people!" He wants to run away, to get up and get the hell out of here, because what's coming towards him can't be good, can only be... the fish dart apart once and for all... there's no catching them this time. They're already over the horizon. Following those black waves... like him.
"Ssssshhh... "
"Keisha...?"
"He was getting too restless. I gave him one additional cc of..."
Hadley's Hope - Day 2 - 2100 hours
„I know I have failed your team, and I fully recognize it must be impossible now for you and your squad to further trust me with this command… I'm therefore resigning from it and putting you in charge, effective this second."
Gorman's words, incredible enough. Hicks has to give the man credit as he passes the parting doors of MedLab on his way back to Operations. The Lieutenant is not someone who's laying the blame on someone who's not in a position to defend himself like most of his rank would do. It takes courage to admit one's failures, and he'll see to it that neither Vasquez nor Hudson will give him a hard time for messing up in C-level. Truth be told, Hicks doesn't even think it was Gorman's fault at all. He doesn't think someone else, someone with more experience, would have been able to get them out of there in one piece either. Apone had been the man in charge down there, and during the long years their squad has been together, they had been through hell more than a couple of times… and came out of it unscathed, all working together, hand in hand, with the Master Sergeant and himself as their leaders… without some arrogant officer fresh out of War Academy at New Brisbane having to tell them each step.
Fact is, the disaster would have happened even if the man on the other end of the line had been the almighty General Shaw, head of the Gateway regiment himself. It's an uncomfortable thought, probably worse than if it really had been Gorman's fault. It means their situation is worse than anything they had to deal with before. It means they've found their match here - an enemy who has the capacity to potentially destroy them… the worst way possible. Well, they've made this choice, right? They could have gone out nice and clean in a big white mushroom cloud. No pain, no nothing. They would have been here one second, and vaporised the next if they'd chosen to let the atmosphere processor do its thing. It had been set for destruction, probably caught a burst of Vasquez' or Drake's heavy fire back there. If it hadn't been for Bishop, who accidentally stumbled over the insane readouts while checking on Hadley's operational systems, they'd have it behind them now… Just one hour later, and it would have been impossible to shut the reactor down. Still, it had taken an enormously courageous act by Bishop, Hudson and Vasquez, who had to get out there and do it manually, as the hardware between the station and the processor had been likewise smashed. He has to give Hudson credit. He honestly wouldn't have thought the ComTech would even set one foot outside their heavily guarded defense-grid. It had probably been Vasquez' 'You chickenshit!'-look that had made the Private reconsider backing down from his duty. This and the prospects of having the female smart-gunner watching their backs out there. Hicks smirks, a little reluctantly. Seems there's still some fighting spirit left in the remains of this outfit. Maybe even enough to make it until help arrives…
He inhales deeply, not really wanting to step into Operations again and tell the others about the Lieutenant's ruling: He's not happy with it, is anything but looking forward to his first real command, but it's the only way to maintain at least half of a chance of making it. Gorman's right. Let's experience have the final word. From where he's standing in the corridor connecting MedLab with Operations, he can hear a mishmash of different voices, the flurry of activity. They're still getting settled. Whatever food they've been able to find has been stored into a corner, mattresses and blankets been laid into the edges of the room further to the back, and the inventory of everything they're having at their hands is still underway. 16 days to go… are they going to make it? Hicks can't help thinking of the sight of the torn barricades – the colonists' last stand – they had come across the eternity of 26 hours ago. Hadley's former inhabitants didn't have anything to guard them with, no heavy weaponry like them to keep the monsters from tearing their improvised barricades apart. They – on the other hand - had the four robot sentries protecting them, but after that first attack there are only 10 more rounds of ammunition – about 3 more seconds of firepower – left in the one closest to them… all others are empty. Useless. How can this be enough? The bastards retreated for now, but when will they come back? Will they come back… and what should they do then?
No use in asking himself theoretical questions, he recognises. Also no use in delaying the inevitable. Pulling himself together, he steps into Operations… and immediately sees the heads turning his way. It's everybody's guess why Gorman summoned him to MedLab, and they need to hear it now. Ripley, who's entering the room from the other side followed by Newtstops dead in her tracks as does Burke, another load of vacuum-packed rations in his arms. Hudson who's sitting at the instrument board checking on the monitors and checking the frequencies for potential help, Vasquez at his right side… with the exception of Bishop and Gorman who are still in MedLab everybody's waiting for the one sentence.
"Did he…?" It's Burke who asks. Of course. He is not part of the team. His team knows he knows the one question on their mind. He shifts his gaze toward the company representative.
"Yes, he did." They are the only words he utters, but there is a very distinct message he's exchanging with the man by simple eye-contact. 'I may be just a lowly grunt, but I've got the saying here. Don't get in my way.' From the corners of his eyes he can see the relieve on Vasquez' and Hudson's faces.
"How's the Lieutenant?" Ripley's voice, breaking the spell.
"Got a headache, but he's coherent… probably a slight concussion, but nothing serious. I told him to get some more rest. There's nothing he can do here right now anyway." He can virtually hear Vasquez' thinking 'Too bad' and decides to change the topic before she can voice it and he'd have to stop her. It would be bad for the general mood. So instead he steps over to Hudson to ask: "Did you pick up anything?… Anything at all?"
"Nothin'." The frustration on the ComTech's face is answer enough even without his words. "Not one fucking signal. We're all alone in this quadrant." He sees Hicks' expression and adds: "But I'm still trying. There may be some private ships around. Sometimes they don't use the standard frequencies, so… that's still a possibility."
"Good." He knocks on the board, the gesture acknowledging Hudsons' display of false optimism and telling him that Hicks is appreciating his effort to improve the general mood. Turning around, he eyes the pile food they've gathered in a collaborative effort. By the looks of it, they at least shouldn't have to starve... He nods to himself, suppressing a yawn. Man, it's late. He's been up for – what – almost 40 hours now straight? Time to fill up his reserves, or he'll start hallucinating, probably seeing aliens everywhere. Apart from Bishop, he's probably the only one who didn't get the chance to catch some shut-eye until now. Bishop of course doesn't need to, but he... Geez, he's feeling a million years old right now. And he doesn't have to see Ripley's concerned gaze to know it's showing. Alright then... He pulls himself together for a good-natured smile. "Okay, people, you know the schedule, right?" They nod. Hudson's not even taking his eyes from the monitors to answer him.
"Don't worry, Hicks. We'll kick your sorry ass out of Neverland at 08.00 sharp."
"Or whenever-"
"-something important's happening. Hell yeah, we got it, Boss!" The ComTech gives him a quick glance over his shoulder. Reassuring. "Hey, you can count on us. You know that."
The Corporal's smile broadens. It's good to see Hudson back on track. For a while he actually had been worried... but now he's feeling this special thing again: The tight connection between them. The feeling of mutual trust. The knowledge that each of them will be there to cover the other's back. They're a tightly-knit bunch again, and neither hell nor aliens will come between them. It's a good feeling.
"Yeah... I know, Will." He gives his team mate a small, thankful nod, extending it toward Vasquez... and Ripley. "We'll get through this. I know we will." He shoves himself off the instrument board he's been leaning on and makes for the far end of Operations where the mattresses mark their impromptu camp.
"See?… it's moving! He must still be alive! Fucking hell – Vasquez! Look!"
Silence, then footsteps. Tentative.
"Mierda…!"
The noise of static, boosted to top volume. Mixed with another noise, something he can't put his finger on, still painfully familiar. Disturbing. He roles onto his other site in an attempt to shake off the ghost of the dream.
"Fuck me…" Unmistakably Hudson again, but sounding somewhat disturbed. "That's his breathing! You hearing that? There!"
Hicks groans and rolls on his back, opening his eyes to make the nightmare disappear. A long moment of disorientation passes, before the panelling over him and the sound of the others sleeping in his surroundings tells him where he is. Ah… finally silence. He can't tell what it had been that bothered him in his sleep. Maybe the feeling of realism. The sense of not actually dreaming but listening in on an actual conversation… He turns his head towards the cool blue glow of the monitors further back.
"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?"
"Hudson – I don't know if-"
"What you wanna do, ignore him?"
Damn, it's not a dream after all! He can still hear his two team members whispering intensively, and they sound… strange. And who the fuck are they talking to? He sits up, and the dull throbbing behind his eyes returns. Rubbing the bridge of his nose between his eyes he gets up, still not feeling fully awake, although a quick glance onto his chronometer tells him it's been not even an hour since he lay down, and he's sure he didn't really fall asleep. As he's carefully stepping around the other bodies which are strewn across the floor in the back of Operations – for some odd reason nobody wanted to sleep in the room with the two occupied stasis tubes – he notices a slight movement to his right. Ripley. Her eyes are open, an expression of drowsy alarm in them. He holds up his hand, telling her to stay calm. The shadow of a smile crosses his face for a moment as he sees little Newt huddled against her adult protector. She's still asleep, but not looking peaceful. Small wonder, really.
"Sir, if you can hear me -"
"He can't hear you, Hudson! He's-"
Hicks rounds the corner.
"What's going on? Who are you two talking to?"
They both jump at the unexpected intrusion, having been fully caught up in whatever's keeping their attention. There's excitement in their eyes. Excitement and… horror. Hicks tilts his head slightly to see what they are looking at. The corridors from the sentries' cameras and some more of the station's surveillance equipment… and what is this? He strains his eyes in an attempt to make sense of the black and white pattern on another monitor.
"Hicks, I found the Sarge! He's still alive! Look!" Hudson points at the image he's still trying to decipher. "His headset's still intact – you can even hear him breathe!"
That noise…! The sudden sensation of falling down a bottomless elevator shaft turns Hicks' stomach upside down. His blood freezes, and he can feel the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rising with all distinctness.
"God…" His legs turn to rubber, and he has to grab the edges of the console to steady himself, his eyes staring transfixed at the psychedelic pattern of biomechanical architecture… which shifts as the camera delivering the images is slightly turned to the right and then down onto an object that's awfully familiar-looking. An opened egg…
"What's this?" Vasquez indicates a thin green line that's running parallel to the Sergeant's visible lifesigns. "A malfunction?"
Hicks feels the sour taste of bile at the back of his throat rising. He doesn't know what will come if he opens his mouth now, words or-
"He's infected…it's…it's its heartbeat…" he says numbly, feeling unreal. This must be a dream! A nightmare – no, the mother of all nightmares! And as he's standing there, thinking it can't possibly get any worse, the horror performs a quantum leap into another dimension.
"Anybody…? Can… can you hear me?" Apone's voice… sounding hurt… horrified beyond belief… desperate… "Plea… please? Anybody?" Violent coughing cuts off the words, and the grainy image shakes as the source of the transmission doubles over, wrecked by spasms.
"Sir, we're copying! Sarge? Do you hear me?" After an initial fit of panic Hudson had calmed down and dealt with the situation quite efficiently over the past hours, but it can't be overheard that the panic's back now – with a vengeance.
"Sir, tell us where you are! We'll come and get you out!" Vasquez, angry and determined. The ComTech covers the mike with his palm, eyes wide.
"Are you fucking crazy, Vaz? We can't-"
"-se! If anybody hears this… don't come down here." Coughing again.
"He doesn't hear us." Hicks feels bodily sick. It's painful to hear his long-time team leader like this: horrified beyond belief and all hope long departed. And still, in these long last hours of his life, who is Apone thinking of? Them. His team. Everybody else would beg for a – however hopeless appearing – rescue attempt. Not Apone. He'd never ask anybody to risk his life for him. A mixture of great grief and rage fills up Hicks' mind. It's unfair! Why the sergeant? For once there is a team leader who cares for his squad, who's always taking the safer, smarter way to get things done because he refuses to throw away even one single human life… and then he buys it the ugliest way while all the others who're giving a shit about their 'grunts' are sitting pretty? ""Get… get your asses out of the sling while… while you still can. Hicks?"
The mention of his name is a punch to the gut, and he groans in torment without even realising.. Somewhere on a subconscious level he knows Hudson and Vasquez are looking at him, but he just can't take his eyes off the monitor.
"Hicks –" Hudson's trying to hand him over the mike. He ignores him.
"Hicks, if you hear this… don't … don't do anything stupid. Get them out as fast as… aw, fuck…!" Violent coughing wrecks Apone again, and this time there's a great deal of pain audible in it. It's more than Hicks can bear, more than any of them should be forced to hear.
"Hicks, here…"
"Switch it off..." He's not looking at the ComTech, can't believe his own hollow-sounding voice. What did he just say?
"What?!"
"Aww… hell… it's moving…" Heavy, painful breathing comes over the speakers.
"You don't mean-"
"Switch it off, Hudson!" It takes superhuman effort to turn his head and meet his stunned comrades' unbelieving looks. "Now."
"Dammit Hicks, we can't just leave him alone! We've got to-"
"Do something about it?" Now he's breathing hard himself. Feels as if he's going to lose the ration he's had earlier this evening any second now. His voices sounds raspy, and he has to literally force himself to continue "We can't. We've already been over this, Will… and he doesn't want us to. He's right. They would rip us to pieces – like before." He shakes his head to himself in an attempt to shake off the awful images suddenly flooding his mind. Apone… going into spasms… screaming as an eyeless creature bursts from his chest in a fountain of blood… His eyes are trying to find the monitor again, but he can't stand the images now, doesn't want to watch – abruptly, he turns his back on the instrument board. His voice is but a whisper. Firm and compassionate at the same time. He's not going to make this an order. "We'll need to keep a cool head to come out of this in one piece… Watching him –" he fights with the word "-die… won't help us. And it won't help him. He doesn't even know we're grounded. Might be better for him to think we've made it…"
"He's right." A new voice joins the discussion. Ripley. He looks up to see her standing there at the corner, her gaze fixated on him, understanding in her eyes… and something else. Guilt? Is she blaming herself for this mess? "Even if it were possible to get him out – which it's not – you… couldn't do anything about … his condition…"
"But maybe Bishop could… you know… perform an emergency operation on him. Maybe…" Hudson runs dry, his tone an indication that he's not believing his own words. They sound desperate, clinging on to hope against better knowledge. Hicks doesn't intervene. He knows his team mate good enough to know that Hudson needs to say it out loud to sort things out for himself. The ComTech's not stupid. He locks eyes with Vasquez and sees consent in the black eyes. Regret, pain… and consent.
"Man…" The ultra-tough smartgun-operator gives him the hint of a nod. He can virtually hear her unspoken thoughts – 'What a fucking mess…!'
"Hudson…?" Wordless communication. His comrade's finger hovers over the switch that will cut them off from their leader… once and for all. It's hard… so hard… a deep breath. The image of the monitor shakes again – then goes black. Silence follows, weighing them all down. Nobody speaks.
Hicks closes his eyes as pain and grief threaten to overwhelm him. How long has he been serving with Apone? Ten years? Longer than anybody else. He's been there in his squad right from the start. From the time on where the Master Sergeant had been just a lowly corporal… like himself. Always fair. Always just. A leader he had always looked up to… and now it's his time to find out whether he'll be able to step into the big man's shoes. He's been thrown into the cold water, just like Gorman. Will he be able to swim? Or will he drown, taking them all with him?Gorman drowned over there at the processing station, and now he's holding on to him for survival… they all are. The knowledge is like a big rock tied to his foot, threatening to pull him down.
"I'm sorry, Hicks…" Ripley's voice. As he reopens his eyes, he sees her apologetic look – as if it were really her fault they're in the pits now. Her idea to come here. Or her creatures. He turns his back on her brusquely, trying to shake the sudden burst of anger he's feeling… to sort out his feelings - and sees Burke sitting on his mattress, woken by the hoopla they are making here… meeting his stare with drowsy alarm. A red-hot flash of rage comes over him. 'If it's anybody's fault, it's the company's! Human sleazebags' like Burke! Sending us out with a rookie lieutenant… They didn't listen to Ripley at all! Those arrogant, greedy pricks…!' There's a furious sparkle in his narrowed eyes as he continues to stare at the confused company rep.
"It's okay," His voice – amazingly enough – is still calm, albeit bitter with cynicism. "We already knew what happened to him, right?" The urge to close the gap and hammer the company rep right through the wall for what he did here is almost irresistible now. He, the most cool-headed of them all, is in the middle of losing it, and if he's going to let it happen there's no telling when he will stop… whether he will be able to stop at all… and what it will do to everybody's state of mind… It takes a HUGE effort not to follow his instincts! He turns around, suddenly hardly able to breathe. Burke will never know how close he came to being smashed to a pulp. They're all staring at him, probably waiting for some encouraging or comforting words, hardly ready for the hard look he's giving them. Hicks inhales sharply in an attempt to swallow his sudden burst of anger. He can't give it to them right now. Right now, he's feeling anything but reasonable, or sensible, or fucking optimistic even! If anything, he's feeling the overwhelming desire to be alone. "I'll be in Medlab, in case anyone needs me." MedLab's big. There should be a way of finding a quiet place for himself there despite Gorman's and Bishop's presence. He stomps off without looking back.
„Man, I don't like this," Skin's complaining while we're strutting through Level 3, the one above the aquatic domain of Mac the Knife, closing all hatches along the way which don't lead towards the underwater laboratory 4. A huge dark shape passes under our feet with calm dignity, leaving us further behind with each move of its big tail-fin. The tiger shark doesn't react to us even though it must be hungry after an enforced diet of two days. Of course. Despite the transparent floor he can't see us. My ever-reliable database tells me that sharks usually hunt by scent and tactile input. Eye-sight is not important to them – so Mac's either ignoring us or doesn't even know we're here. He himself would be hard to ignore His massive shape is very impressive. It's one thing to read about a 14-foot killing machine… and yet an entirely different thing to actually see it. I can't help but feel curious about Darwin's little experiment tonight. Skin's opinion is of course different. "How can you simply waste such a perfect creature?"
I shrug.
"She said she'd build you a new one. So why the fuss?" He shakes his head furiously, making his little samurai ponytail move.
"Damn Isis, we're talking about a living creature here – not some…technical gadget!"
"Yeah, okay. If you want to get all sentimental…" I roll my eyes. "So what? He's a clone, and the new one will be done from the same DNA. It's going to be the exact same stupid fish!"
"It won't be Mac," he refuses stubbornly, his gaze fixated on the disappearing shark's silhouette. I sigh. How can anybody be so illogical?
"Skin, you know the sole reason for the existence of this little pet zoo of yours is-"
"-to ensure a never-ending supply of guinea-pigs," he sighs, pressing the next button. We see the door beneath us slide shut. Slowly but surely we're getting Mac where Darwin wants him. "Yeah, I know that. But why does she have to take him when there are so many alternatives? Just feed them this crazy ape, or –"
"The ape?" I sigh inwardly. "Forgive me for asking, but how do you think would this help us in determining how adaptable Xenomorphis Terribilis is to water?"
He glares at me.
"Don't be snide, Isis. I don't see why she can't simply throw the thing into another part of the basin. We'd be able to see whether it can swim – why does she want it to be attacked?"
"Cause she wants to see how good it can swim," I reply evenly, rounding the corner behind him. "Two answers with one test."
"But he'll die!" My colleague looks down onto his acid-scarred hand uncomfortably. "His head will corrode when he's taking a bite off it!"
"Yeah..." I admit in mock compassion. "That's why we'll all be wearing black tonight, too. I forgot to say."
"Man!" he groans, closing the last hatch. His pet is now captured in an aquarium of approximately 30 x 30 metres. To our left side is the stairway that leads down to Lab 4's operating room, where we're going to sit tonight to watch the spectacle of alien vs. the most efficient predator Earth has to offer. Darwin was adamant to perform this test before the great meeting with Weyland Yutani's brass tomorrow. "I forgot how much fun working with you is."
"Well, I'm sorry Kira's sick and I've got to be her replacement. I know how close you two are." He glares at me, and I decide to shut up before the situation escalates. After all, I'm having a full schedule for today and need to hurry to get everything done. Rosselli and Vox, two of W.Y.'s top representatives, will arrive within the next two hours, and I'm the one responsible for preparing their lush executives' suites. Plus another check on our valuable marine… and the portable stasis beam for tonight. This before everything else. We're going to have a massive catastrophe on our hands if the gadget doesn't work…
We've reached the end of the staircase and step into Lab 4's control room, facing the massive console and the huge panoramic window of indestructible security glass behind it. Mac's gigantic form passes right in front of us, calmly making his way to the left side of the basin. The water's breaking the light from above and creates interesting visual effects in the observing room where we are standing. Everything's looking good. It's tidy, the vending machines on the left corner of the entrance is operational and just delivering a cappuccino upon Skin's demand. With a sigh, I step forward, eyeing the hundreds of switches, scales and counters on the console. They light up like a Christmas tree as I'm hitting the main switch. Time for a thorough systems check. I've granted us exactly one hour for it. Time to get moving.
The first thing he notices is that smell… that horrible, antiseptic smell… it's different from the metallic tasting rain with its underlying aroma of burnt ashes. Not really better... but it's clean... almost too clean.
"Just get it done, Keisha, okay? I'm sick and tired of listening to your constant griping!" A female voice of undeterminable age. Not very old, though.
"But why-" He knows this one, has heard it before. In his… dreams?
"No 'buts', remember? Just do it!"
Silence. Followed by the muffled sound of footsteps and the familiar hiss of a door opening and closing. More footsteps, passing in front of him, getting further away, the young female voice he recognizes by now mumbling something unintelligible. The most immediate source of noise is coming from straight above him now, a constant symphony of clicking and beeping and humming. Hicks forces his eyes open and finds it a little less impossible to do than before.
The place is white, but not blinding white. The light's been toned down to a pleasant twilight that's easy on his eye-nerves. Definitely not Operations anymore… or the tunnel. He feels a bit confused. The images which reach his brain are somewhat blurry and hesitate to stumble into focus, no matter how hard he's trying for it. The ceiling he's looking at doesn't tell him anything, and so he turns his head sideways on the cushion, searching for some kind of clue about his whereabouts – and winces at the stab of pain in the back of his neck. Unconsciously his left hand climbs up again to touch the gauze pensively. What the – He pauses as he sees his arm… really sees it. It's skinny. Nothing but flesh and bones… and an IV-line leading up from the vein on his wrist to a drip at his bedside with multiple thin plastic bags.
He stares a while longer, the meaning of what he's seeing slowly seeping into his clouded conscience like thick syrup. Hospital… he's in some kind of hospital. Looks as if they got him good this time. Really good. By the looks of it, he's half a skeleton already… and came close to wearing one of those black body bags they've always been making their morbid jokes about in order to avoid actually having to think about death. More memories come. Body bags… yes… He's the only one who made it, right? Hudson, Vasquez… Apone…Ripley… they're all dead. His mood goes belly-up with the jolt of sudden realization. Everybody's dead – except him … and the girl? There's something about her, something he should remember, too, right? Was it just a dream? That bizarre black & white face staring down on him, telling him –
["She … didn't … make… it…"]
A sudden sense of urgency makes him prop his hands against the mattress and push himself to a sitting position – to his surprise he doesn't even make it halfway before he falls back, gasping. Exhausted.
('What the hell is wrong with me?')
"Hey – we've finally decided to wake up, huh?" a familiar female voice reaches him, sounding honestly happy. Hicks turns his head in the direction of the approaching footsteps and sees a young nurse heading his way, white teeth shining in an encouraging smile on her dark face. Young? She looks like a teenager! 16, or 17 maybe. Her shoulder-long hair is neatly bound into dozens of tiny braids, which again are pulled back to form a ponytail of braids on her neck. Putting the small pile of towels she's been carrying on a nearby table, she steps up to him, and he notices a slight limp on her. The name tag on her green frock reads 'Keisha'. "How are you today, Dwayne? You look like you're feeling much better."
"Yeah?" Man, what a strange feeling to use his tongue again. And the connection between his brain and throat seems to experience substantial problems, too. "Don't know…" His throat is dry like the desert.
'I feel like shit!' he wants to say. 'I feel like an APC ran over me!' he wants to say. But he can't even summon up the words in his mind, let alone utter them. And this damn throbbing in his neck… he can't remember hurting his neck. How? When?
"How am I?" A strange question, he realizes as soon as he's uttered it. But she appears to understand, as she sits down on the edge of his bed after a short glance to his bio-readouts. A somber, serious look replaces the relived smile she had displayed until now.
"Well… you're obviously on the way to recovery now. But it was pretty close." Her hand moves as if to touch his in a reassuring gesture, but is drawn back at the last moment. "Do you remember anything?"
"How's the girl?" he inquires instead, somehow answering her question by that. "Where is she?" Her expression becomes strange… guarded, somehow.
"I don't know, Dwayne. I'll have to ask Dr. Hikahi, but he won't be – what?"
"You do know," he states quietly, sinking back into his cushion. "Tell me. Please."
"Dwayne-"
"Please." His gaze is urgent, his eyes pinning her. He's sniffing the truth, and she sees it. The young woman inhales deeply, feeling extremely uneasy all of a sudden. "She's dead, isn't she?" He sees the answer in her eyes even though she's still hesitant about telling him. A sinking feeling overwhelms him, robs him of the last of his strength. His head seems to weigh a ton all of a sudden. Brown eyes muster him compassionately.
"I'm sorry, Dwayne." She is almost whispering now. "She was already dead when they brought you both here." She swallows, seeing the sorrow in his eyes and feeling awful. He doesn't appear to be surprised though. It's almost as if he already knew… but then again, he'd been too drugged yesterday. Impossible he could remember anything Isis told him, right? "You almost died yourself," she adds in a futile attempt to explain the logic of the tragedy to him. "And you are a strong, trained soldier. She-" She stops when she sees his weak, hopeless shadow of a smile.
"Not anymore." He casts his gaze down and shivers again at the sight of his thin arms. Something else finds the way from his memory into his consciousness. His leg. What about his leg? There are the shapes of two legs under the blanket, but after his long-time military career he knows well enough how the docs sometimes place cushions under them to diminish the shock for freshly amputated patients. Strangely enough though, he doesn't care. So what if he has only one leg left? Everybody else is dead. His squad – which was more like his family. Ripley…he sighs, not seeing Keisha anymore. He killed her himself. He remembers it now. Sees her blood-streaked face in front of his inner eye. Hears her desperate plea.
["Please – kill me. Remember your promise."]
Man, no more… please! He squeezes his eyes shut in a vain attempt to make the image go away. The thunder of his 38mm… NO MORE!
["Will they come for us?"]
He's succeeded in making Ripley go away… but now it's Newt's voice in his ears, and he almost feels her weight against his side again. Feels her little body huddled against him to find some protection from the raging storm and driving rain, longing for some warmth. For how long? One week? Longer? It felt like an eternity, and she had been sleeping the sleep of death already long before the bright light came down from the stars to get them. On some unconscious level, he knew it even then. Seeing his own condition rapidly deteriorate in the elements and radiation, with no more food to sustain them and being forced to drink the contaminated water raining down on them, he had known their days were counted.
"-she your daughter?" his caretaker's voice snaps him out of his dark thoughts.
"Huh?"
"Was she your daughter?" He can see she's a little embarrassed to ask him, probably feeling her question is stupid or intruding or whatever… but also, she appears to genuinely care. He looks at her… or rather, through her, seeing the girl's dirt-smeared face, hearing her voice echo in the narrow black tunnel where she found him.
["HicksHicksHicks! Do you hear me? Do you hear me?"]
He swallows bitterly.
"No…" The realization of what has happened is slowly beginning to dawn on him. A feeling as if he'd swallowed a huge block of ice...while being simultaneously being hit over the head with a baseball bat. The result is cold numbness. "She saved my life." His eyes eventually find back to the teenager, noticing the surprised expression on her features. He licks his dry lips, but to no avail – his mouth and throat are like a dried-up well, too. Thirsty, yes... he's thirsty. And again, he doesn't care. Inhaling deeply, he adds: "And I promised to take care of her... and to get her out of there...alive. Dammit..."
Suddenly weakness and desperation come back with a vengeance as he covers his burning eyes with his hand, squeezing them shut. He leaves it there, not wanting the young woman to see his pain. What kind of God takes the life of an innocent child and saves the one of a soldier with more blood on his hands than most people in colonized space? What kind of a fucked-up universe is this?
"I'm sorry, Dwayne..." Keisha whispers, feeling awful. "I'm so sorry." The desire to reach out and take his hand for comfort is almost unbearable now... but again she can't summon up the courage. He's a grown man, for Christ's sake! A soldier! More than likely ten, twelve years older than her! What would he think? So her hands stay in her lap, clutching the fabric of her nurses' frock helplessly. But there must be something she can do for him, right? "Would you like to talk about it?"
Hicks hears her tentative voice from the foot-end of his bed. Why is she still here? Doesn't she understand he wants to be alone now? Why did they save him and not Newt? Or since she was already dead like everybody else of his squad – why did they have to bring him back? There's nothing left here for him. He's all alone now. All alone in the middle of a huge black hole he shouldn't have climbed out of. "Dwayne?"
"No. Just leave me alone." His voice is toneless and flat, his eyes still shut, left hand covering his face. He doesn't move. "Please."
There must be something she can do.
"Can I get you anything? I can't give you anything to drink unfortunately, because your stomach's not yet ready for it, but I could –"
"Just leave." More determined now. Impatient and almost angry.
She swallows, feeling awful. She wasn't supposed to tell him, and she didn't want to – BUT HE ASKED! What was she supposed to do? It was so important to him, he didn't even ask all the questions she was ready for! Like where he was… or what about his leg? He didn't want to know. Like he doesn't care at all! As if he's not even happy to be still alive… She inhales deeply, desperately wanting to say something meaningful, something that would make him feel better… but she doesn't even know him. She doesn't know what happened to him, or what he's been through, or what's important to him besides the girl. So she finally stands up, silent, looking down on him insecurely. He doesn't seem to register. A final glance at the bottles on the drip. He's still set. No need to exchange any of them. For a moment she toys with the idea of maybe injecting a little extra sedative into the IV-line to help him to a deep, dreamless sleep… but he's got to start dealing with it. There's no use in delaying the inevitable.
"I'm sorry, Dwayne," she repeats, putting the remote with the call-button next to his right hand on the blanket. "If you change your mind or need anything, just call me, okay? Here." There's no reaction. The young Arcturian picks up the towels she left on the table and makes for the door, feeling bitter, not even hearing the hissing mechanism as she passes. Walking down the deserted corridor, her steps echoing hollowly, she can't help but brood over her dark thoughts. This is not what she wanted to do. When she left her planet two years ago together with Hikahi, she had hoped to do something good, to help people. All the misery she had seen had triggered the desire in her of trying to make a difference in the cold and often cruel ways of human societies. And now she's here and… and everything – her noble ideas, her principles, everything she'd set out to do - goes down the toilet.
Nauseated by the realization, she stops, her face a mask of bitter disillusionment. Her stomach twists into a cold knot as she notices which door it is she's standing at. 'What is this, an evil joke? Why did I come here?' she thinks, incredulously, involuntarily stepping up to look through the tiny window into the room. She doesn't want to, but her legs have a different idea. Watching silently, she stands there, biting her lip and hugging herself. The nausea worsens, and the flood's rising behind the dam of her self-control, threatening to break it any moment now. She's hardly able to move and step aside as the door opens to let out Dr. deJoria, who's almost running into her.
"Keisha?" A confused glance. "What are you doing here?" She stops as she notices the nurse's desperate expression.
"I don't know…" the youth whispers, hardly able to suppress the choked sobs. Her eyes stay glued to the window as her view is again obstructed by the closing door. "I… I just find it so hard to do this…" As if on command, the blond little girl in the adjacent room turns her head from the TV screen to look at her - sending down an icy shudder Keisha's spine. "It's so hard to lie to him…"
Hadley's Hope – Day 4 – 0100 hours
A cold chill makes the tiny hairs on his neck stand on end and travels further down his spine. Hicks knows the feeling all too well. He turns around. Sure enough, a tiny figure is standing in the doorway, looking at him. Operations is down to emergency power at night, but though he can't see more than just her small silhouette, he knows it's Newt who is standing there in her usual shy stance, obviously uncertain whether she shall disturb the peaceful silence of Operations. Hicks spins around casually in his chair and invites her in with a smile and a little nod.
„A visitor for me at this time? That's nice. I was beginning to feel kinda lonely here." He waits for a return smile, but Newt still seems too shy to react to his joke. But she steps closer, slowly, one step at a time, as not to wake anyone. Since most of Hadley's involuntary occupants are sleeping further back in the big room or in MedLab, there isn't really much reason for her concern, but after having observed the girl over the course of four days now, Hicks has come to the conclusion that this is simply the way she has learned to move around the alien-infested station, no matter how safe her surroundings appear to be. He can't blame her. After all this caution has kept her alive for over three weeks, when she had been on her own - way before they had virtually stumbled over her. He watches her approach and notices the concentrated expression and sweat on her face as well as the little, tightly clenched fists at her sides, and he knows the reason for this unusual visit in the middle of the night.
"Another bad dream, huh?"
She looks at him for a moment, silent –before she nods and comes to a halt in front of the brightly illuminated instrument board, glancing over the dozens of tiny lights in wonder. The blue light of the surveillance monitors illuminate her face.
"What are you doing?" Her whisper is almost inaudible.
"Well...," Hicks bends forward, placing his elbows on his thighs and folding his hands. „Essentially, I'm watching television. Although the program is a little dull." He gestures at the monitors. Newt's eyes follow his hand. "You know, on these monitors we can see everything that's happening around us – which means nothing, at the moment. There's nothing to be worried about." 'At least not yet', he continues in his thoughts. The situation can virtually change any minute, but that's nothing to tell a six-year old child who's just woken from a nightmare. Better to spread a little optimism. She probably knows anyway. "Wanna help me?" She bites her lip, insecure.
"You mean, watching the monitors?"
"Yeah. I could use some help, you know? I am getting a little tired, and it is easier to stay awake if there are two watching. Oh, and there is another very important task for you: You must punch me if I fall asleep. Don't let me close my eyes, okay?" He closes his eyes demonstratively and waits. About ten seconds later he feels a soft touch at his shoulder and shakes his head, eyes still closed. "That wasn't hard enough. I'm still sleeping." He imitates a loud snore. The next punch is harder, and it's accompanied by a tiny giggle. Carefully he opens one eye. Newt's standing right in front of him, covering her mouth with her hands.
"This is silly."
Hicks smirks, pleased with himself. He's managed to cheer her up again. Another small victory in this mess. Something positive in this endless night.
"No, it isn't. I'm wide awake now, see? Thanks." He looks around. "Now, where do we get a chair for you? Let me see." It appears as if all chairs are located further behind in the room, close to the sleeping bodies of Vasquez, Hudson, Ripley and Gorman, and he doesn't dare leaving the monitors out of his sight for even a brief moment. Something on the edge of his perception claims his attention: One of the monitors is flickering and turns to black while he's still watching, sending an electrical jolt of tension through his nerves and instantly putting him into alarm mode. Holding his breath and eyeing the motion sensors of the robot sentry unit closest to the concerned video-camera, he braces himself in expectation of seeing one or more of the bastards there in another attempt to make it to their human prey. But nothing's there. No blinking dots, no read-outs, no nothing. Everything stays inconspicously calm. Eventually, his heartbeat returns to normal, and he allows himself to switch his attention – at least partly - back to the girl. "Okay, you know what we'll do?" He grabs her under the arms and carefully sits her down on his thighs. She seems very light for a girl her age, but that's hardly a wonder considering she's barely had anything to eat during the past month. "How's that?"
"Okay."
"Okay? Good." Hicks leans back. "My suggestion is that you watch the three upper monitors, and I keep my eyes on the two lower ones." 'And the one that just quit on us.' "Agreed?"
"Aye-firmative."
He can't help but grin. It seems that Newt's absorbing more and more of Hudson's language every day. They're probably going to have to intervene before she's getting started on using some of the nastier words in the Private's vocabulary.
A sad smile's playing around Hicks' mouth as he wakes from his memories. It had been a good night, a night that had left him with the feeling of not being completely useless. His presence and little jokes had calmed down the girl enough to send her back to sleep after an hour of shared observation duty on the monitors, and his own – after Apone's death – somewhat dark mood had at least temporarily lightened. And since it had been Vasquez' turn to wake from a bad dream without being able to dose off again – rare enough for the tough Mexican – he had put the opportunity to good use by leaving the perimeter to fix the defect circuits on the video camera. And while he had been at it, another idea had gained a footing in his unoccupied brain, probably triggered by the permanent boredom. A little spark of adventure that he was sure none of the others would have appreciated… but hell, nobody except Vasquez – and maybe Bishop – would ever know, right? It had come to him during his fast search for some work tools in the room closest to the defect cable: Somehow his attention had focused on a calendar on the wall, a picture of snow-covered trees and a frozen pond, very scenic… and the realization had hit him, however inappropriate it was at that time: It was December – late December. Two days before Christmas, to be exact…
Hicks stares at the wall right in front of him, or rather the virtual beach the illuso has been set on by Keisha, probably for the calming effect of the waves. He doesn't see them though, nor does he hear them. His mind's in Hadley's Hope again, scanning the room he's standing in for treasure… possible Christmas gifts. Something to make life a little more pleasant for the next approximately 12 days before help can arrive. Something that would perhaps rise everybody's spirits for a moment or two, even if the very thought of Christmas in this hellhole seems downright preposterous. Some luxury items, not necessary for their immediate survival. Something like…
"Vasquez?" he mumbles into his head-mike, covering his mouth. He may be feeling adventurous, but he's not stupid. Too much noise can kill, especially here, outside the perimeter. The smart gunner's reply comes immediately.
"Copying."
"Everything still calm?"
"Like a graveyard," comes her fast answer. Awkward silence. "Damn," she mutters. "Didn't mean it like that."
"I know…" He inhales deeply. "Listen, I'll be looking around a bit. Might take a few more minutes."
"What are you doing?"
"Surprise," he smirks. "Just keep an eye on the readouts for me. I'll be back real soon. Over and out." He steps behind the office table and pulls open the first drawer. "Let's see what we've got here…"
"-oke up and is coherent."
The door slides open and spits several people into his room. The young nurse he's already seen. And that ascetic-looking, middle-aged doctor with the annoyed expression on his face who's preceding her seems likewise familiar, even if he can't put a name to him, yet. As for his third visitor... he stiffens, briefly questioning his being awake and out of the drugs' embrace – for there it is, the black and white face which had brought those terrible words
[She... didn't... make it.]
and has been following him into his dark dreams. It's not a ghost after all. Nor is it the product of his drug induced nightmares. It's for real… and attached to the slim, trained body of a young woman in a black jumpsuit. Hicks can't help but gape at her appearance. Very short black hair frames her exotic looking face with the high cheekbones – but it's the tattoo that's demanding his immediate attention, almost seeming to automatically pull it in and hypnotically bind it. He dimly remembers having seen such ritual tattoos before. Back when he was young. At school, in some ancient photos… what was it? Some kind of tribals, right? From some kind of pacific tribe? Maori? Something like that. The black pattern across her face functions almost as a mask, keeping the focus off her large, dark eyes and full, uncolored lips. Even without any make-up – she's stunning… except for the strangely cold expression in her eyes. It's news to him that brown eyes can look that cold. Kinda like Vasquez when she's real riled,
Vasquez – she's dead, too
but without the hot boiling temperament underneath. Scrutinizing. Staring at him with professional interest and nothing more. No care, no compassion, no nothing. The result is a sudden feeling of vague uneasiness. The notion of being a rare virus under the microscope. A brief glance to the girl's dark face who's standing behind his new visitor, looking excessively ordinary compared to her all of a sudden – and angry. There's unmistakable tension between the members of the little group.
"Corporal Hicks," the mysterious beauty says with only the faintest trace of a studied smile. It's right then when his mind decides he doesn't like her. "What welcome news to finally have you back among the living!"
She sounds somewhat military… but the rest just doesn't add up. She's not introducing herself, neither by rank nor by name. And nothing looks right. This ain't a military installation he's at… 'You know damn well whose station or ship this is, soldier!' an alarmed voice in the back of his mind whispers, and his eyes widen in horrified realization. 'They're Weyland Yutani staff, remember? It had been Burke's people who came back to fetch you… who also killed Gorman… and probably Bishop… and yourself almost, too! Who shot the Sulaco out of the sky and - and now what? They've got you. What do they want? Why did they come back?'
