Chapter 4 - Somewhere on Aquifer
Aquifer was known as the riff raff capital of the Omega system. It was home to mercenaries, hoodlums, crime lords and anyone involved in anything illegal. It was also the favorite hangout of the Centurions, a species that resembled humans in most ways, except for their eyes and their teeth.
The Centurions and mankind had run into each other over a decade ago. Although a union was established between the two races after a five-year feud, there was still suspicion about the Centurions and they weren't very trust-worthy.
This was the reason Corporal Charles Packer refused to allow his Lieutenant to go without the squad.
"I'm going alone, Packer," Newt stated firmly as she checked the clips on two pulse guns.
"This is no place for a decent woman," he argued.
"Oh spare me the lecture, Packer. You know I can take care of myself."
"Why are you risking your life for this nobody anyway?"
"Because we need him."
"We need him? What the hell do we need a mercenary for?"
Newt strapped the holsters with the pulse guns to each of her thighs. She ignored his question. "I gotta go."
Packer tagged along behind her as she made her way down the dropship ramp. When he continued to walk with her, Newt stopped abruptly and turned to him, grabbing the front of his uniform. He saw the determined look in her steely blue eyes and shivered.
"I won't say it again, Packer. I'm going alone." She released him roughly.
Packer threw up his arms and stepped back. "Fine. You're the boss."
As Newt walked down the dirt street, she glanced left and right from the corners of her eyes, feeling the stares of those standing around the buildings. The sun was starting to go down on the port city and the wind kicked up the dirt, blowing her cape behind her wildly. Somewhere to her left, several shots were fired and a scream followed. No one seemed to care.
The neon sign above the entrance read "The Louvre". This was the place Bishop had told her about. Newt inspected the other neon images of women with exaggerated assets. This place was obviously nothing like the museum in Paris, back on Earth. She wondered who had thought of that name to call such a place.
A drunk staggered out of the entrance and almost collided into her. Upon seeing her, he gave her a toothy grin, or at least whatever was left of his decayed teeth. She tilted her head at him impatiently when he leered and wiggled his tongue at her in a suggestive manner. Then she unsheathed a ten-inch blade from her belt, holding it up just as suggestively.
"Beat it, asshole before I chop that tongue off and feed it to my man-eating tiger."
The drunk thought better and quickly staggered away. Newt re-sheathed her knife and looked back up at the sign. Maybe Packer had been right. This was no place for a woman, or at least not one who didn't sell her assets to the crap on this planet. She realized that every man in the place would want to sample what she had. Before she changed her mind, Newt pushed the door open and stepped in.
The lounge was crowded. Every table and chair was taken. It was dark, except for the center of the room where brightly colored lights flashed on a dance floor. Five scantily clad women were dancing in unison at the center. They danced to the beat of loud, garish rock music and all eyes were on them.
Until Newt walked in...
She eyed the staring men in the lounge. Her hands were at her sides, her fingers twitching, itching to pull her guns out. Her Colonial Marine uniform held no authority in a place like this, so she was on her own defenses.
In a dark corner booth, a sole figure wearing worn snow goggles and a cowl over his head glanced up from his drink. He could sense the change in the mood surrounding him. A woman had walked in the door. She was wearing a Colonial Marine uniform. His first thought was that some scum had recognized him and alerted the authorities. But they sent a woman instead, a woman to do a man's job. He smiled to himself and shook his head, taking a drag out of his cigarette.
Newt finally decided that she wasn't going to get anywhere just standing around. He was here and she needed to find him. So she slowly began to move around the perimeter of the dance floor, eyeing everyone. After awhile she wasn't sure who she was looking for, what he even looked like. It was too dark.
The stranger in the corner booth kept his face hidden in the shadow of his cowl, but his eyes followed her every move through his night-vision goggles, which permitted him to see everything. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and on top of it, she was drop dead gorgeous. He admired her courage for walking into a place like this.
Newt stopped near the bar and surveyed the men sitting there, all of them gawking in her direction. "I'm looking for Elliot Norris!"
They all turned to look at each other and then in unison they all started laughing rather hysterically, like she had just told them the funniest joke in the universe. The music continued to play, the dancers continued to dance. No one responded to her.
Newt frowned to herself. She wasn't going to get anywhere in here. But she was pissed off to no end. She approached the bar, furiously pushing an unsuspecting sole out of her way. "Scotch."
The bartender stared at her for a moment. When she put money on the bar, he poured her the shot and slid it toward her. Newt picked up the shot glass and gulped down the scotch, savoring the heat that burned down her throat. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and started to walk away from the bar.
The guy that she had earlier shoved out of her way stepped in front of her. He gave her a sneer. She stared him down, her brows knitted together in a threatening fashion. The guy stared back at her. He started to reach for his pistol.
"That's right," Newt said with disdain. "Go for the gun. I haven't killed anyone in the last hour. Should be fun."
The guy decided to lower his hand and then he stepped aside.
"Smart move," she said as she moved away from him, glancing back to make sure that he didn't change his mind again.
As she walked along the edge of the dance floor, the five women continued to dance. Newt ignored them, even after one of them circled her erotically. She was going to kill Bishop for making her come down here for nothing. It was obvious that the man she sought was not in the place. She headed for the entrance only to see that five tall Centurions had stepped into her path, forcing her to stop in her tracks. She hated Centurions, having had one too many confrontations with them that all ended badly. For them. Sighing heavily, she folded her arms and stared them down.
The one in the middle spoke first, his voice booming, even over the loud music. "You have no business here, Marine."
"Fine," she said as she unfolded her arms and started forward again, "I was just leaving anyway." Newt intended to just walk right through them, or over them, whatever it was going to take. But she soon saw that they weren't going to budge.
And it didn't look like she was going to get any help from anyone else in the place. The one in the middle started walking toward her. Newt slowly began to back away, her fingers close to her guns. She would use them, if the need arose.
Then she backed up into a wall. She didn't have to look back to know that it was no wall, that it was another Centurion. Making it a total of six. Before she had a chance to react, the one behind her had quickly taken her guns from their holsters. But she wasn't about to give in that easily. She whirled around and slammed the palm of her hand into the front of the Centurion's throat. The Centurion was taken off guard and his arms went in the air before he fell back.
Newt watched helplessly as her precious guns went sailing in opposite directions, disappearing into the crowd on either side. Then someone grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms down. The Centurion she had knocked down was back up on his feet and moving toward her. She pushed upward with her feet, bringing them up to slam into his face. The motion forced her holder to loosen his grip on her and she took advantage of it, turning so she was facing her attacker. She smiled and slammed both her hands into his face, bloodying his nose.
The stranger watched the exchange with growing interest from his dark booth. The girl had balls that just didn't quit. But he knew she was no match for half a dozen Centurions. They'd soon overpower her no matter what moves she possessed.
Newt turned to her next attacker. When he advanced, she kicked him in the gut, only to be blindsided by another Centurion with a hard fist to her face. She went down hard on all fours. The Centurion that had punched her delivered a kick into her gut and she howled in pain, spitting up blood.
"Hey!"
Newt looked up and saw a dark clad figure standing at the edge of the dance floor. His head was covered with a cowl and he wore snow-goggles. Her vision was slightly blurred from the blow to her face and she wasn't sure if the stranger was even human.
The Centurions all turned to face him.
"Now is that any way to treat a lady?" he asked the Centurions.
The leader was holding Newt's head up by her hair. He abruptly released her and moved forward, sizing up this new opponent. "You want a piece of me?"
The stranger pushed the cowl off his head and pulled off his goggles. "Yeah, I want a piece of you."
Newt gasped when the stranger had revealed himself. It was him. It was Dwayne Hicks. She studied his features. He still looked the same, maybe a little older, his hair a little longer. But there was something else there, something she had never seen in him before. Something dark. Something deadly. Like a predator targeting his prey.
Hicks wanted to take out the leader, but the Centurion stepped aside and motioned for his men to take over. No problem. He'd just have to take out all of them. He wasn't prejudice, he just hated Centurions. Six less Centurions in the universe wouldn't be a great loss. As he slowly moved to the center of the dance floor, the dancers quickly scattered in every direction.
The crowd of onlookers began to place bets amongst themselves. They knew what the Centurions were capable of, but most of them also knew what Elliot Norris was capable of. None of them however knew that Elliot Norris was Dwayne Hicks. None of them knew his background. They just knew he was bad news of the dangerous kind.
Hicks kept his face lowered, watching from the tops of his eyes as the first Centurion approached. He also sensed one approaching from somewhere behind him. When the Centurion tried to grab him from behind, Hicks ducked at the last second and moved behind the Centurion, wrapping his arm around his neck. He wrapped his other arm around the Centurion's head and gave a yank until the Centurion's neck snapped. The Centurion fell in a heap and Hicks stepped over him, completely forgotten.
Newt got up on her feet when she saw that the Centurions were no longer paying any attention to her. But she remained rooted, unable to take her eyes off Hicks.
The Centurion who had first approached from in front of Hicks was now coming at him head on, bending to ram him in the stomach with his head. Hicks kicked out, striking the Centurion in the face, then rammed his fist into the Centurion's stomach. The Centurion fell to his knees. Hicks stepped behind the Centurion, grabbing him by the back of the neck and placed his knee on his spine. The sharp sound of the Centurion's spine snapping rang loud enough to be heard above the loud music. Everyone cringed. Hicks released the limp Centurion and nonchalantly smoothed the wrinkles off the sleeves of his long coat.
The Centurion leader was seething. "Kill him!"
The next Centurion advanced while another came from behind. The same ploy again. This time they attacked at the same time. One grabbed Hicks from behind while the other slammed a fist into his stomach, then a fist into his face. Hicks used the Centurion behind him for leverage and he lifted himself up, wrapping his ankles around the other Centurion's neck. Another broken neck was the result. Still horizontal, Hicks spun himself in mid air out of the Centurion's grip and as he came down on his feet, he lunged forward and slammed his forehead against the Centurion's head. The Centurion staggered backward.
Another Centurion advanced, having produced a large double-edged saber and circled Hicks. Hicks sneered as if he was enjoying all of this. The Centurion attacked, swinging the saber at Hicks, who ducked. Another swing and he ducked again. Hicks grabbed the Centurion's wrists and swung him around hard. The saber struck the Centurion he had given a concussion to, slicing his stomach open, right beside Newt. She gasped when she realized that the Centurion's blue blood had splattered all over her face.
Hicks, still holding the wrists of the Centurion, dragged him toward Newt, who jumped and stepped back involuntarily. He yanked the saber from the Centurion's hands and held it out to her. "Here, hold this." She just stared at him, so he shoved the saber into her hand, dragged the Centurion away by the wrists and then released him. In the blink of an eye, Hicks produced nine-inch blades in both hands, like they had suddenly materialized out of nowhere, like magic. He straddled the Centurion on the floor and crossing his wrists, he brought the daggers against the Centurion's throat and with a double stroke, slashed deeply into him, blue blood splattering everywhere. When Hicks got up, he pushed the Centurion with his foot. The Centurion rolled toward a table. The occupants of the chairs surrounding the table quickly scrambled out of the way, trying to avoid being hit by the massive dead Centurion.
The crowd was going crazy. He twirled the knives twice before turning to face the remaining Centurion, the leader.
Newt glanced around at the crowd. The bets were now going in Hicks' favor.
"I'll kill you!" yelled the Centurion leader.
"Give it your best shot," replied Hicks confidently, momentarily wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
The Centurion dragged two of his own blades out of his belt. The two of them circled, sizing each other up. The Centurion lunged at Hicks, daggers swinging. Hicks blocked each of the Centurion leader's blows, sparks flying from the clashing metal. The Centurion backed off. Hicks smiled, motioning him forward with his blades. The Centurion rushed forward again and again Hicks blocked each of the Centurion's rapid dagger swings. Then the Centurion kicked out, hitting Hicks in the kneecap. The distraction was all the Centurion needed to slash with the knife and managing to slice the side of Hicks' arm. Hicks kicked out with his left foot, knocking one of the knives out of the Centurion's hand, then slammed the back of his dagger into the Centurion's eye. Stunned, the Centurion staggered backward and grabbed his remaining knife with both hands, holding it out in front of him in a defensive posture.
Hicks took a moment to glance down at the tear in his coat sleeve. He looked back up at the Centurion leader who was trying to get his bearings. Hicks twirled the blades in his hands several more times. This caused the crowd to cheer him on.
Newt was mesmerized by the pure aggression Hicks exhibited, the brutality in the way he killed his victims. He seemed to be enjoying the battle, thirsting for more blood. She had always thought of the former Colonial Marine as levelheaded, straight-laced and by the book. At least that's how she remembered him. He had left a lasting impression on her. She had been so impressed by him when she was a kid that he was the main reason she had joined the Colonial Marines. But her last impression of him had been thirteen years ago. A lot had happened to her in thirteen years. A lot had obviously happened to him to make him so bloodthirsty and earnestly sought after by the authorities.
Hicks waited for the Centurion to attack. The attack came and he whirled his blades, first blocking the knife the Centurion held and then delivering a criss-cross of cuts into the Centurion's face. But the Centurion continued to advance. Hicks abandoned the blades and they disappeared from his hands, again as if by magic. He punched the Centurion hard in the face, and then delivered another blow, smashing the Centurion's nose with the heel of his hand and sending his elbow into his groin. The Centurion doubled over. Hicks yanked the knife out of the Centurion's hand and buried its ten-inch blade into the back of his throat. The Centurion collapsed on the dance floor, making a gurgling sound.
The crowd cheered and whistled enthusiastically. Hicks raised his foot and scraped the bottom of his shoe across the Centurion's face. "Fucking Centurion shit." He ignored the cheers all around him and started walking wearily toward the bar. As he wiped the sweat from his face, he passed the Marine woman, deliberately avoiding her gaze.
Newt watched him walk away, tossing the saber aside after realizing she was still holding it. "Hicks…"
Hicks heard her call his name, his real name, but he kept walking. The bartender immediately set up three shot glasses and poured tequila into them. It's what he usually drank. He stepped up to the bar and picked up the first shot, downing it. He sensed her approach, even before he saw her from the corner of his eye. Shit, he could smell her coming even before she reached him.
"Dwayne Hicks," she stated rhetorically.
"Never heard of him." Hicks picked up the second shot and downed it.
"Thanks for helping me back there," said Newt, trying to start out on the right foot.
Her scent drifted into his nostrils and Hicks closed his eyes and frowned. He needed this like a hole in the head. "Look…" he started as he opened his eyes and trained them on the tag containing her name and rank. "…Lieutenant Jorden, I'm not coming peacefully so you might as well just leave me the fuck alone."
Newt decided at that moment that she wasn't going to reveal who she was to him. He believed that she was here to arrest him. When he picked up the third shot, she grabbed his wrist, preventing him from bringing it to his mouth. "I'm not here to arrest you," she said.
Hicks could have broken her hand for touching him but he was too damned tired. His eyes came up and met her electric blue ones. For a brief moment he thought he recognized something in them. Then he shook his head. He had obviously been without a woman for way too long. He pulled his wrist out of her grip and finished off the shot. "You know my real name. Why else would you be looking for me?"
"I need your help."
Hicks frowned. "The Company fucked me up the ass more than a dozen times. You think I'm stupid enough to continue to let that happen?" He needed to move away from her, somewhere where he couldn't smell her any longer. Her scent was making him crazy. What the hell was she thinking, walking into a place like this, smelling like that? She was an accident waiting to happen.
Newt reached up to touch her cheek where the Centurion had punched her. The skin was broken and she winced from the pain. Her fingers came back bloodied.
"Whatever it is you want from me, I can't help you. I work alone." Hicks motioned for the bartender. "I need a refill." The bartender immediately came over to pour more tequila into the empty shot glasses. As an afterthought, Hicks added. "And get her some ice."
"I'm not asking you to join the Colonial Marines, Hicks. I know you're a former Marine. I read your file." The bartender handed her a rag with some ice in it and she placed it on her cheek, wincing in pain again.
"So, what does my file say?" Hicks pushed one of the shot glasses toward her.
Newt accepted the shot and drank it. "It says you were part of a marine team before they were all killed by our bug friends. After that you were promoted to Sergeant and put in charge of marine teams for seven years. Then you finally quit. It says you began working as an independent contractor before you took the law into your own hands. And now you're a wanted man."
He pulled out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. Then he searched his pockets for his lighter. Where the hell was it? "And what does it say about me quitting?"
Newt reached into her utility belt and retrieved a lighter. She ignited it and placed the flame in front of him. "Only that you snapped and became violent. You spent two weeks in prison on Gateway before you escaped, injuring two guards and stealing a passenger freighter."
Hicks laughed to himself and shook his head, lighting his cigarette before the flame blew out. "I snapped? Well, they're fucking right about that." He recalled the time they had almost given him a lobotomy.
FLASHBACK – SPACE STATION VICTOR ORBITING MARS
Commander Jonathon Kilroy stood beside the examination table where Hicks was lying beneath a white sheet. He worked on a keyboard while his assistant, Miles stood at the head of the table.
Kilroy looked at Miles. "I'm going to remove the stasis field, Miles. How's our patient?"
Miles leaned over to check the instruments on a band around Hicks' right wrist. "He's out cold."
"All right," Kilroy continued, "Let's see what the manual says." He flipped through some pages of a manual. "Okay, it says here to fragment the brain into thirty-six sections. Miles, why don't you start by removing the top of the cranium while I prepare the electrodes?"
As Kilroy walked toward a counter full of small machinery, Miles moved toward Hicks' head. Then he picked up a small laser instrument and ignited it.
Hicks was conscious. He was aware of the two men in the room and he had a bad feeling about this. Fragment the brain into thirty-six sections? Were they talking about his brain?
Just as Miles was about to bring the laser instrument down, a hand grabbed him by the throat.
Kilroy turned and gasped just as Miles was thrown aside, and then watched as Hicks tossed the sheet aside and jumped off the table. "Now, hold on there, son." As Hicks advanced toward him, Kilroy backed into a computer console. He quickly turned and punched a red button. A siren went off, red lights flashing.
Hicks grabbed Kilroy and pushed him through a glass-plate wall. Then he quickly found his clothes and put them on.
A set of doors slid open and Hicks rushed out, glancing through the window of the space station. He saw three security guards heading down one of the corridors. Hicks ducked down and headed in the other direction, checking through the windows to make sure the next corridor was unoccupied. Reaching the other end of the corridor, Hicks blended into a crowd of people making their way around the perimeter of the station. He approached the next corridor and stepped into a line of people waiting to board a medium-sized freighter that could be seen through the windows. A hatch lay open toward the front. Hicks left the line and stepped through the opening.
The freighter pilot turned as Hicks appeared. "Hey, chump, passengers go in the back, so get the fuck out."
Hicks advanced and smashed the pilot's face with his fist. "You get the fuck out." And Hicks tossed him out the hatch. He glanced down at the controls of the freighter. "Okay let's see. You push this, turn that. Piece of cake." He pushed a button to close the hatch door and then activated the freighter.
Back out in the corridor, people impatiently glanced at their watches, waiting for the signal to board the freighter. Suddenly a sharp movement caused the platform to shake. The freighter started lunging back and forth, trying to break free of the station's locks. Everyone panicked and quickly scrambled to get away from the eminent disaster.
Hicks glanced to his left, watching as the station's locks started to crumble.
A voice came on an intercom. "Freighter 36, you are not cleared to unlock! Shut down your engines!"
Hicks pressed a button to respond. "Kiss my ass!" He pushed the lever to make the freighter shoot forward again.
When the freighter finally broke free of the locks, it turned and flew away from the station.
BACK TO THE PRESENT
Newt watched the emotions running rampant on his face, like he was somewhere else for the moment. "Look, you don't have to justify to me why you snapped. I've had my share of confrontations with the aliens." She almost added that he should know because he had been on LV-426 and had seen that she had survived the aliens on her own as a little girl, with no training.
"You're a bug hunter, aren't you?" Hicks asked her dryly.
"Yes."
"So what's your mental state?"
Newt smiled at him. "Unstable."
"Welcome to my world," he said and finished his last shot. He wanted to smile back, but he didn't because he didn't want her to think that he was warming up to her. The truth was, during his USCM days, he couldn't stand seeing the desolate faces of those he had to inform that their son, daughter, mother or father, was not coming back. The Centurion war had really put a hole in his heart. And then the peace treaty had been signed. He didn't give a shit about peace with them. There was way too much bad blood between him and the Centurions. After that he quit the USCM and went on a Centurion killing spree, which led to his arrest. And now he refused to accept the Centurions as anything but prey whenever he had a hankering to blow something away.
Newt decided to put all her cards on the table. "Hicks, I'm here because I know that you know where it is."
Hicks looked down with a frown. He was beginning to think that nothing was sacred any longer. His life was an open book. She didn't have to explain what she was talking about. He knew what she meant by that simple statement. But he couldn't imagine how she had come to have that information. The others who knew were all dead. He had seen them die.
"I need to know where it is," said Newt persistently.
"You're fucking crazy if you think I'm going to tell you. Those bastards are not getting anything out of me."
"You won't be doing it for the Company. You'll be doing it for me."
The left side of Hicks' mouth tilted upward. "And why should I do anything for you?"
"I can make it worth your while."
"There isn't anything you have or can do to make it worth my while. I kill people for a living. If you want somebody blown away, come talk to me, otherwise take a hike."
Newt's attention was drawn to a silver chain hanging from his neck, a small newt. She remembered giving it to him thirteen years ago when she came to visit him in the medical center on Gateway. She was surprised he was still wearing it after all this time.
Hicks looked down at what had drawn her attention and lifted up the silver pendant. "Don't draw any conclusions, Jorden. I don't have some sick fascination with reptiles. This was given to me by someone special."
Someone special? Did he really consider her to be someone special? Newt didn't comment to him about it because the conversation was dangerously close to heading in a direction she didn't want to go. She reached out and put her hand over his. "Please help me, Hicks."
Hicks stared down at her hand. She might have been a Colonial Marine and knew how to kick some ass, but her delicate features betrayed her. She was a woman and he didn't need any romantic entanglements in his life. Her hand traveled along his forearm and up to his shoulder. "Your touch disturbs me, Jorden. I'm advising you to take your hand off me."
Newt knew what she was doing. She had gotten more things out of men with the art of seductive persuasion. "I really need you."
Hicks wanted her to leave him alone. He hated that she was getting to him and he had known her all of ten minutes. He was already extremely close to dragging her into one of the back rooms and having his way with her, just to quickly get her out of his system. "I'm not immune. So unless you plan to show me a good time right now, I'll warn you one last time, take your hand off me."
"Showing you a good time will come with a price." She didn't know what else to say to him, even though she had no intention of 'showing him a good time'.
He knew what her price was. He'd have to tell her the location. "Then fuck off, lady." He shrugged her hand off his shoulder and walked away.
Newt didn't waste any time. She quickly went among the creeps in the lounge and found one of her pulse guns. Then she headed for the door, just as Hicks walked out. He got about ten feet down the street before she caught up to him and pointed the muzzle of her gun into his back. "I'm determined, Hicks. I don't like it when I can't have my way." Before she even realized what happened, Hicks had spun around, grabbed the gun out of her hand and had it pointed into her left eye.
He was nose to nose with her now, his teeth clenched furiously. "What's to stop me from blowing your brains all over the street right now?" He wanted to pull the trigger. He wanted to so bad he could almost taste it.
Newt had an uncanny ability to hide her fear when she felt it starting to rear its ugly head. She believed, without a doubt, that he wouldn't have any qualms about pulling the trigger and killing her, but she maintained her calm demeanor. "I need your help," she said in a quiet even voice.
Hicks glared into her eyes. She didn't show any fear but he could sense it in her. He admired her visible calmness, even though he knew she was probably quaking deep down inside. On impulse, he kissed her harshly and she reacted by sinking her teeth into his lower lip, drawing blood. Hicks abruptly pushed her away from him, angry with himself for kissing her. His body betrayed him and fueled him into wanting a whole hell of a lot more. "Beat it before I change my mind." He wiped the blood off his lip where she bit him and turned his back on her to continue down the street.
Every instinct told Newt to let him go. He wasn't going to be easily swayed into seeing things her way. She had one last trick up her sleeve and she knew that he wouldn't be happy with her afterward. But she would have to deal with it later. She reached into a compartment on her belt and produced a stun dart. Over the years she had mastered the art of throwing it properly and without any further hesitation, she flung the dart at him.
Hicks felt something hit the back of his neck and it stung. His hand reached up and came across a small dart, which he immediately pulled out. He spun around and stared at Jorden. She smiled and shrugged at him, her hands on her slender hips. His vision blurred. "Fucking bitch…" And his legs gave way.
Newt watched him fall and he fought the affects of the tranquilizer. He even managed to get back up, lunging at her furiously.
Hicks wanted to tear her to pieces. He grabbed her arm, but his legs gave out again and he fell into oblivion.
Newt managed to pull away from his grip and reached down to her communicator. "Packer, are you there?"
A voice responded. "Yes, I hear you."
"I need a stretcher."
"I copy that. On my way."