Alien³ is owned by Disney/20th Century Studios.
Novelization owned by Alan Dean Foster and Titan Books.
Original characters are owned by me.
Beta/Gamma-read co-authored and edited by DarthTenebrus & AlphaLima1980 AKA 1uglymofo.
Alien³: Not Alone
Chapter 16: The Dragon
Ellen wiped away the condensed steam from the mirror in front of her, revealing her new buzz cut. She understood why it had to be done, but she had to admit that she looked…different. She turned back towards her granddaughter. Without the hair covering her cheeks, she distinguished the features that characterized her in her youth, and that Amy had surely inherited. Ellen shook her head slowly; the two of them looked almost identical in appearance. Without the fact that Ellen had spent fifty-seven years in hypersleep, one might look at the two of them and their newly-shorn features and decide they were twin sisters rather than grandmother and granddaughter.
"Well this is definitely a day I'll never forget..." Elizabeth said with a pitiful laugh.
"Tell me about it..." Stone said walking by putting on her Marine top and jacket. "Like going through Boot all over again."
"I'm shocked they made you buzz yours, Ash. You barely had any hair to begin with," Elizabeth stated.
"Advantages of Corps rules, I guess, plus I don't think your brother will mind," Stone said with a wink. Elizabeth scoffed in mild disgust, then shook her head and smiled, still feeling some pride in her brother.
Kaufman walked in with Denney in tow, looking like she had just been force-fed liver and onions with a spoon. The heat from her indignant stare and beet-red cheeks looked like they would rival a fusion core. She looked like a queen bereft of her crown, and she felt it.
"I...hate...this...fucking...place," she grumbled, staring at her long brown hair strewn across the floor, while Denney looked mildly annoyed but far from devastated.
"I'll take it over having lice, Lexi..." Denney shrugged, laying a tender hand on her friend's shoulder and gently squeezing.
"Glad to see you're dealing with it as best you can, Denney," Elizabeth attempted a smile, trying to brighten the mood.
"How long will it take you to reach the comms dish?" Ellen asked Kaufman, trying to get the younger brunette to focus on a more relevant topic.
"Hour's march to and from," Kaufman responded, calculating with her fingers. "With Hudson's help, we should get it all set up and broadcast within 20 minutes, so… we need a 2-hour break in the storms, plus sunlight or something close to it."
"It's gonna be tight, then..." Elizabeth muttered.
"As long as we move fast, we should be alright," Stone started with a cough.
"We'll be fine, Hud can work fast," Vasquez responded confidently as she entered, zipping up a spare jumper and rolling the sleeves up to show her impressive forearms.
Cavender looked at herself in the mirror, her perfumed, pampered and extremely well-maintained hair now down to a buzzed remnant. She knew it would grow back, but it still stung just a little; this assignment was important, that was for sure, and if it meant having to live life as a Sinead O'Connor look-alike for a time, then so be it.
She didn't dare wash her face with the foul-appearing prison water to calm her, instead grabbing the necklace around her collar, looking at the black stone at the end of the braided chain – it had belonged to her mother, and somehow it had been retrieved and given to her when she was a little girl. She'd had it ever since, using it as a good luck charm, and if ever there was a time that she needed good luck, it was now.
Her thoughts turned to their current predicament – there was no guarantee help would come in time or even at all. They weren't in a particularly good place to be, either. They were surrounded by hardened criminals – all male, with some of them even rumored to be double-Y chromosomatic – all presumably sedated by some form of religious celibacy which she was sure would give way to primal urges. As she stood up and placed her necklace back under her shirt and oversized jacket, she took one more look at herself in the mirror, now more than ever motivated to endure whatever the prison would throw at them.
She walked past the closed door leading to the group's small locker room and heard a firm knock upon its metal frame.
"You ladies alright?" She heard Andrew's slightly muffled voice through the closed door. She pressed a button on the side to open the door, revealing Andrew with a newly-shaved head and face, a sight she was unused to for her part. Andrew, on the other hand, was more than a little surprised at the former Wey-Yu agent in front of him, now barely resembling the cool, calculating young woman he had known for the past few weeks.
"Erm, you look surprisingly agreeable there Miss Cavender..." Andrew said with a laugh of genuine humor; Cavender, to say the least, wasn't at all amused.
"A fortune in hair treatments," Cavender said sadly, "a mane worthy of the cover of a fashion magazine..." She looked down at the tiled floor, sighing at the strands of fine hair trickling down the drain. "Literally gone down the drain."
"Hey, look at it this way," Andrew encouraged her, "Olive drab is the new black," he said, holding up the lapel of the military jumpsuit he was wearing, "and the cropped cut is the trend this year." He stated smirking.
"You're lucky you're so charming..." Cavender slightly blushed and walked into the hallway, the other men of the group all displaying similar grimaces and appearances. Vasquez nodded to Mils as she slid by him and into the waiting gaze of Hudson.
"Hey Vas! Now you definitely will be mistaken for a man," he said humorously. They hadn't joked much since the mission to LV-426, and it felt good to do so again.
"Speak for yourself, Hud, you still have to worry about some of those prisoners mistaking you for his novia!" She retorted, causing the other men within earshot to chortle.
"Oh, funny!" Hudson said in mock disgust. "Really funny, Vas, you're a laugh a minute."
"Cavs, ya feeling okay?" Christopher said with a smirk and respectful nod.
"Fine, just feel like I've lost a few pounds of weight in hair alone," Cavender stated, with a similar smirk as she brought her hand up self-consciously to rub her newly bald pate.
"Shit, Cavender, I gotta say, you fit in just fine with us grunts," Hudson stated with his usual candor.
"No offense..." Hicks added, keeping his guard up around him for any stray prisoners and noting that Bonang and Akula were in the middle of one of their normal discussions.
"So, you're saying I look younger with a shaved face?" Bonang asked with shock in his voice, something feigning insult.
"Well, I'd say you're probably gonna end up getting ID'd now whenever you ask for a drink," Akula said, holding his battle rifle in one hand and pulling his knife out with another. He placed the flat of the blade gently against his taller friend's cheek.
"You missed a spot," Akula said with an almost evil grin as Bonang slapped away his hand.
"Droll, mate. Real droll."
Back in the secluded locker room, Andrew walked in tentatively with respect for privacy, and the fact that his female companions were dealing with the sudden removal of hair a little harder than he was.
"Y'all okay in here?" Andrew queried.
"Define okay..." Kaufman said miserably, with Denney patting her on the back in comfort.
"Well, it's a word that usually...ahh, right." Denney said before stopping dead in her train of thought.
"Come on Abbs...let's show our boys the new look..." Kaufman said begrudgingly as she stood, the pair then passing by the elder Mils.
"Well, we're doing fine considering, how 'bout you?" Elizabeth asked, with Ellen sitting down on a nearby bench, staring into space.
"Fine – a little jolted by everything, so I could go for a nap… a 20-hour nap," Andrew replied with honesty-laced humor.
"I definitely see where Dad got his sense of humor from..." Elizabeth stated, laughing easily and remembering how much her father would joke about getting old or feeling tired after a light day's work back on the homestead. Stone walked by with her usual energetic flavor.
"Probably just as handsome, too!" She said, skipping by.
"I'll let you two be..." Elizabeth said, planting a kiss on Andrew's cheek. He approached Ellen quietly and calmly, sitting down on the bench opposite to her, looking toward her expectantly.
"Hey..." She locked eyes with the man she had come to respect and love, looking for possible guidance.
"Hey..." Andrew responded. "How do you feel?" Technically they hadn't seen each other in 57 years. She had no idea how to approach a conversation from so long ago.
"My head's killing me…" She said, rubbing her forehead. Mils frowned as she added, "From the sudden thaw."
"Yeah," Mils replied, closing his eyes. Perhaps she expected a long explanation about what he had been through since they were rescued, or how he felt about the two of them. Maybe it wasn't the right time.
"I'm still a little sore from our crash landing. And to think the worst thing we had to worry about used to be quotas and shipments. Seems like a different life now, don't it?"
"It was a different life, Andrew…" Ellen responded, smiling sadly. "It was almost 60 years ago...but I understand what you mean."
"We still look pretty good for our age – right?" Andrew asked, getting a slightly pained smile from Ellen in return.
"Yeah, you're not bad for a man who's pushing ninety. This new look is certainly something..." Ellen said with a laugh.
"Well, it's the face that counts..." Andrew stated with a mirrored retort of stressed humour. After a few moments of silence, Ellen asked her friend a question.
"Andrew? Do you remember anything before you woke up?" She asked expectantly.
"Yeah...umm, I remember having this dream... about a farmhouse. You were in it; it was like we had made it back to Earth without anything happening on...on the Nostromo. Then you started talking to me, talking like you were leaving; but you weren't in the dream, you were somewhere else... then you walked out the door, and one of those things was there...I ran through the door and woke up," Andrew explained as Ellen pondered the dream.
"I did talk to you before I left on the Sulaco to go to Ellie's colony back on the planetoid. Tell me about this farmhouse?" Ellen asked, feeling similarities within their shared dreams, which couldn't be right. No two persons ever shared a single dream in one night, or so she presumed.
"It's old, but it's been taken care of..."
"I know this is gonna sound crazy Andrew...but I've had a similar dream in this same farmhouse...right before you woke us up," Ellen revealed.
"This is gonna be even crazier...I've been to it." Andrew revealed, causing Ellen to look at him in disbelief.
"I'm serious; it's near where Amanda and David are buried. It's theirs, it's where they settled down and raised Ellie and Chris..." Andrew explained as Ellen pondered such a nice respite for their kinfolk.
"I even met Helwig. The old fucker's still alive, can you believe it? Well, shortly after I woke up, he gave me a key to it, only one key to get in. I'm sure our grandkids have one too; they left it for us, should we be found, I guess. He also left me a recording, and Amanda left you one too..." Andrew said, pulling out a small, ancient-looking cassette tape. He handed it to her, and also pulled out a small necklace.
"She also left this..." The small necklace had a light blue crystal in the center – it appeared to be aged slightly, as if it had seen some rough days. Andrew handed Ellen the crystallized chain, and she took it in her hand, her thumb sliding over the center crystal.
"It's as if they knew, isn't it? They knew we'd be found, and they wouldn't be alive to see it," Ellen pondered out loud as she pocketed the tape and placed the necklace around her neck.
"They never gave up, that's for sure..." Andrew stated.
"If they didn't give up, then we can't either," Ellen said, getting up to stand, and Andrew nodded his head and rose as well. As Ellen rose, though, she felt the effects of the sudden revival from hypersleep. Andrew, as if in a rehearsed manner, caught her before she could fall.
"Gotcha… I think you might need a rest, Ellen," Andrew said with charm and concern.
"No...I can't, nor would I want to in a place like this..." Ellen said with a cough, looking up at him.
"I could keep watch – you need to take care of yourself, Ellen."
"Andrew, we've got bigger problems; we need to somehow get these prisoners to trust us or at least give us our space..."
"Easier said than done..." Andrew said with a chuckle.
"Well, we better get going then..." Ellen said before pulling Andrew into a quick kiss. Invigorated, the pair exited the locker room into the corridor with the rest of their compatriots, who they noticed were engaged in a very interesting conversation.
"I'm just saying I think I pull off the buzz cut well," Bonang bragged once more to his female friends.
"You didn't have a choice, Boba Fett..." Denney deadpanned.
"I joined up for the sole reason that I got to keep my hair and now it's gone because of this damn job and this damned planet..." Kaufman added, reflecting glumly on her reason behind joining Weyland-Yutani in the first place.
"I'd take this over having to deal with some of the lice that tend to inhabit places like this..." Denney stated with a sigh – she knew just how large the lice and other insect fauna could be on the planet. The lack of a pleasant environment had made them particularly unique and hardy, well-suited to the harsh conditions of Fiorina.
"Considering the kind of bugs, we've been dealing with, I'll take a few hundred lice and a free haircut any day..." Christopher said walking by with Stone in tow, Stone and Akula looking at each other with equal measures of intrigue.
"Well, brunette it is, huh, Dev?" Stone said with a wink.
"Guess so, but I'm dying it back to midnight black as soon as I can..." Akula responded firmly,
"Actually, I like it au naturel..." Kaufman said with a wink, stroking a single finger over Devon's naked scalp as a naughty smile formed slowly on her face.
"Oh, thanks, Curly – ack!" Akula said with a smirk prompting Kaufman to pull him into a headlock.
"Why, I oughta..." Kaufman said with a faux Brooklyn accent.
"Clam it, chowderheads! We're rolling out." Bonang said as the group began marching away from the locker rooms.
"We need to find out if they have some form of sensor suite for monitoring the weather..." Ellen said as she attached a harness to her belt, holding a single M4A3 service pistol – except for the 10-millimetre bore, it resembled the old M9 Beretta from the 20th and 21st centuries back on Earth. It made sense as the old US Military had used them as their official sidearm for decades.
"Could talk to the warden, though we're not exactly his favorite people right now," Andrew said, almost as an afterthought, with Ellen mirroring his feelings.
"Agreed...but we should still try to gain the trust of some of the prisoners..." Elizabeth suggested.
"It's risky, but we're gonna have to take a chance," Christopher added.
"It's more than risky – they could go crazy the moment any one of us female types shows up," Cavender stated. "There's no telling how long any of them have gone without a woman, and chances are the second one of us gals gets close enough we could get raped."
"If it wasn't risky... welp, we probably wouldn't try it..." Andrew said with a wink and a nod towards Cavender and Ellen.
"Dammit...he's got a point..." Stone admitted with a shy blush; the old man had a charm that her boyfriend had clearly inherited.
"It's decided, then – I, Elizabeth, and Andrew will talk to the superintendent, and maybe we'll try and talk to some of the prisoners as well," Ellen stated.
"I'll come, too. Might give us the advantage to have strength in numbers..." Christopher stated with a firm nod.
"We'll get back to the perimeter, see if they have any short-range communicators too..." Hicks said as the marines and paramilitaries moved away, while Stone gave Christopher a jumping kiss.
"Sooner we find those the better, we can fix 'em real fast," Kaufman said, grabbing her submachine gun.
"Be safe. Ellie, keep him from causing a riot..." Stone stated, pointing at Christopher.
"I'll do my best, Ash..." Elizabeth said with a laugh.
"What about you, Cavs?" Andrew asked the double agent. Looking at her, he had the distinct impression then that she seemed shorter now with her scalp shaved.
"I'm going to check in on Clemens, see if Sleeping Beauty has woken back up," she answered. "We still need her to talk to us."
"Sure, you'll be safe?" Christopher asked, only to have Cavender pull her pistol out, lock back the slide, and load a fresh magazine into it before thumbing the slide release so quickly and smoothly that the others were amazed.
"I think she can handle herself," Ellen said with a smirk as the group moved toward the mess hall of the prison.
"Remind me to never piss her off," Christopher said to his sister.
"I think you have your hands full with Ash already, Chrissy," Elizabeth answered.
...
The Mess Hall was buzzing with activity. The recent arrivals had done nothing but stir the hornet's nest.
Murphy and Frank sat at one of the tables with a few other inmates, not really interested in the slop they called food. Murphy was interested in what he assumed were Frank's dating tips, although most of the inmates had a clear image in their minds as to what sent him to Fiorina.
"Had to wash the damn oxen down last time. I hate hosing them down – always get shite all over me boots," Frank barked.
"You're lucky, only getting shit on your boots. Smelly bastards are always covered in lice," Murphy stated.
"Well, there's only eight of them left, and then we'll be done with them..." Another added.
"Talkin' of hosing down, Frank..." Murphy ventured out of the blue.
"Yeah?"
"You had the chance, what would you say to her?" Murphy asked.
"What do you mean, if I got the chance?" Frank was confused at the question.
"You know? If you got the chance?" Murphy insisted, eager for an answer.
"You mean, casual like?" Frank replied, beginning to get Murphy's point.
"Yeah. I mean how would you put it to her, or well, to any of the birds that just landed on this rock, if you bumped into her in 'ere or somewhere else, like the abattoir?" Murphy pondered.
"No problem – I've never had any problem with the ladies. I'd say to her, 'Good day, my dear. How's it goin'? Anything I can do to be of service?' Then I'd give her the look, you know- up and down." Frank said with a laugh and a cough.
"Oh shit...of course."
"And I'd give her the wink, the dirty smile. She'd soon get the picture," Frank finished, getting skeptical glances from his fellow inmates.
"Yeah, right. And then she'd say, 'Kiss my arse, you horny old fucker,'" Murphy stated, grinning as the others began to laugh.
"I'd be happy to kiss her arse. I'd be happy to kiss her anywhere she wants," Frank added as he smacked his lips, all pretense at humor gone. In its place as he looked right into Murphy's eyes was an ambitious and hungry gleam.
"Yeah, but treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen. Right, Frank?" Murphy retorted, shadow boxing from his seat.
"Told you before, Murph. Treat a queen like a whore, and a whore like a queen. Can't go wrong." Frank finished taking a sip of what was technically water, although in terms of purity and safety wagers were usually made as to which of their fellow convicts would be next to suffer Montezuma's Revenge.
"What do we do again, if one of the oxen falls dead?"
"Ah, we'll chop 'em up and throw them in the stew. Wouldn't hold m'breath though – they're pretty much all in their prime..."
At another table, Boggs, Rains and Golic sat in silence, watching and waiting for Dillon, as he sat at yet another table sipping on a glass of synthetic orange juice. The trio had been given a routine but rather mundane task of illuminating candles in the otherwise dark corridors and compartments below the prison.
Since none of the overhead electric lights worked due to the extensive age of the mining complex the prison was built around, the remaining inmates made do with the wax from the industrial moulds, of which there was more than plenty. Boggs and Rains were less than thrilled, however, that Golic would be the third man on the trip, due to his surprisingly poor personal hygiene and rather erratic personal behavior, including the way he constantly, unceasingly ate.
Dillon eventually stood up from his repast and walked toward the somber table full of men, with Golic munching away at a mess of grey food.
"Okay..." Dillon said, sitting down as the three men looked at him with slight worry and expectation. "There's a lot of talk going around that we've got some disharmony here? Any of you guys wanna tell me what the problem is?" Dillon asked, waiting a moment for a reply, and he received nothing but a few sniffs from the pair in front of him.
"Come on, speak to me, brothers," Dillon pursued as Boggs looked to Rains for an answer.
"All right...I'll tell ya," Rains began. "I don't mind the dark. I don't mind the bugs. I don't mind wandering around in some cold, damp, wet tunnel for a week at a time. I don't mind anything," he said with nods of understanding coming from Dillon. "But I mind Golic..." he added as Boggs nodded his head in agreement.
Golic himself perked up with the mention of his name, taking his attention away from the mushy food.
"That the way you feel about it?" Dillon asked Boggs who supported his partner in the matter with further insults.
"Yeah. The guy's crazy and he smells bad..." Boggs said, casting a sidelong glance at Rains who chuckled quietly. "I ain't going out with him anymore."
Golic looked more amused than anything, while Dillon rubbed his bald head in frustration. He turned his head toward the smelly inmate in question.
"You got anything to say for yourself?" Dillon asked, only to receive a smile from Golic's filthy, dilapidated, and toothy mouth.
"Well, he's going with you..." Dillon said, redirecting his gaze to Boggs and Rains; he received a look of disappointment from the two inmates in front of him. "Golic is just another poor, miserable, suffering son of a bitch, just like you and me."
"'Cept he smells worse..." Rains started.
"And he's crazy..." Boggs finished.
"Knock off the shit!" Dillon raised his voice, getting their attention before lowering his voice. "Now you've got a job to do. That job's important. So, I don't wanna hear another word about Golic. Okay?" He finished, receiving reluctant nods from the pair, Boggs in particular breaking his plastic fork in frustration. Dillon stood back up and upon walking by slapped Golic on the shoulder in a gesture of support, upon which he then sat back down at his table.
A few moments of chattering passed before Ellen, Elizabeth, Christopher and Andrew walked in, causing the room to fall silent. Golic in particular rubbed his Adam's apple at a look from one on the two Ripley women, and he quickly looked away and made the sign of the cross to settle himself. Ellen and Elizabeth looked over toward Christopher and Andrew who stood at the doorway; Christopher had his father's revolver in its holster ready to go, and his pulse rifle was slung. Andrew held his hand on his holstered custom sidearm. They each gave a conservative stare of protection and intimidation – they both knew that too much aggression could be returned in kind.
Ellen and Elizabeth hid their respective weapons underneath their oversized shirts as best they could; they walked over as delicately as they could, moving toward the serving line of food and drink on one side of the mess hall. The inmates in the facility were less than pleased with their presence – they were outsiders for one and, secondly, two of them were women, the ultimate forbidden fruit of temptation that Satan himself brought down upon them because of their sins.
"Why is it that everyone, no matter what planet or ship you're on, has the same shitty cornbread?" Elizabeth asked quietly. Ellen pondered an answer but remained silent, and she could feel they were being watched by every man in that room. She knew however that two pairs of eyes were watching the men in question, with Christopher and Andrew ready to pounce were any of the inmates' baser masculine hormonal instincts to take hold.
Upon turning around the two women made eye contact with several of the inmates, and the rest turned their heads away out of either anxiety, spite, or even a degree of self-control. Dillon himself was finding the room's atmosphere incredibly uncomfortable, something unwanted in his commune. He turned his head and eyes away from the pair, looking in every direction, perhaps hoping they would leave as they were left standing there, looking for a table to sit at. He did not fail to notice the observant behaviour of Andrews and his toady Aaron.
"As I thought Mr. Aaron...as I thought," Andrews said smugly, having watched the scene unfold from his own table away from the others. His theories about the inmates' reaction to seeing a woman were appearing to be proven.
"You called it sir..." Aaron responded quietly with a nod as Andrew and Christopher sprung at the chance to investigate. Andrew pulled a chair up at the head of the table, setting it down with a thud, getting everyone's attention. Christopher kept his eyes trained on the prisoners as he sat at the edge of the table next to his grandfather, his eyes like a hawk staring at the convicted men in front of him, daring them to make a move.
"And what exactly did you call... Superintendent?" Andrew asked.
"Your friend the Lieutenant has gotten everyone's attention. I wonder if that's a good thing or not – seeing as how your presence will be temporary, I find it unwise to parade around in front of them...but you clearly don't mind taking risks. So, if they cause a problem, you'll be the one to clean it up. Also I believe that Mr. Clemens has a soft spot for your lot, maybe because he can associate with you," Andrews replied before turning his attention back to his book.
Andrew was already getting frustrated by the pompous, superior attitude of the man in front of him. He looked to Christopher for a suggestion at what to do next, fearing his temper rising. His grandson obliged his calmer nature by grabbing the book quietly, yet swiftly, to lower it away from Andrews' eyes.
"Superintendent...we don't want any trouble. Really," Christopher said with a calm voice.
"We just have a few questions about your facilities..." Andrew said with honesty in his silver eyes.
Meanwhile Ellen and Elizabeth walked toward Dillon's table, feeling a need to show appreciation for his words at the funeral, and for Elizabeth a chance to meet the man who caused her friend so much torment.
She whispered into her grandmother's ear.
"Oh my God, that's Dillon...he's Val's ex-husband, real piece of work..."
"What makes you so sure?" Ellen inquired.
"Valerie showed me a picture one time. She said he'd always been bald except for a queue in the back. He'd always worn glasses, even then. Looks like the queue is gone, but that's the same smug expression, same build, same everything."
"Follow my lead..." Ellen whispered back as the pair walked up to the table. Ellen feigned some form of friendliness, while Elizabeth executed her coldest stare imaginable.
"I just wanted to say thanks…for what you said at the funeral. It was, umm." Ellen began as Elizabeth helped her.
"Poetic..."
"Our...crewmates, their families, too, would've appreciated it..." Ellen continued.
"Well, you ladies don't wanna know me..." Dillon answered, as hostile as ever.
"Why not?" Elizabeth asked drily in mock curiosity.
"I'm a murderer and rapist of women..." Dillon revealed as the other prisoners looked pointedly at the pair of female survivors.
"Really?" Ellen dissimulated in surprise.
"And I thought they just sent jaywalkers and shoplifters here..." Elizabeth said sarcastically, struggling to contain her rising anger.
"Well, I guess...we must make you nervous," Ellen said as she defiantly but gently placed her tray down on the table, Elizabeth doing the same. The prisoners were shocked, stunned and silent. One in particular was in mid sip of his coffee mug; it now lay directly below his nose almost as a shield against any reaction from himself. Dillon specifically removed his glasses, unflustered by the two women standing before him, reminding him of his past indirectly.
The Ripley women sat down, scooting their seats in like obedient students on the first day of class. Some of the prisoners' faces were slack with some degree of horror, perhaps at the audacity or maybe at the possibility that one of the less enlightened would allow themselves to accept the clear and present danger of temptation.
"Do you have any faith, sisters?" Dillon asked.
"Not much...then again I've been through the wringer a few times too many," Ellen answered, her statement bringing to mind the several kinds of hell she had been through over the years with the Nostromo, Hadley's Hope, and now the current predicament with Newt.
"Ditto.." Elizabeth mirrored her sentiment.
"Well, I can understand that...life…has a way of throwing you into the most unfair of circumstances...but you've landed in the right place cause, well, we've got a lot of faith here. Enough even for you..." Dillon stated, trying to ease the tension at the table and relax his brothers.
"I thought women weren't allowed?" Ellen asked curiously, challenging him as she felt that she was somehow being mocked for her state of being.
"Well, we've never had any before, but we tolerate anybody...even the intolerable," Dillon asserted, his grimace having slowly morphed and relaxed into a soft smile of serene contentment as Elizabeth smirked at the comment.
"Not the worst thing I've been called..." She muttered as she took a sip and grimaced at what she had supposed was orange juice.
"Thank you..." Ellen replied drily, again feeling as if they were being led on by the preacher.
"That's just a statement of principle. Nothing personal," Dillon divulged.
"Oh, no offense taken..." Elizabeth said, leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms; she wasn't buying the sales pitch.
"You see, we've got a good place to wait here, and until now…no temptation," Dillon continued.
"What are you waiting for?" Ellen asked, feeling as though she already knew the answer. The other prisoners appeared worried; how dare she ask such a blasphemous question? Dillon looked over to his left to another inmate, laughing in surprise at the question before returning his gaze to Ellen and Elizabeth.
"We're waiting for God to return and raise his servants to redemption," Dillon preached, with that Elizabeth had had enough; she knew what kind of man she was dealing with, the kind of man who would rape and attempt to murder his own wife.
"And that includes you poor bastards..." She said with a slight tone of disgust in her voice.
"The Lord will wash away all of our sins, sister..." Dillon stated matter of factly.
"Was your wife intolerable?" Elizabeth asked, with a calm anger now lacing every word that came out of her mouth. Ellen placed a hand on her granddaughter's shoulder – the Ripley temper was rare, but when provoked was as hot as it got.
"Which one?" Dillon asked politely for clarification as if he was asking for directions on a roadmap.
"The one that got away..." The icy tone belied the softness of her voice. Valerie Dillon was his second wife and was solely responsible for getting him sentenced to Fiorina 161. Her testimony for the attempted rape, and past assault charges were enough for the authorities to uncover the nasty truth about him, that he had murdered his first wife and raped her as well, covering his tracks and attempting to start his second life anew, with little progress.
Dillon's face contorted in thought, he remembered his lone surviving wife, but it was still a sad and distant memory in his sporadic history.
"The one that got away? Oh…yes, I remember her. I remember Valerie. She was the reason, or maybe she was the final reason I was sent to this place to await my judgement. She acted like a princess around me, and I should have treated her like one. I wonder why you would bring her up; did you two meet each other on the same path, sister?" Dillon asked.
"After she made the right move of leaving you, she worked with me in the exobotany sector as an exogeologist. We worked with each other for a while..."
"And how is Val?" Dillon asked, clearly less than amused with himself.
"She's dead," Elizabeth answered with finality in her voice; Dillon's smile slowly faded with something resembling remorse and sadness. It was a reaction Elizabeth wasn't expecting – for someone as nasty as they came, Dillon appeared to genuinely show emotion, maybe even remorse about his ex-wife's death.
"Ahh...I... how did it happen? Was it quick?" Dillon asked as he looked down at the floor.
"A workplace accident... she died instantly, didn't suffer. I was there with her when it happened," Elizabeth said emotionlessly; she kept to the script that had been agreed upon, not breaking it in the knowledge that if she did tell the whole, unedited truth, Dillon would never believe her.
"I was a reckless, ignorant man all those years ago, and she deserved far better than me. I don't regret her leaving, not in the least bit. For what it's worth, I'm glad she is at peace." Dillon said, placing his glasses back on and glancing over as back at the superintendent's table the Mils men continued their questions.
"We need a way of establishing contact with our superiors, see if they can send a ship sooner, and the only way we can do that is if we can get an opening in the storm," Christopher stated.
"We'd be out of your hair sooner too, erm, so to speak…" Andrew stated.
"We could send a message anytime we wanted, but it usually takes several days to get a response. We did, however, receive an unusually rapid reply lately to one of our regular reports...from the company, the people I assume are also your employers..." Andrews stated.
"Weyland-Yutani?" Andrew asked in revulsion.
"The very same, though I'm presently not at liberty to divulge the details of that message. However, though I may feel that your presence is stressful, I feel we can deal with you for the next couple of weeks," Andrews stated.
"Well, Superintendent, this isn't a Company matter, it's a military one – Colonial Marine Central Command needs to know our whereabouts. Plus, the Company might be wanting to point fingers about who blew up their expensive ship," Christopher stated, looking back at his sister and grandmother.
"What about a form of sensor equipment for monitoring the weather? Laser, LIDAR, high-gain, Doppler? If we can get an opening in the storm, then we can send the message ourselves without having to bother you," Andrew specified.
"If you must know, our weather surveillance equipment isn't exactly state of the art – it's standard issue, from a couple of decades ago," Andrews answered.
"Does it work?" Andrew asked looking at the Superintendent for any form of dishonesty.
"From time to time – our weather is nothing but consistent, it seems." Andrews stated.
"Where are your consoles? Monitoring stations for weather have some form of central control, where are they?" Christopher asked from over his grandfather's shoulder.
"In my office, where only I have access to it..." Andrews stated pointedly.
"Ahh, come on, we're all friends here. Sooner we find a break in the storm, the sooner we can send our message, and the sooner things get back to normal, get back to that nice orderly routine you were talking about earlier – whatcha say?" Andrew asked with the charm of a gunslinging gambler at his disposal.
Andrews pondered an answer. The suggestion by the men in front of him had some merit to it, but why the reserved sense of urgency?
"Mr. Aaron?" Andrews said.
"Sir?" Aaron's head popped up like that of a trained hound.
"Escort them to my office, let them try out the radar. Twenty minutes is all we can afford, due to our power budget..." Andrews compromised.
"Right sir. Gentlemen, if you'll follow me?" Aaron offered as he stood up, and Andrew and Christopher did the same as Andrew turned to walk over to the table with Ellen and Elizabeth.
"Umm...sorry to interrupt, but we're moving again," Andrew stated with an attempt at manners.
"Oh, don't apologize, brother...we were nearing the end of our wonderful chat." Dillon said with humour in his voice.
"Yeah...it was very enlightening," Elizabeth stated as the two women stood up.
"Sisters? Do you mind a final word?" Dillon asked, both women stopping to listen to the penitent man. "Don't worry about the brothers. We may act cold, but we know how God looks harshly upon those who violate others. You'll have nothing to fear from me or my people, just don't lead them astray with temptations," Dillon stated, a serious glare that Ellen returned.
"Of course, we wouldn't dare..." She said as she exited the mess hall with her family.
...
Cavender and Clemens walked in stride toward the medical wing of the prison.
"A religious group isn't exactly normal for a prison nowadays, is it? Especially one so devoted," Cavender pondered outside.
"Dillon and the rest of the…alternative people... embraced religion, as it were, about five years ago..." Clemens explained.
"What kind of religion?"
"Some sort of apocalyptic, millenarian, Christian fundamentalist brew, uh..." Clemens struggled to find the words to explain the group's true desire and origin.
"Extremists?"
"Radicals, certainly, but nowhere near extremism. In their beliefs of purity and self-righteousness...perhaps, but they're not openly violent toward others, though your arrival could cause a form of paradigm shift."
"A paradigm shift, you say?" Cavender returned disbelievingly.
"The point is, when the company wanted to close the facility down, Dillon and the rest of the converts wanted to stay, and…they were allowed to remain as custodians, with two minders and a medical officer. And here we are."
"How did you get this wonderful assignment?" Cavender asked as they rounded the corner into the room housing the lone, bedded woman.
"How do you like your new haircut?"
"Considering how much money went into it before landing here, I'm a little...perturbed." Cavender stated.
"Now listen. Now that I've gone out on a limb for you lot with Andrews and damaged my already less-than-perfect relationship with that good man, and briefed you on the humdrum history of Fury 161, can you not tell me what you were looking for in the women back in the morgue?" Clemens asked, standing outside the pulled curtain of the lone patient.
"Even if I told you, you wouldn't believe me..."
"Try me?" Clemens said, but before Cavender could ponder an answer, the woman in the cot coughed a few times.
"She's awake?" Cavender asked in surprise as Clemens pulled the curtain to the side.
"She hasn't shown most signs of reacting to outside stimuli – she's been practically catatonic," Clemens stated as he moved to reveal to Cavender the woman's appearance, though she was a little pale from the endeavor she'd been through. More startling though was her identity, one that Cavender had come to loath in so many ways, as before on the bed laid the unconscious, Heeter.
...
In one of the many massive air shafts of the prison, Murphy went about his assigned duty of cleaning the ducts of debris and filth. It wasn't a glamorous job, nor was it particularly hard; it was busy-work, through and through. He moved his shovel up and down the muck covered wall, sliding it up and down like a sickle from the reaper.
He kept to himself as he scrubbed the steel walls, he kept to himself by singing at the top of his lungs with pride, and religious vigor.
"IN THE YEAR 7510...IF GOD'S A COMIN', HE OUGHTA MAKE IT BY THEN...MAYBE HE'LL LOOK AROUND AND SAY…'GUESS IT'S TIME FOR THE JUDGEMENT –'"
The squishy sound of a texture decidedly foreign to him interrupted his aria as his booted foot stepped down atop it, nearly slipping. He looked down with disgust-laced interest at the pile of what appeared to be some form of fleshy substance, but it wasn't bloody or covered in viscera. It actually resembled a snakeskin, only much more moist, and cartilaginous. He assumed it must've come from an animal due to the presence of Fiorinan lice all over the remains.
He placed his shovel down and examined it closer, picking it up with both hands holding it up in the steady, yet unobtrusive wind. It was like thick tissue paper, partially translucent, with stains and lines of what appeared to be veins. The smell was horrendous. He quickly, and with a disgust-filled "yech!", let the skin-like substance fall back to the floor of the vent shaft.
"IN THE YEAR –" Murphy began again as he went to retrieve his shovel, only to stop and turn back to the mass again. He looked to the side of the fleshy debris and spotted a large hole, one that hadn't been there a few days ago. He had memorized the makeup and layout of the tunnel network over the years, and this was a blemish he couldn't ignore, not like nearly all the others he'd noted in the past that he'd been able to scour away or ignore as inconsequential to the function of the complex. The hole was located where a metal grate used to be, but its steel wiring had given way to some chemical interaction, having melted and flowed downwards, the inside of the walls of the grate stained with a similarly burnt residue.
He spotted something dark moving in the bottom of the small vent, and he assumed it must've been Spike, who he expected had found a new hidey-hole.
"Hey, Spike. Spike? Spikey," Murphy stated as he crouched down to get closer to his canine companion, slowly lowering his head into the hole and hoping to extract him before Spike got into a spot of trouble from which he, being a dog, wouldn't have been able to extricate himself.
"Are you down there? What are you doing?" He asked again as he got closer to what he presumed to be Spike, but as he closed in he spotted something that resembled a large, reddish-black, leathery skeleton. At the sound of his voice, it moved around in a flash and turned its large domed head toward the lone inmate to open its mouth, and Murphy had just a half second to get a glimpse of its terrible, chromed teeth.
A yellowish liquid streamed forcefully out of the creature's mouth toward Murphy, splashing him in the face. The liquid instantly began burning his eyes and flesh, and he yelled in extreme pain, flinging himself back from the hole. He fell backward, holding his face as it felt like it was melting off itself and still screaming from the blinding pain. He lost his balance, and began tumbling toward the giant, industrial fan in an uncontrollable, blind death roll. Finally, like an insect being sucked into a blender, he made contact as the fan's fast-moving blades churned and shredded his body into pieces, throwing blood, body parts and bits of bone all over the vent.
...
Aaron led the foursome toward the superintendent's office. With a press of a few buttons the old doors opened, revealing a neatly put-together office, organized and filled according to routine, and perfectly suited to Andrews' behavior.
"I'll be back shortly. This is the weather console here – it's not state of the art, but it'll get you what you need," Aaron said, logging onto the console and heading away through the now open doorway. "Twenty minutes. That's all you're allowed."
"Mr. Aaron...thank you." Andrew said with sincerity, as Elizabeth and Ellen sat down at the console, and Ellen logged in using the provided code. The green text popped up on the screen.
DLF-92 WEATHER SURVEY SCANNER
AWAITING INQUIRY_
"It's similar to the MUTHUR computer we had on the Nostromo..." Ellen announced to Andrew who looked over her shoulder as Christopher kept watch near the doorway.
"Makes sense they'd get a hand-me-down system..." Andrew muttered as he began typing.
REQUEST WEATHER FORECAST FOR NEXT 72 HOURS_
INQUIRY RECOGNIZED, PLEASE WAIT FOR CALCULATION_
"Why so long?" Elizabeth stated.
"If we're gonna be here for a while, I think we'd better have a plan that includes the weather. We could use it to our advantage..." Ellen explained.
"Especially if any of Gibson's mercs made it off the Sulaco. Knowing the bad weather ahead of time could help us predict when they could attack," Christopher stated, holding the shoulder strap of his slung M41A. After a minute that seemed more an eternity, the screen blanked, to be replaced with more monochrome text.
CALCULATIONS COMPLETED_
THERE WILL BE STORMS ACROSS 68% OF THE PLANET FOR NEXT 45 HOURS WITH A BRIEF PERIOD OF CLARITY FOR APPROX. 3 HOURS STARTING AT 14:00 TODAY AND ENDING AT 17:00_
"How accurate can this thing be?" Andrew asked.
"Accurate enough, I guess," Elizabeth replied with a half shrug. "If anyone made it off the Sulaco they could still hideout in the badlands of this place."
"As big as this planet is, it could still take them days to reach us...to regroup, but they could have Newt...maybe a chance to negotiate..." Ellen stated.
"Negotiate?" Elizabeth said looking with disbelief at her grandmother. "with Weyland-Yutani?"
"They may be hired by the Company, but in the end they're mercenaries, they're here for the money," Ellen stated, returning her granddaughter's shrug with one of her own.
"Just like us, expendable..." Andrew supported disgustedly, reflecting on the ugly truth of their lives being contracted and part of the corporate quota.
"Right...it looks like we're gonna get an opening, if this is correct – we'll have three hours to find Bishop and get the comm dish under our control. It's gonna be tight, but still..." Elizabeth summarized. She and by extension the others knew it was risky. Whomever went out to secure Bishop and the comm dish could in fact get caught up in the storm and get lost if they tarried too long.
"It's a risk, but we'll have to take it. Only question is, how many people can we afford to send?" Ellen asked.
"I think the prisoners are gonna notice if there's less of us here; we need to find some way for us to communicate with each other. Our comm systems all went up with the Sulaco, plus I doubt this place has anything portable," Christopher stated.
A thought manifested in Andrew's brain, and he looked to his grandson with a question.
"Chris, what are the chances that the EEV that's here has any form of short-range communicator?" he asked the corporal.
"Pretty high, I'd say. It's a universal law, not to mention a Marine Corps standard, that any vessel bigger than a bread box has to have some form of short and long-range communication apparatus on board at all times and seeing as how the EEV was meant to be used as a mobile emergency base camp, I would think they'd be all nice and sealed away, like the flight data recorder," Christopher answered.
"If the inmates didn't take apart the EEV by now..." Elizabeth stated.
"It should still be where we walked through it earlier..." Andrew stated.
"Then I'd say we're up, Chrissy..." Elizabeth said as she stood up, grabbing her mother's shotgun while Christopher followed suit, unslinging his M41A.
"Try to stay out of trouble, you two!" Ellen said, turning toward her grandchildren.
"No promises..." Christopher stated.
"We'll try at least." Elizabeth mirrored her brother's sentiment as the pair exited the superintendent's office.
"Wish I could've met their parents. I heard David was quite the flirt – only with Amanda, of course," Andrew stated, causing Ellen to smirk.
"Well, his father, from what I heard, was a real charmer too," she retorted.
"And I heard Amanda's mother was quite the looker herself..." Andrew winked.
The pair smiled at each other for what felt like an eternity before approaching footsteps broke them out of their trance. Aaron marched in, his face covered in sweat as he appeared to be nervous.
"Sorry to cut this short, but time is up, I'm afraid. I need you two to leave," Aaron said as he switched the console off, scooting past the two Nostromo survivors.
"Something wrong?" Ellen asked, taking notice of Aaron's more frantic pace.
"There's been an accident," Aaron answered.
"What happened?" Andrew asked.
"One of the prisoners slipped," Aaron stated.
"Slipped?" Ellen asked.
"Yes, the wanker slipped. Now, please," Aaron stated, impatiently urging them to the door, through which they politely exited.
...
Cavender stared at the unconscious Heeter, who exhaled and inhaled in steady, rhythmic breaths. She had somehow survived the ordeal on the Sulaco, a fact that surprised, if not vexed her. Cavender frustratedly pondered how the most inexperienced of the near hundred sent from the Erebus would survive the confrontation.
"She's definitely been through the proverbial wringer. Still, she's very lucky..." Clemens continued.
"Right, hard to believe she survived..."
"Do I sense a hint of revulsion?" Clemens asked, glancing up briefly from his ministrations to regard Cavender with a serious eye.
"Let's just say out of all of us, the fact that she made it is...slightly annoying," Cavender revealed.
"Well, she seems to have a sense of luck surrounding her – she survived your ship's destruction and the EEV crash with only a concussion. That harness she was strapped in did a number on her neck and chest," Clemens commented as he checked her IV bag. It was primitive and the substances within weren't exactly up-to-date in terms of medical benefits, but they did the job of hydrating the body. Cavender noticed something on the back of Clemens' shaved head as he bent down to get a readout from her arm-mounter vital signs monitor – a barcode, tattooed on ages ago by the faded appearance.
"She hasn't shown any signs of consciousness?"
"Consciousness? No... she's been out of it since she crash-landed," he replied.
"Want to tell me about the barcode?" Cavender asked, and Clemens looked down and then right into Cavender's eyes.
"That does deserve an explanation, I fear. But I think it can wait until you tell me your little secret," he confessed, looking like he wanted to tell her when one of the communicators on the wall came to life.
"Mr. Clemens..." Aaron's voice reverberated from the communicator as Clemens walked over to it.
"Mr. Aaron." He said pressing the send button on the boxed device.
Aaron's voice faded in and out of the temperamental unit as he replied. "Superintendent Andrews would like you to report to Vent Shaft Twenty-Two on the second quadrant – now. We've had an accident."
"Something serious?"
"You could call it that. One of the prisoners has been...diced," Aaron finished, as Clemens flashed a confused, but knowing look on his face. It meant one of the prisoners had somehow fallen into one of the massive ventilation fans and met a rather terrible and sticky end.
"Diced? That sounds interesting..." Cavender said as she looked to the doctor for an answer.
"A rather creative term for someone being... dispatched via a vent fan. Can you please look after her for the present? I have my official duties," Clemens stated, as he exited the room. Cavender kept her hand on her holstered pistol as she pulled the curtain around her and Heeter, protecting them both from the odd wondering prisoner.
...
Blood, guts and other types of gore smeared and caked the walls of the vent shaft. It was a rare gruesome sight in the prison – the harmony was unraveling left and right, and Andrews knew it as he watched Clemens try to find some form of identification amongst the body parts. Aaron looked down, fiddling with his fingers as Andrews covered his mouth and nose with a tissue, not wanting to inhale the rancid stench. The fan had made a dog's breakfast of the poor inmate, that much was clear.
"Who was it?" Andrews asked Aaron, who looked equally perplexed at the current sight.
"Murphy!" Clemens yelled from the far end.
"How do you know?" Aaron asked with a crackling voice of importunity.
"That's his boot," Clemens stated matter of factly, staring down at the severed and booted foot, and Aaron turned away while Andrews stared directly on, locking down the slightest amount of regret in his heart and mind.
"I gave him the assignment, sir. He was a wanker–" he began despondently.
"No apologies, Mr. Aaron. It wasn't your fault." Andrews responded. Murphy had never exactly been the sharpest tool in the shed, and in one of his moments of clumsiness, he had fucked up, plain and simple.
Another prisoner came walking in, with a bucket of warmish, soapy water in his hand, ready to clean the indescribable mess. Clemens stood up from his crouched stance, walking over to the pair.
"Well, not much to say is there? Death was instantaneous," he concurred.
"No shit..." Aaron stated.
"I take it he was pulled into the fan," Andrews theorized.
"A sudden rush of air, I'd imagine, except..." Clemens began with some sudden realization, but was interrupted as Aaron remembered something.
"Right. Almost happened to me once. I've told them so many times – stay away from the fans. Nobody bloody listens." Aaron stated, as Clemens noticed something in a nearby alcove. Upon leaning in he spotted a yellowish dried substance, and upon further examination it appeared to be slagged, melted composite steel, but of course that wasn't possible – what could find its way into a vent shaft and melt a cover grate made of layered composite carbon steel?
"Except the fan was blowing..." Clemens muttered under his breath upon realizing something as he returned his focus to the sight in front of him, a comment that drew the attention of both Aaron and Andrews. This brought mild suspicion to Murphy's demise.
He touched it with his hand to examine it further, but it was hardened dry. He even smelled his fingers at the possibility of a stench.
"What's that?" Aaron asked.
"I don't know...but it could've..." Clemens responded, before being cut off by Andrews.
"I want to see you in my quarters in thirty minutes, if you please, Mr. Clemens..." Andrews said, his tone brooking no argument as he and Aaron moved to exit the vent area. Clemens stared down at the hole and the melted corner.
"Have you got any ideas, sir?" Aaron asked as followed in tow.
"He slipped, Mr. Aaron, simple as that...I don't want the prisoners asking too many questions." Andrews stated.
...
Golic, Rains and Boggs bad mustered in one of the adjacent compartments to the corridor they were to survey on this outing, along with Morse who helped prepare their backpacks for the journey ahead of lighting the way with candles.
Morse had finished with Rains and Boggs and was loading up Golic's bag as the man himself shuffled around uncomfortably.
"This will top you off – Golic, don't fidget! What's all this shit?! It's not properly fucking wrapped!" He said, pulling his hands away from the messy backpack.
"What the hell does he ever do right?" Boggs asked Rains.
"Eat. He's got that down pretty good," Rains answered him, as Golic finally joined the group with Morse's blessing.
Dillon joined them to see them off, calling out to Golic. "You'll light a candle for Murphy, will you?" Dillon ordered him, prompting Golic to hold up a fist in the air.
"Plus thousands!" Golic stated proudly as the trio walked away to begin their mission. "He was special, never complained about me once. I loved him," he added, rambling on as they neared a door, which Rains opened up with a grunt. A question pondered on Golic's mind.
"Is it true what they say? That his head split into a million pieces?"
"Okay, who's got the matches?" Rains asked as the door closed behind them.
…
Elizabeth and Christopher moved as quickly as they could, knowing time was of the essence. They entered into the large prison's junkyard, and after looking for a minute they spotted the ominous shape of the EEV as it lay atop a mountain of metal scrap.
"There we are. We gotta work fast, Chrissy!" Elizabeth urged as the two marched toward the boxy object, nearing the access hatch and stopping to peer inside.
"Fast is my middle name..."
"Pretty sure it's David..." she smirked teasingly.
"Oh, ha–ha, Ellie," Christopher said, ducking into the tight space followed by his sister. The crimson stains of blood had dulled quite a bit, and the now brownish stains painted the interior walls and structure.
"Okay. Step one: find the right wall socket..." Christopher stated as he looked around the various compartments.
"Should we grab the flight recorder, too?" Elizabeth asked, knowing that Bishop, once recovered, could be connected to the flight recorder to try to piece together what else happened on the Sulaco.
"Good thinking Ellie – we'll get Bishop to connect, find out where they took Newt," Christopher replied as he finally reached the panel belonging to the mobile communicators.
He turned and pressed the latch inward to pull the compartment open. Its shelving revealed eight communicators resembling old walkie-talkies from the mid-twentieth century, but there the similarities ended. Even with the time differences prevalent in relativistic space travel, they were still state-of-the-art. Mils removed one from its charging base on the shelf and briefly examined it, turning it over a couple of times.
"Okay, these things have a good battery, EEV's internal power has kept them fully charged. You find the black box yet?" Christopher asked, loading the communicators into his back sack. Elizabeth eventually did find her way toward the flight recorder's compartment, which was protected by a layer of protective plastic and foil covering, protecting it from fire and intense stress caused by a sudden accident.
"Bingo…we're in business, Chris," Elizabeth said, tearing off the plastic and the foil with speedy hands. She pressed a few buttons and opened the safe-like cavity. She saw the recorder itself and grabbed the black plastic handle, and with a small grunt she pulled the recorder free as air rushed into the empty, pressurized compartment with a hiss.
"Nice work, Ellie. Now let's get going," Christopher stated as he and Elizabeth exited the cramped, compartmentalized craft. They moved to the tunnel they had just exited from, only to be stopped dead in their tracks by a group of four inmates.
The inmates stood by the entrance, and it was clear from their expressions that they weren't there to observe the twins. The hungry looks in each of their eyes betrayed something more sinister on their minds, something more primal.
"Don't think they're here to chit-chat." Christopher stated quietly as he slid his thumb over the selector lever on his pulse rifle to semi-automatic; he was keyed in and ready to fire.
"Roger that..." Elizabeth stated as she did the same to her shotgun. She and, by extension, Chris knew that killing the inmates in front of them was now becoming a very real possibility, but she also knew it had consequences, ones that could cause a huge ripple effect on the rest of the inmates.
"You boys really wanna have this go down this way?" Christopher asked, trying to act as a negotiator.
"The only thing goin' down is you two, face down...and you're gonna take whatever we give ya!" One of the prisoners barked, grinning madly.
"Fine by me. Chrissy?" Elizabeth stated as she tightened her grip on the shotgun. She knew ammo was a commodity they couldn't expend at a high rate, but she also knew the obstacles in their way had to be removed.
One of the prisoners, Junior, if Christopher's memory served him sufficiently, placed a pair of welding goggles on his eyes, and screamed a primal yell of testosterone and brain damage.
"Fuck me, they're actually gonna do it..." Christopher said, as they inched closer. If he or Elizabeth hesitated they actually might be in trouble.
"Just don't scream, loves!" The last inmate, probably Frank, said as all four charged the twins, and at the last minute the duo switched both their weapons sideways to use as bludgeons. Christopher laid the first one out with a buttstock from his pulse rifle, while Elizabeth did the same with her shotgun. It had caused two inmates to go down, but the others were quicker. One tackled Christopher to the ground, laying a couple haymakers into his jaw, before Chris headbutted him away. The other had thrown a temporarily dazed Elizabeth over the guardrail and was preparing to take this assault to a new, more vicious level, pulling out a knife to begin cutting away her pants. Christopher raised his pulse rifle, aiming it at the inmate's head, but before he could pull the trigger Dillon emerged from the darkness of the corridor and laid into his fellow prisoner with a vicious right hook, knocking the inmate to the ground.
"He ain't worth it, brother!" Dillon said to Christopher.
The other inmates all scattered away from Dillon, who by now had picked up a pipe. Elizabeth fell down the small stairwell as another inmate was thrown over the short guardrail.
"You okay?" Dillon asked Elizabeth, as he charged into the group of inmates who were all petrified with fear.
"Now, you son of a bitch!" Dillon yelled as he laid one inmate to the side with a swing of the pipe, and to another he laid several thundering blows into his sternum with the metallic equalizer. Christopher ran over to his sister and helped her up.
"You good?" He asked, getting a nod as they looked on at the onslaught of Dillon, who turned to the twins and pointed into the corridor.
"You two take off! I gotta reeducate some of the brothers. We're gonna discuss some matters of the spirit…" Dillon growled, turning back to his business, as the inmate who had tried to rape Elizabeth crawled away from Dillon and toward the twins. They looked at each other and then to him, and Christopher cocked back his fist and let it fly with all the strength he could muster, delivering a right hook to his jaw and turning him over, while Elizabeth delivered a swift and vicious kick to the groin – the inmate had paid tenfold with a numbness in his face and a blinding, paralyzing agony in his crotch. She looked at Chris and returned his nod with her own in answer. They both felt better.
"Let's get this show on the road," Elizabeth stated as they picked up their gear, then she walked away with Christopher following back through the corridor.
...
Golic went flying over toward a container containing chocolate bars, and he kicked it to retrieve the confections and went skipping down the stairwell as he followed Boggs and Rains, until he found his real prize.
"Cigarettes!" he shouted, rushing to the dispenser and smashing in the glass panel, reaching in to grab armloads of still-wrapped packs of what appeared to be pre-Weyland-Yutani tobacco cigarettes.
Lighting the way was hardly a stressful job to the inmates. It was busy-work, obviously, that took hours to complete. Boggs and Rains had actually done the task before, but they never had to bring a third person. Now they had to deal with Golic, one of the more interesting cases on Fury. He was always eating something, no matter what it was, and he had a bad habit of talking with his mouth full.
He chewed on what was supposed to be a chocolate bar, though it lacked the nutritional cocoa and sugar most bars had, as he and Boggs held crudely lit torches to illuminate their surroundings. Rains lit another candle, one of hundreds that served not only as a means of seeing and documenting where they were going, but also as a symbol of faithful community. As Rains worked, Boggs looked at the schematics of the surrounding area to try and find their exact location.
"How many?" Boggs asked Rains as the latter wrote into his logbook.
"This makes one hundred seventy-six," Rains replied as Golic chewed noisily, earning a glare from Boggs.
"Can't you chew a little quieter? I'm trying to figure out how big this compartment is. I can't think with all this goddamn noise you're making..." he bitterly stated toward Golic who continued munching away in blissful ignorance.
Rains stood up at the swear word usage as he spotted something peculiar in the distance.
"You're not supposed to swear," He said as Boggs quickly corrected himself.
"Sorry. Now we've circled this entire compartment once..." he added, thinking, until Rains stopped him with a word.
"Hey!"
"What?" Boggs asked as Rains pointed in the distance. He quickly saw what Rains had just noticed, one by one the candles in the distance blowing out as if someone was purposely doing so.
"What the shit is doing that?" Boggs stated with wonder and worry.
"You're swearing!" Golic said from behind.
"Shut up!" Boggs silenced him. "It's alright to say 'shit'. It ain't against God."
"What the hell is going on with the candles?" Rains asked, gesturing as he stood.
"Must be the wind from one of the vent shafts, backwash from the closest circulating unit." Boggs speculated – it was the only thing that made sense.
"Maybe it's those soldier types we saw in the mess hall..." Golic suggested.
"Not a chance, I heard they were all on guard duty by the entrances..." Rains stated.
"Yeah, well, if all the candles go out, then how the hell are we gonna know where we are?" Boggs asked, turning to the two other convicts.
"Somebody will just have to go back and relight them..." Rains said, and upon skeptical better-you-than-me looks from Boggs and Golic he understood that it was up to him.
"Guess I'm nominated," he said as he motioned for Golic to hand him one of the torches, before marching off looking for the last extinguished candle.
"Watch your step, brother..." Boggs cautioned, not liking the atmosphere that was currently present. Rains reached a turn in the path and heard something from nearby knock over a few empty barrels that were lined along the wall. Coincidentally, Rains noted, they were near the last extinguished candle, and he moved to investigate the area.
"Okay, who are the comedians?" Rains asked out loud, thinking one of the other inmates was playing a prank on them. He arrived at the end of the line of candles, just as another was blown out.
His footsteps echoed throughout the empty corridor as he walked carefully, before he heard the sound of dripping water. He looked down toward a pool of liquid and soon discovered that it wasn't water – it was too thick, too viscous. He followed the dripping up until he saw it. The liquid didn't belong to a leaky pipe, but to a thing that seemed to have come from Hell itself, which rose to his level the moment he brought the torch around. It screeched and grabbed him, beginning to rip him apart with its claws and teeth. The torch went flying to the floor in the scuffle.
Boggs and Golic noticed the noise and fearfully investigated, turning the corner with tentative steps. They looked with horror at their fellow inmate being butchered in front of them by a beast they hadn't dreamt of even in their worst nightmares. They both yelled in fear and ran the other way as Rains called for them.
"God, help me! Help me!" He cried as with a final burst of power his life came to a bloody end.
Boggs led Golic to a vent opening and handed him the torch.
"Quick! Grab it, here!" He yelled, tearing the vent's thin wire cover off, as Golic jumped into the vent with him in tow.
"Go! Fucking go!" Boggs yelled, Golic wailing ahead of him, as Rains' torch finally died, its chemical deposit gone dry.
"Go, go, go! Quick! Come on!" Boggs continued to yell as Golic led him in a panicked hustle. They reached an exit from the large vent as they looked around for the creature, and Golic went to run away back into the vent, but Boggs seized the torch from him before he could leave.
"Gimme that!" He growled as he tried to muster up the required courage. He moved the torch around to try and spot the creature, or at least a sign of it. They both turned toward a dark object in the corner, and as Boggs held the torch closer it was revealed to be the bloodied corpse of Rains. His head had been split open like an axe had just gone through it. Golic continued to stare in fearful awe at the bloody corpse, saying a small prayer to himself as Boggs investigated the surrounding area.
He knew the creature had to have been close for Rains' body to be nearby, and as he turned to stare back at Golic he looked up, and saw the creature drop down toward him, seizing him with impossible strength and pulling him upward with incredible speed before he could mount a response. Boggs screamed and struggled, begging Golic to help.
"Get this fucking thing off me! OH FUCK! Let me go!" He yelled as the creature thrust its claws into his throat, and then tore his head off, amazingly just by flicking them. Boggs's bloodied head flew backwards and his truncated throat fountained fresh, hot blood, showering Golic, who screamed high-pitched in terror. He stood there in shock as the beast responsible stared at him from above, growling in primal rage and parting its lips to reveal blood-stained, metal teeth. The last of Golic's fragile sanity finally shattered, and he ran wailing in terror as fast as he could, slamming through the partially opened door behind him, seeing nothing but the monster.
...
Christopher laid the communicators and an equal number of headsets down on a table, inviting each member of the team to pick one up. Hicks picked up his, hefting it in his hand and smiling with satisfaction.
"Alright, these things have good range – the teams should be able to communicate with each other..." Hicks stated as the rest of the team checked their weapons, equipment and ammunition.
Christopher nodded, "Secure pairing with your headsets and auto-adaptive, rotating crypto will keep our comms secure for as long as the power cells last. Just don't wear them around the prisoners because you might just get mugged for yours, and they still have a slight advantage in numbers, despite the presence of the staff and Dillon's holy rollers."
"Two teams?" Stone asked as she loaded a magazine into her M41A.
"Three. Somebody has to stay here, help keep the prisoners in line," Elizabeth observed.
"Let's just say they're getting a little antsy..." Christopher grimaced.
"Agreed. Plus we'll need somebody on watch duty to let us back in." Akula pointed out.
There was silence in the room for a second or two, and nobody wanted to be left to guard a bunch of double-Y-chromosome degenerates. The real work was being done outside the prison.
"Mils..." Hicks stated as the other Corporal looked at him. "You hold the fort down here – you helped back on the Sulaco when Vasquez and I were in cryo. Let me take this one," he offered. Though Christopher had some reservations, his friend had some merit to his argument.
"I'll keep him company… need to see how our mystery survivor is doing anyway." Elizabeth added.
"Now that that's done? Two teams; we'll first move to the comms dish, where Hudson and Kaufman will break off and do their thing, while Vasquez and Akula will stay with them and pull security. Then me, Denney, Stone and Bonang will move on to the EEV containing Bishop. There won't be enough time for Bishop to do a proper function check on him, so we grab him and go, and then link back up at the comms dish, where hopefully by the time we return our travel brochure to come to beautiful, sunny Fiorina will have gone out to the UEC, then it's back to the prison." Hicks stated.
"How long will it take you two to get control of the dish?" Denney asked the two techheads, who both looked at each other.
"20?" Kaufman asked Hudson, who shook his head.
"Nah, maybe 30..." Hudson responded.
"Give us a little under an hour to encrypt and mask the transmission route, and we'll get that message to the right people..." Kaufman stated with confidence in her voice.
"How big is your synthetic friend?" Bonang asked; he had never met Bishop but remembered seeing a pair of discarded android legs in the primary hangar of the Sulaco.
"Mmm, about half his size – he had a rather close encounter with a Queen Xeno," Stone stated.
"A Queen?!" Denney exclaimed in surprise.
"Did not stutter," Ashley cast a steady gaze back at her.
"Good thing he's a synthetic..." Akula stated, remembering Strouman's demise back on the derelict.
"He'll be easy to carry then..." Vasquez stated.
"What if we run into the mercs...Gibson and his gang?" Kaufman asked.
"We shoot to kill. No hesitation, no quarter...they won't have any if it was us." Hicks stated.
"It's almost 1400. Storm should be clearing by now, so let's rock and roll, people," Christopher stated as the group all became equally motivated to begin the long march toward the comm dish and the EEV. They passed by the mess hall, some of them taking mental note of a lone prisoner sitting down enjoying a bowl of cereal by himself.
Another prisoner, assigned to cleaning up the kitchen and mess hall area, walked in with a stack of "clean" plates. He took notice of the man sitting at the table, unchaperoned by anyone else.
He approached the man in question and soon recognized the small woolen watch cap on the prisoner's head. It had to be Golic.
"Golic? What the hell are you..." He asked irritably, but he was brought up short when Golic turned his head slowly toward him, revealing a blood-covered face and a creepy smile that only he could produce. The cook went white as a sheet, while the entire stack of dishes slipped out of his numbed hands and fell to the floor, and though they didn't shatter they certainly made quite the ruckus.
...
Clemens walked into the superintendent's office and was greeted by Andrews and Aaron.
"Sit down Mr. Clemens." Andrews stated with respect in his tone.
"Thank you..." Clemens responded with politeness coating his, and as he sat down Andrews placed a cup of tea toward him on his desk.
"Sugar?" Andrews asked.
"Erm...no thanks."
"Milk?"
"Just a little," Clemens answered as Andrews retrieved a small glass bottle with milk within it from his office's mini-fridge, handing it toward Clemens to use.
"Thank you, Mr. Aaron," Andrews said as he looked back at his obedient second in command, who moved to leave the room.
Clemens poured a splash of milk into his cup of tea as Aaron and Andrews stared at him, the latter of them brewing with anger and frustration. Aaron left the room, closing the door but standing guard outside as the two men remained in silence, while Clemens picked up his tea and prepared to take a sip as Andrews stepped around behind his desk to sit down before he finally broke the silence, leaning aggressively towards Clemens to begin a stiff, angry tirade.
"Listen to me, you piece of shit. You screw with me one more time and I'll cut you in half!" he growled. Clemens looked at him in mock surprise, but he remained calm on the inside.
"I'm sorry, I don't think I understand."
"At 0700 hours, I received word from the Network. I may point out this is the first high-level communication this installation has ever received, to my knowledge. They want that woman in the infirmary looked after. They made it very clear - they consider her to be a very high priority." Andrews explained.
"Why her? What about the others that came here?"
"I could give two buckets of warm piss for that lot – they're starting to cause a rift in the prison population. A bunch of military personnel and paramilitaries with firearms walking about is bad enough, but the fact that half of them are women? And why have you let them, especially the females, walk around freely? This...accident with Murphy is what happens when one of these dumb sons-of-bitches walks around with a hard-on." Andrews stated with frustration.
"I'm a doctor, you're the jailer." Clemens pointed out. Andrews laid back in his chair, massaging his stress ball as he looked Clemens darkly in the eye.
"We both know exactly what you are..." Andrews said, making a pause while massaging his stress ball. Clemens stood up silently, with a face marked by frustration and disgust. He had had enough.
"Sit down!" Andrews raised from his chair, the vein at his temple pulsing hot.
"I think it might be better if I left." He replied calmly, "I find you…unpleasant to be around." Clemens grimaced in reserved irreverence as he turned to leave.
"Oh, you do? Isn't that lovely! Consider this, Mr. Clemens. How would you like me to explain your sordid history to your newfound friends? For their personal edification, of course... now sit the hell down." Andrews' threat had the desired effect, bringing Clemens up short, and the doctor shook with impotence at wasting his anger in defeat as he obeyed, sitting back down while Andrews handed him his cup of tea as a potential peace offering. Clemens accepted the cup as the questions began again from his superior.
"Now listen here...I don't like you. You're unpredictable, insolent, possibly dangerous. You question everything and spend too much time alone. Always a bad sign. If I didn't need a medical officer, I wouldn't let you within light-years of this operation." Andrews stated in anger.
"I'm eternally grateful..." Clemens sarcastically replied, staring straight ahead.
"Keep your sarcasms to yourself. Now, is there anything I should know about any of them?"
"About what exactly?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Mr. Clemens – they must've told you something. You spend every second you can around them, or with that woman in the infirmary, and I have my suspicions that not all of your concerns with her are medical. Have they said anything to you? Where they're from, their mission? Why were those women and soldiers in a crashed dropship? Has the woman woken up yet, and why was she in an EEV?" Andrews asked with interest.
"They have told me what they have told you, that they were part of a combat mission investigating a colony that came to grief, before they themselves came to grief. Beyond that, I presume it's all classified. I haven't pressed them for more. As for the woman, she's practically comatose, only showing the odd cough or sharp breath." Clemens explained, and Andrews looked back at him skeptically.
"That's all?"
"That's all," Clemens stated.
"You sure?" Andrews insisted.
"Yes." Clemens nodded, closing his eyes and lowering his head.
"Nothing more?"
"No." Clemens looked at him directly, wishing the interrogation ended.
Andrews looked at him with disgust, but he believed a modicum of the truth from his medical officer. He turned away to look out the window behind his desk.
"Get out of here!" he growled, but just as Clemens stood up to leave, the door flew open, and Aaron and Dillon burst through the doorway.
"Sir!" Aaron said with a fearful look in his eyes, with Dillon matching it.
"What is it, Mr. Aaron?" Clemens said, not turning toward the man.
"It's Golic, we need a jacket for him. Rains and Boggs are missing, he's the only one who came back." Dillon stated. No words could explain what he had heard from the cook.
...
Andrew and Ellen walked toward the massive gate which led above ground and into the prison exterior – the badlands, they were quite sure. They knew the window of time was short, but they were in good hands so long as the weather continued to be in their favour. They hadn't stepped outside yet, but the cold air was already beginning to sting their cheeks, and it was getting colder with the setting of the Fiorinan sun, reminding them of what awaited them should they overstay their window outside the prison complex. Ellen Ripley might have preferred freezing to death over being taken alive by Company mercs, but that still didn't make her feel better about their margin for error.
"It's gonna be tight. We just have to hope they can work fast," Ellen stated, looking at Andrew.
"Yeah...if we get stranded or bogged down here, the Company can just come pick us off..." Andrew echoed her sentiment as the others arrived, bundled up for the cold and armed to the teeth.
"We ready?" Ellen asked Hicks.
"We're ready Ellen, we've got our plan...just need the codeword again." Hicks responded.
"It's 'ArcLight' – send that to these coordinates, and the UEC will pick it up, and then we just have to hope they get here before Weyland-Yutani does," Andrew said, handing Kaufman a piece of paper with the coordinates on it.
"Roger that, Gramps – we'll get that message sent," Hudson replied with his trademark sarcastic wit.
"I guess this is it, then, huh? Good luck kiss?" Stone asked Christopher, who nodded his head happily.
"Good luck kiss," he agreed as the two planted a strong, yet caring kiss on each other's lips. Akula looked at the kissing couple with mixed emotions, pride and denial warring within him at the probable fact that either his little sister had grown up, or that she was kissing a guy in front of him.
Kaufman saw this and sighed with slight frustration, shaking her head at him.
"Don't you start getting maudlin on me, Devon Akula. She's your sister, not your daughter," she admonished him. "I don't see any assholes giving her away, do you?"
"Yeah, Lexi, I know," he groused, "but does that mean I have to like it?"
"Come here, you!" she said, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking Akula into a vigorous liplock. She held him there for a few seconds, long enough for him to tap out, then released him when she was sure he'd submitted. "Now shut your mouth and unfuck yourself – we need your head in the game. We get off this rock, and then we'll have all the time we can spare before we go into cryo to do each other like crazy, deal?"
Andrew looked at Ellen with a raised eyebrow.
"Kids, right?" Andrew stated.
"Glad to see they're focused, so to speak," Ellen said.
"What were you saying about your squad turning into a high school gym?" Denney grinned as she asked Hicks, who merely sighed in defeat.
"Nothing wrong with a little good luck charm, right?" Bonang said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively after watching the others. Though Denney was tempted, she evinced mock disgust, looking him up and down with a raised eyebrow and a curled lip. "Nice try, Romeo. Eww..," Denney responded, deadpanning him.
"Boo on you!" Bonang barked, returning her mock disgust with equally false offense.
"Alright, people! Time to get going!" Hicks stressed.
"Aguafiestas..." Vasquez muttered.
"You said it, Vas..." Hudson said, both disappointed that they couldn't seem to partake in the lustful ritual.
"Hicks! You guys better come back..." Elizabeth stated.
"I hear ya, Elizabeth. Stretch would have my head if anything happened to Sparks..." Hicks said
"Take care of yourself, too. I mean it..." Elizabeth said, getting Hicks' attention as she placed a hand on his chest-plate.
"Will do...Ellie," he ventured as he looked to Christopher, who waited to press the sequence of buttons to open the massive gate. The caution lights and alarm bells blared as the rusty doors began to part with the ear-wrenching sound of grinding metal, and the teams all double-checked their weapons and equipment one more time. The doors finally slammed open and revealed the landscape of the forgotten planet, almost in a yellowish tint due to the sun's rays being blurred and dimmed by the smog-filled freezing wind.
"Let's get it done!" Hudson said as the group moved past the open doorway and into the rough terrain, their mission was clear.
"Good luck! We'll see ya soon!" Andrew yelled as Bonang tipped his hat toward the four family members, and Christopher pressed the buttons again to close the door with a thud.
"Alright, what do we do now?" Elizabeth asked.
"We find Cavs, see how our mystery woman is holding up." Andrew stated.
"We still stay away from the prisoners. We don't want them getting more anxious, especially since there's fewer of us here now," Ellen said with caution in her voice.
"Agreed. We stay together though – they're starting to get, mmm...bolder," Christopher observed, with a knowing gaze directed at Elizabeth.
"Right, she was with Clemens, who should be in the infirmary. We'll find some way to pass the time." Elizabeth stated, as the four moved to the infirmary.
...
Clemens, Andrews, Dillon and Aaron approached a disturbingly calm Golic who, despite having his face smeared in coagulated blood, was cheerfully munching on a spoonful of cereal. Aaron approached Golic from behind, holding a leather straitjacket. Golic stopped his gorging and popped his head up like a scared mouse. He was immediately dove upon by the four men, who wrestled the jacket onto him.
...
Cavender looked at the sleeping form of Heeter, remembering all the little spouts of arguments they would have over basic protocols or procedures. Heeter, Cavender and Taylor were all three prodigies of Weyland-Yutani, joining at young ages. But their relationship would never be anything close to caring or to friendship. She wasn't like them, she wasn't Weyland-Yutani.
She heard a collection of footsteps approaching, and she placed her hand on the handle and trigger guard of her sidearm, ready to draw it should any eager prisoner try to take a chance with her or the vulnerable Heeter. She tensed up slightly at seeing a shadow appear in the corridor, only to sigh in relief when the voice belonging to the shadow turned out to be Andrew Mils.
"Cavs? Ya in here?" he called out, causing her to draw back the curtain.
"There you are," he sighed in relief. "You okay?" he asked as Ellen moved around the corner from behind him, nodding at the young double agent as Cavender looked up to Andrew.
"Sure, yeah, just been babysitting Sleeping Beauty here," Cavender answered, looking over her shoulder at Heeter.
"Wait a minute, is she...?" Andrew stated upon recognizing the sleeping form of the Wey-Yu mercenary.
"Heeter…" Cavender nodded. "One of Gibson's crew. She was on the Sulaco."
Ellen approached her from the other side, looking down at the young woman as Elizabeth and Christopher entered behind her, both leaning against the wall.
"She was the EEV's only survivor," Ellen stated.
"Wish she was awake; I think we could ask her a few questions." Andrew stated.
"You don't think she knows anything about Newt, do you?" Elizabeth said, walking over.
"Maybe, but we won't know until she's conscious," Christopher stated the obvious while Elizabeth picked up the patient chart nearby, reading off the information Clemens had provided.
"She's got a grade 2 concussion, a few bruises around the neck, and she'll have decompression sickness for a while from Premature Hypersleep Termination Syndrome." Elizabeth stated, trying to find any red flags in Clemens' report. "God, if this were a regular medlab we'd have a more comprehensive evaluation, but I can't find anything to indicate the presence of one of those things. There's nothing, nothing at all..." she concluded.
"Well let's just hope she can give us answers sooner than later..." Ellen stated as the sound of approaching footsteps and yelling was heard.
Christopher whistled to get everyone's attention.
"We've got company..." He said as Elizabeth pulled the curtain back around the woman for her protection. The others scrambled to try to stay out of the way of the approaching men. Christopher and Andrew walked over to the hallway, only to see Clemens and Dillon carry a straitjacketed Golic through the plastic flaps. Andrews and Aaron followed, not acknowledging the two Mils men who looked at each other in surprise.
"Did ya see that?"
"Yeah, his face was painted..." Christopher said, indicating that Golic was covered liberally in someone else's blood.
"It wasn't me! I didn't do it!" Golic cried as he was rushed past the three women and thrown onto the nearest bed. The mattress itself was rolled up halfway and acted almost as a headrest for Golic as Dillon got into his face and stared into his widened eyes.
"What the fuck happened to him?!" Cavender asked no one in particular.
"It was…" Golic stuttered, "It was the dragon! Feeds on minds! It was..it was..it..nobody can stop it!" Golic frantically screamed. His eyes opened wide and he shook his head sideways, the only movement allowed by his restrains.
"What about Boggs and Rains?!" Dillon pressed for an answer.
"Both of them got slaughtered like pigs – it wasn't me, it wasn't me! It wasn't me…" Golic defended.
Andrews and Aaron turned away to talk and come up with some form of solution. Golic's incessant rambling had unsettled them, but Andrews was determined to clamp down on the disorder, which helped him to keep calm and evaluate this new development.
"Stark raving mad. I'm not saying it was anyone's fault, but he should've been chained up!" Andrews whispered in frustration, realizing that he had a murder investigation on his hands.
"You called it, sir. Mad as a fucking hatter," Aaron agreed as usual.
"Keep him separated from the rest. I don't want him causing a panic," Andrews urged him before turning back. "Clemens?"
"Yes..."
"Sedate this poor idiot," Andrews ordered, just as Dillon interjected.
"Not until we know about the brothers," he countered as he turned back toward Golic, Aaron scoffing at the idea.
"Now, now, pull yourself together. Now, talk to me now…" Golic's agitated respiration normalized at the sight of Dillon's reassuring figure over him. "Now, where are Boggs and Rains?" he asked, only to be cut down by Andrews.
"It's hopeless – you're not going to get anything out of him!" Andrews stressed again.
"Orders, sir?"
"We'll have to send out a search team. I'm afraid we have to assume, there's a very good chance this simple bastard has murdered them!" Andrews accused, pointing at Golic
"You sure about that?" Andrew asked from afar but was ignored.
"Now, you don't know that." Dillon had finally had enough, standing up to defend Golic. "He's never lied to me! He's crazy, he's a fool, but he's not a liar!"
Ellen looked toward her compatriots, and then toward the group of men before them. Though it was plausible that something like murder could happen, the fear in Golic's eyes, plus the massive drying bloodstains on his face and elsewhere said otherwise. She had to know what this dragon was, as he referred to it, and if her suspicions were correct then things had already gone from bad to far worse.
"He's telling the truth," she interrupted, raising her voice. The group of prison staff and occupants turned toward her with surprise.
"We don't –" Andrews began but was cut off by Elizabeth.
"You really should listen to her. We'd like to talk to him about this… this dragon," she said assertively, nodding in understanding as Golic repeated the phrase.
"It's a dragon!" He said in fear; Andrews, however, wasn't interested in hearing anything from the Ripley women or their allies.
"You're not talking to anyone, Doctor, and neither are you, Lieutenant! I'm not interested in your opinion, because not one of you is in full possession of the facts. This man is a convicted multiple murderer, known for particularly brutal crimes. Isn't that right, Mr. Dillon?!" Andrews asked the preacher.
"Yeah, that part's right..." Dillon admitted. Golic smiled his creepy grimace, almost as if he was proud of his past.
Andrew looked toward the superintendent using his height to look down upon the man.
"Then we'll talk to you, Superintendent. This isn't something you'll want to ignore." He said.
"It's important..." Ellen added.
"When I have finished with my official duties, I'd be quite pleased to have a little chat, yes?" Andrews said in mock politeness before turning toward Clemens.
"Sedation, now! Mr. Aaron, come with me. And Lieutenant Ripley? I will gladly inform you when I'm available, which should be within the coming hour. Until then, please let Mr. Clemens and Dillon alone." Andrews said, nodding toward Ellen as the duo exited the room.
"Mr. Dillon, will you please help me here..." Clemens said as he fetched a needle containing gamma-hydroxybutyrate to sedate Golic while the other occupants in the room formed a huddle.
"What are we thinking?" Christopher asked.
"There's definitely one in here with us. My guess, it must've stowed aboard the EEV, gotten wounded during the crash..." Ellen surmised.
"That would explain where that burn came from..." Andrew added.
"If one's in here, and it's already fully grown, we're gonna have some real trouble here..." Christopher stated.
"You're right – the prisoners are gonna be lambs to the slaughter..." Cavender pointed out with worry in her voice.
"As long as it's got a food source it'll stay near the prison..." Elizabeth added.
"I heard something about one of the prisoners getting diced earlier. Could that have been the xenomorph?" Cavender revealed.
"At least we know there is one," Ellen stated.
"And if we're wrong?" Christopher asked.
"Then we come across as raving, paranoid lunatics," Andrew stated grimly.
"Same as always to these poor fucks!" Elizabeth added, as Dillon marched past them, taking a look back at the now sedated Golic before walking away. Clemens approached the group, crossing his arms.
"You know your constant questioning and butting in prison matters is really going to piss Superintendent Andrews off," he stated.
"I think we've already gotten to that point..." Andrew said with a smirk.
"You wanna tell us about your accident?" Cavender stated.
"One of the other prisoners was killed."
"Where?"
"In an air shaft. Poor sod backed into a nine-foot fan. I found something at the accident site, just… a bit away from where it happened. A mark, a burn, rather like the one you found on the EEV..." Clemens revealed, in clear demonstration of his observational skills.
"Then that seals it," Cavender shook her head slowly and stated, knowing it as a confirmation of their collective fears.
"Look, I'm on your side. I want to help, but I need to know what's going on, or what you people think is going on," Clemens asserted. Without knowing the full and real story, he had indicated, there was nothing he could do short of incurring the Superintendent's wrath, and he wasn't about to do that if there was a chance, he could remain in the man's good graces by which his career literally depended.
"If you really want to help us, then find a way to get her to wake up. We have questions and she may be able to answer them. Till then, keep the prisoners away from her. When she does wake up, please let us know," Ellen stated.
"That I can do, but I do at least deserve an explanation –"
"Clemens, if we're right, you'll want to get as many of these beds as possible ready for more patients. Also prep the morgue, as we'll certainly have more fatalities than injuries – this thing's a killer from birth, so it certainly isn't in the habit of taking prisoners. We'll be back..." Christopher stated as the four exited, leaving Clemens alone with Cavender.
"Since we're asking questions? Mind if I ask you one?" Cavender said as the pair walked over to Heeter.
"I guess that will be alright."
"Why do you have a bar code, like the rest of them, on your head? How'd you get assigned here?" she inquired, eliciting a long, sad sigh of resignation from the good doctor.
"It's a long, sad story, and more than a little melodramatic," Clemens revealed, as he prepared an injector with one of his custom concoctions.
"Try me."
"If you insist." He returned a rueful smile as he prepared to puncture the bottle with a fresh syringe. "After my student years, despite the fact that I had become secretly addicted to morphine, I was considered to be most promising, a man with a future." His gaze turned into sad reflection as he explained, but his eyes also held the determination to carry on despite himself. "And during my first residency, I did a thirty-six hour stretch in an ER, so I went out and I got more than a little drunk. Then I got called back – a boiler had blown in a fuel plant, and there were thirty casualties, and eleven of them died. Not as a result of the accident, but because I prescribed the wrong dosage of painkiller. I got seven years in prison and my license reduced to a 3C. At least I got off the morphine," Clemens said with a smirk that mixed private satisfaction at having beat the odds and his addiction with regret over his past indiscretions.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –" Cavender began before he cut her off with a quiet chuckle and a dismissive wave before his expression again became reflective once again.
"I think I was let off lightly. I served my time here, of course, so I got to know this motley crew quite well. So, when they stayed, I stayed – nobody else would employ me." He revealed.
"I trust you with a needle still. Any chance you have any adrenaline?" Cavender asked, offering her arm with a smile on her face.
"Your gesture is most appreciated, but it's for her, not you. That's what this little concoction is, a healthy mixture of adrenaline and vitamins...it will bring her out of her current state naturally." He answered, putting the needle into Heeter's arm. Her breathing increased slowly, and then leveled out as she began to stir.
"There we go, she's coming to..."
Heeter's eyes slowly blinked open, and she struggled to gain a coherent awareness of her surroundings. She slowly rose to place her head on the upper half of the pillow, looking around her immediate area as the blurring from her mind and eyes cleared.
"Try not to strain yourself, you've been out for quite some time," Clemens stated as he helped her sit up.
"Are you a doctor?" Heeter blinked, the pale but intense light from the infirmary's light bulbs blinding her momentarily.
"My name is Clemens – I'm the best thing you're gonna get around here, as I have only a 3C rating," Clemens told her.
"Here?" She asked, rubbing her eyes. Once she had adjusted to the illumination, she reclined on the bed.
"Fiorina 161, better known as Fury 161. It's one of Weyland-Yutani's backwater work prison facilities, it grieves me to say. You crash landed with a team of about a dozen people." Clemens explained. Heeter struggled with a stream of intermittent memories.
"Where are the others?"
"They didn't make it." Clemens responded, shaking his head.
"What?"
"They didn't survive...I'm sorry."
"There were almost 20 people on that EEV, and I'm the only one?" Heeter asked, with a tint of incredulity on her eyes.
"Yes, though some of your crewmates made it." Clemens stated as Cavender walked up, and Heeter looked up at her with a glare of annoyance and mirth.
Heeter shook her head sadly – of all the ones to survive it had to be The Ice Queen.
"Glad to see you're awake Heeter...we lost almost everyone."
"Did Taylor?"
"I don't know, he might have survived."
"We're just glad you're awake again." Cavender stated as Clemens walked away to give the two privacy, Cavender pulled the curtain closed around them and crouched down next to Heeter.
"In all seriousness, do you remember anything? About the Sulaco? About our objectives?" Cavender asked, knowing that Heeter still believed she was on Wey-Yu's side.
"No, nothing. I remember evacuating – that's about all, everything else is real fuzzy. What happened to the Sulaco?"
"It's gone, the Costaguana collided with it, and then the Erebus. All three ships are gone. I don't know how many people made it, but we're stranded here with some of the marines, and a few mercs from the Shark Pack." Cavender stated, lying to protect everyone...a proven strategy.
"Please tell me help's on the way."
"I believe we'll have a few ships here soon..." Cavender lied again.
"I feel terrible, like I've got the flu or something. I could throw up, but I haven't had an appetite since we left Earth. I don't know why I'm so hungry now – thirsty, too, come to think about it," Heeter revealed. "I feel like I could drink a river dry."
"I feel about the same being here...I'll see about getting you something for your stomach." Cavender said as she poured a glass of water for her faux friend, satisfied with the information she possessed.
...
Andrews didn't know what to think of the information he had just received from the four people in front of him. A creature with acid for blood, razor sharp dual jaws, with hard, armoured skin that could shrug off most weapons fire, and standing at over 8 feet tall. He had turned his back in his chair away from them – it was preposterous, a ruse to explain their behavior as of late, which merely screened their attempts to uproot his authority and control of the prison and its occupants.
Andrew & Ellen stood side by side as Elizabeth sat in the chair opposite to Andrews, Christopher standing by the door with his pulse rifle casually hanging from its sling. He and the others knew Andrews wouldn't believe them, but they were running out of options. If they were able to work with the prisoners to expunge the potential xenomorph, they would be in better shape.
"Let me see if I have this correct, Lieutenant. It's an eight-foot-tall creature of some kind, with acid for blood, and it arrived on the EEV that crashed...it kills on sight and is generally unpleasant. And of course, you expect met to accept all this on your word." Andrews summarized.
"No, I don't expect anything..." Ellen said as she walked toward the desk.
"You did forget about the gestation inside a living host, but you got the bullet points down..." Elizabeth stated.
"Oh, of course – gestation through embryonic fertilization. Is that the right term, doctor?"
"Endoparasitoid implantation," Elizabeth almost growled. "Through the mouth."
"Quite a story, Mr. Aaron."
"Right sir, it's a beauty. Have you heard anything quite like it, sir?" Aaron stated, though he outwardly showed he was spooked.
"I expect not," Andrews replied, never taking his eyes off the elder Ripley. "Tell me, Lieutenant. What would you suggest we do?"
"Well, what kind of weapons have you got?" Mils asked.
"This is a prison," Andrews explained drily, shaking his head. "It's not a good idea to allow prisoners access to firearms."
"What about the ones from the EEV?" Christopher asked.
"They were all thrown into the furnace, with the bodies." Andrews stated, causing Christopher to lower his head in frustration, as now they were in a bad way when it came to ammunition and weapons.
"If there are no weapons…" Ellen pondered, "what keeps them from killing you?" She turned her head towards the blind-covered window of the small office.
"Fear," The warden coldly responded. "Without me sending a message, they will be left alone on this rock, with no re-supply ship forthcoming." He pulled a face and added, "the company would just have to wait a couple of months and come and recover their assets."
"So…this is a maximum-security prison, and you have no weapons of any kind?" Ellen summed up his explanation, surprised and alarmed by the revelation. Andrews shook his head.
"This was a maximum-security prison, now it's nothing more than a glorified junkyard."
"That's all?" Elizabeth queried in disbelief, before finally falling back into her chair. "Then we're fucked..."
"We have some carving knives in the abattoir, a few more in the mess hall. Some fire axes scattered about the place, nothing terribly formidable." He explained.
"Oh, great!" Ellen exhaled a sharp breath of realization. She sat down on the other chair next to her granddaughter. "We're beyond fucked."
"No, the lot of you are fucked," Andrews had finally had enough, he rose from his seat and stared at the four of them. "I don't care what unit or company you belong to. I want you to stay away from my prisoners, stop meandering in affairs that don't concern you. You will stay away from Mr. Clemens, and the woman in the infirmary. I want you to quarantine yourself in a corner and stay there! When the rescue team arrives, I want you to get the hell off my premises and away from MY prison!" Andrews barked, squeezing his relaxing ball until his fingers were white. Elizabeth thought the man was about the suffer an aneurysm by the size of the temple pulsing vein.
The four family members all stared at each other. They knew at that moment that there was no turning back. Elizabeth had an idea, a wild one, but it required it in these times.
"Alright, but before we go..." Elizabeth said standing up, rolling her sleeve to reveal her bandaged forearm, "just let me show you something..." She began unwrapping the bandages to the interest of Aaron and the confusion of Andrews.
"I'm not easily allured by such a sight, Doctor, if your intent is to arouse me..." Andrews began with humour in his voice.
"Shut the fuck up and look..." Christopher stated, as he walked up close to the seated man. Finally, the bandages were fully removed to reveal in the entirety the damage done on Elizabeth's arm. The skin was charred and burned from what had been an encounter on LV-426 with the facehugger's defense mechanism. The wound had begun to heal, but the discolored and scabbed scar still showed where she had been touched by the unbelievably caustic liquid.
"This is what that creature's blood can do, and this is just the result of a drop the size of a pinhead. Now try to imagine what a whole body's worth can do," Elizabeth stated.
Andrews stared dumbfounded, but he didn't dare show it. He knew that some form of industrial accident could have caused the same type of scarring. Andrew stared in intrigue at his granddaughter's arm – he had never seen what the acidic compounds in the xenomorph could do to human skin, and he didn't want to find out or witness what a larger amount could do.
"Quite an interesting scar you have, Doctor, but a spill of engine fuel could do similar damage..." Andrews cockily said.
Christopher's blood boiled...this guy wasn't believing anything, and it took everything in his power to not cold-cock him then and there, but he knew it might end up causing more trouble than it was worth.
Andrew and Ellen looked at each other, both equally insulted; they both had collectively experienced what just one of these creatures could do, and Ellen in particular had seen first hand what countless numbers of them were capable of in their collective brutality. Andrew knew more evidence was needed, and he unzipped his jacket, the sound of the metallic zipper getting everyone's attention.
"Maybe you need more convincing. You remember that lost ship, the Nostromo?" Andrew said as he slid off his jacket, and then his t-shirt underneath, all to reveal a wound on his shoulder that appeared to have gone completely through it.
"Who hasn't?" Andrews barked dismissively. "That wouldn't explain your shoulder wound."
Ellen breathed sharply at seeing the wound, it brought back...bad memories, he had barely survived the ordeal.
"This is what one of them can do with its tail spike, and I barely survived that encounter. Imagine a couple dozen of them running amok, then a couple of hundreds..." Andrew explained.
"Industrial rebar could have done that, or a sufficiently large calibre bullet," Andrews snorted derisively.
"The doctor who treated my shoulder would insist otherwise, my disbelieving friend, but without the x-rays and his accompanying report you're just going to have to take my word for it, aren't you?" the elder Mils returned, before casting a frustrated gaze to Ellen and sighing.
"You don't have to believe us, that's fine...but just stay out of our way." Ellen said, standing up.
"Same goes for any of your people, if they try anything...we'll defend ourselves," Christopher stated holding his pulse rifle in a pointedly provocative manner.
"I've heard enough. Now please leave and do be good little boys and girls!" Andrews stated as the family finally exited the room, feeling as if they hadn't accomplished anything. Once they exited the room, Andrews turned to Aaron.
"We better have a rumour control briefing, Mr. Aaron, before our friends get any ideas that they can run this facility without us. We need the prisoners' trust."
"Sir, right away..."
...
Heeter sipped on a cup of water, trying to keep her fluids up and adjust to her surroundings. Cavender stood watch as she let her fellow Wey-Yu stooge have a moment of solitude. Suddenly a tone blared across the intercom.
"Let's all report to the mess hall, Superintendent Andrews wants to have a meeting. Mess hall, right away people..." Aaron's voice followed the alert tone over the intercom as Clemens walked in.
"I think your friends might have pissed Andrews off. He never calls a meeting out of the blue..." Clemens stated as Cavender pulled the curtain open. "How are you feeling?" he asked, preparing another one of his cocktails.
"Not so hot... sore throat, sick to my stomach. Pissed off a little..." Heeter revealed.
"Well, that's understandable, given the circumstances. Perhaps I should give you one of my special cocktails..." Clemens agreed.
"We'll see about maybe getting you some solid food as well. Right, Clemens?" Cavender asked.
"I'm sure that could be arranged..." Clemens said as he prepared his special mix.
"You said they're sending a ship for me?" Heeter asked.
"Well, actually for all of us, for the survivors. A rescue team should be here sooner than we expected." Cavender stated.
"Good, I heard places like these only get supply ships every six months. Can't say I blame them – after all, who'd want to visit a godforsaken place like this?" Heeter stated as just from afar Golic began to mutter to himself.
"I don't know why everybody blames everybody for anything. Nobody's perfect, only human. I don't know a perfect human, nobody I know. In an insane world, a sane man must appear insane." Golic intoned, to Clemens's amusement.
"That's very profound, Golic. Thank you," Clemens replied.
Golic then turned his head to look at Cavender. "You married?"
"Me?" She asked, wondering if the question was genuine. She never had time for anyone else, it didn't seem fair...not to her, not to her partner or to the prospect of having children.
"You should get married, have kids. Pretty girls. I used to know lots of them back home. They used to like me, for a while," he answered reflectively, and then a dark look, sad and certain, fell over his features. Turning his gaze directly at Heeter, he added, "You're gonna die too."
Clemens, having heard enough, then and there pulled the curtains closed around them, definitively cutting off any further commentary from the deranged convict.
"Are you?" he asked.
"What?"
"Married?"
"No..." Cavender shook her head, smiling as Clemens turned toward Heeter next.
"And you?"
"Not yet anyway – maybe when I'm older, more grounded. I am spoken for, if that's what you're asking." Heeter said, smiling amusedly as Clemens rubbed her arm with an alcohol swab, and prepared the needle for the injection.
"I assure you I wasn't asking for that reason – I was just curious," Clemens revealed as he pressed the needle into Heeter's arm. Though it stung at first, the compound seemed to do the job of relaxing her.
Cavender spotted something out of the corner of her eye then, a dark shadow that she assumed for the moment was one of the prisoners or maybe even Andrew or his grandson.
The shadow didn't move like a human, however, and the sight of whatever it was caused Golic to cower on his bunk, shaking in fear. Cavender gasped, realizing all too late that whatever it was, it wasn't human – it had dropped down silently out of the overhead vent.
The Xenomorph screeched in rage and lust, grabbing Clemens by the head as he spun around. Its hands were covered by the curtain, but its massive domed head, with its mouth opening impossibly wide, towered above the doctor who fought in its grasp, kicking and yelling in pain, knocking over several carts.
Golic looked on in horror, and his eyes screwed shut as he shook within the straps of the straitjacket, while Heeter in a dazed state simply stared in paralyzed fear. She couldn't bring herself to scream, as much as her brain demanded her to try. She had never encountered a xenomorph before, and she was receiving a most brutal and horrific education before her very eyes.
Cavender leapt into action, trying to pull Clemens free of the monster's grasp, only for him to be killed right in front of her as its inner jaw pistoned out for a head bite, tearing through Clemens's skull like it was wet tissue paper, and spraying blood and brain matter in all directions as it withdrew with equally amazing swiftness. Cavender found herself coated liberally in hot, wet gore, and she fell to the ground in shock as she reached for her sidearm, only to realize the holster was empty, the pistol having been thrown across the room in the struggle. She looked in horror as Clemens's body fell to the floor like trash, the medical curtain now serving as a death shroud.
She knew now was the time to run, and she grabbed Heeter by the wrist and went to move away from the scene as fast as she could. But in the hustle, Heeter slipped from her grasp. She looked back at her colleague, calling out her name as she lay against the wall in shock.
"Heeter! Heeter, come on!" She yelled, only for the xenomorph to turn toward her. Fear finally persuaded Cavender that now was the time to run or face certain doom. She turned in frustration and ran as fast as her legs could move out of the room toward the mess hall.
Heeter lay slumped against the wall, paralyzed with shock and terror of the monster before her. But it didn't shoot out and kill her as it did Clemens, no. It moved closer and investigated her up close, causing her to reflexively shut her eyes tight and turn away. Almost as if it was smelling her, it opened its mouth with a snarl, allowing its second, smaller mouth to slowly protrude past the chromed outer jaws that dripped Clemens's vitae. Frozen in an eternity of panic, she could only shiver, sobbing and whimpering in blind primal fear at what brutal agonies it might inflict upon her, when just as suddenly it turned away. Her terrified imaginings of the talons and fangs ripping hotly into her body were unexplainably replaced with confusion as the Boschian vision went back to retrieve the body of Clemens and return back to the vent from whence it came.
...
Ellen and Andrew walked side by side, almost as if they were taking a stroll in the park. They rarely had moments where it was just the two of them, and they were taking the time to come up with a plan as they walked the corridors of the penitentiary.
"I knew he wouldn't believe us. Seeing is believing, I guess, except for some people," Andrew stated.
"We should've known – they only believe what they choose to," Ellen agreed, jaded.
"So, our plan? It's straightforward, we hold out for the coalition, hope it gets here before the rescue team. Until then we…?"
"Keep on our toes, Andrew, just like always. Chris and Ellie will maintain a perimeter until Hicks and the others come back," Ellen answered, just as they heard the sound of fast, frantic footsteps approaching. They both instinctively grabbed their weapons, ready to deal death, only for Cavender to come barreling toward them, covered in blood.
"Cavs? Cavs!" Andrew said, as he found himself running toward her in alarm, grabbing her to try and steady her movement.
"What the hell happened?!" Ellen asked, equally frantic.
"It's here! It's here!" She screamed out loud, her eyes threatening to escape their sockets. Her blood-covered hands were shaking terribly, red smears on each cheek where she had brushed her hands. "It got Clemens!"
Ellen's worst fears were confirmed. The nightmare had followed them to Fiorina after all. Again, they were as defenseless and hopeless as they were on the Nostromo, half a century ago. "Where?!" she asked.
"The infirmary!" Sarah's voice trembled.
"I'll get Andrews! Andrew, get Ellie and Chris!" Ellen ordered as they rushed off in different directions, Andrew running with Cavender close behind. He pulled out his communicator and yelled into it.
"Chris! Ellie! We've got a xenomorph in the infirmary, it got Clemens!" He yelled as Ellen rushed toward the mess hall, nearly stumbling with the weight of her pulse rifle as she raced against time itself to warn Andrews
...
"Give us strength, O Lord, to endure. We recognize that we are poor sinners in the hands of an angry God. Let the circle be unbroken until the day. Amen." Dillon led the prisoners in prayer as he raised his head amongst his brethren. They didn't get much of a word out as he directed a heated tirade at them. Andrews and Aaron looked at each other in interest – the formidable and normally unflappable Dillon had finally lost his cool.
"What the fuck is happening here?! What the fuck is this bullshit that's coming down?! We've got murder, we got rape, we got brothers in trouble! I don't want no more bullshit around here! Now we got problems, we stand together!" Dillon finished, at last sitting down.
"Thank you, Mr. Dillon," Andrew began, stepping into the center and addressing the gathering. "Alright, once again this is rumour control. Here are the facts. At 0800 hours, Prisoner Murphy, through carelessness on his part, was found dead in Vent Shaft Seventeen. He seems to have been sucked into a ventilator fan. At about 1400 hours, Prisoner Golic reappeared in a deranged state. Prisoners Boggs and Rains are missing. There seems to be a good chance that they have met with foul play at the hands of prisoner Golic," he continued, noting Aaron as he closed a book that Prisoner David was reading. Dillon groaned softly, laying his head on his fists – he wasn't convinced Golic would do such a thing.
—
Elsewhere, Ellen's breath scraped her lungs raw as she ran as fast as her panic-driven feet could carry her toward the mess hall, her body weighed down by her pulse rifle as she carried it at the ready.
—
Andrews turned back to the group, his eyes filled with resolve. "We need to organize and send out a search party. Volunteers will be appreciated." With some reflection he added, "I think it's fair to say that our smoothly running facility has suddenly developed a few problems. Gentlemen, I am not blind. I know that the presence of these outsiders has definitely affected you, so I can only hope that we can all pull together over the next few days until the rescue team arrives to retrieve them."
He had only just finished when the elder Ripley dashed into the mess hall with a pulse rifle, panting heavily, her eyes warped with absolute panic.
"It's here – it got Clemens!" she began, only to be shouted down by Andrews.
"I've had it with you, Lieutenant, stop this raving at once!"
"I'm telling you! It's here!" Ellen shouted, almost pleading.
"I want you to get out of my sight! Mr Aaron, get this foolish woman back to the infirmary!" Andrews commanded furiously.
He never got to finish his rant, as without warning, and quick as lightning, the xenomorph dropped from the vent directly overhead, grabbing him by the shoulders and hauling him up into the darkness, kicking and screaming as he ascended. It was all over with in less time than it took the inmates to organise a response, as in a panic they scrambled over tables and chairs to get at the thing, some of them, including Morse, even grabbing chairs to use as bludgeons. Ellen had taken aim with her M41A, but in the bustle, being bumped about by several of the prisoners, her aim had been thrown off, and a stray burst disintegrated an overhead light instead of the vent. By the time any of them were in a position to do anything about it, Andrews' stress ball had fallen from the vent shaft, bouncing somewhat as it rolled out of the Superintendent's pooling blood on the floor.
Almost as soon as it had begun, it was over, the inmates and others struck dumb by the gruesome, horrifying spectacle, Morse being the only one to muster up the courage for a single response.
"Fuck!" he shouted in frustrated fury. He had been the closest to the beast, but it had just been too goddamn fast for him. For any of them, as a matter of fact.
Ellen's communicator crackled to life with Andrew's voice. "Ellen! You there?!"
"I'm at the mess hall, Andrew, it just got the superintendent! It's fast, could be heading back to you now!"
"Copy that! We're checking the infirmary now!" he responded as he, Cavender, Christopher and Elizabeth all stacked up on the doorway as they prepared to enter the infirmary, their weapons drawn and ready to unleash hell.
"Ready?" Christopher asked, getting nods from everybody. He charged in first, checking the corners of the room, remembering his lessons in room clearing.
"Clear?" He asked as he spotted Golic, who appeared in a state of shock, and he looked at his sister and nodded. Elizabeth approached the prisoner's bedside, slinging her shotgun over her shoulder, and leaned over him, waving a hand in front of his eyes and getting no reaction.
"Severe shock. He's practically catatonic, Chrissy," she said as Cavender looked for Heeter.
"Heeter! Heeter! Where are you?!" she called out, fearing the worst as she took notice of a pool of blood from nearby. She lowered her sidearm and approached it, presuming it belonged to Clemens, whose body was nowhere in sight. She continued toward it, pulling back the curtain to Heeter's bed and finding it empty. Cavender edged around the bed and spotted Heeter laying limp and still on her side, with her back toward her.
"Heeter?! Heeter! Come on, we have to get you out of here!" Cavender stated as she approached her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder, but as she turned her over her face went slack with horror.
"Oh, my fucking God!" She yelled, backpedaling quickly away from her as the others came running over. Similar grimaces appeared then on their faces as they took in the sight of Heeter laying dead on the floor, her smashed ribs and the surrounding tissue blossomed outward by the telltale signs of a chestburster birthing, as Cavender turned reflexively away and disgorged the contents of her stomach.
"Shit, now we've got problems in stereo," Christopher stated grimly as Andrew called Ellen on his communicator.
"Ellen?"
"Yes? I'm here, Andrew..."
"Get the prisoners someplace safe, we've got a whole new set of problems...we'll meet up with you soon," Andrew stated as he looked back at Heeter's body, the realization finally hitting him and his fellow survivors that the nightmare was just getting started...
...
Phew that was a long one wasn't it? Hello everyone EAP404 here with a few quick updates;
Firstly wanna give a shoutout as always to DarthTenebrus and AlphaLima1980 (who is now known as 1uglymofo), for editing this long chapter, which is on record to be the longest chapter I've ever written.
The reason for this is pretty simple as I couldn't find a good stopping point, and felt the shit hitting the fan with the deaths of Clemens and Andrews was the best stopping point I could find.
On a more personal note, a few weeks ago my Aunt passed away after a long illness. She was a consistent part of my life and also encouraged me to take up writing when I was younger. It's a blow to my family obviously, and has affected the story as I've found myself being a little lethargic when it comes to working on the next chapter, pair that with having Covid for a week back in October, and working 50+ hour weeks.
But, don't worry as always I'm not putting the story on hiatus. You have all been very patient and supportive since day one on this fic, and for that you have my eternal thanks.
With all that said, as always thank you for favoriting, following and reviewing this story, it's been a blast so far and we're not done yet as the nightmare within the prison is just getting started.
Stay tuned for more!
Oh and also! Happy Thanksgiving and Happy Holidays to all of you champions out there!
Sincerely, EAP404
