The door flew open, and Col. Harris marched in, a woman in uniform at his heels. They seemed to be arguing, but it wasn't clear what it was about. Ripley caught the words "patrol" and "missing", but that was all. The Colonel dismissed the woman, who snapped a crass reply before leaving.
"You're such an asshole, Jack!"
Then she stomped off.
The Colonel approached Dawson, his face redder and his scowl deeper than usual. "So what did the tests say? Who is she?"
Dawson looked at the Colonel steadily, unfazed. "She is who she says she is, sir. She is Lt. Ellen Ripley."
The Colonel began to splutter indignantly, but she cut him off.
"She is a clone, sir. Most likely cloned aboard the Auriga. You do know it was a scientific research vessel, don't you?"
Harris glared at her, but did not refute.
"And what of the claim about dragon aliens? Am I supposed to accept that that's true, too?"
Ripley smiled, though it was nothing less than ferocious. She ripped her shirt open to expose her chest, showing the long, pale incision scar below her breastbone. "I can guarantee you, Colonel, that it is true. The mother of those dragon aliens...was my...baby."
Harris looked disgusted, but he could not tear his eyes away from that scar. Nor could he ignore the fact that a section of the Auriga had crashed on the island, and the patrol he had sent to investigate it was now unresponsive. He, too, had heard the rumors. But unlike his other military counterparts, he did not doubt the deadlines of the alien enemy. He was afraid, though he refused to show it. He barked at the two soldiers still standing outside, barked at Dawson, and left. Dawson handed Ripley another shirt.
"Not many people can freak out Harris like that. Well done."
Ripley smiled, but it was quickly replaced by a frown.
"He's right to be freaked out, though," she said lowly." I sense something is coming, and it's not as friendly as me."

Auriga, island crash site

Private Wilson cursed his foul luck for getting posted to this shit detail. He cursed the USM. He cursed Earth. But most of all, he cursed Col. Harris for sending him on a patrol as cannon fodder. Of course the Colonel knew there were freaking aliens on the ship. Of course he would know that said aliens would stick to faces like a nasty organic mask. Of course he knew he was sending Wilson and his buddies to their doom. It made sense. After all, it was no secret that Col. Harris was a dick. Not to mention that he had been in the pocket of the USM for years..

Well, shit. Wilson shook his head ruefully as he regarded his unconscious buddies. They had gotten some kind of aliens stuck to their faces in the ship. Wilson was fortunate to have missed that part, but he had to drag them all out of the ship in hope that they might be spotted by another patrol. Only, there hadn't been another. And none of the crappy radios were working, and it was ten miles back to the compound, and now he found that the patrol jeep had a flat tire.
"Just my luck," he muttered to himself. He sat down nearby his buddy, Private Doakes. He took out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag while glancing at the sunset.
"This blows, don't it, Doakes?" His companion didn't reply, of course...his face being covered and all. Wilson puffed on his cigarette for another minute before dropping the butt. He stood up and crushed it under his boot. He figured he would have to build a bonfire. Maybe someone would see it once it got dark. He turned away to look for some wood, freezing when he heard coughing. He whirled around to see Doakes sitting up, the parasite lying dead on the ground beside him.
"Hey Doakes!" Wilson ran up to him, relieved beyond words. Doakes only looked around in confusion.
"What happened mate? All I remember was that we were looking through the ship, and there was these weird eggs..." He paused as more of the soldiers coughed, the dead aliens falling away as they sat up and rubbed their faces. Wilson didn't know what to make of it, but he was glad. Maybe his luck was changing.