The tiny ship hurtled through the black void of space, a void filled with more worlds, stars, solar systems, suns, asteroids and black holes than Man could ever hope to count in a thousand centuries.
Well...
Alright, so you can't have a black void full of all this, because then it wouldn't be a void, but as far as black, infinite things go, space is still pretty damn voidy.
On the blackness, stars streaked past in their thousands, almost too fast to count.
Dwayne Hicks snorted and looked away at the reality. He'd have to do something about that space screensaver; it was really starting to annoy him.
The reality of space travel was that for the distances you had to travel, no matter how fast you went, you never seemed to move very fast. It was like flying in an airplane; you knew you were going a hell of a lot faster than you could in a car, but looking out the window seemed to reduce that speed to a crawl.
Hicks let out his breath with a whoosh, lips pressed together slightly, tapping a pen on the ship's dashboard, giving the impression that he was deep in thought.
He was, in fact, bored out of his mind. Five days on a ship that had no books, no video facilities and nothing to while away the hours would tax even the dullest wit. Hicks was seriously starting to wonder whether he should have waited a few weeks to accept Hudson's invitation to come and visit; that way he could at least have taken the shuttle.
Hicks sighed, still tapping the pen, looking around out the windows. He couldn't even hop in a freezer; he was the only one flying the ship, and although it was mainly on autopilot, Spunkmeyer had given him a list of instructions on what to do if he ran into difficulties.
Hicks glanced at the nav-screens, then abruptly took a plastic calling card from his pocket and snapped it into the phone. It buzzed several times before Spunkmeyer finally answered, clearly just out of bed.
"Yeah? Wha-oh, it's you."
"Yeah," Hicks said. "I think I've got a slight problem."
"You mean like you did at three thirty five a.m., four oh five a.m., five fifteen a.m. and six thirty a.m?" Spunkmeyer said waspishly.
Hicks at least had the grace to colour. "I think the engine's making a noise."
Spunkmeyer yawned. "It's s'posed to. It's when it cuts out completely you need to worry."
"What happens then?"
"In space, you drift. In atmosphere of planet, short sharp trip to surface. Can I go back to sleep now?"
"No, I mean it's making a kind of metallic clinking."
Spunkmeyer woke up slightly at that. "What kind of 'clinking'?"
"Like coins in a washer."
"Y're not goin' through 'n ast'roid belt, are you?" the pilot said, failing to stifle another yawn.
"No."
Spunkmeyer paused mid-yawn, remembering something he'd done at the academy. "Dwayne...this is just a theory, you understand, but I need you to do three things for me."
Despite himself, Hicks felt the first twinge of concern. "Is it bad news?"
"It'll be very bad if you don't do exactly what I tell you, particularly the last step."
Hicks raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Shoot."
"One. Open your glove compartment. Two. Take out your dog tags stroke keys stroke anything metal that's probably rattling around. Three. Hang up!"
Hicks fumbled with the catch on the glove compartment, finally pulling it open and catching sight of the child's bracelet in there. He paused, then closed it again.
"Thanks. I think I'll leave it," he said quietly.
"Yeah...sure...wha'ever..." Spunkmeyer yawned. "Look, if you're bored, call Will or someone."
"I can't. It's three in the morning where he is."
Spunkmeyer shut his mouth with a snap, glaring at Hicks. "Oh, so it's alright for me to be woken up at some ungodly hour but when it comes to Hudson-"
"Okay. Okay." Hicks sighed and gave in. "I'll stay off the com unless it's a matter of life and death. Happy now?"
"Sweet." Spunkmeyer reached out and cut the connection.
Hicks shook his head ruefully. Well, at least that had killed...oh, all of five minutes. He sat back and tried to empty his mind. Like always, he felt memories rush in to fill the gap instead. Reaching up, he rubbed the marks on his face irritably. The scars there had been removed, but the area still itched like hell.
They'd made it off Acheron in the end. The ones who had made it out of the reactor room had stayed in Operations for a while. Spunkmeyer had managed to jump clear when the dropship crashed, although it had been too late for Ferro.
Hicks paused in his thoughts. The main turning point had been when Apone and Dietrich had staggered in, hadn't it? Neither of them would say exactly what had happened, but Hicks knew they couldn't have made it so far on their own. Then...there had been that incident with the facehuggers, hadn't there? Burke had apparently been trying to loose them on the others, only to have one turn around and clamp itself over his face instead.
Hicks' gaze darkened. Shame about the other three, really, as Vasquez would have said. A real shame from the smartgun operator's point of view, since one of those three had fastened itself onto her. The other two had latched onto Gorman and Ripley respectively, and the three affected had been loaded onto the dropship in the hopes that someone back on Earth could do something for them.
They'd left Burke, though. Best place for him, and a pretty fitting end as well. Once back on Gateway, surgeons had done their best to extricate the alien embryos. The others had got the results the next day; Ripley and Gorman had both died during the operation and Vasquez shortly afterwards.
Hicks sighed. With Ripley gone, Newt had latched onto him like a limpet, but now Newt had disappeared. A slightly sad smile touched Hicks' lips.
"Sorry Ellen," he said aloud. "Guess I didn't do such a good job protecting her after all."
He hadn't given up, though. Wouldn't, not until he'd found Newt again. That was partly the reason he hadn't cancelled his visit to Hudson and Dietrich; the two of them ran a bar in one of the most popular locations with tourists from all over. If you got gossip anywhere, it was in a bar, surely?
Hicks' smile became a little more genuine. Maybe actually having his dream bar would finally shut Hudson up; he'd been going on about it for as long as Hicks had known him. He shook his head wryly. As Dietrich had once said, you couldn't shut Hudson up unless you decapitated him and buried his head under six feet of concrete. And even then, only maybe.
Hicks glanced at his watch. This time tomorrow he should be at Hudson's place, barring accidents. If he had sleeping pills, he might have popped a couple just to get him there, but that was out of the question. With a sigh he leaned back, picked up a Martina Cole novel - one of the few books he'd thought to bring - and started to read it for the third time. Maybe if he tried reading aloud it would make the time go a little faster.
The living area was surprisingly large for Gateway quarters. A fair-sized kitchen equipped with the latest gadgetry led into a spacious living room which had a three-piece suite upholstered in dark brown leather and a deep blue carpet, along with a large computer, a virt-real simulator, a TV wall and a huge selection of DVDs, mostly horror and action. There were some books on a shelf, but not many; whoever lived here wasn't exactly into reading. There were also three rooms off the living room; two good-sized bedrooms, one study/gym area full of workout equipment. This last wasn't standard issue, but Gateway had rapidly discovered that if this person didn't get some strenuous physical activity at least twice a day, they had the tendency to bench press the first person to come through the doors or, failing that, smash the place to pieces. In short, this was a big, luxurious, almost penthouse apartment.
Vasquez hated it.
She supposed it could be worse. The Company didn't have to keep her here; they could just as easily have thrown her in a four by four cell and tossed the key in the garbage compactor. This was probably the most lavish prison cell ever designed; certainly one of the most expensive and comfortable.
But it was still a prison cell.
There were little signs. No phone, for one thing. No internet access on the computer. She could leave the apartment to visit others in the same corridor-which was circular and at least two kilometres long, all told-but she couldn't leave the corridor itself, and frankly had no desire to pay social calls. Vasquez wasn't a great one for being friendly and had no idea who her neighbours happened to be. For their part, they avoided her as much as possible; Marines commanded a lot of respect, and there was the chance that this particular Marine could decide she didn't like your face and subsequently rearrange it.
This wasn't strictly true. Vasquez spent too much time training in her makeshift gym to care about ordinary brawls. Part of this was due to the need to keep Marine-fit, but there was another, more fundamental reason; when she trained hard, she slept hard. When she slept hard, she didn't dream. When she didn't dream, she didn't see Drake's face being boiled away by acid, or the facehugger that had come for her.
She didn't know what had happened after that. She supposed she must have hit her head or something...she just remembered waking up in this place aching all over. It had taken her a week to get back into the old routine and another fortnight before she was back in shape. About the only good thing to have come of that was knowing for sure she hadn't been impregnated. She supposed Hicks or Hudson must have blasted the facehugger away or something.
The door buzzer jerked her attention away from the chin-up bar and the past, and she dropped onto the ground, sweating lightly, and glanced at the clock. Four thirty. Jesus. She'd been working out, seemingly unaware, for three and a half hours.
The buzzer sounded again and Vasquez swore before crossing over to the front door and yanking it open.
"Yeah? What?"
If the man on the other side of the door was taken aback by her abruptness, he hid it well. "Juana Vasquez?"
"Who wants to know?" Vasquez said automatically.
The man smiled, reminding the smartgun operator uncomfortably of Burke. "My name is Sam McDermott; I've been asked to bring you to Mr Russell's office for a formal meeting."
Vasquez didn't move. "'Formal meeting'? That wouldn't be anything like a court martial, would it?"
McDermott gave a creditable imitation of surprise. "No. Of course not. Why?"
Vasquez narrowed her eyes. "Fine. I assume I'm allowed to get dressed first?"
McDermott looked at his watch, giving every impression of being a harried man. "Two minutes."
"Fine." Vasquez slammed the door in his face and waited until five of those minutes had ticked off the digital clock on the wall before going through and pulling on her combat fatigues, dog tags and trademark bandanna, then lay down on her bed and read a couple of articles in the latest issue of Guns Magazine before returning to the front door and opening it again.
McDermott fixed her with a look he fondly imagined to be steely. "I said two, not twenty."
Vasquez, who was already striding down the corridor, shot a look over her shoulder. "I'll let you know when I start to care."
"And your attire is hardly suitable," McDermott added, panting slightly as he rushed to catch up. He regretted it instantly as Vasquez turned to stare at him.
"It was suitable for Acheron. It was suitable to save your asses. It's suitable for this and until I'm court-martialled, I'm going to keep wearing it. Any problems, you can kiss my ass."
"Yes, we noticed you hadn't made use of the clothes we provided," McDermott said, somewhat sniffily.
Vasquez didn't bother dignifying that with an answer. The wardrobes had been stocked with several outfits, ranging from the casual to the clubbing. The problem hadn't been the design; they were pretty much what Vasquez herself would have picked out. That was what was unnerving her. Whoever had put her in that apartment had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to research her personal tastes, which meant they had access to some pretty hard to get files.
"Just for the record as well, the napkins we provided are just that, not dusters."
"What the hell else did you expect me to do with them? I'm hardly going to host dinner parties, am I...or if I do, they'd still be no good."
"Yes." The faintest trace of disdain flickered across McDermott's face. "If it doesn't come in a cardboard box, you don't want to eat it, do you?"
"You're pushing your luck, asshole!" Vasquez said sharply, then, "And how do you know what I used them for, anyway?"
There was a sudden awkward silence. "You have to understand," McDermott said, edging away from the smartgun operator slightly, "it's out of my hands. I can do nothing about it."
"Are there hidden cameras in my apartment?!"
"Like I said-" now McDermott was so far away they were walking on opposite sides of the corridor "-it's not my decision, I had nothing to do with it-"
Vasquez froze for a few seconds. "If you don't tell me honestly that you kept them out of the bathroom and bedroom, I will break your fucking arm the first chance I get!" she said.
McDermott eyed her nervously. Her expression was cold, and he knew it wouldn't change much if she decided to make good on her threat either. He cast around frantically for an angle he could use to defuse the situation and decided, for a change, to try the truth.
"I can't tell you that. I'm sorry."
The punch rocked his head back on his neck to hit the wall with a resounding clang. Vasquez heard the other residents in the corridor stop dead, staring. Fuck 'em. The smartgun operator was prepared to bet that each and every one of them had been itching to do something similar.
The door to one of the apartments crashed open at that moment, and a pair of security guards armed with electronic stunners strode out. Vasquez didn't hesitate. Instead, she took a step forward and drove her fist into one guard's stomach almost hard enough to punch right through it, grabbed his stunner as he doubled over and spun around to zap the second on the neck. He fell, still conscious but unable to control his arms and legs. Vasquez dropped the stunner and whirled to plant a foot squarely in the other man's elbow. There was a sound like someone putting their foot through a rotten log and he dropped to the ground, howling in pain and clutching the shattered joint. Vasquez straightened up, tossed the stunner into the now rapidly enlarging crowd and turned to McDermott.
"Alright. Get moving, if you still want me to come to this meeting of yours."
McDermott, whose skin had turned a sickly grey and who was clearly struggling not to throw up, swallowed several times. "Y-yes. Yes. Uh. Yes. We can...we can go." He closed his eyes. "You, uh, you know I'll have to report this," he added, in the tones of one who devoutly hopes he hasn't just proclaimed his own epitaph.
"Right," Vasquez sneered. "You do that. Call in the Marines, because they're the only ones you can persuade me to listen to."
"There are another eighteen guards on this security force," someone from the crowd put in tentatively, "and... and...uh..."
Someone who had a better view of Vasquez' face added, "And am I the only one who's getting the feeling that that really isn't going to matter very much?"
"They're right." Wiping blood away from a split lip, McDermott lurched off the wall. "If you persist in this fruitless violence, I'll have no choice but to call them to this sector."
Vasquez smirked. "Go ahead, pendejo. Make my day."
McDermott opened his mouth to do just that, then hesitated and closed it again reluctantly. The guys in this sector were bog-standard security guards, and none of them were capable of taking on a Colonial Marine. All of them together would probably do it, but not without some serious injuries being sustained. Better to wait. He'd have to do something though; the last thing the Company wanted was for anyone to run away with the idea that they could beat up on any security guards they pleased. Particularly in this sector.
Benjamin Russell had worked for the Company all his life. He'd started at intern level and clawed his way up the ranks until he'd got to where he was now; a senior marketing director for the Colonial Administration Bureau. Then the HR manager for this particular area had taken two weeks' vacation and Russell had been called to stand in for him. So far he'd dealt with fourteen complaints, three brawls in the corridor and eight technicalities and he felt, perhaps rightly enough, that he shouldn't have to deal with the likes of Vasquez as well. Most people dressed in their smartest clothes to try and make a good impression on him. A young woman wearing what looked like combat gear right down to the boots and a red bandanna who walked in as if she owned the place was new to him.
Still...business was business. Russell put on his best professional expression.
"Good afternoon. I'm glad you could make it on such short notice."
Vasquez snorted. "Hey man, it's not like there's much else to do. I could take a run round the corridor, but you know, that gets a little dull after the first five laps."
"Yes, well, we aren't equipped with such luxuries as a track," he said.
Vasquez shrugged. "I dunno. That corridor works pretty well."
"I suppose it would. And...ah..." He frowned slightly as Vasquez sat down on the chair opposite without waiting for an invitation. "Please, have a seat."
"I will." Vasquez leaned back in the office chair and propped her feet on the desk, crossing them at the ankles, picking up the nameplate in front of her and using it to clean under her fingernails, more for effect than any feminine interest in her appearance. "What do you want?"
"I would appreciate it if you could remove your boots from my desk," Russell said frigidly.
"And I would appreciate it if you would let me out of this hellhole of a station," Vasquez mocked, "but it don't look like either of us are going to get what we want, does it?"
Russell looked hurt. "Anyone would think we were holding you prisoner."
Vasquez looked him straight in the eye. "Aren't you?"
"No."
"Good. Then give me my jodido keycard and let me get a shuttle out of here."
Russell looked somewhat awkward. "I'm afraid we can't do that just yet. You see-"
"Don't bullshit me!" Abruptly Vasquez was on her feet, her chair crashing to the ground behind her. "Unlike your fucking Company, I've done nothing wrong!"
Russell's grey eyes changed, went from conciliatory to flinty in a remarkably short space of time. "If you haven't, then it would probably be the first time, wouldn't it?" He slid a thick file towards him. "Let's just take a look at your records, shall we? Mother, Ira Menezes-Vasquez, deceased, father Jose Vasquez, currently in prison on a charge of alcohol and drug abuse as well as GBH. You were the fourth in a family of six girls - no boys - your oldest sister, Mercedes, was murdered by a...what did you call them? Oh yes, a punter while working as a prostitute. Not intimidated by this little face, your next oldest sisters, Sofia and Bernadita, followed the same path. I gather they're still in and out of rehab for drugs and drink. They do it for a week or two, then give it up and go back on the streets until some other kind soul picks them up again."
Vasquez was by now so angry it took all her strength to keep from losing her temper and slugging him. "What," she said through clenched teeth "has any of that to do with this?"
Russell raised a hand, displaying perfectly manicured nails. "I'm coming to that, if you'll be good enough not to interrupt me. Your younger sister, Anita, decided to go another route and was arrested for burglary ten months after Mercedes' death. This soon got upgraded to ABH after she tried to stab the arresting officer with a broken off chair leg and she was sentenced to ten years in juvenile. When she turned eighteen - six weeks ago - she was taken to a penitentiary to serve out the rest of her sentence which I gather she was already more than halfway through."
"What's your point?" Vasquez said tightly.
"Your record is hardly clean, is it? I gather your mother was a prostitute as well."
"What if she was?" Vasquez sneered. Although her mother had died when she was eleven, everyone in the family had known exactly what she was.
"Out of all your family, the only one who hasn't yet been arrested or participated in any kind of illegal activity is your youngest sister. I gather she enlisted in the USCM as soon as she turned sixteen."
Vasquez shook her head. "No. That's not possible. Carmen had brains; she'd never do anything as dumb as that."
"She did as soon as news reached her of your death."
"My what?"
"You were reported dead on Acheron."
"By whom?"
"We thought it might be for the best...rather than build up false hopes...you were in a near-critical state when you arr-" Russell's words ended in a gurgle as the smartgun operator lunged across the table without warning and gripped him around the throat with one hand.
"Then you can fucking well tell everyone I'm alive!"
Russell choked and Vasquez eased the hold very slightly. "It...wasn't...my...decision," he managed to get out. Vasquez released him abruptly and stepped back.
"Then whose decision was it?"
"Never mind that now. I was just instructed to bring you up to speed on current affairs."
Vasquez took one or two deep breaths. "Look, this isn't proving anything except that you obviously think you know a lot about my family. Why am I here?"
"You are here because we have located one other member of the Acheron expedition. One who, shall we say, is extremely reluctant to cooperate and who is adamant that they won't help us until we bring in Dwayne Hicks."
Vasquez snorted. "And you want me to tell you where he is? Sorry, man. I've no idea, and even if I did I wouldn't tell someone like you."
"You really aren't helping your case."
"Didn't know there was one. Are you going to give me that shuttle or not?"
"No, for two reasons. Firstly, I doubt we'd get it back. Secondly, you don't have a pilot's licence, and never have."
"I've flown before," Vasquez said coldly.
"If you're referring to your exploits before you were conscripted you're absolutely right," Russell said implacably, "you were higher than any shuttle could ever go. You have done just about everything your sisters have done, and more. GBH, drug abuse, drug dealing, seventeen counts of mugging and approximately two weeks on the game before killing one of your punters, not necessarily in that order either."
Missed a couple, Vasquez thought irritably.
"You claimed self-defence for that last incident and for some reason the court found in your favour-"
"It was self-defence!" Angered into speaking, Vasquez surged to her feet again. "The bastard had a gun!"
"Yes," Russell said calmly. "I think it best we not go into exactly what he wanted you to do with it, don't you? You got away with a two year suspended sentence-which, I may add, was incredibly lenient under the circumstances."
That was about the only semi-relevant thing he'd said since this whole hellish meeting had begun, Vasquez thought sourly. At least the only thing he'd said that she agreed with; she'd expected them to lock her up and throw away the key.
"Apparently not satisfied, you then proceeded to get involved with a gang that specialised in joy-riding. You stole a car, went screaming through the streets at speeds that were almost too great to be measured, finally stopping when you ploughed through a family sedan and then only because your vehicle couldn't physically go any further. This little escapade resulted in your being jailed for manslaughter, since the family in the sedan were killed instantly. The only reason you didn't get the death sentence was that you were underage, being just fifteen at the time. You were sentenced to life imprisonment in a state penitentiary but were conscripted into the USCM eighteen months later along with Mark Drake - who, incidentally, went along with you-"
"Leave him out of this," Vasquez said. She didn't raise her voice, but there was a deadly tone in it that made Russell think twice about continuing.
"And two years later, you were sent to Acheron. Your team sustained approximately fifty percent casualties-"
"That wasn't my goddamned fault!" Vasquez yelled, her temper finally snapping. Russell remained unmoved.
"Well, you'd better decide whose fault it was because from where I'm sitting, your irresponsibility in using heavy duty weapons is the reason for the loss of the Acheron colony."
Vasquez leaned forward until they were almost touching. "It's also the reason why that casualty percentage wasn't closer to ninety," she hissed.
"Saving the lives of a few people does not justify the destruction of an entire colony worth of equipment."
"Which was no fucking use after the bugs set in!"
"Ah." Russell appeared extremely satisfied. "Yes. I thought it would somehow come around to this. You are aware that these 'bugs' as you call them do not exist?"
Vasquez jerked back as if she'd been shot. "Yeah, they fucking exist!"
"I doubt it." Russell steepled his fingers together and examined the tips minutely for a minute before looking back up. "I think, if you'll search your memory, you'll remember how the others in your troop died in a freak explosion which you and Private Drake decided to engineer to hide the fact that you had, in fact, been extorting money from it for months. In fact, the main reason you both enlisted was to escape the threat of legal retribution, then when you heard about the mission to Acheron, you decided to cover your own backs. It's just unfortunate that Drake didn't get clear in time."
Vasquez eyed the pen on the man's desk speculatively, wondering how much damage it would do to her case if she were to scoop it up and plunge it into one of those smug grey eyes.
"This is getting us nowhere," she said abruptly. "You have my record. You know what happened."
Russell remained immovable. "That record is on our system and can be altered in a matter of minutes. Listen to me. Those aliens do not exist. The sooner you get that through your head, the sooner you'll be free to go where you like."
Vasquez gritted her teeth, wondering as she did so if this was how Ripley had felt all the time. "Russell, if you don't get this through your fucking head, you won't have one left. Those things are real. They're as real as you and me. They're as real as this station. If you don't believe me, ask any of the others. Ask Hicks, or Hudson, or Apone."
"Nothing has been seen of your troop since shortly after your return. The only reason we were able to help you was because you were still unconscious. Following medical treatment, we placed you here."
"What do you mean, 'here'? What is this place?"
"You're in a secure area of Gateway. It's where we place anyone we aren't sure about."
"Not sure?" Vasquez picked up the nameplate again, this time using it to clean her boots. Not that they needed it; even though she hadn't seen the inside of a barrack room since leaving for Acheron, old habits died hard and her clothes were immaculate. But it bugged the hell out of Russell.
"You were very sick. We've found that people in home-like surroundings recover faster than in the clinical environment of a hospital ward."
It made perfect sense, which was why the smartgun operator didn't believe it for a minute. "What was wrong with me?"
"Space fever."
Vasquez stared at him so coldly that Russell started to squirm. "That's not possible. I was vaccinated last year and that particular one is good for five years."
"Ms Vasquez, I really have no idea how you contracted the disease," Russell said dismissively, "but even you should know that these vaccines aren't always one hundred percent proof. Perhaps the effect was lessened by your prolonged exposure to the alien creatures."
"The ones that don't exist?" Vasquez sneered.
Russell's expression didn't change, didn't even flicker. "Quite. I'm glad you're getting the hang of it."
"You listen to me, culo." Vasquez gripped the lapels of Russell's expensive suit and yanked him forward. "One of my closest friends is lying dead on that hellworld with his face melted and I am not going to sit back and pretend that he died through some kind of fucking mistake! Am I coming through?"
"Loud and clear." Russell gripped Vasquez' wrists and prised her hands off his clothes. As soon as he released her, the smartgun operator stepped back, wiping her hands on her top as if she'd been handling something particularly nasty. Seemingly oblivious, Russell continued.
"If you persist in this scaremongering, you leave me no choice but to sequester you. You may not leave your corridor again until you have learned the difference between fantasy and reality."
"I do. You're the one who seems to have trouble getting your head around that concept." Vasquez shook her head. "Company men, they all seem to have more appendages than brain cells."
Russell stood, his patience finally at an end. "This interview is over!"
"Good."
"Under the circumstances, you will be permitted to continue living in the apartment we have so generously provided you with, however."
Vasquez looked straight into his eyes, but saw no trace of sarcasm. The man was either a really good actor, or he genuinely believed what he was saying.
"There's usually a silver lining to any cloud, after all," he added. "There's good in everything if you look for it."
"Oh yeah, that reminds me," Vasquez said, eyeing him through slitted eyes. "Your proctologist just called. He said to tell you he found your head." She got to her feet, turned and strode to the door.
"This isn't over yet!"
Vasquez didn't turn around. "You're right. It's hardly started."
She strode back to the corridor, not looking back to see if that asshole McDermott was following. She supposed she'd have to answer for what had happened to the security guards, but that didn't worry her. If she was expendable, they wouldn't waste a good apartment on her... and fair's fair, they may have imprisoned her, but at least they'd imprisoned her in luxury.
Once back inside, she went through the apartment systematically, not stopping until she'd found and smashed every single camera in the place. Feeling a little better for that, she flopped down on the couch and picked up the TV guide. Not much on, except a horror movie starting in ten minutes.
Since Acheron, Vasquez usually avoided horror movies, or at least all the ones involving the classic human vs alien storyline. This one looked entertaining enough though; something about the Antichrist at a military academy. If nothing else, it should be interesting...
The buzzer went, dragging Vasquez out of a rare good sleep and she grated her way through a stream of curses that would make a sergeant major blush before forcing her eyes open a crack. It took her a few minutes to work out what had happened; she'd fallen asleep on the couch. Glancing up blearily she saw that the horror movie had given way to some kind of late night chat show.
The buzzer sounded again. Vasquez groaned, then rolled off the couch to land unceremoniously on the floor - it took far less energy than trying to stand - and wearily pulled herself towards the door, not getting up until she was ready to open it.
"McDermott, I told you to-" Vasquez began angrily, before catching sight of her visitor and, for the first time in her life, drying up completely.
"V-Vasquez?"
Vasquez stared. "You?"
Newt hadn't expected a particularly good reception; although she'd made friends with most of the Marines, Vasquez and Drake were two who had almost made a point of ignoring her. But still...any port in a storm. Oddly enough, the less-than-friendly welcome didn't really worry her. Vasquez would probably want to offload her onto Hicks as soon as possible, which suited Newt just fine. The hardest part was going to be convincing Vasquez to shelter her in the first place.
"Uh. Can I come in?" she tried.
"No," Vasquez said, too wrong-footed to soften the blow. "Where's Hicks? Isn't he with you?"
Newt bit her lip. "I'll tell you if I can come in," she bargained quickly.
For a minute Vasquez seriously considered slamming the door in the girl's face, then her curiosity got the better of her and she stepped back without a word, allowing the child in.
"Wow!" Newt looked around in childish awe. "This place is great!"
"Did you come here just to talk about interior decorating?" Vasquez demanded. "If you did, you can get out again; I'm tired."
"N-no, I didn't. I..." Newt's voice trailed off. "I want to find Hicks."
"I'm not stopping you."
"I need your help."
There. She'd said it.
Vasquez snorted. "And you think you're gonna get it? Dream on."
"'S jus'...I think we were brought here by the same people."
Vasquez, whose hand was about to open the door to show-or throw-the kid out, hesitated. If that was true, then it seemed a whole new can of worms had just been opened. A can of worms with the words Weyland-Yutani written on the label, no less.
"What makes you think that?"
Newt shrugged. "Jus' do. I mean, we're both here, aren't we? There must be millions of places in the galaxy but we're both in this one."
The word 'coincidence' screamed up Vasquez' throat until it reached her mouth, where the sheer enormity of the lie forced it to evaporate. "Even if that's true," she said instead, suspicion in her gaze, "why would you come to me?"
"I...uh..." Newt shifted from foot to foot. "C'n I sit down? Please?"
Vasquez regarded her through unfathomable eyes before saying, "Go ahead."
Newt perched on the edge of the sofa, clearly unwilling to relax yet. "I was wondering... maybe, if you don't mind... if I could wait with you until Hicks finds me? Please?"
Vasquez could almost hear the clang as her jaw dropped open. "What?" she said hoarsely.
Newt met her gaze pleadingly, eyes brimming and fixed on the smartgun operator in mute appeal. For a good few minutes, Vasquez just stood and stared. This was due more to simple perplexity than callousness; she honestly had no idea how to proceed. There were some situations that military training just didn't prepare you for, and standing in a penthouse-sized prison cell while a six-year-old tried not to burst into tears on your couch was pretty high on that list.
The smartgun operator wasn't in the least interested in helping Newt for compassionate reasons, but on a subconscious level she knew that the girl was a survivor, and Vasquez respected that... not to mention the little fact that she happened to owe Newt her life. Besides, it would irritate the shit out of Russell.
"Alright," she said abruptly.
Newt glanced up. "W-what?"
"I said alright." Vasquez glanced away to the side, then back at Newt. "You want to stay, you can stay."
"You promise?"
"Yeah, whatever," Vasquez said dismissively, who never promised anything unless there were at least three backup clauses and two witnesses.
The expression of numb relief on Newt's face had next to no effect except to make Vasquez wonder just what the hell was going on.
"Thanks. Thanks so much. I...I really..."
Vasquez held up a curt hand. "Stop right there before you embarrass yourself and let's get one or two things straight. I'm not here to play happy families with you, kid. You can squat here until Hicks shows up and hopefully gets both of us out of here. There's a spare room in there you can use and you can share what's in the kitchen so long as you don't go ape shit. Other than that, stay out of my way. Alright?"
Newt nodded, already half asleep. Vasquez wasn't sure if she'd even heard. Well. If she had problems, the smartgun operator would be only too happy to refresh her memory. She started towards her room, then paused.
"And another thing-" she began, but Newt was already asleep, huddled on the sofa and seemingly dead to the world.
Vasquez glanced down at her, then walked slightly jerkily into the spare room, pulled a couple of blankets off the bed and returned to the living room, deposited the blankets unceremoniously on top of Newt, turned on her heel and walked briskly into her own room before Newt - who had jerked awake - had registered the act and had time to thank her.
Why the hell did I bother with that? Vasquez wondered, inwardly furious with herself. She wouldn't freeze.
No, another voice inside her whispered, but she might catch a cold, and then you'd wind up playing nursemaid. Vasquez nodded slightly in the darkness. Yes. That was it. That was the reason. It had nothing to do with her going soft on the kid at all. Not that she was, of course, even if it might look like that.
The smartgun operator groaned inwardly and really, really hoped that the securcams hadn't been fixed in time for anyone to watch her little slip.
The small bar was remarkable for many reasons. Painted an eye-smarting shade of magenta, it was the only building of its kind along the popular forest trek and consequently did a roaring trade. The trail was always a lot further than most people thought and after at least three days sleeping rough with the insects and forest scorpions, most were only too happy to pay for a meal there.
Tirand was a camper's paradise. There were no cities as such; just scattered hamlets here and there, and one town with a single-screen cinema. It meant you had to wait about eighteen months to get the newest movies, but it also meant you had a basically pollutant-free lifestyle, free from the trappings of civilisation.
At least, until you stepped into the bar, which not only had three TV screens and a radio/stereo system but six computers in a back room, all with internet access. It was really amazing how little time people could go without checking emails at least once...or in the case of a certain comtech, playing Quake Arena online.
Hudson didn't know what had happened to the others; they'd lost touch after returning from Acheron, and it hadn't been until he'd overheard a conversation between three campers about the guy who'd jump-started their dropship that he'd managed to track Hicks down.
Although he wouldn't really admit it, Hudson was seriously looking forward to seeing him again. Dietrich was interesting to be with but her company got seriously wearing after the first week or so. They weren't actually an item, but Hudson had yet to find a better business partner than Dietrich. Before Acheron, Frost had once remarked that Dietrich probably had a bright future in front of her as a lawyer or secretary. He'd had to run quite fast after saying it but, Hudson thought while languidly polishing a glass, it was pretty appropriate.
He looked around at that evening's group of customers. That was one reason he and Dietrich had picked this spot; you got more people coming by from all places and walks of life than at a colony emigration fair. There were a few regulars, although not many. The bar was too far off the beaten track for most people to trek over there on a daily basis; the food wasn't that good. Most of its clientele (and there were plenty) were hikers or nature-lovers, looking for somewhere to stay before continuing with their trek up the mountain.
Hudson had done it once, just to see what all the fuss was about. Even though he still kept himself in excellent shape, it had taken him eighteen hours just to get there.
He'd worked it out. People who are just starting on a trek don't usually spend nights in beds; they see it as too soft. But once they're getting towards the end, after three days' hard hiking and camping, most of them at least wanted a decent meal...and, Hudson thought with a grin, Dietrich's trick of leaving the kitchen windows open and using fans to waft the smell outside didn't hurt either. Not to mention there were usually some people who got injured in some way or another, and since there were next to no medical facilities for two hundred kilometres all around, Dietrich made a pretty good living out of being the only medtech.
Right now the medtech in question was sat down with her feet propped on a spare bar stool, idly filing her nails and enjoying a free ten minutes.
"You're sure he said today, right?" she said.
"I'm sure," Hudson said automatically.
"What time?"
The comtech closed his eyes slowly, as if the action was physically painful, then without opening them said, "That is the fourteenth time in as many minutes you've asked me that question, Cyn, and for the fourteenth time I'm telling you; I don't fucking know!"
Dietrich rolled her eyes and didn't answer. The heat was making her more irritable than usual; they were due for a storm any time now.
The door clicked open softly. People glanced around to see who it was, then went back to their respective drinks.
Behind Hudson, a voice said steadily, "So this is where you've been hiding all this time."
Hudson froze in mid-motion, a slow grin seeping across his face.
"Dwayne?" he said.
"The same."
Hudson turned, the grin now threatening to split his face in two.
"You found this place, then?"
"A bright pink roof in a green forest?" Hicks shook his head. "Those camouflage exercises just bounced right off you, didn't they, Will?"
"We get most of our customers that way," Dietrich said casually.
"Hey, a place like this, we don't want to hide it." Hudson looked at the glass in his hand, decided it was clean enough and dumped it on a shelf. "So. What can I get you?"
"Something strong," Hicks said tonelessly. "And alcoholic."
"Good choice." Hudson ducked under the bar before emerging with a white bottle, pouring a kind of rose coloured wine into a shot glass.
"What's that?"
"Local firewater. Fair warning though; the stuff's got a kick like a fucking mule." Hudson paused. "You want anything to eat?" he added. "We got a delivery due in soon but we can still get you pretty much anything."
Hicks blinked.
"You two are cooking?"
Dietrich snorted.
"As if! Nah, it's done by a kind of android-computer hybrid. Pretty bog-standard apparently."
Hicks raised his eyebrows.
"And this is your idea of home-cooked meals?" He nodded back towards the sign outside.
"Yeah? So?" Hudson said. "It doesn't say human-cooked meals."
Hicks shook his head, amused in spite of himself.
"You could've tried it."
Dietrich's eyebrows shot up.
"Oh, leave it out, Dwayne, we wanted to be in with at least half a chance of making this a success! Don't you remember what happened last time Will tried to cook?"
"Hey man, there ain't nothing in the known universe can equal my culinary skills," Hudson protested.
"I'm damn sure there isn't," Dietrich said acerbically. "I'm only too glad I don't have to experience them."
"Ha. Fucking. Ha," Hudson informed her haughtily, then turned back to Hicks. "So how are the others? Have you seen 'em?"
Hicks forced a smile onto his face.
"Good enough, I guess. Spunkmeyer's currently enjoying life as possibly the only retired seventeen-year-old who's claiming a pension from the Corps. I don't really know about Apone; I think he's working as a fitness instructor."
Hudson gawped at him for a few minutes, then howled with laughter.
"Oh man, I feel sorry for the poor suckers who get the sarge as a personal trainer."
"Yeah." Hicks tried vainly to laugh along, but gave it up as a bad job after a couple of seconds.
"Hey man, what's up?" Hudson said.
Hicks hesitated, then took a deep breath.
"Newt's gone."
Hudson and Dietrich exchanged looks.
"Gone as in...?" Hudson prompted, as delicately as he could.
"As in vanished, alright!?" Hicks looked at the drink as if he wasn't sure how it had got there, then tossed it back in one gulp.
The other two exchanged another look. Ripley's death had hit Hicks and Newt probably harder than any of the others, and the two of them had formed a bond. There had been no doubt at all about who Newt would end up staying with.
"Oh man, I'm sorry," Hudson said at last.
Dietrich glanced from one to the other, frowning slightly.
"She didn't run away or anyth-OW! Jesus, Will, that hurt!"
"Then keep your fucking mouth shut until you can at least say something helpful!" Hudson shot back. Dietrich wasn't spiteful as such, but she had a tactlessness that was occasionally refreshing, but mostly just annoying.
Glancing around, more to avoid having to see the haggard expression on Hicks' face, the comtech caught sight of about the only permanent regular the place ever attracted.
Hudson had given up trying to find out about Ruin. She didn't cause trouble, she always paid and she also functioned as a kind of freelance security guard. Ruin liked to be left in peace while eating or drinking, and that included people not starting fights around her. The few who had tried had had nine kinds of shit kicked out of them and been thrown out so fast that Hudson hadn't even had time to get around the other side of the bar.
The comtech smirked slightly, remembering. He'd spoken to her about that, said that if she ever did it again he'd have to kick her out and could she try and behave like a pacifist in future? And speaking of futures, he wasn't saying this, but if she could come back every evening he'd do his best to send her a free drink, only don't tell Dietrich or she'd do her nut. He wasn't entirely sure if she kept coming back because of the free drinks or because she actually liked the place, and he hadn't quite plucked up the courage to ask yet. He did know that she usually pointed lost travellers in his direction though; one time when she'd vanished for a couple of weeks, the number of customers in the bar had dropped by a third.
"What are you-" Dietrich began, then shook her head. "Forget it, Will!"
Hicks glanced at her.
"What?" He followed the comtech's gaze. "Who's that?"
Dietrich rolled her eyes and lowered her voice.
"Your guess is as good as ours. She calls herself Ruin for some reason, just shows up and sits there making one drink last for hours."
"She also makes sure most people who come this way spend money in here," Hudson pointed out with no real severity. Hicks recognised the litany of a well-worn argument about to get started and cleared his throat pointedly.
"What's she got to do with this?"
"Hey man, there's nothing she don't know about," Hudson protested. Hicks met his gaze squarely.
"Nothing?" he said quietly, glancing pointedly at the wrapping Hudson still insisted on wearing to hide the acid scars on his arm.
"She sees and talks to just about everyone who comes in here," the comtech said, although he dropped his gaze. "Might be worth an ask. I mean, what've you got to lose?"
Hicks glanced over at Ruin again. She was attractive in a kind of masculine way, a little like a finer built version of Vasquez. Even on the other side of the room, there was a self-assurance about her that was like a cat, as though she'd come through the worst life had to throw at her and was still alive.
How little you know, Hicks thought grimly.
"Why should she help me?" he said.
"Dunno," Hudson answered, not very helpfully. "But like I said, what've you got to lose?"
Hicks glanced from him to Dietrich and back to the comtech again, and gave in.
"Alright. Fine. But at least give me another drink."
"Coming right up."
Hicks groaned aloud.
"How long have you been waiting to use that line?"
Hudson rolled his eyes as he refilled Hicks' glass.
"Just go! She doesn't bite. And here-" he grabbed a carton of fruit juice from under the bar "-take that with you; she's almost finished her drink and then you'll never catch her."
"Will-" Dietrich began resignedly.
"Cyn, if you're gonna quibble over a fucking drink at a time like this, you can save it!" Hudson cut across sharply.
"It's not that; it's just that's the last carton we have, and deliveries aren't due for another week. What d'you think she's gonna do without her free drink?" Dietrich added, rather sourly.
"We can worry about that when it happens."
"It just did!"
"Should I take the goddamned drink or not?" Hicks said irritably.
"Yeah." Hudson shoved it into the older man's hand. "It's about the only way you'll get her to listen to you."
It wasn't until he was halfway across the room that the absurdity of what he was doing hit him; he was going to ask a perfect stranger for help finding a six-year-old girl and offer her a carton of juice as a...what? Peace offering? Bribe? He was still trying to puzzle that one out when he reached the table.
"You took your time coming over," Ruin said calmly, before Hicks had a chance to speak. "What do you want?"
Hicks hesitated, momentarily thrown.
"Is this seat taken?" he said. Ruin shrugged.
"Does it look taken? I don't think the people I'm waiting for are going to turn up tonight if that's what you're asking me, so go ahead and sit if you want to."
Hicks considered for a few minutes, then thought what the hell, and settled down on the chair opposite.
"I was told you could help me," he said quietly.
"By Will."
It wasn't a question. Hicks nodded.
"Yeah. Me, I'll believe it when I see it."
Ruin smiled slightly.
"Nothing like being honest, is there, Hicks?"
"No, I-how did you know my name?"
"I heard you and Will talking. What do you want?"
Hicks eyed her quietly.
"You don't know?"
"I was going to give you a chance to tell me I'm wrong." Ruin leaned back, an enigmatic gleam in her eyes. "You want to know if I've seen your kid."
Hicks started to say that Newt wasn't technically his, then thought better of it. No need to complicate matters.
"Yeah," he said instead.
"Even though you realise that trying to find one kid in all the populated worlds is like trying to find a grain of blue sand in the Sahara?"
Hicks grimaced.
"Thanks. Now I feel really optimistic."
"I just wanted to bring you back down to earth."
"Yeah, well, you've succeeded. I'm so far down I think I just hit magma. Can you do something or can't you?"
Ruin stretched leisurely.
"I don't know yet. But I'm interested enough to listen. So. Tell me more."
A few million miles away, Vasquez jerked awake, sweat sticking the sheets to her, one hand automatically pressed over her mouth to smother the scream.
Damn.
It was a strange thing to think upon awakening, and one she was at a loss to explain, but the feeling still remained that she'd been on the verge of something...there was something she'd missed somewhere. She tried to remember, then gave it up. It was like trying to remember a dream...although she didn't seem to be having much difficulty on that score since Acheron.
The smartgun operator glanced over at the small bedside table. The alarm clock sat there, its glowing numbers telling anyone who might be interested that the time was five thirty four a.m. Vasquez grimaced. Well, she might as well get up now as half an hour later. Even though she didn't seem to be officially in the USCM any more, the smartgun operator still kept to the same timetable. It was a fragile sense of security (and one that most non-Marines would probably class as borderline masochistic) but even a slender lifeline was better than none.
Taking a deep breath to try and calm her still racing heart, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat for a few minutes, running her hand through her hair with another grimace and wishing she had a set of clippers. Long enough to run her fingers through was too long, as far as she was concerned.
"Vasquez?" Newt stood in the doorway, blinking owlishly. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Vasquez said harshly, keeping her back to the girl. "Why shouldn't I be?"
"You sounded like you were having a bad dream. Were you?"
"No," Vasquez lied curtly. "Go back to sleep."
Newt looked at her for a few minutes, puzzled, then shrugged and did so.
Vasquez waited for a few minutes, making sure the kid really had gone, then walked through into the bathroom and turned the shower on full. A jet of water so powerful it was like an all-over body massage exploded out of the shower head and drenched her in under two seconds. She had to admit, the shower unit alone was almost worth the aggravation of being here.
It was another twenty minutes before she finally stepped out and towelled off, thoroughly awake but in a foul mood. That seemed to be happening even more than usual these days, and the new knowledge that she was detained at the Company's pleasure and also serving as some kind of surrogate mother to a six-year-old kid did nothing to improve her temper.
And speaking of which...
She finished getting dressed and entered the living room. Newt lay where Vasquez had left her, eyes shut a little too tightly for it to be real. Well. Let the kid pretend, if it gave her any satisfaction. At least this way Vasquez got a little more peace (and indirectly, so did Newt).
The smartgun operator opened the front door and stepped out. She hadn't been lying when she'd told Russell the corridor served as a track; she'd been using it as such ever since she'd first arrived. There was only so much stress you could burn off with weights, after all, Vasquez thought as she started off, settling into her stride almost instantly.
She hadn't gone more than a few hundred metres before she was aware of people following. They didn't sound heavy enough for security guards and besides, she was going slowly enough for any hired thugs to have caught up to her if they'd wanted to. Most probably it was just some other people out for a run.
A somewhat enigmatic gleam crept into the smartgun operator's dark eyes.
You want to run? she thought. Let's run.
Gradually, too gradually to be immediately noticeable, she picked up the pace until she was almost going flat out and had the immense satisfaction of hearing the others fall back, until there was only one left, one who continued to stay a few paces behind her as Vasquez completed the first circuit, drawing level with her place again, and then abruptly slammed on the brakes and turned.
"What?" she said irritably. "This place isn't big enough for you to exercise in private so you have to come and bug me?"
"I..." Her pursuer, a woman of about thirty with greasy black hair and a slight weight problem, bent over, coughing loudly.
"Are you alright?" Vasquez said, after about thirty seconds had gone past with no change. She really didn't want to get stuck with a dead body on her hands; life was already complicated enough.
The woman waved a hand in a gesture clearly meant to convey, yes, I'm fine, and after another ten seconds managed to straighten up.
"Yeah...'m okay...jus' get a little shorta breath sometimes." She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her pocket, drew one and lit it.
"Those things don't help," Vasquez said tersely. The woman waved a hand expressively, spilling ash all over the place and the smartgun operator drew back, not bothering to hide the disgust that flickered across her face.
"Yeah, I know, but..." She inhaled deeply and then started to really cough, a harsh, racking sound that made Vasquez' teeth itch. "'Scuse me," the stranger added as soon as she had control over her breathing again.
Strangely enough, Vasquez did, largely because she was wondering how the hell a chain smoker with an obviously pretty fucked-up set of lungs had managed to keep pace with her when the others had dropped out long ago.
"Name's Charmaine Ashton. Friends call me Char." Charmaine held out a hand that was yellow with nicotine. Vasquez simply looked at it and the older woman dropped it again, clearly unembarrassed. "I was in the crowd yesterday. I saw what you did to them guards. Well, we all did; it was all over the corridor in a few minutes. A few mates and me drew lots to see who was gonna speak to you."
"And you won," Vasquez said laconically.
"Nope; I lost."
Vasquez looked at her then, really looked at her and felt a grin threaten to spread itself across her face, a grin that was only suppressed by the equally strong urge not to get any more involved with people here than she had to.
"And...why did you want to speak to me?" she said, in an effort to cover up her momentary lapse.
"Well, you're pretty hot stuff," Charmaine said, scratching her chin with one finger, then caught sight of the expression on Vasquez' face and suddenly realised that the smartgun operator might take this the wrong way. "No, I didn't mean like that! I meant you're new around here. You might've noticed; this place ain't exactly a popular address. We don't get many new people, and we especially don't get many new people who bash the shit out of McDermott's goons."
Vasquez permitted herself a satisfied expression.
"Y'know," Charmaine went on conspiratorially, "I was wondering if I could talk to you. Privately, I mean."
Vasquez hesitated, then thought what the hell. Charmaine might be able to help her shed some light on what was going on, and besides, it wasn't like she had anything better to do.
"This way."
She pushed the front door open and stepped in, mentally adding no door locks to her list of things to worry about. She didn't like the idea that anyone who took a fancy to her place could just walk right in.
"Do you want something? Coffee? Juice? Water?"
"Coffee'd be good. I was up at five am this morning; I need a pick-me-up." As Vasquez went into the kitchen, Charmaine glanced around, interested, then her gaze fell on Newt and she blinked.
"I didn't know you had a daughter."
"What?" Vasquez said, stunned not so much by the comment as by the assumption that the blond, fair-skinned child still asleep on the couch could possibly be hers.
"What's her name?"
"Newt," Vasquez said without thinking. Charmaine's eyebrows shot up and she started coughing again.
"Sorry...newt? As in slimy lizard?"
"As in...yes. It's a nickname."
Charmaine eyed her shrewdly, accepting her mug of coffee with a thankyou.
"This wouldn't be the same girl who broke all records by getting suspended on the first day of term, would it?"
"Huh?" Vasquez stared. "What are you talking about?"
Charmaine laughed, a wheezing sound that quickly degenerated into another spasm of coughing.
"I had two boys in the same class, before the fucking Company moved us here."
Vasquez felt herself warming to this woman ever so slightly. Anyone who hated the Company couldn't be all bad.
"One of 'em said this new girl showed up one morning. She'd been put into the nearest Weyland-Yutani Care Home."
Vasquez snorted. She'd narrowly escaped a similar fate when she was younger, and felt that Newt would probably have been better off staying on Acheron.
"She'd been severely traumatised by something or other. The Company say they rescued her from a ship with a Marine on board, but that was it. Anyway, the people in charge practically had to drag her into the classroom - she was thrashing around and screaming - and then she suddenly seemed to calm down. During recess she vanished. Ben saw her climbing into an air vent. Of course, the instructor couldn't fit after her."
"Yeah, that sounds very much her style," Vasquez said wryly, glancing over at the sleeping form with a flash of something that might almost be called pride. Newt was an annoyance, but there was no denying that the kid had guts. "This Ben told the instructor?" she said suddenly.
Charmaine drew herself up, suddenly the very epitome of outrage.
"My Ben, a grass? You watch your mouth, miss! I brought him up properly, I'll have you know, brought him up to know right from wrong and he knows better than to squeal! It was some other kid."
"Right." Vasquez looked away, fighting a sudden urge to grin. "Sorry." She glanced back at Charmaine. "So why'd the Company move you?"
Charmaine took another drag on her cigarette.
"No idea. Well, actually, I have, but I don't think that was it. I, er, accidentally came across some pretty high security labs. Never saw what was in 'em, and couldn't find anything on the files either...not that I'd hack into 'em, of course..."
"Of course," Vasquez agreed, face deadpan.
"Though I found something weird, something about genetic experiments. I only got a short look before my terminal crashed and five minutes later, me and my boys were moved here without so much as a by-your-leave." Charmaine grinned, exposing yellowing teeth. "Kicked one of 'em good in the nadgers, though! He'll think twice before trying to cop a feel again."
"I'm sure," Vasquez said with unusual diplomacy, privately amazed that the older woman's appearance hadn't been enough to put anyone off, though there was something...fascinating about Charmaine. You found yourself embroiled in a conversation with her for no better reason than to see what she was going to come out with next.
There was a loud knock on the door, followed by two emphatic rings on the buzzer. Vasquez glanced at Charmaine.
"If you've-" she began sharply. The older woman held up her hands.
"Nothing to do with me, mate; swear on me gran's life. Or I would if she weren't already dead."
"Then who..." Vasquez began, then broke off as the visitor banged on the door again. "Alright, I'm coming!"
She stalked over to the door, swearing fluently and alternately in both English and Spanish before yanking it open so hard that the man who had been crouched with his ear pressed against it spilled onto the floor.
There was an awkward silence, then McDermott got to his feet.
"May I come in?"
"You're in already, ain't you?" Vasquez shrugged. "Still, my place is yours. Literally, I imagine. What do you want?"
McDermott stepped fully inside, nodded coolly to Charmaine and favoured Newt - who had been woken up by his somewhat rude entrance - with what he obviously imagined to be a friendly, paternal smile and which made him look instead as though someone had dropped an ice cube down his back and caused Vasquez to suppress a sudden urge to step between them.
Newt didn't return the smile. Smart kid, Vasquez thought wryly, she knows when she's being put on. Then again, Newt wasn't a typical six-year-old.
No longer smiling, McDermott returned his attention to the smartgun operator.
"You appear to have a talent for trouble," he said bluntly.
"That's nice," Vasquez said. "No good morning, no how are you?" She snorted. "Well, I suppose it would be too much to expect you to have learned manners since we last spoke."
"Mr Russell is very distressed about what's happened."
"He's distressed?" Vasquez said incredulously. "I have somehow been transported from Acheron to here, locked up, spied on and assaulted and you're telling me he's distressed?"
"You did not have to behave in such a belligerent manner towards him."
"No, you're right. I didn't. But hey, it was fun."
"I was referring to your, shall we say, new housemate?"
Vasquez blinked.
"The kid?"
"The...kid, yes. You are aware that she went missing from an approved care home two nights ago?"
"No."
"Ah." McDermott looked supremely satisfied.
"But I am now," Vasquez added. "Was that all?"
The man's face dropped like a lead balloon.
"Well...I had hoped...the people in charge were hoping for her return. They've been very worried about her."
"Then why didn't they come themselves?"
"This area is off-limits to most people without the correct authority. Even Mr Russell wouldn't be permitted to enter."
"Well, thank Christ for small favours," Vasquez muttered, not quite under her breath. "So how come you are?"
"I work in a different department. Then again, Mr Russell is a stand-in only; the man usually doing his job is currently on leave." McDermott made to sit down on the couch but, as if she hadn't seen him, Vasquez casually swung her legs up, stretching out to fill the whole space. The man stiffened.
"If you persist in acting so childishly, I will be forced to-"
"I'm sorry," Vasquez cut in, acidly sweet, "did you want to sit down? Only I can't remember offering you a seat and you didn't ask for one."
"This false bravado is doing you no favours."
"Who said it was false?" Faster than McDermott could follow, the smartgun operator was on her feet and in his face, no longer smiling. "Let me tell you something; I've dealt on a regular basis with people who would chew you up and spit you out, and I've gone in against things you couldn't imagine in your worst nightmares and come out again pretty much in one piece. After all I've seen and done, you don't impress me much."
"I don't care about impressing anyone," McDermott said coldly, not flinching. "I am here to request the child be given back into our care. Any attempt to refuse would be treated most severely."
Vasquez snorted derisively.
"What're you gonna do, take away my TV privileges?"
"If you persist in this awkwardness, I can guarantee you will find yourself in a vast amount of trouble."
"News flash; you have locked me up, officially killed me and branded me a liar. How much more trouble is there?" Vasquez shook her head. "You want to talk? Come back when you can do it without resorting to cheap, melodramatic threats."
"I have reason to believe the child in question is in dire need of psychological analysis, based on her wild and antisocial behaviour. This is no idle comment either; I have personal experience of her actions."
Vasquez turned to Newt with raised eyebrows.
"Let me guess; you bit him."
Newt squirmed under the woman's piercing stare.
"Only a coupla times."
"Really? Why'd you stop there?" Vasquez said bluntly.
It was clear on McDermott's face that he wasn't sure exactly where he'd lost control of this conversation, and he made a valiant effort to regain it.
"Your seeming approval of such unruly behaviour is the main reason why you cannot be considered a legal guardian for this child."
Vasquez' coffee sprayed across the room.
"What?" she and Newt said simultaneously. It was hard to say who looked more scandalised.
Vasquez continued. "Hey, I'm not interested in making this permanent! Far as I'm concerned, she's just squatting with me until Hicks shows up to claim her."
"Corporal Hicks was killed in a freak accident three days ago."
Newt gasped, the blood draining from her face. Vasquez didn't even look over at her.
"Liar," she said. It wasn't accusatory or even particularly angry; it was a simple statement of fact delivered in a calm tone that was somehow worse than if she'd screamed it.
"Ms Vasquez, if you-"
"Shit," Vasquez interrupted, "anyone who comes in here and accuses me of kidnapping after locking me up in a top-security penthouse without giving me any explanations might as well go right ahead and call me Vaz. Russell said yesterday he was looking for Hicks and wanted him brought in for questioning. Unless he was planning to bring in a medium, he wouldn't have bothered with that if the guy was dead."
McDermott sighed wearily.
"You are making this far harder than it needs to be, Ms Vasquez. If you persist in this stupidity, I will be forced to bring in security guards next time."
Vasquez raised cynical eyebrows.
"Why? I haven't attacked you...yet," she couldn't resist adding.
"Respect? I have nothing but the utmost respect for you-"
"Me?" Vasquez interrupted. "Or my ability to knock your teeth so far down your fucking neck you'll be able to give yourself a blowjob?"
McDermott got to his feet with an air of finality.
"From what I've heard, you'd be the expert on such things, wouldn't you?"
If he expected the smartgun operator to be upset by his taunt, he was sadly disappointed. Vasquez merely smirked.
"What? Sorry man, you're about six years too late."
"I'm putting you under house arrest."
"And this is going to make a difference to me...how?"
"You know what's involved. You may not leave the house under any circumstances, barring emergency evacuation. Once I see you're willing to behave in a more civilised and mature fashion, maybe we'll be prepared to treat you like an adult."
Vasquez snorted.
"I'm not holding my breath." She sat back down again, watching the TV, feigning interest in the game show there. "Front door's over there. Don't let it hit you on the way out." She shrugged. "Or do; I'm not picky. Either way, I won't have to listen to any more of your bitching; you whine more than Hudson, and that's saying something."
The man glared at her, a glare that had about as much effect on Vasquez as a single snowflake on a polar bear. Then... It should theoretically be impossible to stomp away in a dignified manner, but McDermott somehow managed it.
"You shouldn't've done that," Charmaine said. "You'll pay for it later; he'll make sure of it."
"I hope so," Vasquez said bitingly. "I feel like a fucking mushroom right about now; I'm currently living in the dark and getting shit thrown on me at regular intervals."
"Vasquez?" Newt said curiously.
"What?"
"What's a blowjob?"
Vasquez opened her mouth, then closed it again after a few seconds. Charmaine sniggered.
"Yeah, go on, Vasquez, explain."
Vasquez shot Charmaine a you're-not-helping! look and cast about rapidly for something to say.
"It's. Well, it's. Uh. See, when two people get together and. Um. It's sort of..."
"Adult stuff?"
"Yes." Vasquez grasped the out with both hands and more than a little relief. "It's, uh, adult stuff."
Charmaine snickered quietly.
"Alright." Vasquez took a gulp of coffee and almost immediately felt a little more human. "What the fuck's going on here?"