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"Some friend you are," Hicks muttered.

Hudson rolled his eyes.

"Dwayne, for the last time, I am not going to go against Ruin! I'm sorry she threw you into the wall, but you did get in her way." Hudson paused in the middle of pulling a pint. "And she was right, as well," he added. "They don't know Ruin; once Dan gets her there, the Company won't suspect her of looking for Newt."

Hicks frowned, his train of thought twitching onto a different line.

"How's she going to convince Dan to fly her there, anyway?" he said.

"Maybe she thinks she can offer him a date," Hudson said, smirking. "I know I wouldn't say no. What?" This was to Dietrich, who had kicked him on the ankle. "I want a little action. You've already got your guy."

"You do?" Hicks said, glancing at Dietrich.

"You don't have to sound quite so surprised," Dietrich said, frost dripping off every word.

"She's had a few dates with a guy who works the vid rental," Hudson offered helpfully.

"Actually, I'm thinking of kicking him to touch," Dietrich added lazily. "He's gotten so boring lately."

"Anyway," Hudson added, "maybe that's Ruin's angle. She can't be too much older than Spunkmeyer. I think he'd be pretty interested."

"What, now?" Dietrich said sceptically. "So soon after Ferro kicked the bucket?"

The other two were silent. It had been fairly common knowledge that Spunkmeyer had had a crush on Ferro, who had been both amused and exasperated by this in turn.

Hudson shrugged, breaking the moment.

"Gotta be worth a try."

"Yeah," Hicks said eventually, "but you're forgetting one thing. This is the guy who's refused point blank to even ride in another shuttle, much less fly one. He requested the strongest sedatives available for his flight to New Charlottetown and supposedly spent the whole journey in his cabin until they finally relented and let him rent a spare stasis pod."

Hudson shrugged again. "Ruin has her ways." He paused. "Though I guess I'd like to know exactly what she did offer him."

"Ruin is a very strange person," Hicks said bitingly. "For all we know, she dug something up on Dan and threatened him with blackmail."

"She may be strange, but she's helping you," Hudson pointed out.

"Yeah. But she didn't seem too surprised when I asked her. She said, and I quote, you need me, Hicks, and have done ever since I first saw you." Hicks frowned as this sank in for the first time. "How did she know my name?"

Hudson blinked, momentarily thrown.

"Say what?"

"Ruin. How did she know my name?"

The comtech shrugged, polishing another glass. It didn't really need polishing but Hudson was determined to act like a barman even if what he had wasn't strictly a bar, and barmen polished glasses when they weren't fixing drinks.

"She musta heard me use it when you showed up."

"The whole goddamned planet heard you when Dwayne showed up," Dietrich muttered, not quite under her breath.

Hicks shook his head.

"You've only ever used my first name since I got here. Ruin called me Hicks. And I'm damn sure I'd have remembered meeting her before." He paused. "So how did she know?"

Hudson raised his eyebrows.

"How does Ruin know anything? I've no fucking idea, and that's the truth. So long as she finds the kid, does it matter?"

Hicks didn't answer. He had the nagging feeling that yes, it did matter very much, although for the life of him he couldn't think why.




The queen tilted her huge head very slightly to one side. She hadn't moved; either she was too nervous of leaving her eggs or she didn't consider Vasquez a threat.

Of course, the smartgun operator thought bitterly, she doesn't even have to move. The room was small enough for the queen to decapitate Vasquez with a single swipe of one hand. The thought that the creature might feel threatened by her was laughable.

Glancing around, she caught sight of a securcam mounted on the wall and briefly considered waving to try and attract help.

Yeah, right. Go ahead. Then try and explain what the fuck you're doing here, if they even send anyone down to help you at all. Face it; you're on your own for this one.

Vasquez remembered Operations, when Hudson had suggested the idea of the aliens having a queen. She'd never seen such a creature on Acheron itself, but it had made a strange kind of sense. The smartgun operator backed off slowly, never taking her eyes off the queen, not stopping until her back hit the wall.

There was a slurping sound as the swollen ovipositor attached to the queen's belly deposited another egg, wet with mucus.

Eggs. Vasquez hadn't noticed them immediately; the queen's presence had driven such subtleties from her mind. Now, though, she wondered how she could have missed them. There were at least thirty in the room; thirty-one, including the one that had just been laid.

Okay. Great. So the big one's not going to kill you straight off. Now, what are you going to do about all the little ones?

Next to her, an egg creaked open. Vasquez knew better than to take a look inside; instead she looked up to the airduct.

Nothing. It was a sheer vertical drop, too high and too far for her to climb back up. There was a door but it was directly behind the queen, and Vasquez didn't fancy her chances at getting to it. Not to mention it was most probably locked.

Well, you thought the Company were breeding aliens. You thought they'd found them before Ripley ever got back.

Don't you just hate it when you're right, Vaz?

There was a scratching sound as the facehugger emerged. It moved slowly at first, almost as if afraid to leave the safety of its egg, then gathered itself together and leapt. Vasquez dropped to the ground reflexively, feeling the facehugger's tail drag along her shoulder as it passed over her, and made her decision. Even getting eviscerated by the queen would be better than a chestburster.

The smartgun operator crawled forward rapidly on her belly, squirming among the eggs, trying not to think about the facehugger that was undoubtedly scuttling towards her.

Something landed on her shoulders, something small and multilegged. Vasquez twisted around, one hand up to protect her face, the other over her throat as the facehugger thrashed wildly, trying to get a hold. Acid saliva, not as toxic as the blood but still corrosive enough to do some serious damage, burned into her palm.

The smartgun operator gritted her teeth, told herself that she was not going to die, at least, not like this, and somehow managed to find the strength to hurl the creature away from her, staggering to her feet, barely aware of the stinging pain in her hand.

There was a whip like sound as the creature leapt towards her for another attack, followed by another, far more welcome sound; that of gunfire. The facehugger exploded in a shower of acid, causing Vasquez to duck backwards and the queen to set up an enraged screeching that set the smartgun operator's teeth on edge. Dimly, she registered that the door behind the queen was now open, framing her rescuer.

"Come on, move! Get out of there!"

Vasquez didn't waste time arguing. The queen had twisted her head around to view this new threat, and the smartgun operator was on her feet and running past her blind side before the creature's attention shifted again. Something clipped her on the shoulder, a slight brush of air, but Vasquez had ducked under the queen's bloated abdomen, rolled and literally thrown herself through the door into the man there, knocking them both flying.

"Shut the goddamned door!"

A faint surge of irritation coursed through Vasquez; who the fuck did this guy think he was, prancing in and giving her orders?

The guy who also happened to prance in and save your ass, something inside her whispered, and besides, don't you think it's a little stupid to argue leadership when you're about a nanosecond away from being bug food?

Vasquez rolled off the man, leapt to her feet and slammed one hand onto the mechanism, causing the door to whine shut, then turned to face her rescuer properly and took a deep breath.

"Thanks." It was harder to say that than she'd thought; thanking people wasn't something she'd had a lot of practice in.

"Welcome." The man got to his feet, brushing himself off, and Vasquez noticed for the first time that he carried himself like someone who was not only physically fit, but who knew how to use that fitness. Like a soldier.

Like a Marine.

"And next time you decide to play chicken with an alien queen, ma'am," the stranger continued, "you might want to take some kind of weapon along. They're bastards when they're cornered."

Vasquez stiffened, her pride stung. "They're bastards at any time," she informed him caustically, "and don't you dare try to fucking tell me otherwise!"

"I wasn't going to. In fact I..." The man turned around to look at her fully for the first time, and the colour drained from his face.

"Well?" Vasquez demanded irritably, after about a minute had passed. "Are you gonna say something or stand there staring at me? Because I have to get back. And I mean now."

When he still didn't answer, she shrugged and strode past him. He'd saved her life, but that didn't mean she had to chat with him. She'd got about halfway down the corridor before he spoke again, hoarsely this time.

"Vasquez?"

The smartgun operator stopped in her tracks and spun around, alarm warring with curiosity. If he was one of McDermott's lackeys...

He half turned, wearing the expression of someone who's desperately trying to stop his house of cards from tumbling down.

"Is it really you?"

Vasquez stared hard at him, memory beginning to surface for the first time, and felt her own house of cards start to collapse.

"Gorman?"

They continued to stare at each other then, neither willing to risk breaking the spell by saying anything.

"They told me you were dead," Gorman said eventually. He was still wearing an expression which said he seriously doubted his own sanity.

"They told me you were," Vasquez answered.

There was a beat of silence before Gorman said, "And the others?"

More silence.

"I haven't seen them."

A third silence. Vasquez got the distinct impression that Gorman didn't want to be the first to break it and she fixed him with a shrewd look. "You know, I never thought I could be pleased to see an officer," she said bluntly. "Least of all you."

The lieutenant managed a tired smile. "I never thought I could be pleased to see you either."

Vasquez continued to study him intently. He looked even worse than she felt, like he hadn't slept or eaten in weeks, but that was only part of it. There was something in him...he looked almost desolate.

"Where are you living?" Gorman said. His tone didn't have the brisk, military academy spin that Vasquez was used to hearing either.

The smartgun operator snorted. "Living? I'm a prisoner in a luxury apartment, courtesy of the fucking Company."

Gorman smiled again, and Vasquez finally managed to pin down what was bothering her about him. He didn't just look haggard, he looked old, as though he'd aged twenty years in the few months they'd been back.

"I've been locked in a four by six cell ever since we got back. I think you got the better end of the deal."

"Yeah?" Vasquez snorted again. "Well, at least you didn't have to share it with anyone."

"What?" Interest flamed in Gorman's eyes. "Who else is with you? Hicks? Hudson?"

"Don't I wish," Vasquez muttered. "No. I've got landed with the Newt."

"Newt?" The lieutenant's brow creased as he tried to think of a face to connect to the name. "Newt?"

Vasquez shot him a look that verged on the suspicious. "You remember; the brat Ripley dragged out of the airducts."

Gorman's face cleared. "Oh, that Newt."

"Of course that Newt! How many Newts do you know?" Vasquez paused as something sank in. "Ripley. Where's-"

Gorman was already shaking his head. "She's dead."

Vasquez narrowed her eyes. "You thought I was this morning."

"The operative word being thought; I hadn't seen your body. I saw hers, though. The chest was...well, you know."

The smartgun operator felt her throat tighten. She couldn't honestly say that she'd liked Ripley, although she'd respected the older woman, but nobody, nobody deserved to die like that.

"Did you see any others?" she asked, as they started walking down the corridor.

Gorman shook his head. "No. There was just you, me and Ripley here. Now there's just you and me. Guess what the next step is?" They approached an intersection and Gorman slowed down slightly. "How do we get back?"

Vasquez glanced at him sharply. "We?"

"Look." Gorman shot a look over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being watched, then lowered his voice anyway. It never hurt to play it safe. "Let's get one thing straight. I am not going back there, back to the facehugger that is undoubtedly waiting for me even as we speak." He started walking, and Vasquez moved to keep up, both of them trying to avoid being noticed.

"I only have two beds," Vasquez said flatly.

"I'll sleep on the couch. Or on the floor. Or in the bath or the kitchen or...hell, I don't give a shit if you stuff me in your closet." Gorman put on a burst of speed and drew in front of the smartgun operator, then swung around to face her. "I don't think a roof is too much to ask after what just happened."

There was no arguing with that, Vasquez admitted. Besides, even Gorman had to be better company than Newt, and at least she could trust him not to brand her insane.

"Alright. Wherever it is, it's heavily guarded. We just need to find the most security shits and work from there."

"Are you insane?" Gorman seized hold of Vasquez' shoulders, arresting her movement. "I have spent every day since we got back in the company of security shits, as you call them, and I can safely say I don't want to see any more as long as I live!"

"Yeah?" Vasquez broke his hold expertly and without really thinking about it. "And how long's that gonna be once the fucking Company decides you're more trouble than you're worth?"

"They decided that some time ago. Why do you think I'm out here? I heard them talking about how they'd got all they needed from me, so all I was good for was impregnation." Gorman paused. "I decided not to wait around for that," he added with delicate sarcasm. "When they took me into the corridor leading to the lab, I managed to get free and escape."

Vasquez raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "What, you've just been wandering around pretending to be a medtech or something? You faint at the sight of fucking blood!"

"That was never proved!" Gorman took one or two deep breaths, then shook his head wryly. "Actually, I took a leaf out of the kid's book. I've been hiding in the ventilation shafts. Then I happened to hear them talking about the queen and thought if I could find her, maybe I could do something." He leaned against the wall. "It took me another two days of spying on people before I could find out where they were keeping her, then I managed to sneak in and got there about the same time you did. You know the rest."

"Yeah," Vasquez muttered. "Though I have trouble believing it." She shook her head. "I should have brought the fucking pulse rifle," Gorman heard her mutter, and his interest quickened.

"You have a pulse rifle?"

"Yeah. For what good it'll do me back in the fucking cell." Vasquez knew it would have made no difference, that the guards would have shot her on sight if they'd seen her carrying a weapon, but that didn't help shake the feeling that there must have been a way around that.

"You're injured," Gorman said suddenly.

"I twisted my ankle," Vasquez said dismissively. "It'll heal."

"That wasn't what I meant." Seeing the smartgun operator's look, the lieutenant nodded towards her arm.

The queen's talons had been so sharp, and the smartgun operator had been so high on adrenaline that she hadn't even been aware of the gouges until now. Blood had dribbled down, crusting her arm and hand in an interesting pattern.

"We'll need to get that cleaned up," Gorman said. "There's no telling what kind of toxic bacteria or diseases those bastards have. For now, though..." He tore a strip off his shirt. "Hold out your arm."

Vasquez jerked away. "I can apply my own field dressing, thank you so very fucking much."

Gorman rolled his eyes.

"Yes, alright, I take your point and I'm sure grunts, Latinas and feminists everywhere are proud of you! Now you can take mine; we don't have much time and it'll be quicker to let me do it than to fumble around one handed on your own."

"We don't have time for either of us to screw around," Vasquez said acerbically. "It can wait until we-"

"Give me your arm right now, Marine! That's an order!"

Training brought the smartgun operator's arm up and out before her brain fully registered the words and weighed in with the staggering fact that it had been someone like lieutenant Gorman who had spoken them.

"You..." she began, as Gorman wound the makeshift bandage around her arm.

"They don't approve of officers barking like sergeants," Gorman said matter-of-factly, "but I still say it's a useful skill."

Vasquez eyed him narrowly. "Yeah. If you'd been as decisive on Acheron, maybe we wouldn't be in this shit."

"You think not?" Gorman finished the dressing. "Think again. We were set up. Weyland-Yutani knew damn well what had happened to that colony."

"Then why send us?"

Gorman made a guttural noise of exasperation. "Do we have to discuss this right here and right now? In case it escaped your notice, neither of us are supposed to be here! People are undoubtedly closing in on our location even as we speak and if we're caught there'll be no time for explanations of any kind!"

"What?" Vasquez said flatly. Gorman rolled his eyes.

"If we stay here much longer, we're screwed!"

"At last, you're talking in English." The smartgun operator strode away, still limping slightly, and Gorman hurried to keep up.

"How long is it going to take to get back to your place?"

"No fucking idea. Why?"

Gorman closed his eyes and counted to ten, then without opening them or parting his teeth, said, "Because we'll need to change that bandage in an hour or so. You're bleeding right through it. And I would like some reassurance that we're not going to be wandering around long enough for me to finish my shirt and have to start on my pants."

Vasquez eyed the bandage speculatively, then the shirt it had come from.

"There's enough of it."

"Yeah, I know. I had to jump a civilian almost as soon as I got clear of the guards." Gorman glanced away, embarrassed. "Guess I should've checked to make sure he was the right size first. And you can stop looking so surprised," he added, more waspishly. "I may lack field experience, but I'm still a Marine. I went through basic training same as you did." He considered. "More so. They're tougher on officers than they are on grunts."

"They fucking should be with what you earn," Vasquez said tartly.

Gorman shot her a dirty look and didn't answer.




Are you fucking crazy?

This question had been reverberating over and over again in Spunkmeyer's mind, and he didn't think it would have made him feel any better if he'd actually been able to answer it.

You swore never to set foot in another ship, much less pilot one. So what the fuck are you doing now? You're heading into something you don't know, for guys you haven't seen for months, with a woman you only just met and know nothing about, asides from the fact that she happens to be very attractive?

Spunkmeyer grimaced; his libido had been making similar remarks ever since he'd first opened his door to find Ruin standing there.

Yeah, and that's another thing, genius. You don't even know her name. You don't know anything, in fact, other than she was supposedly hired by Hicks and/or Hudson to do some kind of crazy rescue mission.

Someone banged on his door, hard.

Okay. That's probably her, wanting to know what's keeping you. So open the door and tell her the deal's off.

Spunkmeyer crossed into the hall, then hesitated.

And what about what she promised me?

No reply. The dropship crew chief grimaced. Just when it might be useful, the inner voice had nothing to say.

Alright. She was probably bluffing anyway. So...yeah. Open the door, tell her to forget it.

Spunkmeyer nodded slightly. It was for the best, really.

Actually...did he even have to open the door to her? Maybe he could just ignore it, let her get the message that way.

He hesitated. He knew he was being a coward, even despised himself for it, but sometimes things just worked out that way. Ruin could find another pilot. Matter resolved, Spunkmeyer turned to go back into the living room.

He'd got as far as taking the first step when his front door was abruptly kicked in, in a manner which not only opened it but pretty much destroyed its chances of ever being closed again. Two heavy-set men strode through the wreckage, one kicking a piece of timber aside so hard it left a scratch on the wall.

Spunkmeyer tensed slightly. They were armed as well; one was carrying a claw-hammer, the other a baseball bat. He didn't think they were any real threat, but he tried to keep his training in the past, where it belonged.

"I'm guessing you're not salesmen." It was a ridiculously obvious piece of bravado, but sometimes if you played the game a certain way, it was possible to cheat.

Bat-Boy snorted. "They said you were smart. Let's see how smart you really are."

Spunkmeyer raised his eyebrows. "What, is this some sorta test?"

The pair exchanged glances.

"Yeah," Claw-Hammer said at last, "yeah. You pass, you get to keep your life. If you fail..." He hefted his weapon, smirking. "Well, let's break that bridge when we come to it."

"Right." Spunkmeyer shifted his weight, an action which looked like anything someone in his situation would do. In this case, however, it enabled him to move very slightly in preparation for trouble. "So who are you working for, and what do they want?"

Bat-Boy swung his own weapon in a wild flourish, a movement which was supposed to be intimidating and one that was only slightly spoiled by the fact that his companion had to duck out the way of his enthusiasm.

"Listen, kid, we're asking the questions here!"

"Right," Spunkmeyer said again. He had the measure of them now; little more than brainless thugs. Dangerous enough if they got close to you, but not likely to pose a serious problem. "So how the fuck am I supposed to find out what you want from me if I can't even ask you about it?"

"I told you we'd ask the questions!" This time the bat swung through the air so fast it crashed through the plaster.

Spunkmeyer stared at Claw-Hammer. "Is your buddy okay? I mean..." He tapped the side of his head with a forefinger.

Claw-Hammer shrugged, somewhat abashed.

"It's his first day on the job," he said, while Bat-Boy tried in vain to tug his precious baseball bat out of the wall. "He's seen one too many movies. Thinks all marks run screaming at the sight of us. Don't mind him."

Spunkmeyer raised his eyebrows. "Okay. I'll mind you instead. What do you want?"

"You recently accepted an offer from a certain woman, didn't you?"

The dropship crew chief blinked.

"Yeah, I did, and I don't wanna know how the fuck you found that out so quickly. What's that to you?"

Claw-Hammer shook his head, smirking.

"Listen to me, Danny boy, unless you agree to cancel your little arrangement with that young woman, you will soon be looking for your feet down your throat. Do you understand?"

"Yeah." Spunkmeyer understood only too well, and almost laughed out loud. Looking for your feet down your throat? Christ, did they teach lines like that in terrorism school?

"Then you'll dissolve the contract?"

Spunkmeyer squared his shoulders very slightly.

"No."

There was a slightly puzzled silence, broken only by Bat-Boy's wrenching his bat out in a triumphant shower of plaster.

"Is it cash?" Claw-Hammer said. "Because whatever she offered you, we can double it. Triple it."

Spunkmeyer shook his head. Although he'd fully intended to dissolve the contract, as Claw-Hammer put it, this had got a little too interesting. Besides, he hadn't got where he was by following society's rules.

"Forget it. It's nothing to do with money. I doubt even the fucking Company would have enough to buy off this contract."

Claw-Hammer's smirk widened. "Name your price, Danny boy. I guarantee it'll be met."

Spunkmeyer raised his eyebrows, smiling. "Tempting offer, I guess, but you're really not my type."

"Okay, we offered, he refused." Bat-Boy advanced. "Now let's just break some bones and go home."

Spunkmeyer waited until he was within range, then kicked out hard and felt bone crunch under his foot. Bat-Boy let out a high, bubbling shriek that went through all their heads like fingernails on a chalkboard, and dropped to the ground, clutching his knee and howling.

The dropship crew chief glanced at Claw-Hammer and raised his eyebrows.

"You next?"

Claw-Hammer seemed to hesitate for the barest fraction of a second, then stepped towards him. Spunkmeyer waited. This guy was smarter than his friend - although that wasn't hard - and more experienced. He doubted the man would fall into the same trap as Bat-Boy.

There was a sensation of blurred movement followed by a sound very similar to someone hitting a slab of meat, and Claw-Hammer literally flew through the air to crash into the wall.

Ruin stepped delicately into the hall, kicking Bat-Boy hard in his unhurt leg as she did so, and nodded calmly to Spunkmeyer, who was staring with his mouth open. The first thought that went through his head was that Ruin was much faster than any human had a right to be. The second could loosely be translated as where the hell did she come from?. He knew damn well he hadn't seen her before she struck.

Ruin stood, waiting. Although she wasn't in any classic combat pose, her very attitude suggested a challenge.

Whatever it was, it was one that Claw-Hammer wasn't stupid enough to take up. Hauling his still bawling friend upright, he backed off, accidentally jarring Bat-Boy's leg and cringing as the shrieks climbed a full octave.

Claw-Hammer glanced at Ruin, a pained expression on his face, and held Bat-Boy towards her.

"Would you mind...?"

Ruin shrugged, then stepped forward and brought one hand across in a backhand blow that connected squarely with Bat-Boy's temple. He blinked at her owlishly for a few minutes, then went completely limp.

"You could've done that," Spunkmeyer said, eyeing Claw-Hammer suspiciously. The older man snorted.

"Yeah? Try explaining that to the fucking union." He paused in the doorway and nodded to Ruin. "Nothing personal, ma'am. Just doing my job."

Ruin shrugged again.

"I know the feeling. Give us a day or so and you won't have to do it again, at least, not here."

For a moment Claw-Hammer looked sorely tempted, then he just grunted and hauled his unconscious partner out the door.

There was a long silence.

"That was pretty amazing," Spunkmeyer said eventually.

"Thank you." Ruin considered. "Maybe I should have mentioned this earlier. The Company's not gonna be happy to see me, not when they realise what I plan on doing."

"Fuck the Company," Spunkmeyer said succinctly.

Ruin smirked.

"Yeah. But I think we better leave. Like, right now."

"Where are we going, anyway?"

"Gateway. Think you can find it?"

Spunkmeyer gave her a long, old-fashioned look.

"A fucking blind man could find it. Gateway likes to encourage visitors, so long as they have enough cash."

"Good. I managed to get an apartment there. It's not in the same league as yours, but it's something."

Spunkmeyer raised an eyebrow. "How'd you manage that?"

"Never mind that now. Come on; I'm double-parked and I want to get out of here before I get a ticket."

"Here?" Spunkmeyer snorted. "Hardly. In this district all you need to do is show your licence and they'll let you off with a warning."

"Yeah." Ruin led the way out to where a truck was still idling by the kerb. "But that does rather depend on my having a licence in the first place, doesn't it?"

Spunkmeyer hesitated. "Yeah...right." He glanced at the truck. "I guess you're not gonna let me drive, right?"

"Good guess." Ruin opened the door and pulled herself up neatly into the driver's seat. Somewhat apprehensively, Spunkmeyer got in the other side.

"Are you sure I can't drive?" he persisted. Traffic around the shuttle depot was murder at the best of times.

"I don't know whether you can drive or not," Ruin informed him caustically as she shifted into gear and pulled away. "I just know that you're not driving this thing."

Spunkmeyer relapsed into a silence that verged somewhere between nervous and seriously pissed off, and Ruin took advantage of this to start thinking long and hard about things.

So you recruit one of the Acheron survivors into being your pilot, and a couple of hours later, someone comes along and tries to beat the shit out of him. Coincidence? I think not.

She tightened her lips almost imperceptibly.

So who told them? The Elite? They get into everything sooner or later, but crass intimidation isn't their style. And besides, you're a long, long way from home; too far for them to bother with you.

"Did you recognise those guys?" she said suddenly.

Spunkmeyer shrugged.

"Not really. One of 'em reminded me of a guy I knew when I was a kid, but I wouldn't put it any stronger than that."

Ruin frowned. "Would this guy, by any chance, have anything against you?"

"Not enough to hit me with a claw hammer." Spunkmeyer hesitated. "Look, about our deal-"

"Not thinking of backing out, are you?"

"What? Fuck, no! But I have to know...were you serious?"

Ruin rolled her eyes. Spunkmeyer had been asking her that every ten minutes since they'd left.

"Yes. I am deadly serious. People where I come from rarely make jokes." She paused. "And anyway, the little fact that I was able to pinpoint exactly what you want must count for something."

The blinking of brake lights up ahead heralded the start of the queue for the shuttle depot, which was barely visible as a small dark blob on the horizon.

"I suppose you've managed to get hold of a ship as well," Spunkmeyer said with biting sarcasm.

"Would I have got you to come along if I hadn't?" Ruin said candidly.

The dropship crew chief frowned at her.

"Yeah. I was meaning to ask about that. What made you decide to come back at exactly that moment in time?"

Ruin shrugged.

"I'd pulled in to pick up petrol at pretty much the same time as those guys. I heard them talking, heard your name and made tracks as fast as I could." She paused. "Not to mention the fact I was worried you might be having second thoughts."

"So you just happened to overhear these guys?" Spunkmeyer said sceptically, ignoring the comment about 'second thoughts', at least for the minute. "Some coincidence."

"I know. I have this tendency to hit the long shots. It's my curse." Ruin leaned forward onto the dashboard, arms folded. "You might as well get some sleep. We'll be lucky to make the depot before midnight at this rate."




Newt's jaw fell open.

"What happened to you?"

"You fucking near got your wish," Vasquez answered coldly. It had taken over an hour for her to find the way back to her sector, followed by a further two hours of skulking around and waiting before she and Gorman had been able to actually get inside. Both her ankle and her shoulder were throbbing angrily now, the latter having soaked the bandage scarlet and continued to trickle down her arm.

"What?" For a minute, Newt didn't understand what the smartgun operator meant, then it clicked and the blood left her face. "Vaz, I-I didn't mean it!"

"Tell the bugs that, why don't you?" Vasquez said flatly.

She hadn't thought it was possible for someone to go any whiter, but somehow Newt managed it.

"They're...here?"

"Yeah. They were here before they ever reached you, kid. The fucking Company's breeding them. Christ knows where they got the eggs from, but they're here now. And how long do you think it'll take before they lose control and this place gets overrun?"

Newt stared at her wordlessly.

"But...they couldn't get in here, could they? Could they?" she repeated desperately, when Vasquez didn't answer right away.

The smartgun operator whirled. Most people, when they've had a recent scare, tend to try and find something to take their mind off it. Vasquez preferred to spread it around, and Newt was a prime target.

"Of course they fucking could! Didn't you learn anything from Acheron? If they want to get into a place, they'll get in! And if we couldn't stop them, I really don't think some little boys with big guns stand much of a chance, do you?"

"They'll have to get loose first," Gorman said calmly, stepping around Vasquez when it became clear the woman wasn't going to move out of his way. "Leave her alone, Vasquez; scaring her's not going to do any good." He nodded to Newt, then dropped into the room's only armchair. It was that or collapse.

Vasquez whirled.

"Look! I said you could stay - I seem to be running a fucking hostel here, so you might as well get in on the action - but that doesn't mean I'm taking orders from you again!"

"No?" Gorman's tone was flat. "How about advice, then? Keep your goddamned mouth shut for the minute, because in case you've forgotten, you're not the only one who's suffered with these bastards."

Vasquez took a deep breath, which she expelled in a sigh. She'd been convinced that even if the Company had its head up its multimillion dollar ass, the aliens had been destroyed when Acheron went up. She'd even allowed herself to hope that she'd never have to see another bug as long as she lived. Now, not only was she wrong, but the chances were good that she'd be catapulted back into the fray before too long.

Fucking great. Now I know how Ripley felt.

Vasquez was surprised to find herself actually feeling sorry for Ripley. The woman had survived two separate encounters with aliens, managed to save half the Marines when Gorman's brain had apparently shut down, and after all that she'd still died.

The lieutenant was absolutely right about one thing, Vasquez thought, glancing over to where Gorman was already half asleep in the armchair. Far from being over, it was very possible that their problems were only just beginning.




Gateway:

It wasn't what Ruin had expected, although she made a mental note that 'space station' was the equivalent of 'starport'. That made things a little easier; she knew how ports were organised.

Now, if I wanted to keep a kid locked up, where would I put her?

The barracks? It was a tempting thought, Ruin admitted, but all Newt would have to do was drop a few names and the Marines would probably let her through. Of course, there was a definite distinction between probably and certainly, but it wasn't worth taking the risk. And you wouldn't want the kid anywhere near the station hangars either; it'd be too easy for her to stow away. In fact, if Hicks was right and Newt had actually been abducted, you wouldn't want her anywhere near anyone else, either.

Ruin groaned; her head was starting to hurt.

So...what? Find the least populated area? That was near impossible on starports - no, Ruin corrected herself, space stations - but maybe it was worth a try.

She glanced over at Spunkmeyer, who was dozing in the only chair. Neither of them had stopped to sleep since leaving New Charlottetown, and Ruin supposed that flying a shuttle for seventeen hours really did take it out of you. But still...she needed answers, and Spunkmeyer must know more about this place and the ways of its people than she did.

"Dan?"

"Hm?" Spunkmeyer jerked awake, rubbing his eyes. "Time to go already?"

"Not even close." Ruin hesitated, not sure how to phrase this next part. "If they had a homeless person here, where would they put them?"

Spunkmeyer blinked.

"There aren't any. People on Gateway are assigned apartments and those who fail to maintain them or pay for them get kicked off the station."

"Children, then," Ruin amended. "Say a child lost both parents on Gateway and they didn't have any other relatives. What would happen to them?"

Spunkmeyer shifted and reached out to pour himself another mug of coffee.

"I guess they'd put 'em in the nearest care home. Why?"

"I'm looking for Hicks' kid, of course. Why do you think?"

The mug hit the floor with a crash.

"You're what?"

Ruin gave him a faintly puzzled look. "I told you back in your apartment, remember?"

Spunkmeyer shrugged. He didn't remember much of what Ruin had said after they'd made their bargain.

"You're looking for...what's her name? Newt?"

"Yeah. That's why Hudson sent me to you. I guess he wanted to keep it among the survivors. Actually, so did I, if it comes to that."

Spunkmeyer froze in the middle of clearing up the shattered crockery.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he said warily.

"You know what it means, Dan; don't play games with me." Ruin frowned, trying to work out how this latest development was likely to affect her.

"Survivors of what?" Spunkmeyer said obstinately. Ruin glanced at him.

"Alright then, play games if you want. It really doesn't matter to me either way. Let's say I wanted to use people she'd met before, if that makes it easier for you to handle."

It didn't, but Spunkmeyer was wise enough to Ruin by now not to ask questions. Instead, he sat down at the breakfast bar with a sour expression.

"Shit, if I'd known I was going to end up in another apartment, I'd have at least brought some movies along."

"You're not telling me you can't afford to buy others," Ruin said acerbically. "You're on what? Five thousand a month? And I don't want to know how you wangled that one, although I can make a fair guess."

"You could've told me it was going to be a long job."

"To be honest, Dan, I don't know how long it'll be. I want this place so I can take as long as I need."

Spunkmeyer shrugged, raising both hands in surrender.

"Okay. You're the boss. So what now? We can't do this by ourselves. Do we get backup?"

"You know better than that," Ruin said calmly. "The average person doesn't believe in helping complete strangers." She paused. "But you're right. We're going to need backup, and strong backup at that."

Spunkmeyer snorted.

"Fat fucking chance."

"You know better than that as well."

"Yeah. Right. And just what did you have in mind?"

Ruin took a deep breath.

"We make a deal, and not two hours later someone sends two guys round to tell you to break it? How did they find out? More importantly, who sent them?" She shook her head. "Someone doesn't want us interfering. Maybe it has to do with that mission; I don't know."

"Right. So how're you gonna find these people?"

The germ of an idea started to grow in Ruin's mind.

"I'm not. If all goes well, they'll come to us." She snatched a piece of paper and a pen and scrawled out a rough advert.

"How about this? Missing; one blonde, blue-eyed six year old, name Rebecca Jorden, answers to Newt. Last seen in and around the Gateway hangar area. If found, please contact Dwayne Hicks, apartment 304, corridor 9, Gateway Station."

Spunkmeyer shrugged.

"It's as good as any, I guess. Except what are you going to say when someone turns up asking for Hicks and you answer the door?"

"That very much depends on who's doing the asking," Ruin answered bluntly. "But chances are good that if the kid is here, whoever has her is likely to want it hushed up. They'll come. Trust me on that one, Dan. They'll come."




"Vaz. Vaz."

Vasquez opened her eyes blearily and stared at Newt.

"What the fuck do you have against someone getting a good long sleep?" she grated.

"It wasn't good," Newt said composedly, "'cause you were moaning and stuff. Vaz, it's Gorman."

Vasquez closed her eyes again, praying to a god she didn't believe in for patience she knew she'd never have.

"If you want me to move him off the couch just so you can watch your cartoons, you're gonna be out of luck, kid. Move him yourself."

"I...I think he's dead."

Vasquez sat bolt upright.

"What? What do you mean?"

"He's all white and he's not moving and...and I can't see if he's breathing." Newt caught hold of Vasquez' hand and tugged. "Vaz, please come and look at him."

Vasquez jerked her hand out of the child's grasp irritably.

"If this is some kind of practical joke, or if I find he's just sleeping deeply, you know what I'll do, don't you?"

"Uh..." Newt considered. "Get really mad?"

"Oh yeah. And that's just for starters." The smartgun operator rolled onto her feet and followed her housemate somewhat groggily into the living room.

Newt hadn't been exaggerating; Gorman was frighteningly pale and his breathing was so shallow Vasquez could understand how Newt had worried that it had stopped completely. Reaching out, the smartgun operator rolled Gorman over, none too gently. Blood caked the man's back, sticking the fabric of his shirt to the skin. There was also a sizeable red stain on the couch that Vasquez knew hadn't been there previously.

"Is he dead?" Newt said plaintively.

Vasquez rested two fingers in the man's throat.

"No. I don't think so. There's a pulse, but it's faint; shit, I don't know if it's there or just my imagination."

"I read somewhere that they used to cut the wrists on a body to see if the person was still alive or not," Newt offered helpfully.

"Don't you think he's lost enough blood already?" Vasquez retorted. She took hold of Gorman's shirt and ripped it off his body with a tearing sound that made Newt wince. On the couch, the lieutenant didn't even stir.

Vasquez stared down at the vicious, criss-crossing lacerations which covered almost every square inch of Gorman's back, for once at a loss for words.

"Wow." Newt came to stand next to Vasquez, eyes wide. "What happened to him?"

The smartgun operator shook her head.

"No idea."

They stood in silence for a minute or so longer.

"It's like..." Vasquez began, then stopped. Newt filled in the rest of the sentence.

"It's like someone beat him with something." She studied the depth of the injuries and added, "Beat him really, really hard."

"That's-" Vasquez began again, then she broke off, frowning. "You're right, it is."

"Do soldiers hit other soldiers?"

Memories of several fights she and Drake had been involved in flashed through the smartgun operator's mind in the blink of an eye, and she shook her head.

"Not like this. They're tough, but they're not torturers." Vasquez considered this. "At least, not for their own. The Company's another matter, though; they don't care what side you're on if you have something they want." She hesitated. That much at least was true, but...torture? If they were really that ruthless and determined, then the odds had just got a lot higher than she liked to play them.

First things first. One, stop this guy from dying. Two, deal with everything else.

"Get me a sheet. Now," Vasquez said sharply, when Newt didn't move.

The girl spun and darted back into her bedroom, returning a few minutes later with arms full of linen. The smartgun operator snatched it from her and ripped it into pieces as best she could, then handed them to Newt with a curt, "Hold these." As the girl took them, somewhat nonplussed, Vasquez grabbed Gorman under the arms and hauled him upright, propping him in a sitting position before grabbing the crude bandages back from Newt and starting to wrap them around the lieutenant's torso.

Something caught her eye and she hesitated, the half-wound bandage still in one hand. She hadn't noticed it earlier; the bagginess of the shirt had concealed it and they'd both had more important things on their minds. Looking down on him now though, she could see that the lieutenant was painfully thin, to the point of emaciation.

Vasquez shook her head, feeling a grudging respect for the man. He'd come this far, half starved and on the verge of bleeding to death and never said a word. On the positive side, the red blood meant that it really was Gorman, not some android sent in to trick her.

On the negative side, Vasquez seriously doubted that he'd survive the night.