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Hicks looked down at the tuna sandwich he'd made as though he'd never seen it before in his life, picked it up and then put it down again. He hadn't eaten in two days, and his stomach couldn't seem to make up its mind what it wanted; it swung from hunger to nausea almost constantly, sometimes trying both at the same time for good measure.

In the doorway, Hudson squirmed. Ever since Hicks' revelation, his mind had been whirling rapidly, which hadn't done much to help the hangover. In the end, he'd given up on trying to sleep and dragged himself back down again. He'd been replaying his own behaviour on Acheron almost constantly, and couldn't help feeling a little ashamed.

He never said a word. I was freaking out and Vasquez was trying to declare war on the bugs single-handedly and the others bar Ripley weren't doing much to help either, and all the time we were bitching about how much shit we were in, and he never said a fucking word.

"Forget about it," Hicks said, not looking around. Hudson jumped.

"Hey man, I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to. You have the loudest and most vocal silences of anyone I ever met."

The comtech shifted. "Yeah...well...I was just thinking about, y'know, how we...what happened and-"

"I said forget about it."

Hudson hesitated, then dropped the subject obligingly, saying the first thing that came into his head. "You gonna eat that?"

The older man looked back at his sandwich and felt his stomach slowly turn over in protest. "I was, but now I'm not so hungry." He pushed it over to Hudson. "Go ahead; knock yourself out."

The comtech hesitated, looking wistfully at the sandwich, then shook his head. "Dwayne, have you eaten anything recently?"

"I'm not hungry."

Hudson rolled his eyes. "Thought not." He shoved the plate back at Hicks. "Here."

Hicks shook his head and returned the food. "I said I'm not hungry," he repeated.

Hudson sighed, wishing for the first time that Dietrich was there. The medtech had ample experience in coaxing - or ramming - food down people's throats.

"Dwayne, you gotta eat something before you pass out."

"I'm alright."

"Bullshit you are, man! Look, starving yourself to death for the kid might be noble - or more likely pretty fucking stupid - but what's it gonna achieve?" He pushed the sandwich back, and Hicks shook his head.

"I can't, man. Seriously; I'll just puke it back up."

"To quote the sarge, when I wanna know your limitations, Marine, I'll give 'em to you!"

"Up the ass, twice over," Hicks added, smiling slightly. It had been one of Apone's pet phrases. "Man, I wonder what that guy's doing right now?"

"Probably what he does best; screaming at some guy to train harder," Hudson said wryly, "and don't try changing the subject on me, Dwayne Hicks! Either eat it or I'll get Cyn to rig up an IV."

"That wouldn't be so bad."

"Suppository-style!"

Hicks visibly winced. "Oh man, now I really lost my appetite! You have some very sick places in your mind, you know that?"

"What?" Coming in just in time to hear the last of this, Dietrich headed for the sink and started washing her hands. "Who's sick?"

"Will," Hicks answered, grinning slightly at the younger man's glare.

"Oh right. Stupid question." Dietrich looked around for a towel, failed to find one and settled for wiping her hands on her pants instead.

"How's our guest?" Hicks said.

The medtech sighed.

"Still unconscious. Big fucking surprise there, given the state she's in. I'm amazed she made it as far as she did but then again, we're not gonna know just how far that is until she wakes up. One thing though; she ain't as old as we thought. I'd put her somewhere between you and me. Maybe even slightly younger."

"Is that the you that's been twenty one for the past four years, or the you that actually gets older every year like the rest of us?" Hicks couldn't resist asking. Dietrich shot him a look.

"Ha fucking ha."

There was a short pause.

"So what's wrong with her?" Hicks said eventually.

Dietrich snorted.

"How long've you got? Malnutrition, not too severe, but it's there. Several gashes on her right arm - how the fuck they missed the artery, I've no idea - and a head injury. That's not too severe, it's more of a deep graze than anything. I think she has one or two cracked ribs; she's so bruised there that something must've given. She also has a bullet wound in her hip. She's managed to get the bullet out - Christ knows how, but it must've hurt like a bitch - and there doesn't seem to be any infection. That's to say nothing of the scars she has. Some're faded, but most of 'em are pretty fresh." The medtech shook her head. "Boy, she must ache on rainy days."

"Is she sick?"

"Too early to tell. I don't think so though."

"Great." Hicks shook his head. "So why's she got grey skin?"

"No idea," Dietrich said with a shrug. "I've never come across it. The only things that really come close are Bloch-Sulzberger Syndrome and autonnomic hyperreflexia, and as far as I can tell she's tested negative for both of those." She paused. "And anyway, it's not really grey."

Hicks had to agree. You could call the stranger's skin grey because there was no word for the exact shade, but if he had to describe it, he would have said it was like someone with a good tan who'd had about an inch of dust thrown on them.

"Speaking of malnutrition," Hudson said suddenly, "don't you think Dwayne needs to eat something?"

Hicks glowered at the comtect as Dietrich examined him critically.

"You do look a little peaky."

"I'm Fine," Hicks said through clenched teeth. "Can we please get back on the subject?"

"Didn't know we'd left it." Dietrich opened the cupboard and took out a bowl, then added a clean rag.

"What are you doing?" Hicks said, glad for some diversion.

"I want to clean out that bullet wound. I know I said it doesn't look dirty, but better safe than sorry. I'll be a lot happier once I've gotten her cleaned up and bandaged."

"Yeah?" Hudson pounced on the opening. "And don't you think Dwayne'll be a lot happier once he eats that sandwich instead of playing with it?"

"For god's sake!" Exasperated, Hicks swept the plate off the surface, the dramatic effect of this only slightly spoiled when Hudson caught the sandwich on its way down. "Why this sudden interest in my well-being?"

"Oh, I dunno." Hudson placed the sandwich almost reverently on the worksurface, then removed the top slice and proceeded to liberally slather the contents in pickle before replacing the bread with a satisfactory splat. "Maybe 'cause you happen to be our friend, even if you have been moping around and taking your own irritation and guilt out on me and Cyn!"

Already halfway up the stairs again, Dietrich didn't hear Hicks' answer, although judging from the tone of voice it wasn't a pleasant one.

The girl lay unmoving on the bed, exactly how she'd left her. The medtech had to admit, Marine stealth training came into its own when you were nursing a sleeping patient. Carefully, she placed the bowl down on the side and half turned.

She'd been silent. She knew she had; she'd been one of the best in the troop when it came to stealth exercises and besides, she hadn't moved her feet. But something triggered a reaction in her patient; the stranger's face twitched once or twice, then she jerked away and off the bed, muscles taut. She was fast, Dietrich remembered thinking much later. Even faster than Ruin. One minute she'd been lying there, asleep, and the next she was on her feet on the other side of the room, body awake and readying itself to meet this new threat. That wasn't the strangest thing, though. The strangest thing was that her eyes were barely open; her body had seemingly reacted far faster than her mind, literally flinging her out of danger before she was fully awake.

The medtech held up both hands, palm out. She wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but she knew two things; firstly, she did not want to piss off someone with reflexes like that and secondly, she was very, very relieved that she'd disarmed the girl.

"Hey! Hey, whoah, take it easy! I'm not gonna hurt you."

The stranger's eyes snapped open, and Dietrich backed into the wall. They were too light to be considered a natural brown; instead they were the colour of hot amber, against which the pupils stood out darkly.

"Where am I?" Her voice was quiet, pitched so low as to be almost inaudible, yet somehow the medtech heard every word.

"You're in my friend's bedroom." Dietrich shook her head. "What was that?"

The stranger's look shifted slightly, becoming cautious rather than suspicious.

"What? What was what?"

"That!" Dietrich's usually fluent and often profane language seemed to have temporarily deserted her. "That...you were there and...and now you're there...I know damn well I didn't make any noise, so what the hell woke you?"

"Oh, that." A shrug. "I felt your shadow. It's a reflex action. I can't help it." She reached down to her waist, then jerked her head up again, staring at Dietrich with renewed suspicion. "What happened to my weapons?"

My shadow? Dietrich stared back in open amazement. Who the hell is this person?

"The grenades?" she said aloud, like it was no big deal. "We put 'em in the safe."

"I want them back."

The medtech snorted.

"Yeah, I'll just bet you do! You can wait, though; I'm not letting you have them until I'm convinced you're not gonna collapse again and blow the whole place. Actually, I'm not letting you have them until I'm convinced you're not gonna blow the whole place anyway." She shook her head, wondering how best to phrase the next part, and decided on honesty. "Look, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but do you have some kind of disfiguring skin disease?"

There was a pause, then the girl said, "Was there a right way to take that?"

Dietrich at least had the grace to colour before replying, "Okay, maybe that was a poor choice of words-"

"Damn right."

The medtech arched an eyebrow. "If you're like this often, it's no wonder someone took a pot shot at you."

The other mimicked her action and tone perfectly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I have passed out on a strange planet, and woken up in a bed which - judging from the décor - either belongs to a man or a lesbian and I'm completely unarmed. Forgive me for being anything less than perfectly composed." She took a deep breath. "Look, maybe you can help me. I'm looking for someone called Hicks. You know where I can find him?"

Dietrich hesitated for the briefest of instants before replying. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Exxen Tanner." The words carried a subtle and peculiar emphasis, as though there was some hidden message there.

If there was, it completely eluded the medtech, who puzzled over it for a few minutes before shrugging slightly and saying, "Exxen? What, is that short for something?"

"Yes...but...I don't know what." For a second, Tanner's face changed completely, a lost expression replacing the more normal tautness and making her look strangely vulnerable, then it was gone so fast that Dietrich couldn't help wondering if she'd imagined it. "I notice you took my tags as well."

The medtech couldn't quite meet those piercing eyes. "Yeah. We thought you might strangle on them."

"And you were curious."

It wasn't a question. Dietrich hesitated, then nodded once, slowly. "Yeah," she said again. "I've seen plenty of dog tags, but never ones like those. What's the chip on the back?"

"Planetary ID. You put it into a scanner and it projects a 3D hologram of the world it's keyed to. Atthiras, in this case."

Dietrich ran the name Atthiras through her mind and drew a blank. Probably some obscure colony. "Mind if we take a look?"

Tanner shrugged. "Go ahead. I don't know if it'll work with your technology, but you can try. I've no use for 'em now anyway. And yes, they're disease free."

Dietrich shifted. "Okay, I'm sorry about that. It's just...your skin...your eyes."

"Oh, that." Tanner shrugged again. "I spent some time on Atthiras, like I said. The scientists installed a planetary shield to control the people who come in and go out. I don't understand the physics of it, but something about it affects the sun's rays; if you live there, you tan grey-brown instead of gold-brown."

"And your eyes?"

"Same thing. It sort of darkens the skin and lightens the eyes." Another shrug. "You should see some of the people who grew up there; there's almost no colour left at all."

"I'll pass," Dietrich told her flatly. "How are you feeling?"

Tanner considered, running down a mental checklist.

"Well...my hip hurts, I'm a little dehydrated, bloody starving and my ribs are pretty painful, although not too bad. As far as they're concerned, I should be back on form in a week or two. Temperature's stable, and so far no sign of infection. So apart from the bullet wound and a couple of cracked ribs, I'm feeling pretty much normal."

"And the dehydration and starvation part of your spiel?" Dietrich said with biting sarcasm.

"I said normal, not good. I don't think I'm going to collapse again just yet, if that's what's worrying you." Tanner stretched, wincing as the action pulled on her ribs, then fixed the medtech with a calm stare. "Now, getting back to the original topic, is there someone called Hicks here or not?"

Briefly, Dietrich considered bluffing, then met Tanner's clear stare, saw the faint warning in those amber eyes and decided to hedge her bets.

"There is, yeah. What makes you think he's the one you're looking for?"

Tanner returned Dietrich's gaze calmly, steadily. "I don't know, so I'll elaborate. I'm looking for Corporal Dwayne Hicks, late of the USCM and just returned from Acheron. Do you know him or not?"




Spunkmeyer stared at Ruin's tattoo.

"What...?" he managed, after a somewhat lengthy struggle.

"Personally, I wouldn't have said Acheron was all that dark," Ruin said pensively. "A little dark, sure, but plenty dark? Anyway, you and Ferro spent most of your time on the landing pad, and that at least was well-lit."

"How...?"

"And just for the record, you can kill bugs at close range, Dan. You have to use a flamethrower, but it works fine."

"Where...?"

"You can also see them in the dark, if you know exactly what to look for."

There was a short pause.

"Who the fuck are you working for?" Spunkmeyer said at the end of it.

"That's on a want to know basis, Dan, and you don't want to know. Trust me. The less I tell you, the easier things'll be for you."

The rattle of the mailbox cut the young man's retort off, and both of them looked over to the front door.

"Good, it's here." Ruin turned away from Spunkmeyer rather abruptly - his questions had been getting a little too direct and awkward for her liking, and she didn't know what had possessed her to show him that tattoo in the first place - and went into the front hall.

"What've you got?"

"Daily paper," Ruin answered, picking it up and bringing it into the living room. "I'm going to fix some breakfast, and then I want to see if the ad's appeared yet." She tossed it onto the coffee table and went through into the kitchen, rummaging around in the fridge. Curious now, Spunkmeyer picked up the paper and flipped through it until he got to the classifieds.

"Yeah, it's here." He shook his head. "You don't really think this is gonna work, do you?"

Ruin's voice drifted out to him from the kitchen. "Do you have a better idea? At least this way it might help us flush someone out."

"Yeah? Like who?" Spunkmeyer turned the page, more for something to do than anything, then abruptly laughed.

"What?" Ruin said, somewhat edgily.

"The Company's giving a formal dinner, semi-fancy dress. In the 'interests of shared knowledge', it says here." The dropship crew chief snorted. "Who the fuck are they kidding?"

Ruin stood framed in the kitchen doorway for a long time, fingers drumming against her lips thoughtfully.

"Perfect," she said eventually, then rummaged in her bag before pulling out a comb and dragging it through her hair. Spunkmeyer watched her, somewhat nonplussed. Ruin had never taken any feminine interest in her appearance before.

"What are you doing?" he said bluntly.

"Correction, Dan; what are we doing." Ruin smiled at Spunkmeyer's reflection in the mirror, an action which caused him to forget about any insignificant concerns he might have been thinking of voicing. "And in answer to your question," Ruin went on, now holding her hair up in different positions to see which flattered her the most, "we are going to gatecrash that dinner."

Spunkmeyer's jaw dropped. "We?"

"Yes, we. I can handle a lot of things, but social graces and etiquette are not in my repertoire."

Spunkmeyer laughed in disbelief. "And you think they're in mine? Fuck that!" He shook his head. "I was a colony brat for the first part of my life and in and out of care homes for the second. I don't know how to act at some fancy dinner! I don't even have anything to wear."

Ruin blinked.

"That's probably the weirdest thing I've ever heard a man say." When the dropship crew chief continued to glare at her, arms folded obstinately across his chest, Ruin rolled her eyes. "Look, it's semi-fancy dress, so go down the barracks and borrow fatigues off someone."

"And when they ask for our invitation? What're you planning to say; it got lost in the mail?"

"You get the costume. I'll deal with the invitation. By the time I'm done, we'll be the guests of honour."

Spunkmeyer stared helplessly at her for a few minutes, then shook his head. "It's never going to work. You'll never be able to convince them that you belong there and neither will I!"

"Well, not with that attitude you won't," Ruin said tartly. "Look, you don't have to talk politics or philosophy or any of that shit. I just need an escort to stop any single men swooping down on me."

"You really think they would?" Spunkmeyer said.

"You do, Dan. And I think I'd rather not take the chance."

The dropship crew chief stepped forward and actually went so far as to physically take Ruin by the shoulders and turn her around to face him.

"Aren't you listening? You don't stand a cat in hell's chance of fitting in."

"No?" Ruin smiled sweetly up at him. "Why's that, Dan?"

Spunkmeyer swallowed once or twice. It was suddenly very hard to concentrate.

"People are gonna want to meet us. What'm I supposed to say? Oh, hi, my name's Dan Spunkmeyer and this is Ruin. I don't know her real name or even if she has one; she just turned up one day and got me to smuggle her onto Gateway for some kind of secret mission?"

Ruin raised her eyebrows. "Well, firstly I'd leave out the part about the secret mission. Secondly, if a name's the only problem, I'll think of one."

"And when I slurp my soup and eat with the wrong fork and commit a lot more social screw-ups?"

"Don't." When Spunkmeyer's glare shifted from merely irritated to out-and-out homicidal, Ruin shrugged. "You're a Marine. A grunt. You're supposed to be socially inept. That's in character. I've got the hard job; I have to somehow find out who knows where Newt is and then convince him or her to talk to me about it."

Spunkmeyer raised a derisive eyebrow. He'd lost and he knew it but male pride still prompted him to go down fighting.

"I am not dressing up like some fucking idiot and going to some fucking dinner given by some fucking retard in a suit just to find some fucking kid!"

"I don't want you to dress up like some fucking idiot," Ruin shot back, not missing a beat. "I want you to dress up like some fucking soldier. That, at least, shouldn't be too hard."

Spunkmeyer took a deep breath. "Alright. But I want a different name!"

"I don't blame you."

"Funny, I don't think. It's not a very common name and there might be people there who'd make the connection between me and Hicks."

Ruin shrugged. "Good point. Okay. Pick a name. And you'll need to bleach your hair as well."

"What?"

"People might recognise you. Last I checked, the USCM didn't allow grunts to attend parties on its behalf. I know you're retired, but I'm still not willing to take that chance."

"The USCM doesn't allow its grunts to dye their hair, either!" Spunkmeyer shook his head. "Look at me. I'm not a natural blonde and with my complexion there's no way I'll be able to convince them that I am!"

Ruin grimaced. "Alright then, pick the colour yourself! It's not like there's much of it to dye, after all."

"I'm not cutting it shorter."

"I don't think you can cut it shorter." Ruin considered. "Do the USCM allow facial hair?"

"Not for grunts, no."

"Right. How d'you fancy being a sergeant?"

"I don't! And I think I missed the whole part where I agreed to any of this!"

"You agreed when you flew me here."

"I agreed to be your pilot, Ruin, not your fucking rent boy!"

"That's alright, Dan. My having sex with you was never on the cards." Ruin flashed him a dazzling smile. "Can you get the clothes or not? Because if you can't, just say so and I'll have someone get some for you."

Spunkmeyer took a deep breath. "You know, I get the feeling you're really not listening to a word I say."

"What?"

"I said-" Spunkmeyer began angrily, then stopped. "Oh right. Yeah. Very funny."

"I thought so." Ruin shook her head. "Look, either you get something to wear or I'll get it myself. I thought you'd rather pick for yourself."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?"

"A pair of briefs? You were planning to go like that?"

Spunkmeyer shut up. For about half a second. "What about the invitations?"

"I told you, Dan; I'll take care of it. You get the clothes." Ruin plonked herself down on the couch, then reached out for her pad and started writing.

"What are you doing?"

"Just a few little notes. A checklist, if you like." She glanced up at him. "Are you still here?"

"Yeah. Because so far, you haven't given me any good reason to go along with this or anything to make me believe that this party's going to give us any answers."

Ruin let her eyes unfocus very slightly. What would the Elite do in a situation like this? Her eyes snapped back into focus again and she grinned. Of course. She got to her feet and opened the front door, causing Spunkmeyer to back away slightly. The look on Ruin's face was unnerving him.

"Alright," Ruin said pleasantly. "You want a good reason to find some clothes? Allow me."

"What are you-hey! Hey, get off!" Spunkmeyer twisted out of Ruin's hold, only to get shoved hard through the door and into the corridor beyond. There was a click as Ruin slammed the door behind him and locked it, listening to the resulting stream of profanity with a smile. God, but that had been fun!

She waited a few minutes to make sure he wasn't about to try and break the door down, then picked up the phone and tapped in the number again, smiling slightly. Things were looking up.

"Yeah?"

Valmorgen again. Jesus, doesn't she ever sleep?

"It's me," Ruin said aloud. "I need a favour."

"Another one?"

"The Company's throwing a shindig. I think some of the top executives are going to be there, but it's invitation only."

"And you want to go join the party."

"I think it could help. Dan's out looking for something to wear, so you've got a little time. Drop it round as soon as, though; he's not the only one who has to organise an outfit." Ruin reached under her shirt and cupped her tags in one hand. "Maybe I should go as a Marine as well."

"That's down to you. When is this dinner?"

"Uh." Ruin hesitated. "I'm not sure. It's mentioned in today's paper though; surely you can find it?"

"Hold on." Valmorgen sounded distinctly put out. There was the buzz that signified being put on hold, and Ruin sat down to wait. She supposed she should have got Spunkmeyer to tell her when and where this dinner was supposed to be, but something inside her wanted to keep her illiteracy secret, at least for the minute.

The buzzing stopped abruptly and Valmorgen came back on the line.

"Okay, got it. Tomorrow night at office block 6A. Starts at eight pm, finishes at midnight. Food and drink supplied. Invitation only, like you said. Shouldn't be too hard to get hold of; a couple of our guys are high enough up in Weyland-Yutani to get an invite. We'll make a copy."

"Two copies."

There was a short silence, then Valmorgen said, "I didn't hear that."

"I said two copies!"

"Are you sure you're not getting a little too friendly with this guy?"

Ruin rolled her eyes. She supposed paranoia was normal enough when you were in a strange place and working for someone like the Elite, but Spunkmeyer had lost his case with her when he'd tried to impress her with that story about Acheron.

"For god's sake! You do your job and leave me to do mine, okay? Get me to that party, and let me do what needs to be done."

She slammed the phone down just as the doorbell rang. Swearing viciously in as many languages as she knew (which was a lot, at least when it came to profanity) Ruin crossed over and opened the door, saw the person standing there and very nearly slammed it shut again.

Fuck! This really wasn't what I had in mind!

"Can I help you?" she said, striving to keep her voice pleasant and having the horrible feeling that she wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"I saw the ad. I'm looking for Hicks."

Yeah, I just bet you are, Ruin thought, mind whirling rapidly in an effort to find a way out of this.

"Apone, isn't it?" she said aloud. "Why don't you come in?"




Dietrich dropped her bowl in the sink and leaned against the worksurface. "Well, that was a turnup for the books."

Hudson, who had been about to take a bite out of the sandwich he and Hicks had been arguing about earlier, stopped.

"What is?"

"Our guest has woken up. Really woken up," Dietrich added. The speed of Tanner's reaction was still fresh in her mind. "She wants to see you." The medtech glanced at Hicks, who looked surprised but not too concerned. "She's asking for you by name."

Hicks blinked. "Me? How could she know my name? I've never met her."

"Maybe she heard me yelling it just before she passed out," Dietrich said with a shrug. "Or maybe she heard it while she was unconscious; we're still not sure how much people can pick up when they're out. Whatever the reason, she wants you."

Hicks shook his head. "There must be some mistake."

"Oh no." Now Dietrich was smirking ever so slightly. "No, she said something about wanting to see Corporal Dwayne Hicks, late of the USCM and just returned from Acheron."

Hicks almost dropped his glass, now staring at her openly. "She said what?"

"Yeah." Dietrich sat down and stretched out, running tired hands through her hair. "I think you better get in there right now, don't you?"

Hicks started towards the stairs, stopped and came back. "Did you get her name?"

"She goes by Tanner, dunno if it's her real name or not." Dietrich paused. "Can't quite make her out, to tell you the truth, Dwayne."

"Is she contagious?"

"Well, not the mystery bit, no."

Hicks rolled his eyes. "You said you'd know more about her health when she woke up. She's awake. So what about her skin?"

"Oh, that." Dietrich shrugged. "Yeah, I asked her. Apparently it's to do with some kind of planetary shield or something they have back where she comes from. We get tanned brown, they get tanned brownish grey."

"It's not dangerous, then?"

"Well, not unless you paid this home of hers a visit. I can't vouch for what this shield does to the UV rays. In herself, she said she feels pretty good."

Hicks glanced at the door, then back at the medtech. "Yeah? So why'd she collapse?"

Dietrich shrugged again.

"Exhaustion. Blood loss. Malnutrition, although like I said, that's not too bad. I'd say she was eating well enough until she got shot. And speaking of which-" the medtech grabbed the sandwich almost from out of Hudson's mouth and handed it to Hicks "-you can take this up to her when you go."

Hicks lifted the top slice and peered at it, then stared at Hudson, who was still looking at his now empty hand in a puzzled fashion. "Man, how much pickle did you put in this thing?"

The comtech shifted defensively. Hudson's love of the local pickle was rapidly becoming legendary. "Enough."

"Way she's looking now, I doubt she'll care," Dietrich informed both men caustically, then handed Hicks a glass of water. "Give her that as well; she said she felt a little dehydrated."

Hicks hesitated in the doorway. "Is she...uh...safe?"

Dietrich raised her eyebrows.

"I don't think she's gonna try and murder you, Dwayne." Just as well, really, the medtech thought, since if their guest's combat reflexes were half as good as her everyday ones, even Hicks probably wouldn't have won a fight against her.

Then again, if Tanner got hold of those grenades, it probably wouldn't even come to that.




It was late the next morning when Vasquez finally came out of her room again. Newt was sitting on the couch with a pint glass containing a golden-yellow liquid, crushed ice and three straws. The smartgun operator didn't have to sample the drink to know what it was; the fridge had been well-stocked with apple and elderflower juice.

That really had unnerved Vasquez, although she'd never admit it. She'd developed a passion for the stuff when she'd been even younger than Newt and had, on more than one occasion, spent the money that was supposed to go on laundry on a carton of juice instead and drunk it all in one of the less frequented alleyways near her home. It wasn't a taste she admitted to indulging - and besides, she hadn't seen the stuff since she'd been imprisoned five years ago - and it wasn't the kind of thing you had as a standby either. Someone had really done their homework on her, and the smartgun operator didn't like to think about who, or how they'd found out. She hadn't touched the stuff either, preferring to live on water, and the juice had stayed in the fridge until Newt had showed up, tasted it for the first time and promptly developed an addiction to rival even Vasquez'.

The smartgun operator glanced around the living room. Gorman was nowhere to be seen. Big surprise there.

"Where's the lieutenant?" Vasquez' voice was unusually quiet, almost hoarse. Newt glanced at her.

"Hiding. He wouldn't tell me where he was going but I think he's at Char's. She's probably the only person who'd have him. Vaz, are you okay?"

"What? Yes, of course I am! Why shouldn't I be?" The smartgun operator cursed mentally, realising she'd answered a little too quickly and too vehemently, but pride forced her to stick to her story. "I'm fine."

Newt shrugged. "Okay, I guess what I really meant was, are you gonna get mad at anyone? 'Cause if you are, I'm gonna go seal myself into my bedroom."

Vasquez raised a withering eyebrow. "Oh, so you've got a welding torch now."

Newt hesitated, then said, "Well...I'll push a chair against the door then!"

The woman rolled her eyes. "What, you think I'm mad at you?"

Newt picked absently at the arm of the couch as she answered matter-of-factly, "No, I think you jus' like to take it out on me 'cause you know I can't get you back or say anything without being chucked out, and I need this place until Hicks arrives."

Nice, Vaz. First Gorman, now the kid. Seems everyone's after telling you a few home truths these days. Vasquez' hand curled into a fist, then she opened it again with a supreme effort. Newt was seriously starting to bug her. Yeah? What's really bugging you; the fact that she said it or the fact that she's right?

The smartgun operator opened her mouth, then closed it again. For once, she honestly didn't know what to say.

"Vaz?"

Relieved that Newt was seemingly willing to let the subject drop, Vasquez looked over at her. "Yeah?"

Newt's mouth opened and closed for a few minutes before finally saying, "If I ask you how old you are, do you promise not to get mad?"

Vasquez blinked. "Why the hell would you want to know that?"

Newt shifted her weight.

"'Cause...well, I was talking with Gorman yesterday'n'I asked him why you were so mad at him an' he said it was 'cause it had all got on top of you an' you were really young to have to deal with shit like that. He said shit, not me," Newt added hastily, although as far as Vasquez was concerned, the kid could turn the air blue twenty four seven and she wouldn't give a fuck. Blithely unaware of this, Newt continued. "So I was jus' wondering how old you were 'cause you don't look all that young."

"Thanks. Now I feel really good." Vasquez shook her head. "What did Gorman say about my age again? I don't think I heard you right."

"That you were too young to be in this situation," Newt repeated patiently. "So how-"

"Twenty, not that it's any of your business." Vasquez took a deep breath. "And it's definitely nothing to do with that piece of officer shit. Did he say anything else before he left? Like where he was going, for example?"

Newt took a huge slurp of juice, then hoovered around the bottom of the glass with the straws.

"Yf, hn sd..." She spat out the straws and frowned as she tried to remember. "Something like...uh...how he didn't want to be around when you stopped sulking-"

"When I what?"

"Yeah, an' then he said he was gonna throw himself on someone else's mercy since there was precious little of it to be found around here."

"So? He knows I ain't running a fucking hotel!"

Newt shrugged. "'S jus' what he said. Don't blame your gun 'cause the target's too small."

"The-" Vasquez broke off and stared at the girl, momentarily jerked out of her mood. "That doesn't even make any sense."

The girl shrugged again. "He said he'd be back later. I dunno when he meant though. You could try going round to Char's."

The smartgun operator snorted. "No thanks. I've only just cleared the crap out my lungs from last time." She shook her head. "The bastard'll have to come back here sooner or later."

Newt opened her mouth to ask exactly what the woman planned to do to Gorman, but at that point the mini-visiphone buzzed, silencing the girl and dragging Vasquez out of her wistful daydream involving the lieutenant, a flamethrower and a two gallon container of petrol.

The smartgun operator sat down at the table to answer it, saw who was calling and took a deep breath.

"Charmaine, I really am not in the mood for our usual debate about self-defence lessons right now. Piss off!"

Charmaine blew a plume of smoke at the screen. "Not yet. I was calling to see if Newt was okay."

Vasquez tensed, suddenly defensive. "Of course she's okay. Why do you ask?"

The older woman shrugged. "You got a hell of a temper on you, Vasquez. Gorman said you lost it with him-"

"I did not 'lose it' with him; if I had, he would have had to fucking crawl to your place. I take it that is where he slithered to?"

Charmaine met her gaze squarely, unperturbed. "It was, yeah. He's on his way back now. I just thought that since you were furious with him and he'd gone somewhere-"

"Just...stop." The smartgun operator held up a hand. Whether it was the action or the ice in her voice that cut Charmaine off, she was never quite sure, but it did the trick. Vasquez continued to stare at her with an expression the older woman hadn't seen on her before; one that seemed to be comprised of contempt and loathing. The contempt she was already used to - it seemed to be Vasquez' normal state of mind - but loathing was something entirely new, and Charmaine didn't much like it. For the first time, she found herself wondering what it would be like to have Vasquez for an enemy.

The smartgun operator continued, her tone now deadly soft. "You thought what, Ashton? That if I couldn't get hold of Gorman to beat the shit out of him, I'd turn around and beat it out of the kid instead?"

Charmaine didn't quite meet her gaze. "Something like that. You've said often enough you don't want her around, after all."

"There's one big fucking difference between not wanting her around and kicking seven kinds of crap out of her just because I've had a bad day! Neither of my parents wanted me around," -when they were straight and sober enough to want anything, she added in the privacy of her own mind "-but I'll say this much; neither of them ever laid a hand on me or my sisters."

"All the more reason why I should worry about her, Vasquez, since you obviously don't. Your new roommate admitted that much. He was the one suggested I call you."

"Was he now?" Vasquez said tightly. That was something she thought she'd have to talk to Gorman about, soon. Like sometime during the next five minutes.

"He said he'd have done it himself, but he didn't want to make things worse. Vasquez, I want-"

The smartgun operator cut the connection abruptly, then spun around to face Newt, who was doing her best not to giggle.

"I'm glad you find it funny," Vasquez said acidly.

"I'm sorry," Newt said, through hands plastered over her mouth, "I jus'...who'd be dumb enough to believe something like that?" She picked up her empty glass. "Are you gonna go in the bathroom?"

"What?" Vasquez frowned slightly, still absorbed with the lieutenant, then glanced up at Newt again. "Oh. No. You want a bath, you go right ahead."

"Can I take another drink in there with me?"

"You do what you want, kid. I ain't your fucking mother."

Newt grinned happily and trooped off into the kitchen, re-emerging a few mintues later with another full glass of juice and ice. A few minutes later, the bathroom door clicked shut behind her and Vasquez heard both taps being turned on full. Just as well, really; despite her last comment to Newt, the smartgun operator didn't think it would be a good idea for the kid to be around when Gorman did finally crawl back in.

Sitting down on the couch, Vasquez turned on the TV and flicked through the channels, not looking for anything in particular, finally settling for a chat show renowned for the violence of its participants.

One of these had just smashed his chair on the stage and was attempting to stab someone else with it when the door slid open and Gorman stepped in, shooting Vasquez a somewhat apprehensive look.

"Are you still angry?"

A year ago, the thought of a Marine officer being afraid of her would have filled Vasquez with a strange sort of pride. Now, though, she just found it one hell of an inconvenience.

"What do you think?" she said flatly.

The lieutenant continued eyeing her warily before saying, "I think I'll go chat with the kid for an hour or two."

"You'll find that hard."

Gorman paused in the middle of the floor and whirled to face the woman, no longer afraid. "Vasquez, if you've hurt or done anything to that child because of what I said to you-"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Vasquez erupted, her sudden fury enough to silence a braver man than Gorman. Did everyone have such a low opinion of her? "Alright, so there have been times when I've wanted to shake that kid until her teeth rattled, but I'm not fucking pathetic enough to blame her for your screwup! Newt is fine; I haven't touched her in any way, shape or form since she arrived bar that little incident with Dalton, and I don't want to fucking touch her either, because there are some lines even I won't cross! Personally, I'd be more worried about leaving her alone with you."

There was a hot, angry silence, then Gorman said in a voice of iron control, "Just what is that supposed to mean?"

"You're the one with the college education, lieutenant. You work it out."

Gorman lunged at her, seizing her by the shoulders and running her into the wall. "You really think-"

"No," Vasquez cut across. She slammed both knuckles onto the pressure point at the back of the man's hands, anger lending her greater strength than normal, and Gorman jerked away, wincing. "But it ain't nice to be accused, is it?"

There was a short, embarrassed silence. "No," Gorman said eventually, "it's not. I'm sorry."

"Sure you are."

"I just thought...and when you said I couldn't talk to Newt-"

"You can't talk to Newt because she's in the fucking bath, Gorman! If you still want to try, go ahead, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"No," Gorman said again. "It's...I'll wait. Look, Vasquez, I really am sorry for what I said earlier. I was upset."

"You were upset! How the fuck do you think I felt?"

There was a somewhat startled silence, and Vasquez realised suddenly that she'd said too much.

Great. There goes your cold goddess of death persona, Vaz, along with any chance of respect. Thank fuck the kid wasn't around to see it go.

"You weren't the one the Company picked for their sick little questioning methods," Gorman pointed out. Something in that struck him and he smiled bitterly.

"What's funny?" Vasquez demanded.

"Just...you know, this really isn't how I imagined my life after I graduated."

The smartgun operator raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Yeah? Beats me why someone like you even wanted to become an officer in the first place."

"Why?" Gorman shrugged. "It was that or enlist as a grunt. I figured if I was gonna have to risk my life every day for people I'd never even met, I wanted to start as close to the top as I could get and at least get a decent salary."

"Yeah," Vasquez muttered. "You were on...what? Thirty thousand a year?"

"Thirty two. Look, I thought we were supposed to be discussing what we want to do about the Company."

"You already know what I want to do about the fucking Company."

"Yes, Vasquez, I do," Gorman said heavily, "since you mentioned and elaborated on the subject in extensive detail a number of times on our walk from the labs to your apartment. Unfortunately, the acquisition and subsequent crossbreeding of piranhas and electric eels was banned by the Horland Convention two hundred and thirty years ago, even if it does present a rather...intriguing mental image."

"Would it be too much to ask if you could talk like the rest of us once in a while?" Vasquez said sarcastically. "You did it once, so I'm sure you can manage it again."

Gorman rolled his eyes.

"You'd never get a piranha and electric eel to have it off and even if you did you'd be arrested before you could do anything else! Is that better? I could try it in Spanish if you think that would help, though I haven't spoken it since high school and my teacher said that he actually found me easier to understand when I spoke in English."

Vasquez shook her head. "I sometimes wonder if they teach officers to be that fucking long-winded on purpose," she said bluntly.

Gorman sighed. "Yeah, I know. My father always wanted to know what the point was of his paying for my education in the academy if I kept talking like some dumb grunt." He glanced at Vasquez. "No offence."

The smartgun operator snorted. "Let me guess; your father was a Marine officer as well."

"Army, actually. He always thought the Colonial Marines did nothing more than lounge around in hypersleep."

"Right..." Vasquez frowned slightly, her own curiosity stirring again. "So why'd you join 'em?"

"Honestly?" The lieutenant shrugged. "Like I said, I was an army brat. It was always assumed I'd go into the military in some form or another, and in at the top. I wasn't interested in any of the armed forces, but my father wasn't interested in what I had to say on the subject either." He shrugged again. "He was always very outspoken against the USCM, so I made up my mind that if I had to go into any of the military forces, it would be that one. He didn't much like it, but there was nothing he could do. We haven't spoken since I started basic."

"So you picked the toughest force in existence because you didn't want to enlist at all?" Vasquez snorted. "Where's the fucking sense in that?"

Gorman shrugged again. "I was only eighteen at the time. It was the closest I could get to actual rebellion."

Vasquez stared at him for a few minutes, then abruptly grinned.

"What?"

"You as a rebel. That's what." She shook her head. "There ain't no laws saying you have to follow your family's every half-footstep."

"There are if that family happens to be supplying your board and lodging. Basically I could either go in as a high-paid officer, or take off on my own stacking shelves in some supermarket or working in some deadend office."

Vasquez snorted. "With the grades you must've got? Yeah, right. You know your trouble, Gorman? You never lived in the real world. Until recently, if you wanted something, you handed over your cashcard and walked away with it the very next day. You let your folks pay your way and now you've no idea how to survive on your own."

Gorman tensed. He didn't want to get embroiled in another argument with Vasquez, particularly not now she seemed to be speaking to him again, but something in the woman's open contempt stung him to the quick.

"I worked, thank you very much. I had a weekend job in a department store." Even as he said it, he felt it sounded somewhat pathetic, and Vasquez' rejoinder did nothing to alleviate this.

"Yeah? One of my friends had something similar. Course, she'd lied about her age to get it, and wound up working twelve hour shifts six days a week in order to earn enough to buy food for her and her kid brother. Why did you really take that weekend job, Gorman? Pocket money?"

"Er..." The lieutenant squirmed slightly. "More or less." He felt like adding that he'd wanted to experience life in the real world, but found he couldn't face the blistering scorn this would no doubt engender.

Vasquez snorted. "Right. So you decided to take a sip from the rancid cesspit of reality."

"That's strangely poetic of you, Vasquez. Disgusting, but poetic." Gorman paused. "And it doesn't help in our current situation either."

The smartgun operator rolled her eyes. "Look. We have the airducts. They have bugs. We just wait until they lose control - which they probably will - and crawl through the airducts to a hangar, steal a ship and get the fuck outta here."

Gorman raised his eyebrows. "So you're planning to just sit back and let them get killed by the bugs? Go ahead. Let's see how cold and rational you are when it turns out to be your own sister you have to sacrifice."

Vasquez narrowed her eyes, trying to ignore the sudden spike of fear the lieutenant's words had ignited. "What do you know about my sister, Gorman?"

"She's in the corps. I know she is; I heard her name mentioned by some prick with acne and if that wasn't enough, I saw her myself."

Vasquez snorted. "Yeah? And how the fuck would you recognise her?"

"Easily," Gorman said calmly, refusing to be put off. "Firstly, she looks like a more delicate version of you. Secondly, I overheard her arguing with some of her platoon and she sounds like you as well, right down to the Spanish expletives." He paused. "What exactly does chingate, pendejo atrasado mean, anyway? I don't think we covered it in high school."

"Fuck you, you retarded prick."

The lieutenant looked hurt. "I was only asking!"

Vasquez sighed. "No, that's what it means." She paused. "Funny though...Carmen never went in for any of that when we were kids."

"And you did?"

"Oh yeah, every chance I got. You got no street cred if you didn't mouth off to all and sundry."

Gorman arched an eyebrow."So you were one of those who thinks it's big and clever to talk like a trooper when you're about ten years old?"

"Ten?" Vasquez snorted. "Hey man, if I'd waited until I was ten, I'd've been marked down as beyond pathetic. I started the moment I was old enough to speak." She shrugged. "All our family did. It was normal."

The lieutenant shook his head. "It just seems rather pathetic to me, that's all."

"Yeah?" The smartgun operator snorted again. "Like someone like you'd understand it. You people've never gone hungry in your lives."

Gorman stared hard at her. "Don't you think it's a little pointless right now to keep on playing these games?" he said sharply. "So I'm not your favourite person in all the universe. After the fiasco on Acheron I can't say I really blame you for that-"

"How kind."

"-but this whole 'grunts vs officer' thing is getting very old very fast, especially if we're going to be roommates or cellmates or whatever you want to call it." Gorman took a deep breath. "So. I'm going to say this once, and once only, and I'm going to be as nice and polite about it as I possibly can. Fucking grow up!"

He had to admit, it was almost worth everything he'd suffered so far to see the stunned expression on the smartgun operator's face. They were taught in the academy to never raise their voices and to try and keep calm and reasonable at all times but, Gorman thought, the damn officers had never had to deal with the likes of the aliens before. Who were they to come and preach regs or ethical code in a combat situation?

Then he realised that this was NCO-thinking. More to the point, it was probably what had been going through the minds of his platoon on Acheron.

What the hell. Screw the academy and their damn conventions; I never wanted any of this in the first place.

And it still didn't get him any closer to solving the problem of the Company. With a sigh, Gorman picked up the latest paper and started to read, more for something to do than through any hope that it would help.




Exxen Tanner, planetary designation Raptor, was a pathological neophobe. People from her walk of life who weren't had roughly the same chances of survival as a snowball in a blast furnace. New things could and often did equate to new threats, ones whose behaviour patterns weren't known yet and therefore ones that you hadn't developed a defence for.

Of course, she was a very fast learner on that score, and she had a vast array of memories to draw on. Right now, she was trying to draw on the memory that could tell her about the hi-fi stereo. It was harder than she thought; she hadn't seen one in almost six years, and the one she was now looking at was subtly different to the ones they'd had back home.

Man, what I wouldn't give for a bit of rock and roll right about now.

The knock on the door brought her back down to earth and she turned, surprised. People rarely knocked, at least, not in her experience.

Outside in the corridor, Hicks hesitated, then opened the door and stepped in. If this...Tanner was asleep, then he could just leave the food and go. He wasn't sure if he wouldn't prefer that to talking to her; she seemed to know a hell of a lot more than he was comfortable with. She wasn't asleep, though, much to his private disappointment. Instead she was standing by Hudson's stereo system, seemingly absorbed in it.

The floorboard creaked under Hicks' foot and Tanner turned to look at him, causing the man to recoil instinctively. He couldn't help it. No human had eyes like that; the colour of hot amber, burning with intelligence.

"You're Corporal Dwayne Hicks?"

"Ex-Corporal Dwayne Hicks, yes," Hicks said pointedly, hoping this stranger would take the hint. "Dietrich said you wanted to talk to me. She also said that you'd mentioned other things to her."

Tanner took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. "Things like acid-blooded black bastards taking over a world called Acheron? That sort of thing?"

Hicks set the tray down on the table, never taking his eyes off her. "That sort of thing, yeah."

Tanner's eyes flicked to the food, then back to Hicks.

"Go ahead and eat," he told her. "You look hungry."

The girl returned her stare to the food. Tuna and some kind of pickle. Well, she'd eaten stranger combinations - although admittedly not many - and bread was a rare delicacy; people like her were lucky to get it more than once or twice a year. It was probably safe. After all, if they wanted her dead, chances were good they wouldn't be wasting their food on her.

Carefully, she reached out and took the plate, then lifted the sandwich and took a bite. It actually wasn't as bad as it smelled. Few things were, in Tanner's experience.

Hicks, due to a sense of delicacy and the fact that he didn't know what the hell this stranger wanted with him, waited until she'd finished before speaking.

"You want anything else?"

Tanner - who was already stuffed almost to bursting point - shook her head. She'd eaten more at that one sitting than she was used to getting in a day, unless she had a particularly successful series of hunts.

"So what did you want to speak to me about?" Hicks pressed.

"Plenty of things." Tanner took a mouthful of water. "You. Acheron. Newt. And a certain dark-haired drifter that I think we both know."

There was a short pause, which Tanner used to finish the water.

"You, uh, do you wanna talk about this downstairs?" Suddenly, Hicks found he didn't want to be alone with her, didn't want to hear whatever she'd come to say without some outside support, even if that support came from a nutty comtech and a spiteful medtech. It had to be better than hearing it alone.

Tanner hesitated, nervous. For the first time in years, she was in a place where other people had control of the situation, and she wasn't sure she liked the feeling. She wasn't even armed. And the thought of the people downstairs staring at her skin...it was a common enough colour for Atthiras, but even that medtech had thought she was diseased.

I'm not sure I'm strong enough for that. Not now. Later, maybe.

"We haven't opened yet," Hicks added, as though sensing the reason for her discomfort. "We were going to, but you showed up and..." He spread his hands to the side, smiling slightly.

Tanner found herself returning the smile. Something about this guy made her relax, which was so unusual in itself that she didn't want it to stop just yet. It was a nice feeling.

Get a grip, idiot! You're not here to screw!

"Alright," she said aloud. "But I want one of the back rooms."

Hicks shrugged. "Fine. Follow me."

He led her downstairs and into the kitchen, deliberately keeping his pace slow in an effort to accommodate Tanner's injuries.

"You're up?" Hudson said, startled, then, "I mean...up and about?"

"For now." Tanner pulled out a chair and dropped into it just before her leg buckled under her, Hicks seating himself just across from her. The girl glanced at him, then ran a hand through her hair, wincing at the snarls there. "Alright. You wanted me to talk this over with your friends in the room, fine. But if we're gonna have story time, I need a drink. A proper one, not water. What's the strongest you got?"

Hudson opened a cupboard and rummaged around in it for a few minutes before pulling out a bottle of the same pale pink liquid that Hicks had overindulged in on his first night on Tirand.

"Probably this stuff. If you're not used to it though-"

Tanner's hollow laugh cut him off midsentence. "I'm used to alchohol, don't you worry."

Hudson hesitated in the middle of looking for a glass and exchanged a look with Dietrich. "Are you a-"

"No," Tanner interrupted. "Just one drink and that's it. Trust me; I really am gonna need it, and I think you probably will too before I'm done."

Hudson glanced at Dietrich again. The medtech shrugged, meaning Go ahead, and the comtech filled a shot glass with the liquid, placing it down in front of Tanner and taking care to replace the bottle afterwards.

"Cheers." Tanner took a sip, grimacing slightly at the taste. "Alright. It's been a long time since I held a conversation with one person that lasted longer than about five minutes, never mind three people, and to be honest I'm not sure how to go about telling this particular story. So I think if it's okay with you, I'll just wing it and you can fire questions at me as and when you like." She took another sip and felt herself relax slightly. Hudson hadn't been kidding; this rose coloured water was some pretty powerful shit. "First of all, I want to talk to you about the girl, Ruin. I know she's been here recently; that's why I came by."

"Ruin?" Hicks' interest quickened. "You know her?"

"I did know her, yes."

"Why did she agree to help me?"

"Jesus, Dwayne, will you let the lady finish!" Hudson protested.

"Why did she agree to help me?" Hicks repeated doggedly, taking no notice of the comtech.

Tanner arched her eyebrows, raising the glass to her lips. "Maybe she felt you needed it."

Hicks grabbed the glass and slammed it down on the table hard enough to spill its contents over the rim. "Uh huh. And maybe you just happen to know the real reason!"

Tanner was about to bluff it out - through pure habit more than a desire to mislead Hicks - when she caught sight of the man's expression and thought better of it. Sucking on her fingers to capture the spilt alcohol, she nodded.

"Yeah, I do. I wasn't sure before, but I think - I think - I am now. I heard one or two things."

"About Ruin?" Hudson said eagerly. "What have you heard? Is she okay?"

"Oh, she's okay. The people she's working for won't let anything happen to her."

Across the table, Hicks hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted to ask the next question. But still. "What people?"

"Ruin is working for an organisation called the Elite. I don't know what your equivalent would be...a combination of the USCM and Weyland-Yutani, I suppose. Only far more powerful. You can bet as much as you like that they've infiltrated both those organisations as well, on every conceivable level. I can't blame Ruin for doing what she's doing, but that doesn't mean I have to support it." Tanner shook her head. "Like I said, I knew Ruin from before. Not very well, but I knew her. We were friends for a while, then food got scarce and we started fighting over what little there was. Selfishness is the only thing that keeps you alive in a place like Atthiras, and most people never lose it. Ruin's only helping you because that serves the Elite's purpose, which in turn serves her own. Though to be honest, I didn't realise the Elite had sucked her into this until I saw her on Acheron."

"You were on Acheron?" Hicks said sharply.

Tanner ran a hand through her hair.

"The Elite picked us both up from Atthiras. After the time we'd both spent there, we felt we'd earned a little rest and relaxation, so we went along with them to your colony."

There was a silence.

"Let me get this straight," Dietrich said finally, speaking for the first time. "You could, by your own admission, pick damn near any world you wanted... and you decided that Acheron gave you the best chance for R&R?"

"Yes."

There was another, more reflective silence.

"Man, I don't think I'd like to see where you come from," Hudson said finally. Hicks shot a look at him and the comtech shut up obligingly.

"Do you know anything about this Elite?" Hicks said. "Their location? Their plans?"

"Not much," Tanner said ruefully. "I lost access to damn near everything when I helped your friends out. That was treason as far as the others were concerned."

"What friends?" Hudson demanded.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Dietrich informed him pleasantly, then she frowned slightly, her gaze sharpening. "Show me your left arm," she said suddenly.

Tanner shot her a look, followed by a queer sort of half smile. "Alright. I can't pretend I wasn't waiting for that."

She shrugged out of the heavy leather jacket she was still wearing and offered her arm for inspection. The three of them stared. If there was any doubt in their minds as to the truth of Tanner's story, it was rapidly assuaged by the tattoo of an alien on her shoulder. Dietrich sat back slowly, almost as white as she'd been when she'd found the grenades. She supposed she must have seen the tattoo when she examined the girl, but it hadn't registered for some reason.

"It was you," she said hoarsely.

"Yeah." Tanner raised her eyebrows. "You don't look too pleased to see me again."

"Yeah, well, to be honest, I'm not. You took that facehugger. You're supposed to be dead."

"What?" Hudson stared from one to the other. "What facehugger? What're you talking about?"

Hicks, who was slightly faster on the uptake, stared hard at Dietrich. "Does this have anything to do with your mystery reappearance in Operations?"

Dietrich took a deep breath.

"Yeah, it does, alright? That bug grabbed me, I went out like a light and woke up in some kind of cell with the sarge and a bug egg. We could see people through the door - it was like the ones in Operations - and they were arguing about something. Someone opened the cell door, then someone else shut it. Before it closed completely, this person dived in with us. She literally stuffed her face in that egg, the door opened again - I think it was linked to the egg somehow - and me and the sarge got the fuck out." She paused for breath. "Now, can we change the subject...please?"

Tanner shrugged and pulled the jacket back on again. "Fine by me. You brought it up."

Hudson stared from one to the other. "Fuck! You took a facehugger for Cyn?"

"Yeah. It was a pretty common thing; they'd bring two people back, put them in with one egg and then see if the person still left alive would agree to join them. The guys working the labs that day were raw recruits who froze the instant the door opened, otherwise I'd never have got away with it. They operated on me, took out the bug, then stitched me back up again and we all left a few hours later."

Hicks glanced at Dietrich. "So what happened with you?"

The medtech shrugged, although she was still white and visibly shaken.

"Me and the sarge got the fuck out. What do you think? Nobody tried to stop us. I think they were too surprised that we were out and about." She turned her attention to Tanner. "And although I swore never, ever to do this, I agree with Will. Why'd you do it?"

Tanner stared wordlessly into her drink for a few minutes.

"I agreed to come with the Elite because they saved my life. That doesn't mean I agree with their methods. They're not usually like that though; we just had one hell of a shitty commander."

"Gorman," Hudson and Dietrich said in unison. Tanner snorted.

"Yeah, like him. Only worse."

Hicks took a deep breath. "Alright. Fine. But it still doesn't explain their interest in us."

Tanner shot him a look. "I can do that in four or five words; they're setting you up. They won't let the Company have you."

"Sounds alright to me," Hudson said bluntly.

"They're also being recalled in a few months, and their orders are not to let Weyland-Yutani get their hands on you under any circumstances. They're not allowed to take you back with them." Tanner shook her head. "There's only one way they can carry out their orders; kill you all. Once you and Newt and the others are all gathered here, they'll most likely drop a bomb on the place and be gone before the smoke clears."




Ruin's mind turned over, working faster than it ever had in her life. In the meantime, her survival instinct kicked in and she smiled.

"Come on in," she repeated.

Apone didn't move, didn't return the smile. "I came here looking for Hicks, kid, and you sure as hell ain't him."

Kid? Ruin tensed imperceptibly, then forced herself to relax. "I'm working for Hicks." Well, that was true enough. It just wasn't very accurate. "I placed the ad in the hopes that someone would come along."

"Bullshit." Apone said the word evenly, neutrally, refusing to take his eyes off her. "Who are you really, some kinda reporter? Is this some kind of crazy stunt to find out what went down on Acheron?"

It was on the tip of Ruin's tongue to tell him that she knew damn well what had gone down on Acheron, probably in a lot more detail than any of the Marines, but at that point her mind stopped turning, tapped her on the shoulder and presented her with its findings.

This man's dangerous. Get rid of him.

She hesitated. Her instinct for trouble was dormant - she didn't believe she was in any physical danger from Apone - but that was no reason to take chances.

Right. Look, if you came face to face with someone like this back home, you'd either hide and hope he didn't notice you or try to make him believe you were no threat to him. Hiding is completely out the question, so let's try the submission thing.

"I wasn't after you." That much at least was true, she thought sourly. Apone was someone who merited respect, and there was probably nobody Ruin hated coming up against more than people like that. Emotional or naïve people like Hicks and Hudson were far easier to manipulate. "To be honest, I'm not sure who I was expecting, except it damn well wasn't-" She broke off abruptly, staring at something past Apone's shoulder.

"Wasn't what?" Apone started to say, before he was cut off.

"Sarge?"

Both Ruin and Apone automatically turned towards the source of the voice. Spunkmeyer, wearing considerably more than he had been when Ruin had last seen him, was standing there, staring. Annoying as he was, at that moment Ruin could quite happily have kissed him...although judging from the killing stare the dropship crew chief was giving her, the feeling was less than mutual.

"I am going to fucking kill you," he said to Ruin, his voice unnaturally pleasant.

Ruin raised a mocking eyebrow. "Come on and try, Dan. I notice you at least managed to find some clothes."

Something in that seemed to unnerve the young man; Ruin hadn't seen him looking this shaken since they'd made their deal.

"Yeah. Yeah, I found 'em." He glanced at Apone. "So what're you doing here? Are you staying or going?"

The germ of an idea appeared in Ruin's mind and, like most ideas she had, she acted on it immediately and smiled at Apone. "Yes, come in. Please."




There was a long, stunned silence.

"Why?" Hicks said eventually. "Whatever's left on Acheron that they want, they can have it! We don't want a war."

"Neither do they. But they're gonna give you one, Hicks, because they can't risk leaving anyone who saw what you saw alive."

Hudson, who had had both feet up on the table for the majority of the conversation (much to Dietrich's disgust) suddenly swung them down again and leaned forward.

"What the fuck's it got to do with them? Look, they didn't want us to see the bugs, but we had no choice! If they're worried we're gonna have anything more to do with them or a shitty colony like Acheron - no offence, Dwayne - we fucking well ain't!"

Tanner shook her head.

"You still don't understand, do you? They don't want you dead because you saw the bugs. They want you dead because you could have seen the derelict where the bugs came from. And if you saw that, you could also have seen what else was inside. They're not going to take that chance, especially not with the kid. Wasn't it her family that first went there? And you, Hicks; they'd have hacked into your personnel file as well as everyone else's. Birthplace, Acheron, Alpha Centauri system. You could've seen it as well." She took a deep breath. "You can howl about the aliens all you want, but the fact remains that your colony was damned as soon as the first transport ship landed there."

Hicks lunged at her and seized her shoulders tightly, ignoring the hiss of pain as he jarred the girl's cracked ribs.

"What about Newt? What about her disappearance? Was your precious fucking Elite responsible for that as well?"

Tanner didn't move, didn't attempt to struggle.

"No. They want her dead, not vanished. If they'd found you and her - currently numbers one and two on their Most Wanted list - alone like that, they'd have just shot you. Whoever took Newt, it wasn't the Elite."

Hicks released her abruptly and slumped back into his seat. Tanner touched her rib gingerly, wincing as black pain shot through her side and up into her head.

"You wanna painkiller?" Hudson asked her. Tanner shook her head.

"No. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Positive. I don't do drugs."

"You don't do drugs?" Dietrich echoed scathingly. "Jesus, what kinda painkillers you think we got here?"

Tanner shook her head again. "Thanks, but no thanks. If there's something wrong with my body, I need to know about it."

Hicks ran a hand through his hair, and Tanner seriously doubted whether he'd heard any of the previous exchange.

"Why this elaborate scheme?" he said suddenly. "They must know where we are. Why didn't they just send someone to pick us off one at a time?"

Tanner shrugged.

"Because if they picked you off one at a time - and yes, they could - then you might twig. Some of you might go into hiding. The Elite has one potential weakness; it relies on people seeing other people. If you could find an uninhabited world, or area, you'd be out of their reach, and there's always the chance - however small - that one of you could get the better of whoever was sent to kill you. They're not going to take that chance. A blitz is nice and clean. No survivors."

Hicks surged to his feet, pacing angrily, hands snapping in and out of fists and then whirled. "This is goddamned nuts! I never saw that ship! None of us did!"

"The child did, Hicks. She never went inside, but that's not going to worry the Elite. They want to hush the whole thing up and that means not taking any chances. And you're as Acheronic as Newt is. The Elite aren't so worried about the others - although they want them dead too - but Newt's family went into that ship, and they could have talked to yours who might have passed it onto you. Or you could have seen it when you were a kid. I believe you didn't," Tanner added, as Hicks looked to be nearing explosion point again, "but they're not going to take that chance."

Hicks and Hudson exchanged glances.

"Are they like Burke?" Hicks asked. "Are they going to-"

"No," Tanner cut across. "At least, not in that way. They're not interested in helping or hurting the Company unless their own agenda is involved. And they really are not interested in doing anything with the aliens besides wiping them out. If they want you dead, you'll be dead, but at least it'll be quick. You're not gonna wake up with a facehugger."

"Tell that to the fucks on the ship," Dietrich muttered, not quite under her breath.

"That wasn't an execution. That was just recruitment, and like I said, it wasn't entirely above board either."

There was a silence.

"We got pensions," Hudson said suddenly. "Maybe we could come to some arrangement with this...Elite."

Hicks fixed the comtech with a steel gaze. "You do that if you like. I am not sending any money to the people who, if I understand this right, are responsible for wiping out my home!"

Tanner shook her head. "Noble sentiments, Hicks, but it wouldn't work anyway. Money isn't a problem for these guys. They collect hundreds of billions per month. Even the Company can't hope to match that, so I doubt any of you could."

There was a stunned silence.

"Man, I'm in the wrong fucking job," Hudson said eventually. "How'd they get that much?"

"Taxation," Tanner said with a shrug. "Every world under Elite protection pays tax. Every inhabitant that's classed as a legal adult and who has a source of income has to pay a dollar a month taxes."

Hicks raised his eyebrows. "That hardly seems excessive."

"I know. That's why so few people duck out of it. End result, one world nets about two or three billion per month, at least. And these people control over three hundred worlds."

Hicks shook his head. "How? How the fuck can people like that get in charge? More importantly, how do they stay in charge?"

"They're not invaders, Hicks. They're...guards, I suppose you could call them." Tanner shrugged. "There's no rule saying any of the worlds have to ask for their protection, and the Elite doesn't approach any either. But it's the only one offering its services, so most worlds take them up on it."

"Yours included?"

"Mine?" Tanner turned a piercing look on Hicks. "Atthiras is a pleasure world. It's one of the very few places where the Elite are banned from interfering or even visiting." She considered. "Not that it matters; they can always find a way in if they want. They don't have a uniform, so unless they waved their ID cards in the guard's face, they wouldn't be challenged, and they're rich enough to pay their way out again. How d'you think they got me and Ruin out?" Tanner shook her head. "Ruin might be looking for Newt, but that's only a secondary mission. She wants to find the other Acheron survivors and then get them to a place where the Elite can deal with them cleanly. Hudson gave her the perfect target. She'll send everyone here, just like she did you, Hicks."

"She didn't send me. Hudson called and said he'd heard my name mentioned by a group of campers."

"Didn't you ever wonder where he got your number from?"

Hicks stared at her, then turned his attention on Hudson, who shrugged.

"They said you'd given them the card and they passed it on to me."

"I didn't give them anything, Will, except a jumpstart."

"Which changes everything, really," Tanner said matter-of-factly. "It's not like the Elite to be so underhanded and subtle, at least, not for something like this. They could have just shot you and Newt out the air. I think there's something more behind all this."

Hicks and Hudson exchanged looks.

"Tell me," Hicks said eventually.

"I think there's more than one group of people trying to cover things up." Tanner raised a hand, forestalling Hicks' next question. "I don't know who. To be honest, I've no evidence other than my own instincts, but they're not usually wrong. I don't know who took Newt, but in an ironic sort of way they did you a favour. If they hadn't split you up, the Elite would have killed you both by now. As it is, they'll let you both live for the minute in the hopes that one of you will lead them to the other. I think the Elite are searching for the kid just as avidly as you are. They don't know where she is, which means she must be in some pretty high-security place, because there aren't many companies and facilities the Elite can't get into if they put their minds to it."

Hicks shook his head. "Why are you telling us all this?"

"Because you need to understand. Ruin has nothing against you, Hicks, not personally. In fact, I think she respects you for what you did. But she rode out with the Elite to find this ship, and since she's not an official member, they're not going to take her back unless she helps them tie up some of their loose ends."

There was a long, long silence.

"What loose ends?" Hudson said eventually. "What's Ruin gonna do?"

"What she promised," Tanner said candidly. "She's gonna go out, find Newt, bring her back here, then she's going to hop onto the Elite ship and watch this place get blown to smithereens before going home."




"That ain't gonna help."

"Shut up."

"Really, it won't make any difference."

"I said shut up!" Gorman rested his forehead on one hand tiredly.

"Pressure of life getting to you, lieutenant?" Vasquez said, smirking.

"Pressure of life, no. Pressure of obnoxious roommate, yes!"

The smartgun operator shrugged. "You think you've got problems? I've had to deal with her for almost a week now."

Newt rolled her eyes and didn't bother answering.

"I was talking about you!" Gorman said sharply.

Vasquez' smirk widened. "I shouldn't worry, Gorman. I got word from a very reliable source that Hicks is here, on Gateway."

"What?" Gorman and Newt said simultaneously. Vasquez stretched out on the couch, now grinning.

"Oh yeah. Take a look at the classifieds. Seems Hicks can't wait to find us again."

"What?" The lieutenant scanned the paper rapidly, sorting through the pages until he came to the ad in question. He frowned. "That's not right."

"Fuck it isn't."

"Will you stop celebrating Newt's departure for just two minutes and think! Who the hell places ads like this?" The lieutenant scanned the page. "'Missing, one blond, blue-eyed six year old'? That's not a call for help; it's a goddamned commercial. I'd lay odds the Company planted it."

"For what?" Vasquez demanded. "They already know where the kid is."

Gorman shook his head dismissively. "They don't just want her, Vasquez. They want Hicks, and Hudson, and Apone and Dietrich and everyone else who came back from that hellworld. Nobody's going to listen to Newt; she's only a child."

"Am not!" Newt protested. Gorman continued, taking no notice.

"But if every surviving Marine claims the same thing, that's going to make things very awkward. They already got you and me, and Ripley. They want the rest of us so they can hush the whole thing up."

Vasquez looked at him oddly. "Why shouldn't they believe Newt? She's the only surviving colonist."

"She also happens to be six years old. Didn't you ever pretend or think that there were monsters or bad guys all around you when you were a kid?"

"Yeah," Vasquez retorted irritably. "That's because there usually were. Drink and drug abuse can do that to a person, lieutenant, or didn't they teach you that at your precious fucking academy?"

There was a short, embarrassed silence.

"We're getting off the subject," Gorman said diplomatically. "Bottom line, I heard some of the techs talking when I was in that cell. You, me and Ripley were brought in because we had the facehuggers. The others supposedly stayed just long enough to sort out settlements and pensions, then they scattered. One of those guys said how they'd taken Newt while Hicks was asleep, the day before they left Gateway. I thought I had to try and get to her, get her out before the Company managed to lock her in with a facehugger."

"How noble of you."

Gorman glanced over, saw the smartgun operator's curled lip and sighed. "Are you going to keep this up all the time we're here?"

"Probably. You're an easier target than the kid."

The lieutenant looked away again, scowling, and his gaze fell upon the paper again, on the half-page advertisement on the other side. He'd been wondering about this ever since he'd first come across it, and the more he thought about it, the better it seemed.

"You know this formal dinner the Company's giving?" he said suddenly.

"What about it?"

Gorman gulped down the rest of his coffee, wincing as it burned his throat. "I thought I might go. It could be interesting."

Vasquez' jaw dropped. "You what?"

"I said I thought I might go. At best, I'll find something out we can use, at worst, I'll probably get a decent meal."

"And what about me?"

Gorman glanced at her, startled. "Do you want to come?"

"I might," Vasquez said, more to judge the lieutenant's reaction than anything. Gorman shrugged.

"If you want to, you can, but you'll stick out like a sore thumb dressed like that."

The smartgun operator considered. "There's a load of clothes in the wardrobe. I can change, borrow some makeup from Charmaine."

There was a long, long silence.

"What?" Vasquez demanded at the end of it.

Gorman shook his head, as though trying to dislodge an image. "I'm trying to imagine you with eyeshadow and lipstick, that's all. It's almost as hard as trying to imagine you in something beside combats."

"Or not swearing so much," Newt added helpfully. The lieutenant glanced at her, then back at Vasquez.

"Yeah, and that's a good point as well. If you go around effing and blinding, people are gonna work out you're not what you seem. Anyway, who's going to look after Newt?"

"She can look after herself for a few hours." When Gorman remained unconvinced, Vasquez rolled her eyes. "Oh alright, fine, have it your way! Just try and bring back a doggy bag or something; I'm fucking sick of eating the same thing day in, day out."

"I'll go," Newt offered. "Do they have burgers at this place?"

"I highly doubt it," Gorman said heavily, "and no, you won't. You've probably been voted in as Company Enemy Number One; they'd grab you in less than a second."

Vasquez stretched up leisurely, then dropped her arms to her sides. "Alright, so you go on your own then. You've probably got more experience with oysters and champagne than either of us anyway."

"Oysters?" The lieutenant shuddered. "Thanks, but I'll pass. I had a couple at the passing-out parade and almost threw up over the commandant. It's like eating chilled phlegm."

Vasquez, who had celebrated her own passing-out with trash food and enough alcohol to put Menzies out of business and cause a little extra passing out that the NCOs hadn't banked on, snorted.

"Chilled phlegm or not, you're gonna have to eat some. As many as you can stomach."

Gorman paled. "Why?"

"Just do it, Gorman. And be sure to bring the shells back with you."

The lieutenant shook his head. "You want me to drop those vile things down my throat just to bring you a few shells, you're going to have to give me a damn good reason, Vasquez!"

"We need weapons. Not for the bugs so much as the assholes guarding us. I can fix that up, but I'm gonna need something to work with."

"So where do the oysters come in?"

Vasquez rolled her eyes. "When you burn oyster shells, you get something called quicklime." She spoke slowly and exaggeratedly, as though explaining to a mentally handicapped foreigner.

Newt sucked in her breath sharply, understanding. "That's really nasty."

"We ain't playing kid's games here," Vasquez informed her. "We want to get out. If we don't incapacitate or kill these people, then they will incapacitate or kill us. It's as simple as that."

Gorman cleared his throat. "Much as I hate giving you another reason to despise me, Vasquez-"

"Since when do I need a reason?"

"-I'm really not following you."

"You're gonna use that stuff, aren't you?" Newt said to Vasquez, ignoring the lieutenant.

"I sure as hell wouldn't ask Gormless for it otherwise."

"Can't you use your gun?"

Vasquez glanced at the pulse rifle.

"I could, but I want to keep it back for the bugs. I don't know if quicklime's likely to do them any damage. I do know that it's lethal to people, if you know how to use it. Pour it on their skin and they dissolve, shoot it into their eyes and they go blind."

"Yeah?" Gorman was staring at the woman as though he'd never seen her before, chalk white. "How do you know all this?"

"One of the guys in the slammer taught me. Taught everyone, actually; he liked to brag about it." Vasquez shook her head. "This ain't getting us anywhere. Fact remains, you're still gonna have to find a way to disguise yourself."

"I could grow a beard."

"I thought you already had."

The lieutenant glowered at her. The underarm razor Vasquez used was alright up to a point, but it was too blunt to be much use to him. It had taken almost two hours and a fair amount of skin before he'd managed to get his jawline back to anything remotely resembling smooth.

"He doesn't look like a soldier," Newt volunteered, holding both hands up to form a screen. "I don't think anyone'd suspect him of being a real soldier pretending to be a fake one."

"You see?" Gorman said to Vasquez. "Newt agrees with me...I think. And I can always dye my hair or something."

"I don't think you'll find any hairdressers or pharmacists around here," the smartgun operator said tartly.

"I can bleach it then."

"Doesn't that hurt?" Newt asked. Vasquez glanced at her.

"Yeah. Let's do it."

The lieutenant glared at her, but didn't answer. Vasquez eyed him critically. "Anyway, you're not far off that now. One other problem, though. What are you planning to wear?"

Gorman shrugged. "I thought I'd cross that bridge when I came to it."

"Yeah?" Vasquez snorted. "Well, you better fucking come to it before you go outside, because I don't think they'll let you in naked, unless you're gonna try convincing 'em you're going for the natural look. What if someone recognises you?"

Gorman shrugged again. "Unlikely. Anyone out there who wasn't trying to kill me was either you or thought I was a tech. And techs don't usually get invitations to these kind of things."

"Neither do Marines, Gorman, officers or otherwise!"

"I'm not going as a Marine. I'm going as a civilian dressed as a Marine."

"Right. Big difference there. You really think nobody will be able to tell the difference? As far as most people are concerned, if you dress like a fucking Marine, walk like a fucking Marine, talk like a fucking Marine and look like a fucking Marine, you are a fucking Marine! And I'm not sure the dressing part's compulsory anymore either!"

"Maybe not. But if I was such a shitty officer, nobody's going to suspect I'm the real thing. And I don't plan on convincing them I'm a bad officer either."

"You expect me to believe you can pass yourself off as a good one?" The smartgun operator snorted derisively. "Dream on."

"Well, he couldn't pass himself off as a worse one," Newt pointed out.

"Good point," Vasquez admitted.

"If you two have quite finished!" Gorman said heatedly, then took a couple of deep breaths in an effort to calm down. "Getting back to this dinner, I still think it could be interesting."

Vasquez shrugged. "So go then. Like I told the kid, this ain't a prison."

Gorman glanced down at the paper again. "Fine. What am I supposed to wear, though?"

"Why are you asking me?" Vasquez stretched out full length on the couch, linking her hands behind her head and closing her eyes. "In case it escaped your notice, I ain't been to many fancy dinners in my time, lieutenant."

"You probably have a better eye for these things than I do. What would look good on me?"

"A straitjacket?" Newt suggested, causing Vasquez to grin appreciatively.

"Don't you start," Gorman told the girl flatly. Newt rolled her eyes.

"Why don't you just get some uniforms from somewhere? You could always take a smartgun in as well."

"No I could not! I've never held one of those things in my life!"

Vasquez shifted her weight, settling herself more comfortably. "So? Nor have the others there, most likely. Maybe you should take a couple of grenade belts in, just to add authenticity."

Gorman glared at her, but the smartgun operator's eyes were still closed and she might have been thinking anything. "Alright. Before you both decide to send me in with a goddamn SADAR-"

Vasquez grinned broadly. "Oh man, how come I didn't think of that one?"

"Vasquez, I am going to try and infiltrate a dinner, not a damn war!"

"In my book, lieutenant, there ain't a whole lot of difference besides the fact that you don't have to pretend you like your enemies in a war."

Gorman sighed. "I also want to try and remain as inconspicuous as I can under the circumstances."

"Then you should probably do something about all those big words you like so much," Vasquez drawled, and dropped into an atrocious impersonation of Gorman's voice. "I want to remain as inconspicuous as I can under the circumstances. Man, who the fuck talks like that?" she added in her normal voice. "You wanna avoid being discovered, you should try talking like a grunt or something."

"A grunt. Alright." Gorman cleared his throat. "Hey dude, there's a fucking stranger looking at us funny! Let's fucking blow his fucking head off! Then let's go get fucking pissed and fucking smash up everything in the fucking bar before crawling back to the fucking barracks! Who the fuck gives a fuck about the fucking regs anyway, man?" He raised his eyebrows. "How was that?"

Vasquez snapped open dark eyes to regard him icily. "Very funny!"

"Yes, I thought so." Now it was Gorman who was smirking; it wasn't often he got to put one over on Vasquez.

Newt looked at Vasquez solemnly. "Still think I'm the worst roommate ever, Vaz?"

Vasquez snorted. "So far, kid, yeah. But I'm wavering. I'll admit that much."

Newt grinned, and for once the smartgun operator returned it.