Torn Apart by Jude

"I've been thinking about something," Hicks said the next morning, as soon as Hudson was awake enough to hold a coherent conversation.

"Again?" Hudson mumbled, his voice barely audible. There had been a party last night, and he'd gotten seriously drunk with most of the guests. He was currently face down on one of the tables; it had been easier to go to sleep there than try and haul himself upstairs to bed, particularly when the walls and floor kept swirling around.

"Yes, again. I want to talk to you about Ruin."

Hudson groaned, a reaction that wasn't entirely due to the hangover.

"Again?" he repeated. "Fuck's sake, Dwayne, what now?" He stuck out a hand and felt around on the table experimentally.

"She said a lot of things while we were talking."

"That's the point of a conversation," Hudson said irritably; Hicks' obsession with Ruin was really starting to get on his nerves. "Could you grab me a couple eggs and some tomato juice out the fridge?"

"Way ahead of you." There was a light tap as Hicks placed the items on the table. Hudson reached out, fumbling until his hand located the eggs, then he broke them into the dirty glass in front of him, poured in a generous amount of juice and swallowed the mixture, shuddering.

"Okay. Tell me. And please keep your voice down; my fucking head feels like it's about to drop off."

Hicks dragged a chair over, causing the comtech to cringe at the noise, and sat down opposite him.

"I think she's a colonist."

"Who isn't these days?" Hudson finished his hangover cure and opened grainy eyes. "You have any idea how expensive it is to live in the so-called settled planets?"

"Acheron."

"'Scuse me?"

Hicks suppressed a sigh and, with considerably more difficulty, an urge to whack the comtech upside the head.

"I'm saying I think Ruin was a colonist from Acheron."

Hudson stared, then a slow grin spread across his face.

"What?" Hicks said sharply. "It makes complete sense."

"Yeah? I'll tell you something else makes complete sense, Dwayne; you had a little too much booze last night."

Hicks glared at him. "No thanks. I learned my lesson the hard way about that shit." He shook his head. "Look, Ruin knew my last name and I'm damn sure none of you told her what it was. Does she ever talk about where she came from?"

Hudson struggled to remember. "Well...no. Not often, anyway."

"Right, which means she might well be an illegal immigrant here. Colonists aren't allowed to just leave as and when they please; they're assigned to new positions just like we are." Hicks paused. "Then there's the little matter of what I saw in her hideout that time."

"Which was?"

"Do you remember that doll Newt always used to carry?"

Hudson tried to think. "Yeah...that head. What about it?"

"It was there," Hicks said quietly. "In Ruin's hideout. But that thing sank into the lower levels of Acheron; I saw it myself."

The comtech rolled his eyes. "Lotsa people carry decapitated dolls."

Hicks shot him a withering look. "Name three."

Hudson looked up at Hicks, or at least at the Hicks that seemed to stay in focus for the longest. The three that were still moving from side to side were probably safe to ignore.

"Dwayne, what you're suggesting...that would have given her about half an hour to get down there, retrieve that doll's head and get back to wherever her ship was -- which, incidentally, she told me she couldn't fly -- and that ain't counting the bugs."

Hicks refused to look away. "Half an hour's plenty of time. Ripley did it in less than that."

"Ripley probably didn't have to trek halfway across the goddamned planet!" Hudson shot back acidly. "Unlike Ruin 'cause if her ship was anywhere, it'd be out of range of our scanners since we never found it."

"Did we ever scan for it?"

The comtech gave him a look that was surprisingly withering for a man suffering from the great-grandmother of all hangovers.

"You don't think Bishop would have flown straight past a strange ship without mentioning it, do you?"

"You don't get it, Will. Ruin's place was like a plant version of Acheron, and she must have gone to some trouble to replicate the stink -- why, Christ only knows -- but it's a pretty fair semblance. She never talks about where she came from, but she knows my name, your name, Cyn's name and Newt's. How could she know all that? How, unless she was there at the time?"

Hudson took a deep breath.

"Okay. First of all, she knew mine and Cyn's names 'cause we introduced ourselves to her, both names. So that puts a hole in your theory right from the start. Second, we probably mentioned your name and Newt's too if it comes to that. Fuck knows we told everyone else when we found out you were coming. Third, if she was a colonist, she'd have had a PDT, and we'd have picked her up on the screen."

"Would we?" Hicks refused to give in. "I seem to remember it took you a pretty long time to track down the rest of them. Neither of us bothered to count, to see if they were all accounted for. It's more than possible Ruin was hiding somewhere else."

"Where?"

"I don't know, do I?" Hicks shook his head. "I think she knows about the aliens. I think she knows a hell of a lot more about them than we do."

"Well, that ain't hard," Hudson muttered. Hicks continued, ignoring him.

"I can't help wondering if she had something to do with the whole thing. Maybe she had something to do with that ship. Maybe she brought the aliens as some kind of bioweapon to wage war or something." He shook his head. "Why the hell did you have to let her in here?"

There was a silence, then Hudson spoke in a tone of utmost reason.

"Dwayne, I am not going to ban Ruin on the grounds that she might be a megalomaniac trying to take over the universe with a hostile alien race."

Hicks glanced at him, then managed a grin. "Yeah. I guess it does sound a little far-fetched."

"Oh yeah," the comtech said fervently. "You've only spoken to her for a couple hours, but in your mind she's already destroyed the colony by arriving in a ship -- which also happens to be a good few centuries old! -- watched the others die down there and then abducted Newt's doll. Never mind the little fact that she's currently doing everything in her power to find Newt."

Hicks frowned slightly. "Yeah, and doesn't that strike you as odd?"

Hudson rolled his eyes.

"Jesus, Dwayne, have a day off! If you mean, does it strike me as odd that you asked what amounted to a perfect stranger to scour the galaxy for your kid, then yes it does! Almost as odd as the fact that she agreed. Ruin is not going to kill Newt, and if she finds her I guarantee she'll bring her back here. Now can we change the--"

He cringed suddenly, covering his ears as a high-pitched caterwauling reached them from upstairs and sinking practically under the table as Dietrich emerged singing one of Tirand's most popular drinking songs. Her singing voice verged on the painful at the best of times, Hicks thought, never mind when you were hung over.

"There's a pistol out back," Hudson muttered. "You wanna grab it and do me a favour, Dwayne?"

Hicks quirked an eyebrow at him. "You or her?"

"Surprise me," the comtech said tonelessly.

There was a blessed silence as Dietrich fumbled over the words of verse six, followed by her deciding to repeat verse five and the chorus for good measure. Eventually Hudson picked up his glass and hurled it overarm at the medtech. Dietrich ducked, and the glass hit the wall behind and shattered.

"What the fuck was that for?" the medtech demanded indignantly.

"Just shut it, okay?" Hudson said dully. "My head is fucking killing me."

Dietrich rolled her eyes. "Yeah? Well, that's what you get when you don't know when to stop. Shit, Will; even Dwayne don't get pissed like you did."

"I don't get pissed at all," Hicks retorted. Honesty and a treacherously good memory forced him to add, "well, not often anyway."

"That's what you said when you first arrived," Dietrich shot back, not missing a beat.

Hudson groaned aloud. "Dwayne, please knock one of us out. Or go back to what we were talking about; even that's gotta be better than listening to Cyn bitch."

"What?" Her interest momentarily diverted, Dietrich glanced from one man to the other. "What were you talking about?"

"Acheron," Hicks said tonelessly. For some reason, he didn't feel like going into his theories about Ruin again, not least because the next glass Hudson found would probably come for his head.

Dietrich shook her head disbelievingly. "Who the fuck wants to talk about Acheron? Nothing but rocks, rust and rain. Man, who'd grow up in a place like that?"

"I did," Hicks said very quietly.

There was a surprised silence.

"'Scuse me?" Hudson said at the end of it.

Hicks glanced at him. There was no real expression on his face, but the comtech still found it hard to meet those clear green eyes. "I was a colony brat. I enlisted in the USCM when I was sixteen."

"Yeah man, but that colony wasn't Acheron, was it?"

There was another silence and Hudson sank down onto an empty chair.

"It...was. Jesus, man, how the fuck do you live with something like that?"

In an odd sort of way, it made sense, though. Hudson remembered how Hicks had seemed to know his way around the colony even without the maps, how he'd been yelling in the reactor about going down one tunnel as opposed to the other. They'd taken that for granted at the time; not one of them had stopped to wonder about how he'd been so familiar with their surroundings.

Hudson continued staring, wordless.

"You...yeah, but your family, man; they got out okay, right? Right? I mean, families move all the time. They must've left Acheron before the shit hit the fan, right?"

Hicks didn't answer. That in itself was answer enough.

"You..." For once, the comtech was speechless.

"Good thing the whole place went up, then," Dietrich said matter-of-factly. "At least it'd be quicker than death by facehugger...unless they'd already had that, of course."

Hicks genuinely didn't believe that she meant this maliciously, but he'd just poured himself a mug of steaming coffee and he could have quite happily dashed it in her face.

"You really are a fucking grade-A superbitch, aren't you?" Hudson said to the medtech, recovering his voice with what looked like a supreme effort and looking at her with something very much like loathing. Dietrich held up her hands defensively.

"Oh, come on; like you weren't thinking it!"

"Just..." Hudson fumbled for words, eventually settling on, "Just shut up and get the bar open, okay?"

Dietrich glowered at him. "Me? Why do I always have to do it? Why don't you pull your own weight once in a while?"

"Because my head feels like it's gonna fucking explode."

"Shouldn'ta got drunk then, should you?" the medtech returned smartly, not missing a beat.

"Forget it; I'll do it." Hicks got to his feet. Their constant bickering was starting to give him a headache of his own, and he found himself wondering for the first time how the hell Hudson and Dietrich had wound up going into business together.

More's to the point, what was he supposed to do? Following Ruin held a certain appeal, he had to admit, but it also lacked any semblance of good sense.

Hicks sighed. Maybe Hudson was right. Maybe he had been overdoing it a little recently. Maybe there was nothing to really worry about. He doubted it, but maybe.

"Vaz? Tell me a story," Newt said plaintively.

"Shut up, you little shit," Vasquez grated under her breath. What had she ever done to deserve this?

The smartgun operator thought about it for a few minutes and then started thinking about what she hadn't done instead. That was much easier, and there was the added bonus that she'd probably be finished before lunch. Hell, she'd almost prefer a facehugger to spending the rest of her life with a six year old girl in this place, and it didn't help much to think that in either case, the rest of her life probably wasn't going to be that long.

In fairness, it wasn't just Newt that was causing her bad mood. Vasquez had been up all night working on Gorman, finally falling asleep at around four in the morning when the lieutenant had seemed to regain some of his colour. The alarm clock had woken the smartgun operator up two hours later, before being hurled into the wall, and it was only Newt's quick reflexes and instinct for trouble that had probably saved her from the same fate.

Still, Gorman had seemed a little better. At least now there could be no doubt that he was still alive.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Newt asked, clambering up to kneel on the arm of the couch.

"How the fuck should I know?"

The girl's tone was eminently reasonable as she answered, "Well, you were the one helping him."

Vasquez took a deep breath, fighting to keep a hold on her temper. It wasn't Newt's fault Gorman had showed up, and Vasquez herself was happier and more relieved to see him than she'd let on. He'd saved her life, after all.

He'd...The smartgun operator frowned slightly. Even Drake might well have balked at going up against a queen alien with nothing more than a pistol. Yet Gorman had gone in without even thinking about it. Actually, acting without thinking seemed to be very much in his line. Still...if he'd had the chance to get over his pitiful dependence on regs, and the naïve belief that everyone would follow them regardless, Vasquez supposed that Gorman would probably have made one hell of an officer.

Not much chance of that now though, even if we do manage to get out of here. I think he's officially dead, as far as the records go.

The smartgun operator shook her head. She hadn't survived as long as she had by ignoring her instincts, and right now they were telling her to get out, and fast.

And to do that, I'll need to get the lieutenant fixed up asap. Which means... Vasquez let out an irritated sigh. Shit.

Reaching down, she grabbed the pulse rifle and hefted it easily; enjoying the feeling of security the weapon gave her, and then glanced at Newt.

"If he wakes up, tell him I'll be back by seven."

Newt stared at her. "You're going out again? After what happened last time?"

"I'm not going back in that room," Vasquez said dismissively, as though that settled the matter. "I'm just gonna...get one or two things. I need more medical supplies." She glanced at Gorman. "That dickhead needs more than we have."

"That dickhead saved your life," Newt pointed out smartly, not missing a beat. The smartgun operator glared at her, torn between anger and amusement.

"And that is the only reason I let him anywhere near here. I pay my debts. That's all." Vasquez shook her head. "I told you, I'm not going to go back into that hellhole. I'm just gonna borrow a few things, that's all."

"Borrow?" Newt echoed.

"Yeah."

"So...when you're done with them, you're gonna give 'em back?"

"Don't fucking split hairs with me, kid." Vasquez glanced down at the pulse rifle. A full clip, minus grenades. It would have to be enough.

"Vaz, c'n I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"If you aren't going back to those things, why're you taking the gun along? 'Cause it's only gonna attract attention."

The smartgun operator hesitated. That was a damn good question, although she wasn't about to let Newt know that. "Because I think it could be useful, that's why," she said instead. "Why? You got a better idea?"

"No, but at least I didn't come up with a worse one either."

Ouch. Vasquez almost grinned, caught it just in time. That was a good one. She'd have to remember it. "What's your problem, anyway?" she demanded. "I'm just gonna go through to medlab, grab a few things and come back."

Newt bit her lip. "I don't wanna stay here."

Vasquez shrugged. "So don't. I ain't exactly holding you prisoner here, kid, in case you hadn't realised. You know where the door is; go squat with Charmaine or someone."

The girl squirmed, tracing patterns on the floor with a toe. "I jus'...I don't wanna be alone in this place."

"You're not alone," Vasquez told her unsympathetically. "You've got the lieutenant."

Newt glowered at the smartgun operator. "What's he gonna do if someone comes over, snore at them?"

Vasquez felt another grin threatening to spread itself over her face, suppressed it with a supreme effort. "You ain't coming, kid, and that's final. I want to get this done quickly and smoothly, not have to worry about babysitting."

"I'm not a baby!"

"Then don't fucking act like one!" the smartgun operator shot back.

"I could be useful. I could help you carry the stuff."

Vasquez raised a scornful eyebrow. "You think I need your help?"

"You needed it on Acheron!"

There was a short pause, then the smartgun operator said grumpily, "Alright, so that's one for you."

Newt brightened. "Does that mean I can come?"

"No. Someone has to watch over Gorman."

Newt rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Yeah, Vaz, like that's gonna work! What'm I gonna do if something goes wrong?"

Vasquez, who was already in the doorway, shrugged. "Do what you always do, kid. Find a nice airduct to hide in and wait for someone to come by."

"And what if something's hiding in my nice airduct?"

"Find another nice airduct," Vasquez tossed over her shoulder as she walked out the apartment, although that was a good point. She made a mental note to try and see about barring the airducts from the outside. Maybe that would shut Newt up.

The smartgun operator shook her head irritably.

Kids! Man, who the fuck'd have 'em? That had been one of the few things that she and her sisters had all agreed on; no children in any way, shape or form. Given the lifestyle of at least three of her sisters, and given the fact that two of them were still alive, Vasquez wouldn't have been at all surprised to learn that she was an aunt several times over, but she and the others had still been determined at the time.

Not that you fared much better, right Vaz? Even if you do get to palm her off on Hicks once you find him again -- and by the way, just how were you planning on accomplishing that little miracle? -- even if that happens, you're still stuck with that brat for the minute.

Vasquez glanced around. Charmaine had said something to her the other day that she'd stored in her memory for future reference.

"McDermott likes to squat in this place sometimes. He's got something going on with one of the women here; that's the main reason she ain't been vanished yet."

Vasquez had met the woman in question very briefly -- a glamourous fashion doll and a smartgun operator didn't usually have much to talk about -- and had managed to find out where she lived. It hadn't been too difficult either, the woman reflected as she headed towards the apartment in question. If what she'd heard was even half true, the place made her own spacious quarters look like a cell in the USCM. McDermott's 'favourite' enjoyed bragging about it as well.

Vasquez slowed to a stop outside the door, considered being circumspect just for the hell of it, then slammed her fist into it several times, again, just for the hell of it.

"McDermott!"

Silence, followed by the sound of someone getting reluctantly out of bed and hauling themselves across a room, swearing under their breath as they did so. In the temporary absence of anything to occupy it, Vasquez' mind started to wander.

Alright. So society's dregs are brought here and forgotten about, then vanished, as Char puts it.

The smartgun operator shifted her weight uneasily. Charmaine, who'd seen the aliens on file. Proof that the Company had known about Acheron...so where did that leave her and Newt? Gorman had started to tell her, while they'd been outside. And Newt...against her will, Vasquez' mind was dragged back to the girl's words, which had been going around and around in her head ever since they'd been spoken..

That thing they took out of you...maybe you could take your gun and get rid of it before it's too late.

Realisation and comprehension didn't dawn but exploded simultaneously, and Vasquez brought the gun up to her shoulder and chambered a round. When McDermott opened that door, he was going to get a big fucking surprise.

Go ahead, a little voice inside her whispered. Go ahead and kill him, if that's really what you want. But you better understand why you're doing it first; you're not doing it because you don't want the aliens to take over here, you're doing it because you've been lied to and tricked this whole time and it took a six year old kid to make you understand what should have been obvious right from the start; that facehugger hit. They froze you, brought you back and operated on you to take out the chestburster and since you're still alive, they succeeded.

And now they've got their very own bug hive. How long do you suppose it'll take for those things to get loose? You'd do better to save the ammo, first for the bugs and then for yourself.

Vasquez hesitated, then reluctantly shouldered the pulse rifle again and kicked the door hard, bursting it off its hinges. "Shit, man, what's the holdup?" she demanded.

McDermott, standing bleary-eyed and more asleep than awake in the bedroom door, somehow managed to find the energy to glare at her. "You! What do you think you're doing here?"

"Standing in your front hall at the minute," Vasquez answered with disarming frankness. "I came to see you for a very good reason. I need medical supplies. Powerful ones, for preference, and plenty of them."

"Does that have something to do with your unauthorised excursion yesterday?"

Vasquez yawned, not just for effect. McDermott wasn't the only one who was tired. "You'll have a lot of difficulty proving that."

"I'm posting guards at your door! You have violated the terms of your probation and--"

"Probation?!" Vasquez echoed incredulously. "What probation?"

"You had strict instructions not to leave your apartment! Since you seem incapable of following them, you leave me with no alternative but to--"

"You know what?" Vasquez said, leaning against the door. "You remind me of my old CO. Gorman, his name was. He used to talk a lot like that too. The only difference is that he was worth about six of you, and that's really not a distinction. Still, at least he meant well. Too bad you bastards killed him," she added. She wasn't sure if McDermott knew about her little sojourn into the outside world, but it couldn't hurt to let him think she still believed the lies.

"You heard me! Either you get back to your apartment this instant or--"

"Why?" Vasquez said, stretching up leisurely onto the tips of her toes before dropping down again. "What do you have hidden that you don't want me to see?" Besides the bug hive, asshole, she added in the privacy of her own mind.

"Enough!" McDermott shoved her back roughly, following her outside into the already fairly crowded corridor. "Either you get back to where you belong right now or I'll see you locked there for good!"

"You do what you think is best," Vasquez answered, her tone suspiciously demure. McDermott narrowed his eyes.

"I mean it! I'm going to count to three, and if you're not gone by then, I'll drag you back there myself if I have to!" He looked around at the other residents. "And what the fuck are you all staring at?"

"McDermott?" Vasquez said.

"What?"

The smartgun operator smiled sweetly at him. "I should get some clothes on first, if I were you."

"Dwayne, forget about it," Hudson said from the opposite side of the bar, where he was trying to lift the shades without exposing his over-sensitive eyes to the sun's glare. "You can't do anything besides wait."

"I'm sick of fucking waiting," Hicks shot back. "That's not why I came here."

Hudson muttered something under his breath, then turned to face the older man. "Look. You can't help Newt when you're dead. If Ruin's on our side -- which she is -- you can stay right here and let her do her job. If she's not and she wants you to follow so she can get hold of you as well as Newt, why play into her hands?"

Hicks shook his head. "I just don't like it, Will. I haven't lasted this long by ignoring my instincts, and right now they're telling me something stinks. And it ain't your fridge or Ruin's little nest either."

"Fine. Okay. Something stinks. In the meantime, we gotta get this place open asap. Ruin took a chunk of punters with her when she left." The comtech yanked the shades up, yelped as the light hit his eyes and stumbled backwards into a table. Hicks shook his head.

"Don't you ever get sick of getting drunk?"

"Yeah man, but not enough to go teetotal." Hudson risked opening his eyes the barest slit, wincing. "Ow! Oh fuck, that hurts!"

"Take a walk," Hicks said, then dropped into an atrocious impersonation of Hudson's voice. "Fresh air'll do you good."

"You're a fucking riot, Dwayne!" The comtech touched the side of his head gingerly. "Look...do me a favour, huh? Can you watch things for an hour or two? Just enough for me to crash?"

Hicks rolled his eyes. "Yeah, alright, I'll cover it. But you owe me." He paused. "What happened to that guy you always said you were gonna hire?"

"Hired him, fired him," Dietrich said dismissively from where she was leafing idly through a magazine. "And the two guys who came after him."

Hicks blinked. "What? Why?"

"He came onto me."

"That's it?"

The medtech glared at him. "What d'you mean, that's it? He wouldn't take no for an answer. He's just lucky it wasn't Vasquez he tried it on with; at least with me he got to walk away. Well, limp away."

Hicks rummaged around in the small fridge before extracting an opened carton of grapefruit juice and drinking straight from the slit, his thirst kicking into overdrive. Judging from the humidity of the air, it was going to be a scorcher on Tirand.

"So what happened to the second one?"

"Ah, he came onto me as well." Dietrich snorted. "Dickhead. Show me a guy who don't want to run his hands all over you and I'll show you a goddamned homo."

Hicks took another swallow of juice. "What about number three? He come onto you too?"

Dietrich snickered. "Nah; he came onto Will."

Hicks paused, then grinned. He'd have paid good money to see that. "So what're we expecting today?" he said, more to make conversation than anything. "Hundred? Hundred and ten?"

The medtech raised her eyebrows. "Creds or punters?" She shrugged. "Either way, we'll be lucky to break eighty. Say what you like about Ruin, Dwayne; she was responsible for a lot of our business."

The door clicked open quietly, and Hicks glanced at Dietrich. "Yeah? We're off to a good start, though." He frowned slightly as he caught sight of the person in the doorway. "Are you okay?"

Dietrich followed his gaze, puzzled, then got to her feet in alarm and crossed the floor with astonishing rapidity, catching hold of the stranger just before she hit the ground.

"What the..." Her voice tailed off for all of three seconds before coming back with a vengeance. "Holy shit! Dwayne!"

Something in that voice compelled Hicks; he was around the bar and at Dietrich's side in an instant, so fast even he wasn't sure how he'd done it.

"What? What is it?"

Dietrich nodded down. "See for yourself."

Hicks frowned. The woman in Dietrich's arms was in such an appalling state that for several minutes he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be looking at; the blood which had soaked most of her right side, the gaunt cheekbones, the tangled hair or the strange pallor of her skin.

Then he looked down, saw the grenade belt and promptly forgot about the rest.

"M40s." He swallowed hard and glanced up at Dietrich, who had suddenly gone very white. "Man, it's a good thing you caught her in time!"

The medtech swallowed. "Yeah. C'mon. Help me get her into one of the rooms; she needs medical attention and fast."

Hicks took the unconscious form from Dietrich somewhat gingerly -- he really didn't want to be too rough with someone who was wearing enough explosives to blow up an industrial factory -- and headed for the stairs. Pausing on the bottom step, he turned to Dietrich.

"Are you coming?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute," Dietrich said absently, already rummaging through her medical kit. "Go dump her on one of the beds." Remembering the grenade belt, she added, "gently!"

One of the doors opened as Hicks drew level with it and Hudson stuck his head out. "Hey man, can't you keep it down? I'm trying to suffer here." He caught sight of the girl in Hicks' arms and his eyebrows shot up. "Uh. Dwayne? I dunno how to break this to you, but this really ain't that kind of bar."

"You could've fooled me," Dietrich sniped from behind, making Hicks jump. "Don't do that! Shit, Dwayne; you wanna get us all killed?"

"What?" Hudson glanced from one to the other. "What's going on?"

"What's going on, Will, is that this person -- whoever the hell she is -- is wearing about thirty M40 grenades like a goddamn sash, and Dwayne almost dropped her! You wanna lay odds as to what happens when those things get a short, sharp shock like that?"

"Fuck!" The comtech stared. "I know I try not to make a habit of this, but I'm gonna have to agree with Cyn; treat her like the bomb she is."

"Who, her or Dietrich?" Hicks said, somewhat sourly. "Look, can I put her down somewhere or not; she's getting heavy!"

Dietrich and Hudson exchanged looks, then Hudson stepped back from the door. "Yeah, sure man; chuck her in here. Gently."

"Why the hell does everyone keep saying that to me?" Hicks demanded, his voice rising slightly. "I know what these things can do just as well as you do, if not better!"

Dietrich rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Dwayne, okay, whatever. Just put her down without blowing this place up."

Hicks, who was already inside Hudson's room, hesitated. "Uh. Isn't there another room we could use?"

"Hey man, what's wrong with my room?" the comtech demanded. Hicks turned clear eyes on him and the younger man squirmed slightly.

"You mean besides all the page three spreads and clothes on the floor?"

"Well...yeah!"

"Oh, for god's sake!" Dietrich pushed past, her arms full of medical gear. "It's fine! We just have to make sure that Will ain't the first person she sees when she wakes up." She dumped her load on the bedside table and nodded towards the bed. "Stick her on there."

"Great," Hicks heard Hudson mutter. "Now where the fuck am I supposed to sleep?"

"Think we give a shit?" Dietrich retorted, more interested in the small biomonitor she was wiring up than the comtech.

Hicks lowered the body onto the bed as gently as he could. "Can we get the grenades off without injuring her?"

Dietrich shrugged. "I don't think the belt's gonna catch on any broken bones, if that's what you're asking me." She half lifted the recumbent form into a sitting position. "Go ahead and try it."

Somewhat hesitantly, Hicks stretched out a hand towards the girl's shoulder, then stopped. "What's that?" He stared at the metal chain around the stranger's neck. "Dog tags?"

Dietrich reached down and lifted them up, frowning slightly.

"Well, yeah, but they're not from any military I've ever seen." She turned them over, reading the two words embossed there. "Is that an organisation or a gang or planet or what?" she wondered aloud.

Hicks was thinking the same thing. The tags looked genuine enough, though there was some kind of strange microchip on the back. He studied it curiously, then turned the tags over again. "'Raptor Atthiras'," he read aloud, then shook his head. "I'm with Cyn. I have no idea what that's supposed to mean. Maybe it's something she got just to look good."

"Uh." Hudson cleared his throat nervously. "I ain't looking to rain on anyone's parade here, but...is there something wrong with her?"

"You mean apart from the bleeding and unconsciousness?" Dietrich said sarcastically.

"Look at her, Cyn. She's fucking grey."

The medtech frowned. She supposed you could call the woman's skin grey if you were going to call it anything; a strange kind of brownish grey. "I dunno," she admitted. "I've never come across anything like this before."

"Oh man, what if they put a fucking quarantine in?" Hudson moaned. "That's all we need!"

"I won't tell them if you don't." Dietrich glanced at the monitor. "Vital signs are all good, though, or at least steady. Long's we keep her in one piece, she'll probably wake up in her own good time."

"Who is she?"

"How the fuck should I know?" the medtech demanded. "Unless she happens to blurt it out in her sleep, we're not gonna get any answers until she wakes up."

"She looks like a drifter," Hudson remarked, to no one in particular. Dietrich shook her head.

"I think she's too old. Late twenties at least, maybe older."

"Oh, so now there's an age limit?"

Dietrich opened her mouth for a stinging retort, caught Hicks' eye and shut it again rather hurriedly. "I'll know more once I can do a complete medical examination."

Hudson rubbed his sore head gingerly. "Right. So what's stopping you?"

"The little fact that in order to do that, I'm gonna have to strip her." Dietrich crossed to the window and pulled the shades down. "And I'm not doing that until you're both out the room, so take a hike!"

Grabbing hold of Hicks in one hand and Hudson in the other, the medtech shoved them both outside and shut the door firmly. In the corridor, the comtech shot Hicks a look.

"Man, I think I just got kicked out of my own bedroom!"

Hicks shook his head wryly. "That's medtechs for you, Will. Look on the bright side."

"What bright side?" Hudson said sulkily.

The older man clapped him on the shoulder with a grin that set Hudson's teeth on edge. "Well, if Cyn had been slightly slower off the mark, you and me and anyone in a five block radius would be no more than red vapour." He paused. "Of course, if she wakes up and remembers that she wanted to use those things, we may still end up as red vapour. You don't have any ex-girlfriends hanging around, do you?"

Hudson shot him an incredulous look. "Of course I fucking do, Dwayne! But I'm damn sure she ain't one of them."

Hicks shrugged. "Fine. Then there's nothing we can do except wait for her to wake up."

"And if she doesn't?"

Another shrug. "If she doesn't, she can't blow this place up, can she? Have some sense, Will."

The sound of the outside door opening brought both men back into the present, and Hicks cocked an eyebrow at Hudson. "C'mon. Your public awaits, and I can't cover downstairs on my own."

The comtech glared at him, then shoved past him and down the stairs. Hicks could hear him swearing under his breath as he went and rolled his eyes. Even now, there were times when he really despaired of Hudson. Still...on the plus side, life had just got a lot more interesting. Perhaps it was worth hanging on a little longer, at least until their mystery guest regained consciousness.

Back on Gateway, at the same time as Vasquez was kicking down McDermott's door, Ruin picked up a phone, dialled a number and waited. She'd been debating with herself about the merits of making this call for most of the night, as the steadily growing pile of juice cartons bore witness. Maybe she could just run with it. There was always the chance that Hicks would decide not to follow her.

Yeah, Ruin. And maybe you can just spread wings and fly home yourself. No, the Elite promised you a ride and that's what you're gonna need in the not-too-distant future. They gave you free rein as well. Use it. Get what you need, and do it now, before your roommate wakes up.

Ruin snorted. There wasn't much chance of that yet, not if the snoring coming from Spunkmeyer's room was anything to go by. But still...better safe than sorry. Anyway, if she hung up now they'd just trace the call back to her.

"Yeah?" The voice was low and hoarse, as though the speaker had only just woken up. It was also completely fake, Ruin knew; it belonged to someone called Valmorgen, one of the more approachable agents. Good. That would make this so much easier.

"I think there may be a problem," she said bluntly. You didn't bother making small talk with the Elite, at least, not on this number.

There was a long, long silence.

"What kind of problem?"

"Hicks. He's more headstrong than we thought. I'd lay odds he's thinking of following me to Gateway."

"Impossible," Valmorgen said flatly. "His performance was evaluated by the Elite on an almost constant basis. He's not stupid enough to do something like that."

"I think the Elite may have forgotten that there are other things which govern people besides logic," Ruin retorted. "Look, he liked Ripley and he likes the kid. He's got no family of his own left. Newt's about all he has. He's not going to give up so easily, and he's not the kind of guy to sit on his hands all day either."

"He may have to." Now Valmorgen's tone held a distinct warning, which Ruin ignored. It wasn't meant for her. "I'll pass your message on, though," the agent continued, "and we'll find someone to send. Now, was that all?"

"Yeah, unless..." Ruin's voice tailed off, then she straightened almost unconsciously. "The kid's initial disappearance. Was the Elite responsible for that as well?"

The instant the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back. Criticising the Elite's actions would most likely get you a bullet through the head, if you were lucky. If not, there were always predators somewhere in need of food.

"We don't interfere, Ruin." To her relief, Valmorgen sounded more amused than angry, and so Ruin bit down hard on the comment that what they had done and were doing so far sure seemed like interfering from where she was standing. "Do you need anything else?"

Ruin considered. "Do you have living addresses for the survivors?"

Valmorgen snorted. "What you got is what we got. We found Hudson and Dietrich for you, and we got Hicks down there as well, despite the efforts of certain do-gooders," she added, rather sourly. "Anything else?"

Ruin grinned. It had been a fundamentally simple plan, she supposed. Get three people in a ship to break down, get Hicks to jump-start them and then send those people to Hudson to accidentally mention the corporal's name. The only problem had been that the people in question had chosen to break down on one of the busier flight lanes, and consequently had been jump-started and had had to break down again several times before Hicks had finally come along.

"A custom-built mansion on a private Earth island?" she said aloud, more to gage the reaction than anything, and was relieved when she heard Valmorgen laugh.

"Well, we could get you that without too much trouble, but I don't think I could convince the commander that it's a necessity."

"Fine, forget it then," Ruin said, the mock petulance in her tone covering her sudden shock. Dear god, did the Elite really have that kind of money behind them? No wonder they were so fucking omnipotent! "What were you saying earlier? You mentioned Apone?"

"Yes, I did, and he's the only one the Company didn't get their hands on that we really can't trace." Now Valmorgen was the one sounding petulant.

Ruin half-smiled. The Elite was used to the occasional hiccup when it came to tracing people, but it was almost unheard-of for it to be balked so effortlessly.

"Hudson told me he was working as a personal trainer," she offered.

"I know. We've checked the listings for Gateway and several other registered worlds. In time we'll get through all of them, but it's going to take time. These people spread further than we thought, and we have no idea which colonies might warrant a trainer."

"Maybe he changed his name." Ruin reached out and poured herself another glass of juice.

"We've been working on that one too. The agents in Legal have been doing overtime trying to figure out the procedure. About the only thing they can agree on is that it has to be declared via deed poll, and no deed poll has been registered under Apone's name. So if he did change it, he did so illegally, and that's pretty strange for an NCO."

Ruin gritted her teeth. "Do you have anything?"

"The guys in S&D have come up with three possible sightings. Two of those were on Gateway, in a top security zone."

"Yeah?" Ruin picked up her note-taking pen again and, in the absence of anything more important, started to doodle absently. "Did the Company get hold of him?"

"No. That much is guaranteed; we've been tracking the Company's movements extensively. There are several areas we haven't managed to penetrate yet, but the sergeant hasn't been near them. We've been monitoring all activity on the outskirts, as well as the activity in your own apartment."

Ruin shifted awkwardly. That last was a set piece, she knew; something to both gage her reaction as well as to warn her not to do or say anything stupid.

"Is the rent paid on this place?" she said.

Nice, Ruin. So much for not saying anything stupid.

Valmorgen laughed. "Rent? The Elite owns this apartment, Ruin. We like to keep as many doors open as possible."

"The bills, then. Food, electricity, TV, are they taken care of?"

"All paid for. Stop worrying so much; so long as you keep your nose clean, Gateway's not going to have any legitimate reason to kick you out. At least, not one related to the apartment. The bills are sorted, including the internet access and cable channels on the TV, although I have a message from the secondary commander to tell your pilot to ease up on the pay-per-view before he bankrupts us completely."

Ruin snorted. Buying out Weyland-Yutani and all the associated worlds and colonies probably wouldn't be enough to bankrupt the Elite.

"Okay. I need someone to get hold of some stuff and get it delivered here. A complete three-dimensional blueprint of Gateway, or at least as much of it as you've been able to get, at least two hundred dollars in cash for additional expenses -- bribes and such -- and I want a copy of Ripley's flight recorder, the one on the escape pod. The undoctored one. I can't think it'll be much use really, but it might help."

Valmorgen hesitated. "Alright. That last one will be difficult, but not impossible. You'll get it all, except for the money."

"What?" Ruin stared at the telephone in her hand. "Look, if it's all paid for here, fine, but I told you; I'm gonna need some for bribes. Or if I find something I need at that second."

"The answer is no. You happen to be sharing an apartment with someone who earns four and a half thousand a month on his pension which, incidentally, someone must have pulled some pretty long strings to get for him. Borrow money from him."

Ruin's fingers curled tightly around the phone until her knuckles were white, her teeth clenched. Bloody typical; if you were working for the Elite, you could get anything from a pair of shoes to an atomic bomb and the top-secret plans for how it was made as well, but forget about money.

"Dan already has his knife into me for blackmailing him into flying here in the first place. I don't think he'd be likely to lend me his cashcard, do you?"

"He'll be reimbursed."

Now Ruin was glaring at the telephone. "Oh, so you'll give him money--!"

"If you get a receipt, we'll reimburse him, yes. Only with a receipt, though."

Ruin opened her mouth to protest this, then remembered exactly who she was dealing with and closed it again rather hurriedly. "Alright. Fine. I'll see what he says." In the other room, Spunkmeyer's snoring abruptly stopped and Ruin swore under her breath. "Shit! He's waking up. I'm done anyway; send the stuff and we can finish this once and for all."

She slammed down the phone just as Spunkmeyer emerged, yawning, and headed straight for the kitchen.

"Who was that?"

Ruin glanced at him and said the first thing that came into her head. "Telesales. God knows how they got hold of the number."

"Oh...right." Spunkmeyer yawned again as he clicked the kettle on. Ruin rolled her eyes. Coffee. Get one hit of the stuff and it seemed you couldn't function properly without it.

"You were a colony brat, weren't you?" she said idly as the dropship crew chief came out with what Ruin mentally termed his morning fix. He glanced at her, suspicion warring with defensiveness.

"Yeah. So?"

"Do they have personal trainers there?"

"What?"

"Personal trainers. Fitness instructors. You know? Were there any?"

The dropship crew chief snorted. "Where I came from? Please. We didn't usually have time to hang around with half naked body-builders."

Ruin snapped her fingers. "Oh yeah, that reminds me; go easy on the pay-per-view, Dan. I had a complaint from the people paying for this about the amount you've been watching."

"What?" Spunkmeyer almost dropped his coffee. "How the fuck would they know?"

"I imagine they got a copy of our itemised bill," Ruin said candidly. "Believe me, that's not hard for these guys. Or they could have just gone straight into the broadcasting station and traced it, though I'm not sure if that's possible." She shrugged. "Either way, they know and unless you want us both kicked out of here--"

"Which would suit me fine."

Ruin shrugged again. "Yeah? Well, the door's over there. You wanna walk without collecting your pay, go right ahead. It'll make things a lot easier for me."

Spunkmeyer hesitated, then dropped onto the couch with a sour expression. "Goddamn you," Ruin heard him mutter, and smirked.

"He already has, Dan. Why do you think I got landed with this mission?"

"Huh?" The young man glanced up at her, startled. "Mission?"

Ruin raised her eyebrows. "Please. You think I volunteered to do this out of the kindness of my heart? I had orders, Dan, and they involved getting that kid back to Hicks as soon as possible, by any means necessary." She shrugged. "I'm not getting paid enough to ask questions. I was hired for this mission and when it's over and we're square, I'll go my way and you'll go yours. That's all."

Spunkmeyer gulped at the coffee, wincing as it burned his mouth. "Y'know, I keep meaning to ask you; what's your interest in all this?"

"Money."

The dropship crew chief blinked. "What, Hicks is gonna pay you for finding his kid?"

"Not that I know of." Ruin paused. That was an intriguing idea though; she'd have to remember it. "No...I'm working for someone else. They'll settle with me once it's done."

"The Corps?"

Ruin stared at him for a few minutes, then burst out laughing. "Hardly! No, I'm working for someone powerful."

"The Corps is powerful," Spunkmeyer protested, while at the same time wondering what difference it made. "Take it from me; I was in it. I've seen creatures and things you can't even imagine."

"I doubt that, Dan. I have a very warped imagination."

"Yeah?" Spunkmeyer lowered his voice to the kind of pitch usually reserved for campfires. "Imagine this, then. On my last mission, I saw a type of creature you don't even wanna see in your nightmares. They were taller than a man, and so black you can't see them in the darkness...and it was plenty dark out there. They have claws, teeth -- hell, even their tongues have teeth -- and their tails have stings in them. One jab from those, and you're paralysed for hours. They can do what they want with you then, and believe me, whatever they want ain't pretty. You gotta be one hell of a good soldier to deal with that kinda pressure, know what I'm saying? Because the worst thing about them was, you couldn't shoot them at close range unless you wanted to die as well; they had acid for blood that was so concentrated, even a drop would burn right through your body and leave a hole on the other side."

Ruin raised her eyebrows, then rolled back her sleeve to reveal a tattoo of an alien on her bicep, in intricate detail.

"Were they, by any chance, something like this?"

Vasquez supposed it had been a pretty good morning so far. Even if she hadn't managed to get the supplies, McDermott's humiliation had more than made up for it. The woman's good mood lasted for as long as it took her to get back to her apartment and open the door. She barely had time to register the chairs that had somehow gone from under the table to halfway across the room, or the shattered crockery and the stain on the wall, before she found herself looking into a face that struck her as being one third bureaucrat, one third slimeball, and three quarters big, happy smile. She'd seen faces like that before, when she hadn't been much older than Newt, and like most kids in that neighbourhood had made a point of avoiding them wherever possible.

Newt...

The smartgun operator's eyes flicked around the apartment rapidly, then fixed the smile with a hard stare. "Alright. Three questions, and I'm only doing it this way because I'm feeling generous. One, who the hell are you? Two, what do you want? Three, where's the kid?"

"I'm here." Newt emerged cautiously from under the table, the set of her muscles telling anyone who might be interested that she was prepared to bolt at the slightest provocation. The smartgun operator glanced at her.

"You okay?"

A look of complete and utter shock appeared on Newt's face for a brief instant -- Vasquez had never concerned herself with Newt's well-being before -- then she nodded. Satisfied, Vasquez returned her attention to the man in front of her.

"So that's one question answered. What about the other two?"

"Ms Vasquez, I presume?" The smile's owner held out a hand. Vasquez gave it a cursory glance, then returned her attention to the hand's owner. Call it petty if you like, but there were enough childhood instincts still left over for her to want to avoid all associations with this man, even one as trivial as a handshake.

"Maybe," she said automatically. "Who are you?"

"My name's Richard Dalton. I've been assigned to your case."

A jolt of adrenaline shot through the smartgun operator's veins, one which she managed to mask behind an impassive face. Having someone assigned to your case wasn't usually a good thing, no matter where you were.

"What case?" Vasquez shook her head. "No, don't tell me; it's something to do with the fucking Company, right?"

"Well, as a matter of fact--"

"Knew it. Sorry, Dalton; you're talking to the wrong person." The smartgun operator paused for all of two seconds before adding, "And I'll take back the sorry part. I have nothing to do with the Company."

"That doesn't mean that the Company has nothing to do with you, though."

That was a very good point, Vasquez thought sourly, and it didn't sound any better coming from the likes of Dalton either.

"It's all go in the business world, after all," Dalton said, rubbing his hands, for all the world like a kindergarten teacher trying to jolly a class along.

"Is it?" Vasquez said frostily. "I haven't seen it for three and a half weeks."

Dalton's big, happy smile slipped a notch for a few seconds before being hooked firmly back onto its owner's lips. "Now, now, this attitude isn't helping anyone, is it?"

"Fucking right." Coldly, Vasquez turned her back on him. "Come back when you can act your age, not your IQ."

Dalton hesitated, then let the big, happy smile go. It didn't seem to be working. "I'm here for the child."

That worked, although probably not in the way he would have liked; Vasquez slammed the door shut and whirled to face him, danger in her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I told him you said I could stay with you," Newt said. "I said he was jus' talking a load of...of potas."

"Pelotas," Vasquez corrected her automatically.

"Yeah, an' then he said that I didn't know what I was talking about an' that I'd worried a lot of people when I'd left."

"He did, huh?" The smartgun operator leaned against the door, arms folded across her chest.

"Yeah, an' then he called me a liar."

Vasquez raised an eyebrow. Newt was many things, but she was at least honest. A little too honest at times.

"I did no such thing," Dalton said, somewhat pompously. "I merely pointed out that with her problems, she couldn't possibly be expected to remember what was said, and children have a tendency to twist words to suit themselves."

"Yes, but Vasquez did say--" Newt began.

"Ms Vasquez, Rebecca."

The girl turned a pleading look on Vasquez who, for once, decided to answer it. "Only anal retentives like you bother with that formal shit," she said, the smoothness of her voice in no way detracting from the malice there. "Anyway, her name's Newt."

Newt's look turned from pleading to astounded in a remarkably short space of time. Looking up at Vasquez, she was sure she saw the woman wink, almost too quickly to be noticed.

"Not according to the records," Dalton said obstinately. "We find that in the case of deeply disturbed children, use of their given name helps them to keep a hold on reality."

"It didn't work for me," Vasquez remarked, her tone so neutral that Dalton wasn't sure if she was joking or not.

"You have no experience in such places, Ms Vasquez."

"Only because I wasn't dumb enough to let assholes like you catch me," Vasquez answered, then glanced at Newt. "No offence."

Dalton shook his head. "This is pointless. I didn't come to trade cheap insults. The home is willing to take back the child, keeping her under strict supervision, of course."

"Yeah? Well, the child herself seems to be not so willing," Vasquez said, eyes focused on a point some six inches above Dalton's head.

"Vaz?" Newt glanced up at the smartgun operator nervously, edging as close to her as she dared, not wanting to jeopardise the temporary alliance that seemed to have been formed between the two of them. "Vaz, I'm not gonna have to go back to that place, am I?"

Vasquez glanced down at her, then back up at Dalton. "No. No, you're not."

"You're in no position to refuse," Dalton informed Vasquez briskly. "Her wild behavior has led some of the top child psychiatrists to believe she is deeply, psychologically disturbed."

Newt glanced up at Vasquez. "What's that mean?"

"They think you're a psycho," the smartgun operator translated, somewhat liberally.

"She would need regular sedation and restraining until her violence is curbed," Dalton added. "Following my initial assessment of her, I would say that this is extremely important."

Vasquez raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Shit, Newt, you bit him too?"

"No!" the girl protested, then, "Well...yeah. But not that hard! It didn't make him bleed or anything."

"No?" The smartgun operator looked Dalton straight in the eyes as she spoke. "What a pity."

In all honesty, she didn't blame the child. Given the way Dalton was acting now, Vasquez was almost tempted to take a chunk out of him herself. Dalton glanced from one to the other, realizing perhaps for the first time that he wasn't likely to have an ally in this woman.

"She also attacked me with a chair."

"I didn't," Newt said stubbornly. "I was jus' moving it'n'it slipped outta my hands."

"She threw it at me," Dalton insisted to Vasquez, who was suddenly looking far more interested. The smartgun operator glanced at Newt.

"Did you?"

Newt shook her head vigorously. "No, I was moving it and it slipped! Honest!"

"She was moving it around her person in ever increasing circles," Dalton said tightly.

Newt glared at him. "See? I was moving it, then. I was moving it an' it slipped, jus' like I said."

Dalton took a deep breath. "It slipped right across the room and into my..." He broke off suddenly.

"Your what, Dalton?" Vasquez said, smiling slightly.

"This is hardly the sort of thing to discuss in front of a child."

The smartgun operator reached up and pulled off her bandanna, toying with it idly. "Oh, I don't know. You want my support against her wild and disturbed behaviour, I think I should know what it was first."

Dalton shifted from one foot to the other. "My...manly regions, then, if you insist."

"Really?" Vasquez glanced at him, then dropped to one knee in front of Newt, putting herself on an eye level with the child and pointedly turning her back on Dalton as she did so. "Newt?"

The girl eyed her slightly warily, still not entirely sure whose side Vasquez was on. "What?"

"Did you really throw a chair into his dick?"

Newt hesitated. "Um. Kinda. I was jus'...uh...I was swinging it round and he came in an' I was jus'...I got a little upset an' one thing sorta led to another."

A grin appeared on Vasquez' face, the first genuine one in what seemed like years. "Yeah? Nice one. Wish I could've seen it."

"I could try and do it again," Newt offered.

"No," Vasquez said firmly, although she did consider it for a few minutes. The idea had a certain elegance...

Dalton cleared his throat, bringing an abrupt end to the smartgun operator's semi-daydream. "This is getting us nowhere fast. If you're fond of the girl, we may be able to arrange visitation rights for you--"

Vasquez' eyebrows shot up. "I don't think your buddy McDermott would like that very much. And anyway, I'm not fond of her. I just don't want to have to face Hicks and tell him that I let his precious little darling be carted off to some prison without a fight."

"Prison?!" Now Dalton appeared genuinely hurt. "Ms Vasquez, the approved care homes are not prisons! They're a place where underprivileged or mentally disturbed children can enjoy a good home and education."

"Save the bullshit for the garden, Dalton," Vasquez said curtly. "The kid's staying with me, and that's final."

"I'm afraid it's not up to you to decide. The law is very clear on this matter." Dalton stepped forward and took hold of Newt's arm, not roughly but firmly. "Someone will come over to collect her things."

He tried to pull Newt towards the door and failed, largely due to the fact that Vasquez had taken hold of Newt's other arm in one hand and Dalton's lapels in the other.

"The law ain't holding you by the throat," Vasquez said in dangerous tones. "Get away from her. Now."

Newt winced as the man tightened his hold.

"You're not helping either yourself or the child, Ms Vasquez. Your actions are only serving to distress her further."

Vasquez set her jaw slightly. "I think your gripping her hard enough to turn your fucking knuckles white is what's distressing her, Dalton. Either you let go right now, or I'll see to it you're never able to grip anyone again."

Dalton shook his head. "You can't intimidate me with such melodramatic threats. Once we're outside the area, you won't be in any position to enforce your claim."

Vasquez' hand moved from the man's lapels' to his free wrist so fast it was almost a blur. "No, I don't think you're listening to me," she said very softly. "I said you'd never be able to grab anyone again. As in, losing the physical ability." An idea occurred to her and she acted on it immediately. "Of course...if you're so set on taking her, please go ahead."

"What?" Newt stared up at her with a look of such hurt betrayal that Vasquez found she couldn't meet the girl's eyes. "But...but Vaz, I..."

"Well, if he really wants you so badly..." Vasquez let the sentence trail off with a shrug, then glanced up at Dalton as though just remembering something. "Although, I have heard certain stories..."

"Oh yes?" Now that the smartgun operator seemed inclined to cooperate, Dalton was far more affable. "There are always stories, Ms Vasquez. The press gets something and twists it out of proportion. I won't deny that...undesirable things go on in certain institutions, but you can't blame the Company for that. These things have been going on for centuries."

"Right. And...you don't think that things like this would only serve to push the kid further over the edge?"

Dalton lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Once she's out of here, that won't be your concern."

Vasquez smiled, the kind of smile a snake might give just before it struck. "I'm not so sure. See, I have something of a personal interest in this kid's welfare. I'd want to see the place for myself. You wanna take her, you take me as well." Once the pair of them were outside, Vasquez was sure she could get herself and Newt to safety. Gorman...well, it was a shame, but once she could get somewhere safe and contact the others, maybe they could do something to get him out later.

"What?" Now Dalton appeared genuinely scandalised. "This facility is not a place someone can just walk in and out of! Especially not someone like--" He broke off abruptly and glanced away.

"Go ahead, say it," Vasquez shot back, her eyes full of dark ice. "Someone like me." She shook her head. "If that's how you're gonna be, maybe your taking Newt ain't such a good idea after all."

Dalton's face froze, in the manner of someone who isn't sure if his opponent's bluffing or not. Next to him, Newt was also staring at Vasquez in much the same manner.

"Ms Vasquez...the stories you may have heard are hardly credible unless they were a first-hand account, and such things are very rare."

"It was a first-hand account, asshole." No longer even pretending to be cooperative, Vasquez released Newt and used both hands to twist the man's wrist around into a gooselock. The pain involved was excruciating, as she herself could bear witness. Exerting all the pressure she could, the smartgun operator leaned in to Dalton's ear and lowered her voice to a venomous hiss. "When I was eight, you bastards came and stole my best friend. She kept escaping, though, and coming back to our neighbourhood. When we were ten, she told me everything that had gone on in that place, just before she was dragged back there for what must have been the hundredth time, and if you think I'm going to sit back and let you do the same thing to this kid after all she's been through already, you're fucking insane."

Dalton winced as the agony in his hand and wrist tripled. "Can't we at least discuss this like adults?" he managed to get out, through teeth gritted with the pain.

"I'm not big on discussion," Vasquez informed him flatly. "You let Newt go, I let you go, and you take off and never come back." She wrenched the man's arm up viciously behind his back. "Or I can just start breaking limbs right now, see how long you can last before giving in."

Dalton went chalk white, black spots flashing in front of his eyes. He hadn't thought so much pain could be crammed into one arm. Stiffly, almost as though he wasn't in control of it, his other hand opened one finger at a time. Newt yanked away as hard as she could, tearing out of his grasp, and bolted for her room, slamming the door hard behind her. Smirking slightly, Vasquez released Dalton.

"Now fuck off out of here before I change my mind about beating you to a pulp."

Dalton touched his arm gingerly, as if to make sure it was really there, then turned an angry look on the smartgun operator, who ignored it. Vasquez had been the recipient of far too many baleful stares to be moved by one more.

"I'll give you one more chance," Dalton told her. "Either you stop this pointless violence--"

"Didn't seem too pointless to me."

"--or I'll have you arrested."

The smartgun operator raised her eyebrows, feigning innocence. It didn't quite come off -- innocence and Vasquez had parted company years ago -- but at least she felt like she was trying.

"Arrested for what, Dalton? You ain't even marked." She shook her head. "Get the fuck out of here before I decide I'll change that and to hell with the consequences. People like you make me sick." The smartgun operator paused. "And when you consider the kind of people I grew up with, that's one hell of an insult," she added.

Dalton opened his mouth to argue, then noticed the slight smile Vasquez was wearing and closed it again reluctantly. There was something about that expression...you didn't want to antagonise its owner without a much better reason than some disturbed brat.

"You'll be hearing about this from my superiors," he offered as a parting shot. Vasquez snorted.

"Probably, but since I can't speak assholese, I'll save my worrying for important things. Like the bugs you got in that lab of yours."

Dalton froze, then slowly turned back to stare at her.

"Yeah, you heard me," Vasquez said, smiling insincerely. "You scurry back to McDermott or Russell or whoever the fuck you work for and tell them I know all about this little operation. And tell 'em that next time someone tries to kidnap my roommate, I won't be as polite as I was to you. I'll just plug 'em." She retrieved her pulse rifle from the couch and tapped the barrel meaningfully, still smiling at the man.

Dalton's breath quickened slightly, but otherwise there was no sign of fear in the man. He was either too arrogant for his own good, Vasquez thought, or one hell of an actor. Possibly both.

"That is an illegal weapon," the man said, forcing the words out past a constricted throat.

Vasquez gave a hollow laugh. "Call the Marines."

There was an awkward silence.

"Is there any reason you're still here?" the smartgun operator said at the end of it.

"If you think--" Dalton began, then backed off reflexively as the gun came to point at his chest.

"They say you're not supposed to point a firearm at anything you're not willing to destroy," Vasquez remarked. "You want to debate this further?"

The man took a step towards the door, then stopped. "I feel I ought to warn you this is going to--"

Vasquez gritted her teeth, lowered the gun onto the couch and then grabbed Dalton by the lapels and half carried him over to the door.

"Goddammit man; will you get out!" She slid open the door and literally threw the man outside, ignoring the startled exclamations from those unlucky enough to be outside her apartment. "And if you really want the kid, send a Marine for her," she added, slammed the door and leaned against it, mind racing furiously.

Why the hell are they so obsessed with Newt? It's not like them to fixate on one kid like this.

The smartgun operator massaged her forehead tiredly. She'd been getting a lot of headaches lately, and they all seemed to have started after Newt had moved in. And speaking of which -- Vasquez glanced towards the bedroom door -- she probably ought to do something about that kid.

You really are getting soft, an inner voice sneered. Time was you'd just leave her to stew in her own juice; hell, time was you wouldn't even have let her in in the first place.

Vasquez considered this idea, dismissed it rather abruptly and crossed over to the door. Briefly she wondered whether she ought to knock, then told herself angrily not to be so damn pathetic -- just whose apartment was it, anyway? -- and opened it instead.

"Hey kid."

Newt just looked at her mutely from the bed, the expression of betrayal still in those bright blue eyes. Vasquez took a deep breath. "Look. I'm sorry, okay? I had to say something."

"You were gonna let him take me."

"No." Vasquez shook her head. "If I'd wanted that, I wouldn't have almost broken his arm, would I? It could have got both of us out if it had worked. It didn't, he's gone, and good fucking riddance. End of story."

Newt continued to regard her stolidly, clearly unconvinced. "Vaz?"

"What?"

"What happened to your friend? The one you told Dalton about?"

Vasquez shrugged. "I don't know. I never saw her again after that day." She glanced abruptly through the open door at the empty couch. "Where's the lieutenant?"

"In the kitchen. I wasn't sure if it was you or someone else knocking so I moved him."

The smartgun operator rolled her eyes. "Can you think of any reason why I'd knock on my own door?" She frowned slightly as the rest of the girl's sentence hit her. "You moved him?"

Newt shifted her feet uncomfortably. "Well...I know you're not s'posed to, but I thought someone might've found out he was gone and come looking for him. So...yeah. Sorry."

"By yourself?"

"Yeah. I had to roll him off the couch an' it took me ages to get him into the kitchen, but yeah."

Vasquez raised her eyebrows. She was reluctantly impressed; the kid must have been pretty determined to drag that much dead weight around.

"Vaz, what if that guy comes back?" Newt said suddenly. The smartgun operator got the definite feeling that Newt had been trying to pluck up enough courage to ask this for a while now. She shrugged.

"If he does, he does. So what?"

"Can't we shut the door? Like when you did on Acheron with that fire thing?"

"Weld ourselves in, you mean?" Vasquez shook her head. "Point one, we don't have a welding torch. Point two, I don't want to get trapped here." A rare flash of honesty forced her to add, "At least, no more than I am already."

Newt bit her lip. "So what're we gonna do?"

Vasquez whirled. "Okay, first of all, there's no we! Secondly, you do what you want. I'm going to crash for a few hours and if you so much as think as waking me up for anything less than a life-or-death situation, I'll call Dalton myself and tell him I've changed my mind!" She spun on her heel and strode out, slamming the door so hard behind her that it rattled in its frame.

Left alone, Newt flopped back onto the bed again with a sigh. Just when she thought she had a handle on the smartgun operator's moods and personality, the woman threw her a curve ball.

In the other room and unaware of the thoughts going through her roommate's head, Vasquez lay down on her bed, not bothering with the covers, and was asleep almost instantly.

It was some ten hours later when the smartgun operator finally emerged again, yawning, and then it was only because her thirst had woken her.

"You're up?" Gorman said.

Vasquez blinked -- she was still more asleep than awake and hadn't noticed him sitting at the table -- then snorted.

"Yeah? Looks like I'm not the only one. I see you crawled back to the land of the living."

"Barely." The lieutenant's voice was a lot hoarser than it had been the day before. "I woke up ten minutes or so back." He sipped at the mug he was holding and made a wry face. Vasquez' gaze sharpened.

"What's that?"

"Coffee, or a pretty good imitation. Newt made it; I didn't have the heart to tell her you're supposed to boil the water, not just turn the hot faucet on full." Gorman stretched out one leg experimentally and winced as it pulled on injured muscles. "That reminds me; where do you keep the cloths?"

"I don't."

"Ah. In that case, I recommend you don't go in the kitchen for a while either."

"What?" Vasquez stared at him disbelievingly. "And who the fuck are you to tell me--"

"It was a recommendation, Vasquez, not an order," Gorman said tiredly. "Stop taking everything so personally. If I hadn't mentioned it and you went in and found it--"

"Found what?"

"--you'd have wanted to know why I hadn't said anything."

"Found what, Gorman?" Vasquez repeated; her tone dangerous.

The lieutenant hesitated, then shrugged. "There's a little puddle on the floor, that's all. It's nothing to be concerned about."

"A little puddle of what, exactly?" Vasquez demanded. People who had spent most of their time on barrio streets and in penitentiaries soon learned the value of questions like that.

"Water, of course." The lieutenant nodded towards the kitchen door which, Vasquez noticed for the first time, was tightly closed.

"Do I want to know?"

"I doubt it." Gorman hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Thank you."

Vasquez blinked. "For what?"

"Newt told me that you nursed me for most of the night."

The smartgun operator, who had been about to start paging through the TV guide in the somewhat vain hope of finding a decent slasher movie, slammed the magazine down onto the table and made a mental note to have a little chat with Newt about the finer points of discretion, especially vis-à-vis street cred.

"Alright. Let's get this straight right now; I did not nurse you! I just...helped things along a little, that's all!"

Gorman smiled slightly. "Whatever you did, Newt says you saved my life. So...thanks."

Vasquez snorted. "Big fucking deal, Gorman. You saved mine. We're quits, that's all." She managed to pause for all of three seconds before her curiosity got the better of her. "What happened to you, anyway? You didn't get those injuries from any bug."

Gorman sighed.

"I suppose I can tell you, since it seems to be only by chance that they didn't put you in the same boat. I don't know what happened in the beginning; I remember the facehugger coming towards me on Acheron, and then I woke up in that cell. I don't know how long I'd been there; I just know that shortly after awakening, I had a meeting with some Company guy or another. I tried to explain about Acheron and what had happened, and he said that I was obviously mentally impaired or disturbed and I didn't know what I was talking about, and please stop smirking like that, Vasquez. I said I wasn't about to pretend that everything was alright and that half my platoon wasn't lying dead on that hellworld, no matter what the goddamned Company said." Gorman gave a kind of twisted smile. "They were...how shall I say it...upset? Yes, I think upset would be a very good way of putting it."

"The Company did that to you?"

"No. No, the Company tried to get me a facehugger. The medtechs did that to me, although I'm pretty sure it was on the Company's orders." Gorman shrugged. "They wanted to know where the others were. The little fact that I'd been unconscious when they came in and then went their separate ways didn't seem to figure in their tiny world."

"They tortured you?" Vasquez said disbelievingly. "How?"

The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably, his grip on the mug intensifying until his knuckles were white as he stared into the tepid contents.

"Let's not go into details, okay? I didn't tell them anything because there was nothing I could tell them. End of story."

"Did you talk to Ripley?"

"Before she died? Yeah. She didn't seem too surprised. All she was really worried about was Newt. She said we had to get out while we could. I decided to follow her advice...for once," Gorman added ruefully. "The only reason you're talking to me and not her is because they decided to kill her first."

"You sure she's dead?"

"I saw her goddamned body, Vasquez! They made a point of showing me, then asked if I was sure I didn't know where anyone else was."

"Shit." Vasquez glanced over her shoulder towards the kitchen. "You didn't drink all the coffee, did you?"

"No, but you don't want to go in there."

"Don't tell me what I do and don't want, Gorman." The smartgun operator crossed over to the door and reached up to open it.

"You'll really wish you hadn't, Vasquez," Gorman said.

"Maybe you will." Vasquez hit the button, opened the door and barely had time to get out the way before a small wave of water swamped her ankles and the carpet beyond.

There was a silence, during which the atmosphere thickened noticeably.

"Where," Vasquez demanded at the end of it, "is that kid??"

Gorman regarded her steadily. "I'm not telling you until you've calmed down."

"How the fuck can you flood a kitchen like that through making one goddamn cup of coffee?"

"I wanted to try making pancakes," Newt said from her doorway, somewhat apprehensively.

Vasquez turned a killing stare on the girl, who flinched. "Go on..."

Newt squirmed. "Well...Gorman said he had a recipe an'...an' we didn't have a pan so he suggested mixing it in the sink an'...it kinda went hard."

The smartgun operator shifted the glare onto Gorman, who suddenly seemed very interested in his paper. "I see, and what do you know about this?"

The lieutenant shrugged, but didn't meet her gaze. "I didn't think it'd congeal so fast. It dripped down the plughole and hardened there."

"Right." Vasquez sat down at the table and rubbed her forehead tiredly, wondering as she did so if all the world except her had gone insane. "So where the fuck did the water come from?"

Newt pointed at Gorman, who reddened. "He said he'd try and dilute it and that I should get clear before you got back in case you blamed me."

"And the flood?"

"Hm." Newt considered. "Dunno. I guess he just got busy doing something else and forgot to turn the faucet off."

Gorman shifted his weight. "I had something to attend to."

Vasquez rolled her eyes. "How long do you need to take a piss?"

"Not that sort of something!" The lieutenant took one or two deep breaths. "I needed to change my bandage."

"And you couldn't've left it for five minutes while you cleaned up or at least turned the faucet off?" The smartgun operator paused, one train of thought overtaking the other. "How the hell'd you change your bandage, anyway? What you had on was all there was."

"There's always another way around a problem," Gorman said calmly. "Often one which doesn't involve adding to one's police record," he couldn't resist adding. Vasquez glared at him.

"Alright. You wanna tell me and I'll admit I'm interested. How the fuck did you do it?"

"I went to Char's and asked if she had any spare stuff," Newt volunteered from the armchair, where she was now pretending to read one of the few Spanish novels that had been provided with the apartment.

Vasquez shifted the glare onto Newt, who squirmed slightly, trying not to notice. "And you couldn't have fucking mentioned this before I pissed off McDermott again?"

"I thought you liked pissing off McDermott," Newt said.

Vasquez narrowed her eyes. The girl's wide-eyed, innocent expression was just a little too wide-eyed and innocent.

Gorman chuckled softly.

"She has a point there, Vasquez, even if she does make it rather...crudely." This last was said with a pointed look at Newt, one which would have been a lot more effective if she'd actually been looking in the lieutenant's direction at the time. "Anyway, you'd already left." He paused. "And while we're on the subject of leaving, can someone please explain to me why I went to sleep on your couch and woke up in what I can only assume to be your gym?"

"You assume right," Vasquez told him sarcastically. "As to why, the kid moved you when you were out."

"Oh, right," Gorman said, then frowned. "Say again?"

"Why? Did you have difficulty understanding it the first time?"

"Newt moved me?"

"Why does everyone have problems believing me?" Newt wanted to know.

Gorman ran a hand through his hair. "Why?"

"Some bastard came for her from one of the so-called care homes," Vasquez said carelessly. "She didn't want you discovered."

"Right..." The lieutenant rested his head in his hands. The pain in his skull was getting worse with every new word of this conversation. "So why didn't she just go with him?"

There was a short pause. "Vaz?" Newt said, slightly apprehensively.

"Yeah?"

The girl pointed at the lieutenant. "If Gorman tries to get me back to that place, will you break his arm as well?"

"She broke this guy's arm?"

Vasquez raised an appraising eyebrow. "If it comes to it, yeah."

"You broke his arm?" Gorman repeated tonelessly.

The smartgun operator and Newt exchanged eye-rolls and shared a very brief moment of camaraderie that started with the astronomical levels of exasperation inflicted by officers and built from there.

"Why wait until he tries something?" Vasquez muttered, not quite under her breath.

"His arm?"

"Well...it didn't crack," Newt said reflectively, "so I guess she didn't really break it...she jus'..."

"What?"

"Well, she kinda twisted it around an' bent it an' it looked like it hurt."

"It does," Vasquez assured her. "A lot."

Gorman opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Lecturing Vasquez didn't usually do much more than give him a sore throat.

"How do you do it, anyway?" Newt said, studying her own arm curiously.

"If Gormless floods my kitchen again, I'll be more than happy to show you," the smartgun operator answered.

"May I remind you that I happened to save your life?" the lieutenant said irritably.

"And I saved yours," Vasquez retorted. "And let's not forget the little fact that it was your incompetence that got Drake killed."

"My incompetence?" Now Gorman's voice was dangerously quiet. "Funny, that. I seem to remember that you were the one who continued shooting that alien even after it was dead and it was your bullets which caused that acid to spray in the first place. So if you want to blame anybody for Drake's death, why don't you start with yourself?"

There was a deathly silence, which lasted all of thirty seconds before Vasquez pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. There was an odd, closed expression on her face which Gorman seriously didn't like and he shifted his weight awkwardly.

"I didn't mean that, Vasquez. I'm sorry."

The smartgun operator didn't answer, which unnerved Gorman a lot more than her screaming abuse at him would have done. Instead, Vasquez calmly, deliberately pushed her chair back under the table, then turned and walked stiffly into her room.

"Vasquez..." Gorman reached out to try and stop her, but as if she'd been expecting it, the woman veered aside and kept going. The bedroom door closed softly behind her in a manner that was strangely ominous, and the lieutenant found himself alone with Newt. He sighed. All things considered, that had gone just about as well as he'd expected.