Entry 249
Death came to Phooka today. It was a major event after a phase of numbing routine, if not absolute boredom. The first event of any importance for weeks, but also much dreaded. I could see the fear and disgust on everybody's faces - behind their masks of curiosity- as they came from their offices and labs to witness the cryo-cylinder being guided through the corridors down to the high-security compound. They all were trying to get a sneak peak of the monster, no matter how much they had spoken against this idea before. Darwin told me it's human nature. It must be, because I don't get it. People want to see the horror, want to watch it from as close by as they dare getting without running into danger of being bitten by it themselves. Every catastrophe has its fascinated audience, even if it will show them the most gruesome images they've ever seen, even if it's more than they can actually handle. People are drawn to disaster like moths to the light. Humans... what can you say? I'm sure I'll never understand them, even if I tried.
But it's funny how some of their behavior seems to rub off, because I, too, was eager to get a good glimpse of Raven as the security guards passed with his tube, but my view wasn't obstructed by a convolution of confusing emotions. I saw what I saw with perfect clarity and my full analytic capacity which makes me so darn endearing to my colleagues (sarcasm... another acquisition I picked up here -- hooray): A man, bodily age (I know he could well be over a hundred years old, if he had been frozen for long periods in his life, but even I go after appearance) somewhere between his middle 20's and 30, sleeping the deep sleep, because it would have been too dangerous to transport him in a conscious state. A man whose physique underlines every grisly detail known about him. A human tank, muscular almost to a ridiculous point, but with an edge to him telling you there's real power behind his mass, that he isn't just a blown-up bodybuilder, who might be able to lift a few hundred pounds for a few brief seconds-- but would falter if he'd have to carry the cans of instant protein shakes up to his apartment from the parking lot himself... Yes, his physique is certainly impressive enough... yet it's nothing in comparison to his face. I don't know how to put this... how to do him justice... Even in deep sleep, frozen into a coma, this guy looks... lethal. It's the best word I can come up with. There's that slight curve around the corners of his mouth, the slightest hint of a cruel smile that tells you at first sight to get the fuck away from him, should you have the bad luck to run into him while he is awake. It tells you he enjoys what he's doing. He's the grim reaper, personified death.
His head is shaven bald, as are his eyebrows, which only adds to the impression of looking at an alien, not a human being. His head and face, as his body, has a powerful bone structure. I bet he's never broken a bone in his entire life. He looks downright indestructible. More like a cyborg than me.
Okay, that ain't hard, I know. After all, I'm human-looking enough to get Alexander hot, even though he knows I'm anything but a standard lay. But that's not the issue, right? I'm trying to come to grips about Raven, the worst psycho the universe -- or at least the colonized part of it -- has ever known. What is Darwin's plan for the beast who reportedly tortured, murdered and dismembered 123 people "for the fun of it", and is the suspect in at least a dozen similar cases on Beringh II? They must have a greater plan for him. Why else did they "buy" him out of the death-cell from the authorities for heavy money, bribing them into declaring the monster officially dead to the revengeful public... only to bring him here? Do they want to find the messed-up gene that turned him into a human mincer and... heal it? Or develop it for future use? Ugh... I don't think I want to follow that train of thought. Although I guess it's very possible. Humanity is that sick. If I learned one thing during my brief existence, it's that with humanity, everything's possible. You can't predict just what they're going to do. Which sort of closes the circle.
"Hey, Ice...?" Alexander's voice, playful, with a scent of impatience. A mixture I'm familiar with by now. "Where are you?"
"Huh?" I heard him alright, but he'd be pissed if I told him I just chose to ignore him in favour of my musings on mankind. So, let's play the confused one. His finger traces the symmetrical black lines on my face. The Maori tattoo is probably the thing about me he loves the most. He never gets tired of looking at me or touching my face, of following the pattern with his fingertips. Hey, whatever keeps him happy is okay with me. I myself have cursed more than once about Rogue's strange ideas. Why the hell did he have to do this to me, his creature? It sets me apart from everybody on first sight. It makes me exotic, that strange, beautiful paradise bird people can't help staring at. It denies me any kind of privacy, the chance to mingle into crowds, to be an observer. The moment people set eye on me, they stare. It's not like I care, I can be a master of ignorance (an original Kurtz-quote, by the way), but it makes it difficult for me to study others. There's also that annoying habit of people to inquire about the tattoo again and again and again. By now I have my standard explanation ready for those encounters, but it's tiring. Screw you, Rogue! Virtually the only good thing it does for me is keeping Alexander interested in me, even if my behaviour ain't too encouraging, I guess. He's a good-looking guy with his dark hair and blue eyes. He could have plenty more than I'm offering him from other women on the station, including passion. He'll never get that from me, but it doesn't seem to bother him. Kira hates me for occupying her dream guy, every single look she grants me tells me that. How dare I synth-broad take away the man she set her eyes on? I smile at the thought of her envious face. Alex doesn't even look at her with his ass.
"What are you thinking about?"
I turn to him.
"You." Right answer. He lights up, and his slight anger over being temporarily forgotten has vanished without trace. His finger's resting comfortably on my cheekbone.
"Something nice?"
"Would I smile if it weren't?"
"I don't know." He touches my lower lip, traces their curve. "I can't figure you. You're ... too mysterious for me." He flashes one of his trademark radiant smiles. I return it.
"I could arrange an appointment with my creator, if you like. He could tell you all about my programming." Oops, bad joke. His smile drops from his face in an instant. Humour... something I definitely need to work on. Perhaps I should ask Rogue for an update, just to see his face. Alexander sits up and swings his legs over the bed with a frown.
"Damn Isis... you've got a way of turning someone off, I give you that."
"I'm sorry." I am not, but I need him to tell me a little more about today's work. He can't leave just yet. I know what it takes to make him reconsider. My hand touches his back, gingerly, slowly tracing his spine down his neck, between his shoulder blades and further down... "Alexander..." Everybody calls him Alex, which I know he hates, so I stretch the letters in an apologetic purr. "Please... I didn't mean it. You know I'm still fighting with humour. It was just an attempt to make you laugh. I admit it sucked, but I didn't mean for it to suck. Please... come back?" He hesitates. Bingo, I think. Humanity on the whole may be illogical, but sometimes they are also maddening predictable. Men, at least. Alexander's head turns around, and he eyes me with suspicion. I smile innocently and pat the still warm sheet where he has been lying until five seconds before invitingly. His frown melts, and he leans back with a sigh and slips his legs under the sheet again. Another victory.
"You know, it ain't easy with you."
"Ain't this why you're here?" A frivolous grin seems appropriate for this remark. He returns it and pulls me closer. He smells of lotion and its various ingredients. Kira told me once his smell drives her crazy with want, but I guess I'm too sophisticated for those primal pleasures -- just one sniff, and I could name every single chemical, aroma or pheromone used in his expensive designer-scent. A real turn-off, huh? Alex kisses me, and I react, stroking his hair at the same time. Feeling nothing. But I've got the technique down pretty well. He'll never know.
"You're pretty full of yourself, you know that?"
I nod slightly.
"Self-conscience. Another thing that drives the male homo sapiens wild." Enough of the playful banter. He still hasn't given me what I want." I roll on my back, changing the topic with the brutal indifference he hates me for. "Did you get to see this Raven-guy today?"
He groans, his hands stopping on my breasts.
"Jesus, Ice..."
"I know. Another bucket of cold water you didn't expect."
"If you know so yourself, then why the hell --"
"It's important to me." I put some urgency into my gaze. "We've been talking about this for weeks, and now he's here, and nobody knows what will happen." My fingers play with the sparse hair on his well-built chest. "Ain't that disturbing to you? Knowing they brought this butcher here? What do they want him for, anyway?"
"You're big with Darwin. Don't you know?" He rolls onto his back with a sigh of resignation. The romantic evening is over. The fact just dawned on him.
"Not a word from there. Everybody's real hush-hush about it. I hoped you'd know. Didn't Kurtz give you anything? Ain't you the one to work with him primarily?"
"Yeah..." Poor Alexander. The bed has suddenly become an interrogation room for him. But he should be used to this procedure by now. And I know he loves to talk about his job. He's so proud of himself. Pride has turned him into a regular chatterbox. Every time I want to hear about the secret proceedings in the labs, I just have to make out with Alexander Saitchev. At first, of course, he always tries to avoid talking about it, but he's just too darn intent on impressing me. Very convenient. If Kurtz knew how much I really know; he would disassemble me or order me to be reprogrammed. So I'm keeping the lid on my knowledge and play dumb. "And man, am I happy about it." Sarcasm? Or does he mean it? His facial expression causes me to vote for the first one.
"What are you supposed to do with him?"
"I don't know. Kurtz and I are going to have a conversation about this first thing tomorrow. I just hope he doesn't want me to therapy this guy."
"Hardly."
"I know. I was being sarcastic."
"Oh... okay." I bite my lip, my eyes staring at the virtual Arcturian meadow I programmed on my illuso-generator earlier, and can't help but wonder whether he's telling me the truth. My beautiful Alexander... is he capable of lying to me? Would he keep it from me? I decide to trust him this time. It's very much like Kurtz to give him his assignment on short notice just to keep it under wraps for as long as possible.
"Strange thing though, huh? Nothing happens for months, and then all of a sudden two ships arrive on the same day."
My head snaps around.
"What?"
He smiles, obviously pleasantly surprised to find he heard the station's gossip before I did. A rare occurance. He gives me the scoop on the lab stuff, I keep him updated on Phooka's rumours. Quid pro quo.
"My proud Egyptian Goddess...hasn't heard about it?"
Yeah, tease me, I think. After all, you don't get too many opportunities to gloat. My tone is neutral.
"Come on -- which ship?"
"The Orthanc. Strange, huh? As far as I know, she wasn't due until May... ten weeks from now. Makes you wonder why they came back so hurriedly."
"Did you hear anything?"
"I was kinda hoping you'd give me the scoop on it." He looks honestly disappointed. "Rumor has it they found something out there. But I don't know for sure. They either keep it under wraps, or it's total bullshit."
"That they found something or that Orthanc's back?"
"Oh, she's back for sure." He pauses, then takes up his chronometer from the bedside table. Looks at me after a quick check. He's got an idea, I can tell. "How about a late-night drink in the casino, huh?"
"You mean to check if it's true?" I shrug. It's half an hour to midnight. I don't need the sleep, but my partner-in-crime here ain't a man of iron, and he'll have a difficult day tomorrow. He needs to be focused as hell if he's really going to handle that monster. I don't want him to be shredded to pieces. Really. "I don't know. You look tired."
He looks at me, then snorts. Frustrated, I believe.
"I am, actually... but I'm also darn curious."
I nod and pretend to think it through. In reality, I already know what I'm going to do. My hand finds back to his chest.
"Okay, I'll go. Alone. You stay here and get your beauty-sleep, and when you wake up, I tell you what I found out. How's that?"
"Naw..." He sits up, purposefully this time, and grabs for his pants. "I can manage. I want to see for myself." He gets on his feet and closes his zipper. Digs something out of his pocket. "Got a glass of water for me?"
"Excuse me? I thought you quit this shit." I don't have to see the orange pills to know what he's referring to. He slips into his shirt without bothering to look at me.
"I will. But right now I need them. Kurtz is giving me hell lately. You know how many double-shifts he's ordering. I'm a lucky dog he gave me this evening off."
"Uh-huh." I start getting dressed myself, annoyed. I need him to function properly. What good will he be to me if he lets this stuff fry his brains. "That's what you told me four weeks ago. And four weeks before that. And-"
"Look, Ice, I don't need a lecture from you right now, okay? I-" The bag falls down, and I'm tempted to pounce and snatch it away from him. But Alexander is fast to retrieve it. "Dammit!"
I slip into my shirt, the blue and black fabric blocking my view for a moment, turning my back on him. Humans and their faults... another opportunity for me to kneel down and thank my creator -- thanks, Rogue! -- for making me different. Sometimes it gets tiring to see them running open-eyed into disaster. I swallow what I want to say. Can't have Alexander angry with me. In the next moment, I feel his hands on my hips.
"Look Isis... I know you're upset with me. I understand. And I promise you I'll quit. I've got that vacation coming up in about four weeks-"
"Ha!" I turn around, my eyebrows momentarily meeting my hairline over my brow. "Like that's supposed to happen now with that lunatic you're supposed to domesticate! I can already hear Kurtz' laughter when you tell him that!"
His voice is calm, but intense, as is his gaze, as he grabs me by my upper arms.
"He will not interfere with my leave this time. I will have this vacation. We will. He has been canceling all my breaks for one and a half years now, and he knows if he keeps on doing this, I will either collapse or leave for good."
"Like he's going to let you leave." I brush him off and take a step back. "Damn, Alexander... you know you can't leave. Don't tell me you're that naïve. Don't tell me you don't remember what you committed to by coming to this place." His face drops, and his hands sink at his sides. If I were human, I'd probably feel sorry for him. Good thing I ain't. All those emotions would probably render me unable to get anything done properly. After all, I see it day after day with my colleagues.
"Yeah... I was stupid, wasn't I?"
"Yes, Alexander, you were." He looks devastated now. Old... although he hasn't even hit 30 yet. With hanging shoulders he turns around to grab his bag from the chair. "I'll never leave this place again. Except for those stupid trips to Alpha Ceti IV. Damn, I can't even stand to see those fucking beaches anymore! This is a fucking prison! With golden bars, but a prison all the same." He's reached the door and pauses for a moment, his head turning back to me. I'm still standing on the same spot, and my facial expression tells him he's right. "Are you coming with me?"
"Still to the casino? Or have you changed your mind?"
"Plan's still the same. And if I can't find someone to gush the news to me, I can still drink myself senseless if I'm getting too depressed." A sour smile tucks at his mouth.
I take a deep breath, mildly shaking my head.
"Now I've got to go with you to keep you from getting wasted, I guess." I take a step towards him and register his relieved expression -- and the sharp alarm of the communicator stops me dead in my tracks. We stare at each other. Kurtz. Must be. He's the only one ruthless enough to call his slaves in the middle of the night... me before anybody else, since he knows I don't need any sleep. Which doesn't mean his calls don't annoy me. Shaking my head in shared frustration with Alexander, I press the button.
"Dr. Kurtz! How may I be of assistance to you?" I say even before the monitor can build up the image of his age-weathered face. His diamond-hard gray eyes pierce me through the camera. The background doesn't look like his office or lab.
"I don't have time for a chat, Isis. I need your metal ass down here in Medical immediately. Ask for Dr. Hikahi."
Sweet as ever. Why waste any time on politeness? He ain't treating me like this because I'm just a machine to him... he treats everybody like this. I don't care. In a way, he's like me when I don't have to manipulate people to get what I want. Pure information, nothing else. Brief and to the point, without any waste of time or breath.
"I'm on my way, Doctor."
"Good. I'm waiting." The connection's separated, the monitor showing static snow for a second before it's black again. When I look up apologetically to meet Alexander's gaze, I can see that he's pissed at his superior.
"You still going?"
"I don't know." He exhales audibly and shakes his head in suppressed consternation. "I'll make my mind up at the elevator."
The station is quiet as I stride down its sterile, neon-lighted corridors towards the elevators -- a different one than Alex is taking. In my head, I call him Alex like everybody else. Alexander is just too bloody long to put up with any more than necessary -- even for someone with my astonishing processing capacities. He's decided to get that drink after all, so he's taking the express elevator to the Starlight Casino, our nifty after-work hang-out, and the only joint in town that's any good -- according to most of Phooka's staff. Maybe he'll find his answers there. There's a good possibility the Orthanc's crew will be there to celebrate their premature return. They won't be tired after days or a week in cryo-sleep -- only tired of each other and eager to indulge into life again. Human nature again, right? Even I know that... if only theoretically. I've got no such needs. No nerves for anybody to strain or ruin. No weaknesses. If anything, it's me who causes people to go nuts. Mostly because of my way of getting things said: I don't lie, I don't varnish facts over, I'm not polite. I'm brief and to the point, which is what I'm built for. What people make of that is their thing. If they decide to take it personal, I can't do anything about it. That's why Kira loves me so much, but hell, if she's a long-winded, illogical, emotional fuss-pot who doesn't have the required brainpower or concentration to get the job done, she gets to hear it from me. Calmly, of course, and purely professional, if not to say objective. It was astounding to see her red face while I dissected her failure at a recent project reason for reason, explaining to her each and every step she did wrong, so that she might take the opportunity to learn from the experience. But human nature got in the way, I guess. The way she steamed during my lecture turned it into a learning experience for me, too: I know now what people mean when they say that someone's about to blow his top. I was so delighted at the unexpected insight, I couldn't help but laugh... which of course didn't help the situation. I found it funny nevertheless. Seems as if humanoid and android humor are just not compatible. Rogue would probably tell me to have a go at it, to try and become more human... but why should I, really? Why should I give up being perfect in my own way to become a being with so many flaws?
A soft Bing at the end of the corridor tells me the elevator has just arrived. I break into a run to catch it. If Kurtz says he's waiting for you, he means it -- he literally counts the seconds. And he did sound urgent. I see a figure entering the cabin and speed up.
"Hey, wait...!"
But the door shuts and leaves me to look at the counter, telling me that the person before me is already on the way to the living quarters close to the station's top. Great. I press the button and take a step back to check on the other cabins, comparing the blue-glowing numbers over each door. The left one's coming... slowly. It's a weird thing: The station is equipped from north to south pole with the most sophisticated technology available. In fact, many of the technical wonders we have here haven't even been introduced into the market yet. We're light-years ahead of the rest of humankind... so why is it then we have the universe's slowest elevators?
Another Bing, and the door slides open. I step in.
"Level 9. And no music." Communication between machines. We aren't polite with each other either. Just the bare facts. I can act like a human being, but given the choice, I prefer this. Rogue says I'm chicken not to try out all the possibilities he's programmed me for, but then again, he doesn't know how it is to be me. Anyway, what was the subject again? Oh - slow elevators, that's where I left off. My assumption is that it must be pure intention. The station's pace is so fast, maybe they designed the lifts like this to grant it's inhabitants a few more moments to pull themselves together again. I know that Alex doesn't mind the slow elevators, so there must be something to them.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and turn my head, frowning. That darn tattoo... it's even the first thing about me I notice myself. Before I see the shape of my body, my clothes or my face I see those black lines. It's almost like a camouflage. Nobody remembers anything else about me, ever. They don't recall my eye-color. They're almost black. They don't recall the color of my hair, only that it's very short. And black, with a slight hue of blue that's only visible when the light's bright enough. They certainly don't recall what I'm saying. Rogue told me it's a strategy. Some sort of decoy to keep the attention away from my face and the fact that there may be expressions on it every now and then people wouldn't expect from a synthetic. It's because I ain't a synthetic. I'm a cyborg. Human tissue over a metal endoskeleton. My skin is real skin, my hair real hair, even if it's color might be a little on the exotic side. My body consists of real flesh, and I bleed real blood. But still... I was manufactured. Programmed. I am an artificial creature, and I am treated like one most of the time. Officially I don't exist. Building combinations of androids and humans is strictly forbidden. There are enough people who already take offense at the thought of normal synthetics. But this being Phooka Station, those people and their laws are very far away.
Bing!I've reached my destination, the station's hospital wing. Its bright neon-lights greet me as I step out of the cabin and make my way to Dr. Hikahi's station to the right end of the corridor. It's quiet here, too. It's not just the nightshift. There aren't too many sick or injured on this station, ever. Our decontamination procedures are the best, and so even our rare visitors can't bring any viruses to the station. With the exception of the gardens on its very top, our habitat is completely sterile. It allows us to keep the hospital installation small in comparison to the number of people working here. A good thing, since space is very limited on Phooka, despite its massive size.
But everybody is aware that there's a backside to this medal, too. A very good reason for us to never leave the station and its outpost on the close planet we're using for vacation -- a simple cold could kill us. Well, not me, obviously, but everybody else. Their immunity systems have been reduced to the status of newborns due to the lack of bacteria or viruses. I don't think this is just a sad side-effect of being so far off the rest of human civilization however. Knowing Kurtz and the ones he's receiving his orders from, I would bet my next 10 updates that this is exactly what he intended to create here. An insurance for him that nobody would ever dare leave Phooka of his own free will, much stronger than any contract or promise could ever be. I wonder whether it was his or Darwin's idea. Kurtz is the nominal head of this place and has the last word in every decision, but without Darwin's genius and cooperation he would be nothing. He knows it, and everybody else, too. It's tearing him apart to depend on someone, and the fact that this certain someone is perfectly aware of the situation and by no means the most diplomatic person in existence is probably the reason for his constantly rotten mood. Nobody enjoys working with Kurtz, and everybody's constantly trying to escape his attention.
I'm curious to hear what he wants from me at this time of the day... or rather, night. He doesn't care for etiquette, but he wouldn't call me in the middle of the night for nothing, either. I pass by the nurses' room, but there's nobody in there. Nobody in sight I could ask where to find Kurtz, so I enhance my audio intake -- people would say, strain my ears -- and pick up some commotion from the ICU further down the floor, located behind massive automatic doors and inaccessible for me. I step up and press the call-button, then turn around to look down the way I came. Still nobody to be seen. The place appears perfectly deserted. From the sounds of it, they're all in here. The sound of steps makes me turn. It's the girl who's coming to let me in. She looks worried and eager to take off again to where she came from.
"They're in Unit 4. Please use DeCon 3. 4 has a defect."
"I don't see why I should decontaminate at all, Keisha," I complain. "There's nothing on this station I could spoil the room with, and Kurtz is waiting for me." She looks me straight in the eye, angry and defensive at the same time. I'm still amazed at how one can be both. To me, you're either intimidated and shut the fuck up, or you jump at the person who causes you grief.
"You might not like it, Isis, but MedLab is our territory, and everybody has to follow the same rules. Everybody. Even you."
I look at her from above. Even though I'm only a couple of inches taller than her, I have the capability to look down on everybody, even people taller than me. It's a mindset.
"Except I'm not like everybody." I see her eyes narrow, but continue before she can throw anything in which would delay me further: "But I will follow your stupid little rules, just to make you happy." I leave her standing behind me and make for DeCon 3 to the left. She's saying something to my back, which I don't care to hear. Decontamination -- you step into a tiny cabin, much like a shower cabin, and get dosed with a mist so fine it enters your pores, your mouth, your lungs. Most people hate the procedure. Alex claims the stuff makes him gag, and that he'll never get accustomed to it no matter how often he has to inhale it. I've got no problems with it. I taste the ingredients and can immediately tell what's in it, but I don't have any real taste. So I put DeCon behind me and enter ICU 4, which -- in sharp contrast to the rest of the station -- appears crowded.
There's Kurtz, Dr. Hikahi... and two of his staff, busy with the set-up of the unit's instruments. A cryo-tube has been rolled next to the bed, its glowing lights telling that it's still operative. There's somebody in there, frozen. Raven? I think. Can't be. They'd never let him out of the high-security compound, no matter what the problem. Kurtz turns his head briefly in my direction and I know he's noticed my arrival, but for the moment he seems to be completely involved in a heated discussion with the doctor.
"I don't care what you say, Doctor," he says right now, his voice determined. "You've got the best equipment of all colonized worlds here at your disposal. There must be a way. He's still alive, and he should get better as soon as you start the treatment."
Hikahi doesn't look happy.
"Dr. Kurtz..." he inhales deeply, shaking his head and pointing towards his frozen patient. "Yes, he is still alive. But look at him: He's the worst case of radiation poisoning I've ever seen. There would hardly be a chance to cure him even if his constitution were better. He's so unstable, I dare not take him out of the tube! He'll die within 5 minutes if we shut down the controls -- and it takes at least 8 minutes to take him out and hook him up to our life-sustaining systems. Just look at the controls -- he barely has a pulse. He's as good as dead."
I risk a glance into the cryo-tube and see immediately what he means. The man inside looks haggard, nothing more than skin and bones. His face is red and raw, blistered and covered with seeping wounds. Likewise his neck and hands. I can't see the rest of his skin because of the dirty clothes that still cover him, but I'm sure it's the same there. I can tell they must have been in a hurry to freeze him if they didn't even dare to get these torn, dirt and blood-stained lumps off him first. He would probably have died under their hands in the meantime. A Colonial Marine, it appears. There are many military and paramilitary groups out there, but I recognize the dog-tags lying on his non-moving chest. His camouflage pants are also tell-taling. The right leg is ripped and blood-soaked.
"You are not here to cure colds, Dr. Hikahi," my boss sneers, sweet as ever. "And I don't pay you a fortune because you're a master in the art of removing inflamed appendixes either. You're here because you wanted to play with the newest developments in medicine. I've given them to you. Now make good use of them. Show us they work. Convince me I made the right decision when I put you in command of this medical station. Or aren't you as capable a doctor as your personal record would lead the reader to assume?"
"Dr. Kurtz-"
"I don't want to hear your whining and complaining, Dr. Hikahi. You came here to be challenged. This is your challenge. I want this man to live. Are you up to it? Or should I start looking for your replacement?"
From the corners of my eyes I see the two nurses pause and look up, their lips pressed together. Their boss is walking the tightrope here. Kurtz is nobody to utter empty threats. If he says he's going to axe Hikahi, he will do so. Without thinking twice about it. A leaden silence fills the room, only broken by the humming of the instruments and the sound of the soldier's feeble heartbeat. The chief of Sickbay looks desperate. Finally he nods, resignation in his features.
"Alright. I'll try." Wrong word, doctor. I can foretell Kurtz' reaction and turn my back on the two combatants to inspect the object of interest further. I don't envy Hikahi -- by the looks of it, he's facing impossible odds. The man looks dead already. I estimate his bodily age around 30, maybe a little younger or older. He's so emaciated, it's hard to tell. His dark-blond hair is a dirt-matted chaos, strands of it glued to his brow. A stubbly beard covers his chin. Even though he's in a coma, the expression on his face is that of a man who has been through a lot. In the background I hear my boss's tirade about not trying, but doing the deed. He's really intent on saving this guy. I wonder why and turn my head slightly to read the engraving on his dog-tags, when Kurtz finally decides to address me.
"Isis, I need you for a special assignment."
"Yes?" I look up and take a step back as Hikahi brushes past me in suppressed anger. They're getting ready to open the cryo-tube. Kurtz steps up to my side and lowers his voice.
"When they take him out, I want you to take his dog-tags and pull one of your infamous hacker-jobs. Hook yourself up to the USCM database and get me everything you can find about this man. I want to know everything -- where he went to boot-camp, who his instructors were, his squad, everything about the missions he was a part of. His skills, personal record, judgments by his superiors... everything. Think you can have this ready for me tomorrow by noon?"
It's a tall order, and he knows it. Otherwise he wouldn't ask me, but simply give me the order. I shrug.
"I'll give it my best shot, Dr. Kurtz. But it's been a while since I've been in the USCM database. They may have changed the coding. I know they're changing the passwords every day, and I suspect they have gotten more careful since my last visit." He looks at me confidently. It's an expression not many of us ever get to see.
"If anyone can make the USCM computer talk, it's you." He grabs my shoulder and squeezes it. An odd show of affection from Phooka's mighty man I'm hardly ready for. "This is why you're here. Make me proud, Isis."
I stare at him wordlessly, but before I can utter my other concerns I'm interrupted by the hissing of the opening cryo-tube. A cold draught passes by us and brings with it the sweet stench of infection. I assume it's the leg and see Hikahi pale. The odds against him have just risen another notch. The Arcturian inhales sharply and gets to work, ordering us back and his assistants to his sides to help him lift his patient onto the waiting bed. The rising alarm from the instruments the man is connected to tells us he's going downhill already. I watch silently, inwardly not expecting Kurtz's object of interest to live through the next ten minutes, and see my boss step up against Hikahi's protests to snatch the chain with the dog-tags from the soldier's neck. He presses them into my hand.
"Here, Isis. Do your thing. If you find anything important, you can reach me here for the next hour."
I almost laugh. How ridiculous. Thanks to my nature though, I manage to keep a straight face.
"Doctor, you know how long it takes to get an answer out here. Even if I didn't have to sneak in through the backdoor-"
He waves me off impatiently, his eyes glued to the efforts of the medical staff.
"You still here, Isis?"
I shut up. He might be unusually fond of me occasionally, but his patience has limits. I can take a hint and turn on my heels, not listening to the muddle of voices behind me - Hikahi's voice saying something about having better chances to save the marine if he took his leg off, to which my boss's reply is a simple, firm "No." - as I leave ICU 4. Chances are my work will be completely useless. Even if I get the USCM computer to spill its secrets to me tonight, they're likely to be the secrets of a dead man in the morning. But I've got my orders. I pass the heavy door which separates ICU from the rest of the hospital wing and make for the elevator, turning the dog-tags in my hand to see whose life I'm going to lay open. The name is Dwayne Hicks.
Its bodies are legion, its mind is one. It has no eyes to see the blackness enveloping its thousand chrysalises. It doesn't need to see. It senses every inch of its vast temple, feels them with the senses of its thousands of sleeping bodies, which have been waiting patiently for ages to come into being. Smells their chemical messages with each pore of its bodies. Longing to join the stream. To... become. Time has no meaning. To the being, there's no such thing as age. Its bodies will not age in the chrysalis. They will not die. They will last forever. Until they are called into being to perform the one act their shape is destined to fulfill. To jump, to grab, to not let go until the body has condensed its essence to a microscopic thing, protected by a hard shell, which is planted into the new chrysalis by the last spasm of the old, empty hull before it falls off. Then is the time for becoming. The new body needs energy to grow; energy which surrounds it everywhere, plentiful in its warm, moist cave. If it takes too much of it, the energy will die... but it never happens. The new body grows, and in doing so, its newly awakened mind joins the stream again. It grows... until it is time to change again. The cave is too small now for the new form, and the stream tells it to leave it... to shed it's old skin, because it too is becoming too small. And finally - it becomes -- another extension of the stream, equipped with new senses and a powerful body. A body with a sole purpose -- to serve the stream, to help it grow stronger and stronger and stronger... until everything is one.
But the stream has been cut. There's nothing now to listen to but total, utter silence. No pictures, no impulses, no smells enter the mind; nothing leaves it. The being's reduced to a one. It aches, sending out a pattern of questions, searching for the connection, but there is no answer. But there's movement -- it jumps, not thinking. Pure reflex. Like it's done many times before, just as fruitlessly. And again its fingers don't find a grip, they slide down on the smooth surface... it doesn't remember its failures, doesn't learn. Every motion could be its path towards becoming, towards the stream, so it reacts... until there is no more energy left to feed its muscles. Until it hangs unmoving in the liquid which surrounds it, waiting for its strength to return. While it floats, the being picks up a distant echo, only the faintest trace to what it once was surrounded by. Nothing in comparison to the stream, but ... a beginning. The mind has found another body...
"Boo!" The facehugger twitches in the liquid, its long, spidery fingers flexing, the long muscular tail shooting forward against the glass... but there's no strength in the attack. It has been reacting to each and every movement behind the invisible barrier for hours, and the fact that it's been out of its chrysalis for well over two months now without any nourishment doesn't help. Its reserves are slowly coming to an end. If it doesn't find a host soon, it will die without having completed the circle. Its essence will vanish and be lost for the hive. A face appears close to the barrier, distorted by the glass, but the facehugger doesn't react this time.
"Hey! Hey ugly! Yeah, I'm talking to you!" The man outside knocks his knuckles against the container, sending off vibrations into the liquid. It wants to jump, oh yes, the reflex is there... but nothing happens. The intruder straightens himself and shakes his head. "Must have fallen into a coma or somethin'."
"Don't blame it, Skinny," a female voice behind him says. "It happens to everyone who can't avoid listening to you." The addressee turns around, annoyed.
"I wasn't talking to you, Granny." His remark's hit home. The hurt on his colleagues' face is obvious, and for a brief second, Collin Skinny Scylar, Doctor of Experimental Genetics Phd., hates himself... but the moment is fleeting, and it doesn't prevent the malicious grin which belongs to his words from spreading over his face. That was a shitty thing to say, Skin... yeah, but fun, man! He knows fully well that what happened to Kira Katana could happen to himself anytime, too. Destiny sure can be funny sometimes: Here you are, a 28 year old brilliant and decent-looking scientist, making tons of money, living in a great relationship, planning your wedding, family, kids, career... and then you wake up from cryo-sleep after a trip to the colonies' most-desired vacation destination... to find out time has stolen you 30 years of your life! Kira Katana went to sleep in a young body, trusting the technology with her life as she had done countless times before... After all, what could possibly happen during five days of hypersleep, right? ... and all of a sudden found herself in the fall of her lifetime. Up to this day nobody has even has an answer for her as to what caused the cryo-tube to accelerate her body functions instead of slowing them down. It's been a freak occurance, one of a kind bad luck. None of the extensive checks later on could provide any kind of explanation for either the technicians nor for her. The tube in question has been put out of service of course. It's been checked... and checked again... and checked again... and now it's standing in a storage room on Phooka, somewhere on one of the sublevels, left to rot and take its secret with it.
"Asshole!" the tragic victim snaps at Scylar, red-hot anger glaring in her eyes, but before she or her opponent can think of further compliments to throw into the discussion, they get interrupted by a firm, hard: "Stop it! Both of you!"
Both turn their heads, caught. Blushing as they meet the annoyed gaze of the fair, slender young woman, who's entering Lab #1 together with a visitor they've seen before.
"Excuse me, Mr. Burke, but you already know the pathetic people I've got to work with." An icy glance orders the two combatants to go about their business. The company representative is momentarily caught off-guard by his host's blunt introduction of her colleagues, but manages to keep his composure as he steps up next to her with a squeamish feeling in his stomach... The soft blue glow of the stasis-tubes illuminates both their faces and brings back a massive deja-vu.
"So... these are the killer-bugs?" It sounds somewhat sarcastic. But then again, Darwin's always like that. It's nothing personal. It's probably the only tone a genius with an uncharted I.Q. like her can talk to some Joe Doe like him...even though he's considering himself a not too dim light himself... but then again, he's probably more cunning than brilliantly intelligent. He knows about his reputation as the weasel and sees it as a compliment actually. It's just a different form of I.Q. He eyes the facehugger in the nearest stasis-tube, remembering all too vividly his first encounter with that being, still half-hearing Ripley's whispered warning from somewhere behind him. His skin's starting to crawl again.
"Yes..."
Darwin narrows her eyes as she takes in the creature's appearance. Again he can't help but wonder. She's still so young. She's also looking it, despite her serious, detached and often bored, even arrogant attitude. How must it be to know everything, and to know everything better than everybody else... but constantly having to fight for acceptance because your outwardly appearance leads your much older colleagues to assume they could fool with you? Small wonder she's made sarcasm her dominant character trait. In combination with her intelligence and absolute lack of scruples, it's her most dangerous weapon.
"They don't look like much. A bit like shrimp. Maybe we should fry them."
"They are only an intermediary form... but deadly just the same." The woman... the woman he saw giving birth in the twilight of sublevel three... "They... they jump at you, choke you, and while you're unconscious, they implant an egg into your chest." All this blood... "And after a few hours... or a day, they-"
"Eat their way out?" Darwin completes his sentence, not appearing to be too bothered or disturbed by the thought. " Sounds like an ichneumon-fly."
"I wouldn't say they eat their way out... it's more like they burst out of people." Now this finally earns him a trace of morbid amazement on the scientist's face. "They burst out -- killing the body of their host of course -- and then grow rapidly into seven-foot nightmares... killing machines. I saw them rip apart an entire, heavily armed Marine squad." Her gaze shifts back to the abomination right in front of her, now definitely interested.
"And what is it you want me to do with them, Mr. Burke? Domesticate them? Behavioral science is not my field."
"It might not be your field, but I doubt you'd have problems adapting it... right?" Carter, you smart cat, he congratulates himself. It's amazing how you're able to find the right words time and time again! He can virtually see the wheels of his opposite mind in motion. She's intrigued. Finally something interesting to play with. Yeah, he's a cunning bastard alright. Always knows what's making people tick. "Any way, you do what you wanna do with them. You're the scientist here, not me. Study them first, of course. I think the creature's got a lot of potential. It's your call now to determine what they're most suitable for. I'm sure the military could be interested in it... one way or the other...and you know what that means..." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. It earns him a short nod.
"Tons of money."
"Exactly. And I don't think I'm kidding you by saying that these things... are worth more than their weight in pure gold."
"It's always about money with you, huh? You're a greedy son of a bitch."
"Aren't you?"
She's chewing on this for a while before she gives him an unreadable, mischievous smile. He doesn't push her. His hook and sinker are out there, floating on the surface for her to swallow. She will. Oh yes, she will. Her eyes wander off to the second creature not far away.
"There's just one problem I'm seeing right now..."
"What kind of problem? Problems are there to be solved, right?" He smiles encouragingly, but drops it when he sees her enervated frown. Man... he used to be more convincing than this! But even to him, his usual cheerfulness feels forced these days. Some of his usual Life is full of opportunities, let's make the best of them attitude has gone AWOL in the wake of the Acheron-incident, and it's a strange feeling.
"Did you only bring me these two specimen?"
"Unfortunately yes. They were already contained and attainable without risk. Bringing you more would have involved entering their hive and... having to mess with the ... seven-foot monsters. Why is this a problem? Can't you clone them?" His suggestion earns him an icy glance that looks highly bizarre on the young face. He can literally hear the crackling of the ice. How old is Darwin again? 20? 21?
"Right now I don't know more about them than what I'm seeing here, Mr. Burke." She pronounces his name very pointedly. "Meaning: Nothing at all. You know probably more than me. To clone a completely alien creature -"
He raises his hand.
"I see. I'm sorry... You know, there's something that will help you probably more than if I told you everything I've seen..."
"Yes?"
"We've got the reports from the Sulaco, the warship they sent down on LV-426 with a marine squad to investigate. Everything that went on in Hadley's Hope was immediately sent to the Sulaco's database... including the preliminary scientific evaluation done by Bishop, their synthetic. As far as I know he already undertook quite intensive research on those creatures... and the reports from the staff at the station were salvaged, too. Lots of reading stuff for you."
"Good. Where are the discs?"
"Kurtz has them." She grimaces. "Sorry. You know how it is. As the nominal head of Phooka Station he's the --"
"-first one to lay his eyes on whatever you bring. Yes." Darwin's chewing on the unwelcome information for a while longer before she raises her eyebrows and gives the Company rep one of her trademark all business expressions. "Tell you what: I deal with Kurtz, and you bring me more specimens. There's no way I can get anything done with only two of them -- I'll probably have to cut them both up, and then there won't be any left to do the breeding."
"Uhm..." Damn, he knew this would come. But as she's saying it out loud now, the words are putting the fear of God into Burke again. There's no way for him to go back. Not for all the money in the universe. But as usual, his opposite already has a working plan.
"Look, I can see you're shitting your pants about the prospects of going back. You don't have to -- at least not down onto the surface. I'm sure I can get Kurtz to give you a handful of synthetics to do the job. No danger for anybody."
"But no guarantee the aliens won't attack them either."
"We'll get to that when it happens," she interrupts him, now that she already knows what to do with her familiar impatience. "From what you told me, I think it should work. These things attack humans, not machines, right? Whatever they'll do, we'll find a way. I'll talk to Kurtz first thing in the morning." She finally turns her back on the two stasis cylinders -- with quite some reluctance, Burke can't help noticing with slight delight. "And you go and get some rest. You look like death on two feet." God beware it's real compassion which makes her add those words -- she simply needs him to function, and a tired brain doesn't work very well. They're going to have some substantial organizing to do tomorrow, and the young genius has been blessed with only very little patience. So he nods.
"Okay... when do we meet?"
"I'll call you when I spoke with Kurtz. Expect to hear from me around nine a.m." She stretches out her hand to touch the cool surface of the cylinder next to her, patting the glass. "And you guys hang in there, you hear me? We're gonna get to know each other a lot better... very soon."
It is early morning when I come home. Of course you can't tell on a space station, because its surroundings are perpetual black only broken by the light of the far-off stars or the glowing atmosphere of a nearby planet, but Phooka's designers came up with an expensive and nifty idea to make life a little nicer for its inhabitants: The corridor walls in the living quarters complex are long-stretched holo-walls, panorama-screens for the latest illusos, realistic to the point where one wants to lay down under one of those majestic Kauri-trees or jump into the water on a deserted beach. The illusion doesn't stop at the ceiling. There are no visible lights, but a blue sky with some scattered clouds, which sometimes form a dramatic pattern as if a rainstorm's brewing, only to be wiped away by a non-existent wind to reveal a rainbow. The cool thing about it is that the landscapes are always lighted accordingly to the time of day. From dusk till dawn, the lighting is always perfectly simulated. You don't even need a chronometer, because we don't have any seasons which would shorten or lengthen the days. Our days are neatly divided into 12 hours of daytime and 12 hours of night. Every day, every month. You can always tell how late it is by the position of the sun. If the sun stands over the vending machine at the end of the corridor, it's noon. If it stands over the green-glowing emergency sign to the right, it's about 6 p.m. Sounds weird? I agree.
I also don't understand why humans want to be tricked. Where is the point in walking through a virtual jungle with non-existing humming-birds flying around my head when the illusion ends at the next wall and reality hits me over the head again? Isn't it even more depressing to constantly see what you could have if you were someplace else in the universe? To even be able to smell the salt in the air on a beach that isn't there, only to step into the next elevator and let it take you down to the research level which couldn't be more sterile? Isn't it self-inflicted cruelty?
Something rustles in the bushes to my right, and I know before seeing it's the jaguar again, returning from it's nightly hunt. I've seen it before, so I don't halt when it steps out into the corridor, but walk right through it. After all, it's blocking my door. I press my hand against the scanner on the right side and enter... to my surprise, I'm not alone.
"Alex... xander?" It's a little after 6 in the morning. He's got a meeting with the mighty man in less than two hours, so what is he doing here? Even more since he looks as if he could well use the additional sleep he robbed himself of by coming over. "That's a surprise!"
He looks up while he's blindly shoveling five spoons of coffee into the machine. I can tell he got wasted yesterday. He looks awful. Didn't he say he'd just be gone for a short while? He must have put it to good use...
"Yeah? Well, I came back last night after one hour. Thought I'd surprise you... but then you weren't there."
"Kurtz and his special assignments... you know he doesn't call you in the middle of the night to ask you a simple, brief question." I hold up the files and disc in my hands and lay them on the table next to me before I step up and give my most important source of information a good-morning kiss. He looks nervous. I don't blame him. After all, he's going to have an eye-to-eye with two beasts today...
"So what did he want from you?"
"The usual..." I shrug and turn to my closet. Since my flesh and skin are so real I even sweat, I'm longing for new clothes after this long night. And a shower. Not necessarily in that order. Damn Rogue, why did you have to build me so realistic? "Sneaking into fiercely guarded databases to suck out information about someone who will soon be a corpse anyway." I shake my head. "I spend the whole night accumulating this stuff, and I bet you next month's pay it'll land in the trash before the day's over."
"You don't get paid, Ice," he smirks. My back is still turned to him, but I can hear him smirk. I rid myself of the stinking shirt -- at least I think it stinks -- and feel his appreciative gaze between my shoulder blades... or -- more likely - my ass.
"Right," I reply dryly. "I keep forgetting. I'm a slave." Off with my pants.
"So who is it?"
"Huh?" I turn my head.
"The person you checked out. Someone from the station?"
"Nope." I nod in the general direction of the bath room. "I tell you in a sec. Can I just take my shower first?"
"No.." He comes closer, a mischievous grin on his lips. "I'm too curious. You've got to tell me right away." The grin broadens even more." "In the shower. I'm coming with you." He locks his arms around me, but I free myself of him, not to his pleasure.
"Come on, Alexander -- you need to get your head clear. You-"
"A shower will help me!"
"You already did. I can smell the soap on you. And getting your hormones in an uproar now is not going to help you deal with either Kurtz or that psycho... Sorry. It's for the best." I shut the door into his face. Not angrily, without any force, but I can tell he's disappointed all the same when I hear his miserable voice through the door.
"But I'm too fucking nervous... I need to relax...!"
"In this case you should spare the coffee and fix yourself a glass of hot milk with honey," is my good advise. No, Mr. Saitchev -- no pre-work quicky today. I step into the shower booth, and the water rains down on me automatically. If he's still trying to change my mind, I can't hear it.
When I leave the bathroom, I find him sitting at the table, seemingly drilling for oil in his scrambled eggs with his fork. Not looking up. Sulking. I inhale sharply.
"Alexander... sometimes you're like a little boy..."
"How would you know?" he scoffs, and I take my hands off his neck, where I placed them to make up for the shower he didn't get.
"You'd pale if you knew how extensive my data on-"
"Yeah, right, data!" He's still pissed and throws the fork down. "You know it all, right? You're humanity's wisdom in a box, right? You're all that and a bag of chips."
I'm already halfway on the chair next to him, but stand up again to get some distance between us. Why do humans have to be so complicated?
"Do you want to hear about the assignment or not?" Anger and curiosity battle on his face. And I admit, I want to know what he found out about the Orthanc's return, too.
"Yes," he admits grudgingly. "I also want you to treat me as if you knew I have some sort of feelings. And I don't want to hear again you're a synthetic! You always use this shit as some kind of excuse. And I'm fucking tired of hearing it, okay?"
"Okay..." I decide to give in. If I keep contradicting him I won't get to hear what he's heard.
"And I know you're just saying okay now because you want my news! You're a manipulative, calculating..."
I can virtually see the word he's thinking of on his face, but he swallows it at the last moment. Reluctantly. It probably just dawned on him that he ain't that much better than me -- he too is too darn curious to hear about my night's work, plus he wants me for his bodily needs. Who should he take instead? Kira? Now that's a thought that'd make you laugh! He still wants me. He'd be a hypocrite to deny those facts. So instead of the heated words he's just uttered, his lips form an unexpected, but still grouchy smile. "Damn Isis... we really deserve each other, don't we?"
"I don't know about this, but we don't have much time left to get even, Alexander," I state, returning his gaze cryptically. He taps with his fingertips onto the table plate. "I suggest we get started right now. You first: What about the Orthanc's untimely return?"
He pushes his dish back. Seems like he's hardly eaten anything. I can't tell whether it was me or the prospects of having to meet both Kurtz and Raven who spoiled his appetite.
"Well..." he takes a swig of coffee -- another good advice down the chute -- and relishes in my curiosity, stretching the expectant silence for a moment longer. "Your friend was there."
I furrow my brow.
"My friend?"
"That Burke-character." I make a face, then frown when the significance of this little piece of information dawns on me. "I don't know whether it was because of his presence, but the others were as taciturn as the W.Y. database." Alexander shakes his head in remembered disbelief. "No, worse: They didn't just collectively swallow their tongues, they even lied to me! Told me some fairy-tale about a glitch in the Orthanc's navigational system they wanted to check on in the dock before they'd get lost forever. Do you believe this shit?"
"Carter Burke is here?"
"Yup. Arrived with the Orthanc yesterday. Why?"
"'Cause he was on the same ship as a certain Mr. Dwayne Hicks..." My gaze shifts to the disc with the accumulated files I collected tonight. That marine whose life Hikahi's currently fighting for came with the Orthanc, too, that's a fact. The question now is -- was it just a mere coincidence they picked the two up along the way ... or were they the initial reason for the ship's return? Nothing in Corporal Hicks's files hints at him being special in any regard. As a Colonial Marine, he is a member of an elite team, yes... but so are ten thousand others. Even his latest -- and/ or last -- mission reads unsuspicious. A typical rescue mission on Acheron, ex- LV-426. He was sent out with his squad onboard the Sulaco to investigate on a sudden loss of communication with the local station, Hadley's Hope. According to the USCM's computer, it hasn't been restored yet. And the Sulaco's gone missing... I sense there's our story. I feel Alexander's gaze on me and look up.
"You know something. What?"
"This guy Kurtz wanted me to check on...", I down a swig of artificial milk. My partner usually smiles at the sight of a synthetic sticking to health- food, but not today. Since it's real flesh that's covering my metallic bones, it needs to be nourished. I don't know how Rogue solved that whole digestion problem, and I don't want to know. It works, that's enough.
"Yeah?"
"... he's a Colonial marine. Or maybe I should say was, because he didn't look as if he's going to last much longer when I saw him last night. He came with the Orthanc, too, that's a fact. And it seems that the mission he was on went awry... their ship's still missing." I put down the empty glass and can virtually see the wheels of Alexander's imagination in motion. "Plus the colony he was sent to is still cut off from communication. Transmitters picked up an automated distress signal from one of the colony's atmosphere processors about three weeks ago... but it's been silent for the last ten days now... And get this: Carter Burke was on that same ship that went missing... on the same mission... Makes you wonder what happened out there, huh?"
My opposite freezes, deep in though, before he slowly shakes his head.
"Maybe we're reading too much into it. Orthanc's trip started five weeks ago. It was already on it's way to the Gamma-quadrant when it got redirected, if your story's true. Meaning---"
"- it's a coincidence," I finish for him, matter-of-factly. Somehow disappointed. "It is true. I got it straight out the USCM's database. They just picked them up along the way. Rescued them from whatever happened on Acheron when they picked up the signal. But why did they head back to PHOOKA? They could have frozen them for two weeks longer and investigate on whatever they had been wanting to do in the Gamma Quadrant. After all, it's a pretty long trip from here if they want to fly out again. Why the hurry?"
"Don't know..." My Russian's eyes find the clock, and I can see the storm clouds gathering on his brow. Only twenty minutes left until he's got to leave. He's never been good in hiding his nervousness, and I hope it won't cost him today. He's an outstanding psychiatrist, otherwise Kurtz wouldn't have sent his headhunter to buy him out of the -- very lucrative -- contract he's had with W.Y.'s sharpest competitor, LifeTech. He's usually able to transform all this nervousness into concentration, and the endorphines and adrenaline help him focus... he is someone who can meet a challenge, who can rise to the occasion. I hope the same will happen today, because he looks downright sick right now, as his troubled blue eyes rise to meet my questioning glance again. "But I do know that Mr. Carter Burke wasn't his usual, annoying self last night. He was looking as if he's lost more than a couple of pounds, and his face was... how shall I say it?... He looked old... and hollow somehow. You know, that look people have who survived a catastrophe? Something like that."
I can feel my right eyebrow rise.
"Burke? Carter Burke? Sounds pretty incredible."
"See for yourself. He should be stranded here for at least a couple of days."
I snort.
"You're saying I should chase him for a change, huh?" I get up to put the milk back into the fridge and turn around, lean my back against it. "I don't know... the jerk's too cunning. He won't talk." We stare at each other for a while longer. The subject's pretty much dead. As much as we like to speculate on things, it's easy to overdo it. Everything we both found out spells Coincidence here. After all, it's not as if the guy down in Medical is the first one to ever strand here... think Raven... or that von Sontheim-character they brought here together with him. That was a pretty incredible coincidence, too! Even if they'd planned for it, it couldn't have worked out better: Not only did they manage to buy the universe's craziest killer, no, on their way back they stumble over an unsuspecting little private ship in the shadow of Nova Lepidoptera -- snatch it... only find one of the biggest thorns in Weyland Yutani's side in the persona of Axel von Sontheim on it! The man who dedicated his life to uncover every little piece of dirt under the omnipotent company's rug. Last time he went public with his findings was the first scandal that really shook the big W.Y. and caused heads to roll. Since then all the big broadcasting stations literally battle to have him in their shows. After a slow start -- nobody wanted to mess with the United Colonies' most powerful company at first -- W.Y.-bashing is an official sport now. Kurtz must be delighted to have him in his hands now. Destiny seems to be his friend. A lucky dog he is.
My man finally breaks the spell by standing up. His face looks ashen. I've never seen Alexander like this. I'm surprised he's so afraid.
"It's time. Kurtz will have my ass for breakfast if I'm late." He puts his almost untouched plate into the sink and turns when he hears me stepping up behind him. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.
"I don't care about Kurtz. It's Raven I'm worried about... Be careful around him, okay?" He nods, obviously pleased with my unusual display of emotion. "Don't take any chances. The guy will accept the first one you grant him to tear your head off." He hugs me like a bear.
"Yeah, remind me of that, will ya? As if I'm not nervous enough."
"That's good. It'll keep you aware." He kissed me back, and I let him go. He takes up his file case and heads for the door, hesitating briefly before he leaves the room.
"When will you be there? Didn't you say Kurtz wants your report by noon?"
"Yes." I nod into the general direction of my pile of files. "And I've still got some work to do until it is ready. I'll be down in about... say two hours from now. Will that do?"
He shrugs.
"It's not like I got a choice, right? But I'm looking forward to seeing you there. This is the worst case I've ever had to deal with... I could sure use my cheerleader rooting for me."
"Cheerleader?" I ask, but he shakes his head and reaches for the door opener.
"Never mind. See you later."
"-want another drink?" Alexander lifts the water bottle. The human tank behind the stasis barrier doesn't even look at it. "You must be thirsty after all this chatter." Bright, almost colorless eyes follow his every move. I raise my right eyebrow. Since the killer didn't say anything so far, I know my man is being sarcastic. I'm learning... maybe I will have it all figured out one day if I just pay enough attention.
"Yeah." It's not the feral snarl one would expect from that bear, but rather a flat, toneless answer which compliments Raven's likewise expressionless features. It's the first word he utters. The move he makes is his first, too: Almost in slow-motion, he lifts his empty glass as an invitation to Saitchev to fill it up... daring him to step closer or order the stasis field that separates them switched off. But I wouldn't have put up with Alexander if he really were that stupid. He smiles good-naturedly, and I have to give him credit -- he's got his nervousness amazingly in check -- there's not the slightest trace of it now. He's concentrated, aware... and cautious, yes, but not afraid. At least not outwardly.
"Alright. Why don't you put it on the table there then, and I give you your free refill?" The joke earns him the slightest trace of a wary smile on the killer's face.
"Shitting your pants, aren't you? Why don't you come over here?"
My man's doing me proud. He's not going to have any of this b/s. He's simply putting the bottle down again, shrugging.
"Funny. I thought you'd be thirsty for sure." He folds his hands on his lap again. "You'd kill me if I turned off the stasis field." Raven looks bored.
"'Course."
"Why?"
The muscular shoulders twitch.
"Got to entertain myself. Not much else to do here." A slight grin that mixes both malice and boredom. He turns his neck to stare right at us where we have gathered in the crammed room behind the one-way mirror. He probably knows we're here. He's probably been in dozens of rooms of this kind. I study his cool, detached features some moments longer, then turn my attention back to my boss, who's rummaging through the file I prepped for him at one second, and following the scenario in the next room the other second. Right now he pauses to look up again and then slowly shakes his head to himself before casting me an annoyed glance.
"That guy's pretty full of himself. I wonder whether he's not more hot air than anything."
"He killed 123 people," I state evenly, causing Kurtz to furrow his brow at me, but before he gets a chance to reply to this undeniable fact, I hear another voice from the door.
"If he's hot air, he's enough to make a balloon fly."
Darwin. Count on her to be the one who can make Kurtz blow his top -- one of my favorite expressions now that I understand it -- with just one sentence. I turn and see her fair and slight appearance march into the room, her eyes fixed on the scene behind the mirror, neither acknowledging Kurtz's or my presence by just the tiniest glance. My boss casts her a brief sour glare which she entirely misses... or chooses to ignore, before he decides to stick his head into the file again. Being caught between these two constantly fighting egos is something all the others are hell-bent on avoiding, but I don't care. My relationship with both is better than with any of my other colleagues... and when they're busy insulting each other, I can always go on deaf mode and find something else to do. I change my attention back to Alexander and his project as Darwin comes to a halt by my side. It's a rare occurrence for her to leave her Ivory tower, so Alexander's mission must be more important than I thought.
"How is it going?"
"Raven's trying to get Saitchev to do something stupid, and Saitchev's not having any of it," I report. "So far, nothing really happened." She shrugs to herself, eyes the scene a moment longer and then turns to Kurtz for a question. "Is that his file?"
"No." Nothing more. No explanation. He's not even looking up. Trying to get even, Dr. Kurtz, huh? There couldn't be a greater waste of time. Darwin's always calm. You can't anger her... and if you try, it's likely you will be the one walking away with a black eye, metaphorically speaking. Her youthful, fragile appearance is deceiving -- on the inside she anything but a normal 20-year-old, and people who don't know or keep forgetting usually find it out the hard way. Nothing you can say can possibly unfaze her -- she's always the one with the final word, the smart reply... the hurting truth... and virtually no scruples to use it. Her mind is a weapon. Mess with her and she'll tell you what you never wanted to hear about yourself. Don't mess with her, and you get it just the same. She just doesn't care whose egos she's stomping into the ground on her path of absolute logic. I guess this is why I get along so well with her: In a way, we are alike... just that she's definitely human.
"Well, whose is it then?" she inquires, still without any trace of anger. If Kurtz really thinks she'll give up he's mistaken, and finally he recognizes this, too. He looks up, finally acknowledging her presence.
"Some guy's... Orthanc brought him here along with the girl and... the specimen." A curt nod towards the file in his hands. " "He's a colonial marine... might come in handy at some point... if he survives." His questioning glance finds me. "Did you already talk to Hikahi today, Isis? How's the man doing?"
"What do you want from me?" I hear Raven's flat voice through the speakers while I'm recalling the data I've been collecting all night to fill my superiors in. "Hikahi was asleep when I called. I spoke with Dr. deJoria. She said the doctor's been up all night to make that guy pull through. It's still critical, but... so far he's holding."
"What's the problem?" Darwin inquires. I don't know whether she's asking me or Kurtz, but since I'm the one who's most up-to-date, I take the freedom to answer her.
"He's battling a severe case of radiation poisoning... plus a badly infected leg wound." My glance shifts towards my boss. "Since his constitution is also substantially weakened, Dr. Hikahi can't say yet whether he's going to make it. According to Dr. deJoria the situation would be far less critical if you'd allow for them to take off his leg-" a brief, firm "No" is the answer to my rhetorical question -- "The same goes for the girl... if anything, she is even more unlikely to survive." I look at Darwin. "They don't expect her to see this evening." The fair blue eyes muster me. I can't tell what she's thinking behind that detached, withdrawn mask void of emotions I'm familiar with.
"That's all the information I have for you at the moment," Kurtz states matter-of-factly. "What do you have for me?"
"You've got more," she announces, blunt as ever. "I had a conversation with Carter Burke..." My bosses' mouth drops slightly at the company man's mention. "According to him there's a record of everything that happened on LV-426's surface... the data were transferred from the Sulaco into the Orthanc's system shortly before it was destroyed. Where is it?" With three firm, measured steps she stops right in front of Kurtz's desk and stretches out her hand in anticipation. I can see her request going down sideways his throat.
"The data will be available for you tonight. Right now I'm having them decoded and transferred into our --"
"Database?" she interrupts him, her eyebrows forming an angry triangle in the middle of her brow. I'm almost tempted to smile. Damn, Boss, you should know by now you can't lie to her! "No, you aren't. We both know this information is strictly your eyes and mine only... So stop the fairytales and give me my dupe, would you, Doctor Kurtz?"
I turn away. It's always the same: Kurtz's desperate clawing for any kind of exclusive information he can get to astonish her with... and Darwin's finding out about it before it will give him even the tiniest advantage. He can't stand being inferior to her brilliant intellect, can't bear the thought of that self-loving, arrogant bitch as he likes to call her whenever she's not around being ahead of him.
Behind me, the discussion goes on. Instead of listening in on it, I study Raven. He's only been thawed out of cryo-sleep this morning, and most people would still feel miserable for the next 10 hours, but he's just sitting there calmly, unflinching, his full attention directed at his interrogator... waiting for the one mistake that would give him the chance to add another hide to his questionable record. He's still wearing handcuffs and shackles, but there is no doubt he'd be able to off Alexander in the wink of an eye if the opportunity would present itself to him. My database on him contains his complete record up to this very day... reliable, ready-to-use, down to the smallest ugly detail. His M.O. is very distinctive. He likes to get his hands dirty, to kill 'em with his raw strength... and slowly, many of them over days, hunting them. It's like a sport to him. There were a few women among his victims, but most of them were strong, capable men in the prime of their life, men who wouldn't go down without putting up a hell of a fight. The best example -- and by far his most prominent victim -- being a certain Collin Jefferson -- ex-champ of the Modern Gladiators, a brutal spectacle mixing Australian Footy, boxing and wrestling. In a painstakingly elaborate plan Raven abducted him one night after a game and drove with him into the wild, far off any kind of city or civilization. There he set him loose... and spent the next seven days and nights hunting him down. Hurting him time and time again, sometimes with a knife, sometimes with a bow... his fists... and at last, killing this mountain of a man with his teeth by biting through his throat. It was the case which ultimately led to his capture, because he left enough evidence at the murder-site that led towards him... a strange thing considering he had slain 122 people before without ever having given the smallest clue to the authorities. It's almost as if he wanted to get caught this time. Get the credit... the fame. Serial killers still radiate an aura of fascination to today's society. Is it possible he's been so proud of his last murder that the thought of having the public associate someone else with it has been utterly unbearable?
Fact is that for five long years, the authorities had been hunting a phantom. Raven's extremely gruesome M.O. had been distinctive enough to tell his pursuers they were dealing with one and the same man in every case... but other than that, he had given them nothing. Nobody had ever seen him at work, and with Beringh II deliberately being a rather rural world which doesn't possess the efficient technology of -- say, genetic decoding -- which is long common practice on most of the other colonies, they were unable to give the monster a face. A simple examination of the skin and blood particles left under the victims' fingernails in many cases would have resulted in a three-dimensional computer-simulation which wouldn't have left any questions open. But, well, if you choose to live in the stone age, you've got to put up with the bad side of it, too, right?
"- st give him the six guys and let them deal with it. What's the problem?" Darwin sounds angry, and I turn my attention back at the odd couple.
"The problem, Darwin, is that six synthetics are pretty valuable. We can't just throw 'em away to collect you some funky new toys." Uh-oh... Kurtz is at his maddening best today. This is going to be interesting. "Why don't you send Isis? She always behaves like she knows more than all of Phooka's scientific staff on Phooka combined, and she's the only one who'll follow your orders blindly. Perfect."
Man, where did that come from? Did he have a nightmare last night that made him get up as pissed as that? I don't know how Darwin manages to keep her voice down, but it certainly sounds chilly enough to make the temperature in the room drop a few degrees... well, it doesn't of course. It's just a figure of speech. My artificial inside's telling me that we're still having a pleasant 22° Celsius.