Chrysalis by Katja

"My funky new toys, Dr. Kurtz, are the No. 1 priority of W.Y. brass according to Carter Burke..." She sits down right in front of his table, looking into his arrogant, triumphant face unflinching. "These specimen are required for scientific research, which is the very reason of Phooka's existence. We've got an official order to develop this creature. I'm sure I don't have to tell you about Mr. Burke's connections... or for whom he's speaking..." Good one, Darwin. Make the old man realize that he may be the head of this station, but still a dim light in W.Y. hierarchy. If anyone of the mighty company decides they don't want to put up with a rebellious manager any longer, his head will roll faster than Orthanc can fly. Her hints probably would have been enough to shut Kurtz up for good, but as usual she can't help it -- it's an unspoken rule that she must add insult to injury whenever her opponent's already down for the count. "You've already gotten your head chopped off for this von-Sontheim-affair, Doctor -- and now you're sitting here in the middle of a black hole with no place left to go instead of climbing up the career-ladder. If you continue to be a nuisance to them... they just might decide to chop you off permanently..." I can only see the back of her head, but I can vividly picture her sardonic smirk accompanying her words. As usual, she's hit the jackpot. Kurtz's face turns red. "Not that I would break into tears if they did..."

"Just see to it that it won't be your head, you bratty little freak!"

Yup, things are taking a turn to more substantial niceties again. I turn my back on them, desperately trying to stay out of it. God forbid they make me take sides! Despite the massive insult my boss just hit her with, Darwin's voice sounds cheerful.

"They'll never axe me, and you know it. Unlike station operators, brilliant minds like mine don't grow on trees..."

"Get out of my sight, Darwin!"

"I will." She stands up, her gaze pinning Kurtz like an insect, all cheerfulness vanished all of a sudden. "But if I'm not in possession of this disc by 2:00 p.m. today, I will be back. And I will be filing an official complaint to W.Y. headquarters about your petty little schemes of trying to keep vital information from me!" Now this is one heavy sucker of a threat! I may be imagining it, but I think I see Kurtz pale slightly. There's no doubt a serious accusation like this could well cost him his job... especially after the von-Sontheim-incident! Count on Darwin to have the most effective weapon on her hands any time and be able to use it with merciless efficiency! I watch her back as she prepares to leave the room -- as she stops to look back over her shoulder -- at me.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Isis?"

"Sure." I shrug. I'm here. I'm listening. But she shakes her head no and points her chin in the door's direction.

"Outside I mean."

"Oh..." I look at my boss to find out what he's thinking about her request. Sure enough, the reluctantly intimidated expression has been replaced by a sour, derogatory smile. "Doctor?" He ignores me.

"Who's scheming now, Super-Brain, huh?"

"It's girls talk," Darwin -- unbelievably -- says, making my eyebrows meet my hairline. I would have place any bet she didn't even know such a term -- she's hardly an average girl/young woman. "I'm sure you'd find it most amusing, no doubt, but I'd rather prefer a little privacy. Isis?" I'm still waiting for Kurtz's decision.

"Go, Isis. Make Brainiac happy. Maybe you can help her come out of this perpetual state of PMS she's captured in."

I decide to follow Darwin before he can come up with further niceties. Stepping through the door, I wait until it's closed again before I face my human alter-ego, waiting for her to let off steam. But she doesn't. The dead-serious expression on her face as she turns around to meet me is an indication that the memory of the unpleasant discussion with Phooka's mighty man is already on it's way to the next galaxy, as far as she's concerned. Instead, I find myself the single target of her focus.

"Isis, I want you stay away from Alexander Saitchev."

Just like that. Out of a clear blue sky. If I were human, my mouth would probably hang open in shock. Her deep voice makes the unmentioned threat even more intimidating. I can only stare back.

"What? Why?" Very blue, very large eyes pin me like a butterfly, almost seem to look into me. I'm feeling naked under her scrutinizing stare, as if I were some dumb computer with all files opened on the monitor for everyone to see. She sticks her hands into her blue frock.

"You know perfectly well why. The beautiful boy can't keep his mouth shut. He's already-"

Fuck it! I think. Alexander, you stupid jerk, who else did you talk to?

"-on Kurtz's black list. It might not look like it with this new project he got assigned to, but your boyfriend is already going down. I don't want you to join him! Kurtz already suspects you know more than you should. He's thinking about having you reprogrammed-"

Holy shit!

"-but as long as I'm holding my hand over you, he can't do anything. I can only do this though as long as there's no solid evidence against you. Alexander's already in their sights, so... stay away from him."

I still can't believe it! That idiot...!

"What should I tell him?" The ice in Darwin's stare seems to melt for a moment. She seems almost amused.

"How should I know? I don't have a man to come home to each night. Think of something. You're as smart as me -- make something up! Say... you've got to work." She smiles a thin smile. "Tonight, it's even going to be the truth!"

"Yeah?" I ask, weary. Another special assignment?

"Yeah." She tilts her head a little to the side to take a quick glance down the corridor, but we're still alone. But she's still lowering her voice as she continues. "I want to you be in Lab 1 tonight at 10.00... and I want you to bring a Zoolander along."

"A... Zoolander?" I ask hesitantly. My audio-input is far superior compared to the human ear, but...did I hear her right? She shrugs it off.

"Come on, if we call the compound Zoo, we can surely name its inhabitants Zoolanders." Again this scrutinizing look. "Are you sure you can handle him all by yourself? 'Cause I don't want to make such a big thing out of it..."

"Sure. You know me, the female Gladiator extraordinary." What are you planning to do with him, Darwin? The question must be visible on my face, since she's answering it without me asking it aloud.

"We're going to breed us our first alien tonight." She's looking extremely pleased. O-kay... if she says so...?

"You want anyone special?" I recognize that our talk would sound sick to the normal human being. But she seems to be serious about it.

"Naw... surprise me." The corners of her mouth twitch. "Oh, and don't plan anything for later, either... we're going to watch the Sulaco records together. I want you to completely immerse yourself in this project. We're going to work on this together 24/7... this should give you a good reason to break up with the old chatterbox..."

I still don't completely get it.

"Darwin..." She's already turning to head back to her very own laboratory complex -- the Ivory tower, but stops.

"Yes?"

"Why do you care so much... about Kurtz reprogramming me?"

The smile's disappeared without a trace, and the deep, serious tone is back.

"'Cause I need you for this project... and I can't afford to have an artificial Kurtz-clone looking over my shoulder each step that I take." Our eyes meet. I can see she's dead serious about it. I nod curtly.

"Okay... 10.00 p.m. ... I'll be there."

It is 9.45, and the station's all quiet again, shutting down for the night except for the nightshift's staffs working in the various labs -- and me and Mr. Larabee in elevator number 3. With a grimace I realize how bloody ridiculous that sounds. Like the lyrics to a very corny song: Me and Mr. Larabee... in elevator no. 3... Okay, enough is enough. I really wish those damned lifts were faster! Mr. Larabee is still out cold on the hover-stretcher I strapped him on, but over the last 5 minutes or so on my way from the Zoo he's started stirring again. So far he has only been flexing his fingers a couple of times and attempted to turn his head without much success, but there's no mistaking that he's starting to wake, and I really want to be in Lab 1 once he's coming to. Acquiring him was easy once I had decided he would be the one who'd be granted the honor of donating his life for the noble cause of advancing mankind's knowledge. I would have loved to take von Sontheim for it since he's such a pain in the you-know-what, but I know he's untouchable... for now. Nobody will do anything with him until either Kurtz or Darwin says so. So I picked the quiet, inconspicuous looking guy in the back of the cantina, sure nobody would miss the grumpy loner the next day. I saw to it that his dinner from the auto-chef was spiked with M3-43, our high-tech sedative especially designed to unfold its effect on a reliable schedule... and sure enough, 30 minutes after finishing his meal Mr. Larabee got drowsy enough to leave the cantina to go to bed... and was out cold when I entered his room 30 more minutes later with the hover-stretcher after the general lock-in for the night. He will be fully awake again in about 20 more minutes, as the effect of the drug has been designed to wear off especially fast. The entire action went smoothly and without problems. Darwin will be pleased with me.

My patient groans softly while my eyes stay glued to the glowing numbers as our cabin's slowly climbing up to the Ivory Tower. Darwin's lab complex got that name since everything's white in it. Blinding white. There's the common belief among people that all laboratories look like that, but it's far from reality. Darwin's palace however fits the description all the way. It's also the place she almost never leaves, the young genius's realm of wonder. That nickname is so dead-on, practically everyone's using the Ivory Tower term when referring to Lab 1.

Level 2. Almost Phooka's top. Above us are only the gardens... and then the blackness of space. I briefly wonder whether Darwin's had any saying regarding the station's design... whether she specifically demanded to have her workplace right next to the extensive park and the only piece of nature we've got here - apart from Skin's pet zoo of course. In my eyes it's very possible... Darwin doesn't suffer fools lightly and prefers to shut herself off from the rest of her race. She would loathe the thought of having to put up with all those annoying dumb-heads on her way to work every day. I can perfectly relate...

The cabin stops and I enter the corridor after the retina-scan has confirmed my positive authorization, steering the hover-stretcher right towards the massive security doors at the end of the moonlight-illuminated corridor. One last control -- another retina check, a hand-scan plus my 10-digit PIN-number -- and the door hisses open and lets me pass under the bright false moon on the ceiling above my head. To my surprise, the usually brightly-lit laboratory is on night-light, too, only illuminated by the instruments and various monitors. I rise my eyebrows momentarily while I'm looking around in the almost empty room, searching for Darwin. I discover her in the far left corner, seemingly talking to Scylar, who doesn't look happy. Before I can speculate on the reasons my valuable freight groans again, and when I look down I find some very confused green eyes looking at me.

"Wha..." his voice is not yet working again, but it's definitely time to get moving. From the corners of my eye I see my two colleagues watch my approach as I'm moving the stretcher towards them. Funny -- they appear to be the only ones here.

"Where do you want him, Darwin?"

She tilts her head a little to see whom I brought her and then nods into the general direction of the connecting corridor.

"Compound 1. Everything's set. The specimen is already there, and we just checked the equipment... We're ready to go."

"Uhm... the specimen's already there?" Not that I'm afraid, but... My question seems to amuse her.

"Still in stasis, don't worry, Isis. We'll shut it down from here. After what I saw this afternoon I think we should be real careful with those things." I stare at her, but before I can voice my obvious question the Larabee-guy stirs again, and I decide to take care of him, first.

"I'll be right back."

It's a way of 20 meters down the corridor. The stasis field securing the small quadratic room behind it deactivates when I arrive. I shove the stretcher into the bluely illuminated room, just in time.

"Where are you taking me?" The man still sounds drowsy, his words slurred, but alarmed just the same. He turns his head to inspect his new surroundings. "What... what are you doing to me?"

"Don't worry. Everything will be fine." Is it still safe to unbuckle him? He seems to be already pretty lively again. But then again, I'm stronger than any human being on this station, probably stronger than even Raven. What could he really do to me? I start loosening his ties -- when he sees the occupied stasis tube on the floor. His body goes rigid.

"Oh fuck...!" Fine, now he's agitated. I fight with the last strap around his feet. Done. "Hey! Hey, wait!! You can't- !" A muffled thud behind me indicates he's fallen off the stretcher in his feeble attempt to follow me. I hear panic in his voice as the stasis field activates behind me. "You can't do this! Hey!" He yells at me until the corridor door cuts off his voice in mid-sentence. I head for the observation room and enter. Darwin's looking at me funny. As if she were searching for something in my face. Like what? Sometimes even I don't understand her.

"Ready." Skin's looking strange, too, but different. Pale, with huge eyes in his haggard face. And he's uncharacteristically quiet. Did he fight with Darwin just before I entered? Or is he not feeling well? "What's the matter, Skin? Mac sick?" Mac the Knife is the single being on the entire station this freak really cares for -- a 14-foot genetically enhanced tiger shark circling Phooka's extensive underwater laboratory 5 in his never-ending quest for food. It's Skin's duty to keep our little, but exquisite animal collection happy and healthy -- after all, it's hard to get new ones out here... and they are always in demand

"Mac's fine." It's all he says. Usually he can't stop talking about the stupid fish! But I don't probe any further, since I notice that Darwin's eager to go. My glance follows hers towards the main monitor. The Larabee-guy has come to a shaky stand, heavily supporting his weight by leaning onto the stretcher. His big, panicky eyes dart from the stasis shield to the wall... the ceiling... and -- inevitably -- to the glowing stasis tube next to him. The thing inside twitches, shooting forward its long, muscular tail. The field's still keeping it inside, but the man's stumbling backwards nevertheless.

"You can't do this! You hear me?" He's sounding desperate. Angry. "Let me out, damned!" He reconsiders. "Please!" I notice Skin's not looking at the monitor. In fact, he seems to intentionally avoid the images it's delivering. She notices it, too.

"Skin, you knew this would happen. You agreed to it when I asked you."

"Yeah..." his voice sounds raspy. "It's okay. Really. It's just..."

But she doesn't want to hear.

"Then do it." Her eyes pin him. He swallows. Nods. And presses the bottom which deactivates the cylinder's stasis field.

"Okay... here we go." Darwin leans back into her seat, waiting for the inevitable, hand folded on her lap. We all stare in anticipation at the screen. For some long, breathless moments nothing happens. "Come on, stupid," she whispers to herself. "You're free."

The thing's long, spidery fingers flex hardly perceivable... probably sensing the change in its surroundings. Behind the tube I see the man's legs. He's pressing himself against the opposite wall, as far away from the container as possible... which is not very far. He's still screaming at us, but breaks off now as the creature turns around -- still floating in the liquid - and its muscular tail coils up underneath it...

"Watch." Darwin. Cool, detached... 100% scientist. Not one iota of emotion in her voice. Then everything happens very fast.

The change is abrupt and radical, and it senses it at once. The field that's been sucking the being dry of its energy has gone. The atmosphere around it has changed, and as it continues to hang in the liquid for a little while longer, it can feel its reserves charging up again, filling its muscles with strength. A first, tentative attempt to move... flexing its fingers...and finding nothing working against them anymore.

Movement to the left, a shadow! Instinct takes over. The tail curls up into a spring of muscle -- and catapults it forward, against the hard, invisible barrier that's been keeping it -- and through it in a shower of liquid and shards!

"No!"

It doesn't have any ears to pick up the voice, but the sound waves reaching it is get absorbed by its skin -- giving the being a clear picture of the source's location. It turns towards the soft blue glow further back and jumps again, finally getting a solid hold on fabric.

"No! Help! Help me! God --"

Something solid connects with its hard flesh, and with a lightning-fast reaction, it hold on to the thing which dealt the blow to it. Shoots its tail forward and finds a place to wrap itself around, pressing, contracting the muscle. Disturbance in the air, ripples of energy bouncing against its leathery skin. Close now, real close. Still movement under it. Upwards. Another hold. Almost there! The being feels the sound-waves emitting from directly underneath now. The right position! It ejects its ovipositor, digging for the wet, moist cave it needs to fulfill its task. There's still resistance. It tightens the spring its tail's forming around the host, feels it digging into the soft surface, drawing slippery moisture. Frantic resistance now -- the being feels lifted for a moment... and then the battle's suddenly over, and the host lies still... ready to receive. A living cavern, throbbing, pulsing energy to surround it once it's shed its old skin... The barrier to its entrance falls...

All action has died down in Compound #1. All movement, all struggling has stopped. The two bodies contained in it have merged into a symbiosis. The thing's sitting on Larabee's face, nothing but a gentle pulsing of its flat sides indicating it's not just a grotesque mask, a tasteless joke. The man himself appears to be unconscious, not dead. His chest is moving slightly, but visibly as Skin's zooming in on it. Nobody speaks for a while. The creature's fast and relentless action has left us all flabbergasted. I glance down at Darwin. She doesn't respond. Her treacherously young-looking face is wearing a far-away, serious expression. I'd give more than a penny for her thoughts right now -- to use a common human term. It's easier to determine what Skin is thinking of the show. His attempt of guarding his expression has failed miserably -- he looks downright sick. I'm surprised. Usually he's such an obnoxious, rude and insensitive human plague who's not bothered by anything you could think of... but obviously this is getting to him. I wonder why. From the corners of my eyes I see Darwin's head move. She's looking at me, that distant expression still there.

"Well... this was quite a demonstration, I'd say..." What do you think of it? her blue eyes ask me silently. I'm not sure what she wants to hear from me.

"What's the thing doing to him now?" I ask.

"Reproducing."

"You mean it's fucking him?" Skin's looking ready to spill his dinner. "Aw, hell...I don't know...This is ugly, man!"

The young genius remains calm.

"I'm not yet sure what it's doing... or rather, how. Reproduction may be the wrong term, since it doesn't procreate. Seemingly, it injects an egg into his chest... or his stomach. After it's finished with that, the hand-form dies and falls off. Usually within 24 hours. The host wakes up again, feeling good for some more hours, while the embryo's growing inside him... Within six to eight more hours it's grown large enough to hatch..."

"-to hatch?" Mr-Nothing-can-ever-shake-me swallows visibly. His eyes wander off to find mine for a brief glance, almost begging me to tell him that this is just one of Darwin's highly bizarre jokes. No, Mr. Scylar. This is for real. Better deal with it. "How...I mean... does it-"

"How do you know all this?" I inquire, cutting him off and ignoring his continuing stare. She nods toward the conference room. I understand. This is where she already watched the Sulaco-tapes. The biggest screen, the most comfortable seats... and a rather luxurious auto-chef. "It's all on record?"

"Theoretically, yes. Being narrated. And some footage of those things sitting on peoples faces. But not how they got there... or how they hatch. I got most of it from the records of Hadley's Hope's medical staff and some female Warrant Officer. " She swings around in her chair, her fingertips pressed against each other, her elbows placed comfortably on her thighs. "I've been watching this stuff the entire afternoon, and I'm not even halfway through yet. What I want you to do is watch everything in fast-forward. I know this won't take you longer than half an hour, and you won't miss even the tiniest detail. Skin and I will start watching the rest, and when you're finished with your part, you come and join us... and you will by then probably be able to enlighten us whenever the plot on the screen seems to leave a question open." I smile at her confidently. "You know Isis, this is something I really envy you for. I'm losing so much time by having to watch those files in real time. I could be so much more efficient if I could just plug in and collect whatever information I need."

"Yeah," I grin self-confidently. "I like that about me, too."

"What are we doing with him in the meantime?" Skin throws in, hinting at the still motionless Mr. Larabee and his pet. "Just leave him there?" Darwin shrugs.

"Yes, for now. From what I know, nothing happens for the first day anyway. The thing won't move, he won't wake up... the kind of company you'd like to have at home." A hint of a smile crosses her face before it turns serious again. "But we should be ready for the time after, which -- Ladies and Gentlemen -- is the reason why we're going to make this night count. We've got all the coffee we need to keep going for as long as it takes. I want to be as far ahead with our plans as possible before I'm going to talk to Dr. Kurtz tomorrow. I want to determine how we're going to proceed, what we're planning to achieve with those creatures, where we're going to contain them... everything. Right now we're standing on an endless field of questions... let us dig up some answers, what do you say?"

A week has passed since my last entry. I know this is not acceptable, but the station's speed has accelerated to crazy ever since the Orthanc arrived 21 days ago - for the first time... and then the various scientific staffs in the laboratories have been working days and nights in changing shifts since the ship came back from its second trip to LV-426 only two days ago. They've been successful out there, but at a high cost. We lost three of the six synthetics... among them Daryll, whom I'm really going to miss... but the high security compound of Lab 1 - Darwin's Ivory Tower - is brimming with life now. Alien life. Kurtz and Darwin are careful though not to have too many of those things around at a time. The salvage team's instructions had been to bring back eggs only... or cocoons, chrysalises, or whatever they are. We're breeding them after demand. Right now we have two adults and one of those hand-things. From the way Darwin's been cursing while she's been trying to find a way of handling those things while they are still alive, I get the impression they are a big challenge to her. Probably the first she encountered in her entire career. That molecular acid those things have for blood makes it impossible to use any kind of standard equipment on them. No scalpels, metal or laser, no needles, nothing that penetrates their bodies. It all either dissolves in a matter of seconds, or the high-pressured blood sprays around and kills everybody standing there. Skin's got the hole in his hand to prove it! Not that I'm overly sorry that this annoying jerk got what had been coming to him for a long time... but it's been very impressive. Nobody wants to touch them anymore. So cloning is out of the question... at least for now. We've got to achieve whatever it is Darwin wants to achieve with the specimen we've got... unless we find out how to procreate them, that is. Right now we're concentrating on developing and studying their different forms.

It's probably the first time I have to agree with Carter Burke: the creatures' potential is obvious. It was already obvious from the Sulaco's footage which I saw together with Darwin in the Ivory Tower, even though those had been only two-dimensional images which didn't offer the full scope of what really happened in Hadley's Hope. The transmission was bad, the images dark, blurry and grainy. No, we didn't know then what we were about to be dealing with... But we all witnessed the full capabilities of these aliens yesterday, when Finnegan (another one of my artificial brothers Kurtz likes so much to assign to this project) went into their compound and -- literally -- lost his head. The thing didn't even look his way when it attacked him! Just one incredible pounce and it had him, and the next thing we knew his head -- minus his body -- crashed against the window we all were standing behind, gaping. Guess it didn't like him.

Well, things are certainly going to be very interesting over the next weeks or months. It's as if the whole station's just been waiting for this... except The Zoo of course. They know something's going on from the rate their number diminishes. That von Sontheim-character's a busy little bee... or rather, a major pain in the ass! It's getting harder and harder to separate the volunteers from the mob protecting them. So hard that we have to constantly come up with new strategies of separating them... like the lock-in for the night. Everybody sleeps in his own cage, so to speak. No more bothering with the other angry inmates. Still, I wish Kurtz would dispose of von Sontheim rather soon-ish. He's a notorious trouble-maker. I can only guess my boss in planning something special for him, or he'd done so already.

Speaking of which: Kurtz assigned me a wonderful new task: I'm now officially the one to pick up the lucky winner from the Zoo and guide him up to Lab 1. Probably because I'm the only one who will do it with a bland face They're all cringing at the thought of being the one who's got to lead the lambs to their slaughterer... so let's do the synthetic do the dirty job, right? I can't say no, and combined with my superhuman strength and lack of moral education, I'm the ideal person. I'm stronger than them all, and if everything else fails, we can still shut the inmates off and carry them to the lab. But since we're no sadists (sarcasm, anyone?) we're trying to traumatize our testing objects as seldom as possible.

As for troublemakers: That marine Orthanc brought back the first time actually pulled through... I'm duly impressed... and duly pissed, because Darwin assigned me as his babysitter. Great. Kurtz' is giving me hell, Darwin's giving me hell, and whenever I find the time to actually breathe, I find myself running down to Sickbay to see whether he's finally woken up. Alexander's pissed at me too because I don't have any more time left for him anymore (still haven't told him yet we've broken up... don't need any mores stress than I already have... plus his information on Raven is very valuable), even though he seems to be in desperate need of unloading his thoughts about that maniac he's working with. I've had the time to notice he's looking bad, yes. I even noticed he traded the orange pills for the much more concentrated liquid version you take in through the retina -- but I can't act on it. He's a grown man, and he ain't dumb. He must know what he's doing to himself.

Even at night my two bosses are keeping me busy. Right now I'm on my way down to check on my patient once again, even though it's 3.30 in the morning. Hikahi called half an hour ago. Apparently, the soldier opened his eyes for the first time, and now I've got to see for myself. I'm not really happy though. If he's really recovering, what does that mean for me? That I have to sit at his bedside and hold his hand from now on? What does Darwin want from him? Why is he so special? Man... I'm sure if the day had 48 hours, they still would find was of making it hectic for me. They're really taking advantage of the fact that I don't need to sleep, but does being an artificial person mean that I don't need any kind of private life? Any more questions? Thanks Rogue! That's a great place you brought me to!'

In spite of the late hour Hikahi awaits me when I arrive. He's looking deeply satisfied. It's not like I can't understand him. He's beaten the odds here. Let's face it, that guy was DOA. Hikahi's making him pull through is nothing short of a miracle. The result of some of the research this station has been developed for, but a miracle nevertheless. I'm sure Kurtz will be pleased too, not just for having this soldier at hand now for whatever his plans are, but for having the first true proof of what his staff is actually capable of. Having the one and only cure for radiation poisoning of these proportions will earn Weyland Yutani big bucks! It's also proof that we are able to design something beneficial to mankind for a change. Congratulations, Doctor, I think silently as I'm walking up towards his smiling shape. You're going to get a personal handshake from the big boss for this!

"So," I begin. It's late. I want to go home. No time for talking around it. "The marine corporal is up and rocking again, I understand? Did he say anything?"

Hikahi gives me a mild, somewhat derogatory smile.

"I said he opened his eyes for a few moments, Isis. Not that he's parading around again. Right now he's sleeping." He motions me to follow him. I frown.

"What do you mean, sleeping? I didn't come down at this hour to watch him sleep! I thought you said he woke up!"

"From the coma, yes. Sleeping and coma are two different pairs of shoes, Madam Super-Computer."

Did I hear him right? Did he just call me a -?! I stop dead in my tracks. Just who the hell does this guy think he is? I narrow my eyes. My nature's keeping me calm though, thank... Rogue. I need information. If I start making a fuss now, it'll be morning before I can return to my place... where Alexander the Unhappy is waiting for me. So I just readjust my tone to sugar-sweet instead of turning the man's face on his back.

"That's Miss Super-Computer to you, Doctor Hikahi. And yes, I know coma and sleep are quite different, even though the first can never happen to me and the latter would be a waste of my time, but thank you. You're not talking to an ancient Pentium here, okay?" Hey, I guess I'm finally getting the hang of this sarcasm-thing, because he seems to be a little disappointed. I can top it. "You know, being this super-computer also enables me to come to the conclusion that - unlike from a comatose state -- you can wake him for me, right?" You started this, Doctor. I'm just playing along. He's miffed. Another round won - yeah! Now he's stopping, too. Fun's over, I guess.

"I won't wake him, Isis. He might be recovering, but he needs the rest."

"Are you kidding? He just had three weeks! More!"

"That was-"

"Coma and cryo-sleep, I know. I don't care." I start looking around. "Look, Doctor, I don't have all the time in the world. My boss wants to know, I want to go home and get some rest myself. And you certainly don't want to bother with me any longer than necessary, too. So let's get this over with and make us all happy, what do you say?" It's nothing but sense that's coming from my mouth. But that cheap Arcturian apothecary doesn't look as if he can truly appreciate it. However, he's thankfully keeping his mouth shut this time -- as he turns on his heels and practically runs down the corridor again with a sinister look on his face. Like I care! If he thinks I'll have problems following him, he's mistaken. I feel halfway tempted -- tempted? That's a good one, Isis! -- to speed up even further and outrun him... but something's telling me not to overdo it. He's taking me there, so I won. We round a corner and he turns toward the first door on the left. It hisses open. I'm surprised to see the corporal's not alone. The girl is with him, checking his bio-readouts. I sigh inwardly. Of all the people on this station, I've got to put up with the two most annoying ones at this time of night? I keep my face void of these emotions. Hikahi wanted the machine, so let's give it to him.

"Keisha?" He steps up to the bed and takes a look himself, while I decide to stay a little behind and observe. "How is he?" He's keeping his voice down. Man, he's supposed to wake him up anyway, so why bother? The youth casts me another one of these nasty glances she seems to have reserved for me, only, but talks to her boss.

"Sleeping." She points the finger. "Deep in R.E.M. sleep. See the eye movement? He's dreaming. I'd say his condition has incredibly improved over the last 24 hours."

That's all very nice, but doesn't get me anywhere.

"So, then let's wake him, shall we?" I suggest cheerfully. It earns me another glare. I ignore her. Hikahi sighs. "What's the problem, Doctor? I thought you hated the USCM. Shouldn't you be rather enjoying this? And what about you, Keisha? You're both from Arcturus!"

He turns around again to face me, face so earnest I'm tempted -- again! -- to laugh.

"First and foremost, Isis, I'm a doctor. I took an oath.-"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," I murmur, uninterested. "That stupid oath... something about honor and morality and...I'm sorry, I forgot the rest."

"It doesn't involve torturing patients by uselessly-"

"Torturing?" This is absurd. "I didn't know waking people falls under that term, Dr. Hikahi, but right now I frankly don't have the nerve to discuss this interesting topic with you. You said you'd wake him. Would you do that now, please?" I even said Please - I'm proud of myself. Perfect manners, Isis!

"What do you want from him? He won't be able to give you anything anyway. I'd be surprised if he'd be coherent enough to say anything at all, let alone telling you the story of his life!"

"I don't want anything from him, Doctor. Kurtz wants. Go on and call him if you must! I'm sure he will be delighted to hear your reason for not waking the man for me." I'm in the middle of going on when I notice something. A piece of gauze on the back of the still peacefully sleeping soldier's neck. I'm surprised. "You didn't tell me you already gave him the implant! When-"

"Just this morning, Isis, okay? I would have told you if you'd let me." He's not looking at me, but down onto his patient. "I had to wait until he was stable enough for the surgery."

I step closer. Of course -- I should have seen it at first sight. The corporal's not hooked up to all those wires anymore... but his readouts are still there for us to admire. I also must admit he's looking somewhat better than before. His raw face has all but healed, although he's still deadly pale and very skinny.

"Any complications?"

"None. He's definitely going to make it now."

"What about the leg?" I look down to the shape under the sheets. "Will he be able to use it as before?"

"Why do you care, Isis?" Hikahi narrows his eyes in suspicion. "Kurtz was hell-bent on saving him in one piece, even though it caused a lot more complications. Don't tell me he did it because he's such a humanitarian!"

"Again, ask him, not me." Time's ticking away, and we're still standing here, discussing. I'm in the middle of repeating my request to the two, in the middle of making it an order, when -- I notice a slight movement from the soldier. He's stirring, hardly perceivable.

"Well," Hikahi sighs, "congratulations - you did it. You woke him."

"Grand." The man's breathing rhythm has changed from slow deep breaths to an irregular pattern. He turns his head a bit, hands flexing involuntarily, one slowly crawling up to his neck and touching the gauze there. A soft, barely audible moan escapes him.

"Corporal? Corporal Hicks?" I say. Hikahi groans.

"Damn, Isis, this man's just beaten death. He's going to be very confused and miserable. You could at least address him without this military bullshit."

I don't look at him.

"This military bullshit is what he's been living by, Doctor. Also, what did you expect? After all, I'm just a machine!" He's mumbling something behind my back, but I don't care any longer. The soldier's eyelids are fluttering, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of green, an expression of profound exhaustion and confusion -- and then he jerks back when he sees my face. There's not an ounce of strength left in his body, but the intention to get away from me is clear. Wonderful -- he's afraid of me. From the corners of my eyes I notice Keisha's sour smile.

"Get... away from me..." It's hardly a whisper.

"You're scaring him, Isis. Why don't you let him be for now?"

"I'm scaring him? That's -"

"Ridiculous? Have you looked into a mirror lately?" That stupid bitch Keisha's actually laughing at that! Hikahi steps up to my side. "Look, he's disoriented and miserable and drugged out of his skull! Anybody would freak if he woke up and saw a horror-mask hovering over himself! He probably-"

"Horror-mask?!!!"

"-thinks you're Death! This tattoo-"

Okay, it's about time I really switch to machine-mode, or I will decapitate this arrogant prick! Time for the infamous Master of Ignorance to show her stuff! Ever cursed at a computer? It doesn't help you!

"How do you feel, Corporal?" He blinks, and I'm not sure for a second whether he actually understands me. But he's United States citizen, is he not? He should speak English... and he already did. Those few words a second before.

"Neck...hurts..." It's a raspy whisper, and it's immediately making him cough. Grimacing, he closes his eyes again. I look up to Keisha.

"Why don't you give him something?"

"It's already in there." She points at the drip and casts me a dirty look, letting me know that she would like to say more, but doesn't because she knows she's not in a position to. "His circulation is still weak. We can't give him more."

And you guys say I'm torturing him! I shift my attention back to the soldier who seems to be in danger of dozing off again. "You're safe here. Don't worry... What happened?" I hear Hikahi groan behind me. But I need to know: The Sulaco's record went only so far. What happened after it -- presumably - crashed is still a mystery.

"...am... I?" His voice trails off. He manages to open his eyes for another two seconds. I'm impressed. He's hardly seen anything, yet he already knows he's not home.

"You're on Phooka Station. You're safe." Something tells me to take his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. Must be one of Rogue's superfluous programming details. Something about body contact as a means of building trust. Whatever... as long as it works. Another glimpse of green.

"Foo... Fooka...?" I see some lines forming on his forehead, but before I can say anything, he forces his eyelids open again, and I'm surprised to see the drowsy expression gone. His fingers clasp mine in a tight grip.

"Newt...?"

"What?" His throat's moving, but I don't hear anything. "Noot?" I throw in questioningly.

"...girl?" He stares at me for another moment, and I get the impression it's important to him.

"The girl?" I turn around to Hikahi, who's slowly shaking his head no. "She didn't make it."

"Damn, Isis, I want you gone. NOW!"

"Don't you understand it yet, Doctor? What you want is not important!" The soldier's still staring at me as if he's having trouble understanding my words. But his fingers let go, and I take my hand back. Finally, I see something like dull realization seeping into his questioning glance. The hard stare's getting hazy again, and I don't know whether it's his failing strength or sorrow that's slackening his body. He's practically deflating in front of me, slowly exhaling...eyes shut tight in obvious pain. I can't tell whether it's bodily or-

Someone yanks me around.

"I don't care who you are or what your boss wants, Isis! You're leaving this room NOW, understood?" Hikahi's mad like I've never seen him before. He shoves me towards the door. I ram my heels into the ground.

"He wanted to KNOW!"

"He wasn't ready for it yet!"

"You shook your head when I asked you!"

"To NOT tell him! To give him an evasive answer! Damn, Isis, you don't understand ANYTHING about humans!"

Somehow I manage to turn around against his fierce grip on my shoulders and face him.

"If I understand one thing, Doctor, it's that we would see it if he were upset!" I point at the instruments where the soldier's heartbeat and blood pressure are still looking reasonably low.

"That's because he's STONED, Isis! Heavily sedated! He's not capable of showing a normal reaction yet! But thanks to you, he's got something to mull over in his dreams now! You've effectively sabotaged my work of three weeks here with your stupidity, but before you'll do anymore damage, I'll remove you myself if I have to."

He really means it. Rogue help me, he's serious for the first time since I've known him! For the first time, the wimpy, skinny, middle-aged man doesn't back down. I would surely be able to appreciate the occasion if his rage weren't directed at me. Still, I've seen enough to know he's right. The Corporal's not going to talk any further tonight. I stop struggling and raise my hands.

"You don't have to, Doctor. I'm going anyway. See? No need to get all hectic and hostile." He still glares at me, and from behind I see the girl's satisfied expression. Man, it must be a field day for her! But I can't go like this -- I must at least claim back some authority here! I stare at Hikahi. "But you're going to call me the minute he wakes up and is clear again. Or whenever anything unsuspected happens. You got that?"

"Go, Isis!"

"Did I make myself clear?"

"I'm neither stupid nor deaf. And since I don't think you are, you're going to keep your end of the deal now." A nod into the general direction of the door. I straighten my jumpsuit he messed up and depart through the opening door without haste, feeling two pairs of hostile eyes on my back. I got what I wanted. Now all I want is some bloody rest, okay?

["She didn't make it... she didn't make it... didn't make it... didn't..."]

The words bounce around in Hicks head. To the left side of his brain... back... to the front... back... He's chewing on them, grasping for their meaning even though they're nothing more than a swarm of slivery, slippery fish, darting apart whenever he's sticking a hand into the water to catch them. It must be something bad. Must be, 'cause... he can't feel her weight against his arm anymore. He's hardly able to move it, but he's already noticed the difference. No tiny, living, breathing body huddled against his side, keeping him a little warmer. And his keeping her warm.

["...didn't... make it. Didn't..."]

A bright light is blinding him, and his mind's making the immediate connection: The radiant blue-white glow of the descending dropship, the gale-force wind's howling mixing with the powerful roar of its twin turbines as it's making its way towards them. A notion of pure, utter joy at the vehicles sight, even though he is already too weak to move... to get up, or at least sit. The overwhelming desire to let her know that help has finally arrived... against all hope.

"Newt..."

"Dwayne, do you hear me? Dwayne?"

There's a face in the sky now, in fact, the sky's becoming the face, the clouds moving to form a full mouth, a nose... eyes... For a moment the bizarre double image continues to confuse him. The face gets clearer. It belongs to someone young, female. It's dark. Huge eyes watch him. What the fuck is this? Death again? Back to claim him after all?

"Leave me alone..." he manages to croak against the splitting pain in his sand-dry throat. Again pressure against his hand. A feeble attempt of wrenching it free, to no avail. "Let... go..."

"Don't fight, Dwayne... you're safe. Just go back to sleep. No need to worry... everything's going to be okay..."

God, he's feeling like lead again. The sliver fish are swimming in circles before his eyes, making him lose his sense of orientation. But those words... those terrible words... He tilts his head to the left, looking down at this side... she's not there. Nothing but the wet, cold steel of the atmosphere processor... and the omnipresent roaring of the storm in his ears.

["... didn't ... make it?!"]

A blood-streaked face appears in his line of vision... Ripley's.

["...didn't... make it...!!"]

Hudson, his eyes huge, despair and regret written all over them. A finger-big hole in his right temple... blood spurting through the air onto Hicks's face... Vasquez, yelling in pain...

He groans in agony, the enormity of the three words comes to him in pulses... like waves... each one mightier than the one before. It's beginning to sink in.

"... all... dead..."

"Shhhhhh... don't think about it now. You're tired. Just go back to sleep..."

Somebody touches his forehead, but he doesn't even notice. It's the Acheron-scenario all over again. The dropship has landed, it's dark silhouette barely visible in the blinding white cloud of dust and rain it landed in. The bottom ramp opens to let out four shapes in likewise white suits, oddly looking like old spacesuits he saw in history books back at school over a decade ago. Well,... not entirely... There's definitely something very futuristic about them, too, as they close the distance at a slow pace, bent forward to fight against the raging storm. He watches their approach with a sudden sense of dread. He knows those uniforms. He doesn't need to see the labels printed onto the left arm. They're Weyland Yutani elite-forces. Fear replaces the initial joy over having been found. "Burke's people... they're Burke's people!" He wants to run away, to get up and get the hell out of here, because what's coming towards him can't be good, can only be... the fish dart apart once and for all... there's no catching them this time. They're already over the horizon. Following those black waves... like him.

"Ssssshhh... "

"Keisha...?"

"He was getting too restless. I gave him one additional cc of..."

Hadley's Hope - Day 2 - 2100 hours

I know I have failed your team, and I fully recognize it must be impossible now for you and your squad to further trust me with this command... I'm therefore resigning from it and putting you in charge, effective this second."

Gorman's words, incredible enough. Hicks has to give the man credit as he passes the parting doors of MedLab on his way back to Operations. The Lieutenant is not someone who's laying the blame on someone who's not in a position to defend himself like most of his rank would do. It takes courage to admit one's failures, and he'll see to it that neither Vasquez nor Hudson will give him a hard time for messing up in C-level. Truth be told, Hicks doesn't even think it was Gorman's fault at all. He doesn't think someone else, someone with more experience, would have been able to get them out of there in one piece either. Apone had been the man in charge down there, and during the long years their squad has been together, they had been through hell more than a couple of times... and came out of it unscathed, all working together, hand in hand, with the Master Sergeant and himself as their leaders... without some arrogant officer fresh out of War Academy at New Brisbane having to tell them each step.

Fact is, the disaster would have happened even if the man on the other end of the line had been the almighty General Shaw, head of the Gateway regiment himself. It's an uncomfortable thought, probably worse than if it really had been Gorman's fault. It means their situation is worse than anything they had to deal with before. It means they've found their match here - an enemy who has the capacity to potentially destroy them... the worst way possible. Well, they've made this choice, right? They could have gone out nice and clean in a big white mushroom cloud. No pain, no nothing. They would have been here one second, and vaporised the next if they'd chosen to let the atmosphere processor do its thing. It had been set for destruction, probably caught a burst of Vasquez' or Drake's heavy fire back there. If it hadn't been for Bishop, who accidentally stumbled over the insane readouts while checking on Hadley's operational systems, they'd have it behind them now... Just one hour later, and it would have been impossible to shut the reactor down. Still, it had taken an enormously courageous act by Bishop, Hudson and Vasquez, who had to get out there and do it manually, as the hardware between the station and the processor had been likewise smashed. He has to give Hudson credit. He honestly wouldn't have thought the ComTech would even set one foot outside their heavily guarded defense-grid. It had probably been Vasquez You chickenshit!-look that had made the Private reconsider backing down from his duty. This and the prospects of having the female smart-gunner watching their backs out there. Hicks smirks, a little reluctantly. Seems there's still some fighting spirit left in the remains of this outfit. Maybe even enough to make it until help arrives...

He inhales deeply, not really wanting to step into Operations again and tell the others about the Lieutenant's ruling: He's not happy with it, is anything but looking forward to his first real command, but it's the only way to maintain at least half of a chance of making it. Gorman's right. Let's experience have the final word. From where he's standing in the corridor connecting MedLab with Operations, he can hear a mishmash of different voices, the flurry of activity. They're still getting settled. Whatever food they've been able to find has been stored into a corner, mattresses and blankets been laid into the edges of the room further to the back, and the inventory of everything they're having at their hands is still underway. 16 days to go... are they going to make it? Hicks can't help thinking of the sight of the torn barricades -- the colonists' last stand -- they had come across the eternity of 26 hours ago. Hadley's former inhabitants didn't have anything to guard them with, no heavy weaponry like them to keep the monsters from tearing their improvised barricades apart. They -- on the other hand - had the four robot sentries protecting them, but after that first attack there are only 10 more rounds of ammunition -- about 3 more seconds of firepower -- left in the one closest to them... all others are empty. Useless. How can this be enough? The bastards retreated for now, but when will they come back? Will they come back... and what should they do then?

No use in asking himself theoretical questions, he recognises. Also no use in delaying the inevitable. Pulling himself together, he steps into Operations... and immediately sees the heads turning his way. It's everybody's guess why Gorman summoned him to MedLab, and they need to hear it now. Ripley, who's entering the room from the other side followed by Newt stops dead in her tracks as does Burke, another load of vacuum-packed rations in his arms. Hudson who's sitting at the instrument board checking on the monitors and checking the frequencies for potential help, Vasquez at his right side... with the exception of Bishop and Gorman who are still in MedLab everybody's waiting for the one sentence.

"Did he...?" It's Burke who asks. Of course. He is not part of the team. His team knows he knows the one question on their mind. He shifts his gaze toward the company representative.

""Yes, he did." They are the only words he utters, but there is a very distinct message he's exchanging with the man by simple eye-contact. I may be just a lowly grunt, but I've got the saying here. Don't get in my way. From the corners of his eyes he can see the relief on Vasquez and Hudson's faces.

"How's the Lieutenant?" Ripley's voice, breaking the spell.

"Got a headache, but he's coherent... probably a slight concussion, but nothing serious. I told him to get some more rest. There's nothing he can do here right now anyway." He can virtually hear Vasquez thinking Too bad and decides to change the topic before she can voice it and he'd have to stop her. It would be bad for the general mood. So instead he steps over to Hudson to ask: "Did you pick up anything?... Anything at all?"

"Nothin'." The frustration on the ComTech's face is answer enough even without his words. "Not one fucking signal. We're all alone in this quadrant." He sees Hicks' expression and adds: "But I'm still trying. There may be some private ships around. Sometimes they don't use the standard frequencies, so... that's still a possibility."

"Good." He knocks on the board, the gesture acknowledging Hudson's display of false optimism and telling him that Hicks is appreciating his effort to improve the general mood. Turning around, he eyes the pile of food they've gathered in a collaborative effort. By the looks of it, they at least shouldn't have to starve... He nods to himself, suppressing a yawn. Man, it's late. He's been up for -- what -- almost 40 hours now straight? Time to fill up his reserves, or he'll start hallucinating, probably seeing aliens everywhere. Apart from Bishop, he's probably the only one who didn't get the chance to catch some shut-eye until now. Bishop of course doesn't need to, but he... Geez, he's feeling a million years old right now. And he doesn't have to see Ripley's concerned gaze to know it's showing. Alright then... He pulls himself together for a good-natured smile. "Okay, people, you know the schedule, right?" They nod. Hudson's not even taking his eyes from the monitors to answer him.

"Don't worry, Hicks. We'll kick your sorry ass out of Neverland at 08.00 sharp."

"Or whenever-"

"-something important's happening. Hell yeah, we got it, Boss!" The ComTech gives him a quick glance over his shoulder. Reassuring. "Hey, you can count on us. You know that."

The Corporal's smile broadens. It's good to see Hudson back on track. For a while he actually had been worried... but now he's feeling this special thing again: The tight connection between them. The feeling of mutual trust. The knowledge that each of them will be there to cover the other's back. They're a tightly-knit bunch again, and neither hell nor aliens will come between them. It's a good feeling.

"Yeah... I know, Will." He gives his team mate a small, thankful nod, extending it toward Vasquez... and Ripley. "We'll get through this. I know we will." He shoves himself off the instrument board he's been leaning on and makes for the far end of Operations where the mattresses mark their impromptu camp.

"See?... it's moving! He must still be alive! Fucking hell -- Vasquez! Look!"

Silence, then footsteps. Tentative.

"Mierda...!"

The noise of static, boosted to top volume. Mixed with another noise, something he can't put his finger on, still painfully familiar. Disturbing. He rolls onto his other side in an attempt to shake off the ghost of the dream.

"Fuck me..." Unmistakably Hudson again, but sounding somewhat disturbed. "That's his breathing! You hearing that? There!"

Hicks groans and rolls on his back, opening his eyes to make the nightmare disappear. A long moment of disorientation passes, before the panelling over him and the sound of the others sleeping in his surroundings tells him where he is. Ah... finally silence. He can't tell what it had been that bothered him in his sleep. Maybe the feeling of realism. The sense of not actually dreaming but listening in on an actual conversation... He turns his head towards the cool blue glow of the monitors further back.

"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?"

"Hudson -- I don't know if-"

"What you wanna do, ignore him?"

Damn, it's not a dream after all! He can still hear his two team members whispering intensively, and they sound... strange. And who the fuck are they talking to? He sits up, and the dull throbbing behind his eyes returns. Rubbing the bridge of his nose between his eyes he gets up, still not feeling fully awake, although a quick glance onto his chronometer tells him it's been not even an hour since he lay down, and he's sure he didn't really fall asleep. As he's carefully stepping around the other bodies which are strewn across the floor in the back of Operations -- for some odd reason nobody wanted to sleep in the room with the two occupied stasis tubes -- he notices a slight movement to his right. Ripley. Her eyes are open, an expression of drowsy alarm in them. He holds up his hand, telling her to stay calm. The shadow of a smile crosses his face for a moment as he sees little Newt huddled against her adult protector. She's still asleep, but not looking peaceful. Small wonder, really.

"Sir, if you can hear me --"

"He can't hear you, Hudson! He's-"

Hicks rounds the corner.

"What's going on? Who are you two talking to?"

They both jump at the unexpected intrusion, having been fully caught up in whatever's keeping their attention. There's excitement in their eyes. Excitement and... horror. Hicks tilts his head slightly to see what they are looking at. The corridors from the sentries' cameras and some more of the station's surveillance equipment... and what is this? He strains his eyes in an attempt to make sense of the black and white pattern on another monitor.

"Hicks, I found the Sarge! He's still alive! Look!" Hudson points at the image he's still trying to decipher. "His headset's still intact -- you can even hear him breathe!"

That noise...! The sudden sensation of falling down a bottomless elevator shaft turns Hicks' stomach upside down. His blood freezes, and he can feel the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rising with all distinctness.

"God..." His legs turn to rubber, and he has to grab the edges of the console to steady himself, his eyes staring transfixed at the psychedelic pattern of biomechanical architecture... which shifts as the camera delivering the images is slightly turned to the right and then down onto an object that's awfully familiar-looking. An opened egg...

"What's this?" Vasquez indicates a thin green line that's running parallel to the Sergeant's visible lifesigns. "A malfunction?"

Hicks feels the sour taste of bile at the back of his throat rising. He doesn't know what will come if he opens his mouth now, words or-

"He's infected...it's...it's its heartbeat..." he says numbly, feeling unreal. This must be a dream! A nightmare -- no, the mother of all nightmares! And as he's standing there, thinking it can't possibly get any worse, the horror performs a quantum leap into another dimension.

"Anybody...? Can... can you hear me?" Apone's voice... sounding hurt... horrified beyond belief... desperate... "Plea... please? Anybody?" Violent coughing cuts off the words, and the grainy image shakes as the source of the transmission doubles over, wrecked by spasms.

"Sir, we're copying! Sarge?! Do you hear me?" After an initial fit of panic Hudson had calmed down and dealt with the situation quite efficiently over the past hours, but it can't be overheard that the panic's back now -- with a vengeance.

"Sir, tell us where you are! We'll come and get you out!" Vasquez, angry and determined. The ComTech covers the mike with his palm, eyes wide.

"Are you fucking crazy, Vaz? We can't-"

"-se! If anybody hears this... don't come down here." Coughing again.

"He doesn't hear us." Hicks feels bodily sick. It's painful to hear his long-time team leader like this: horrified beyond belief and all hope long departed. And still, in these long last hours of his life, who is Apone thinking of? Them. His team. Everybody else would beg for a -- however hopeless appearing -- rescue attempt. Not Apone. He'd never ask anybody to risk his life for him. A mixture of great grief and rage fills up Hicks' mind. It's unfair! Why the sergeant? For once there is a team leader who cares for his squad, who's always taking the safer, smarter way to get things done because he refuses to throw away even one single human life... and then he buys it the ugliest way while all the others who're giving a shit about their grunts are sitting pretty? "Get... get your asses out of the sling while... while you still can. Hicks?"

The mention of his name is a punch to the gut, and he groans in torment without even realising... Somewhere on a subconscious level he knows Hudson and Vasquez are looking at him, but he just can't take his eyes off the monitor.

"Hicks --" Hudson's trying to hand him over the mike. He ignores him.

"Hicks, if you hear this... don't ... don't do anything stupid. Get them out as fast as... aw, fuck...!" Violent coughing wrecks Apone again, and this time there's a great deal of pain audible in it. It's more than Hicks can bear, more than any of them should be forced to hear.

"Hicks, here..."

"Switch it off..." He's not looking at the ComTech, can't believe his own hollow-sounding voice. What did he just say?

"What?!"

"Aww... hell... it's moving..." Heavy, painful breathing comes over the speakers.

"You don't mean-"

"Switch it off, Hudson!" It takes superhuman effort to turn his head and meet his stunned comrades' unbelieving looks. "Now."

"Dammit Hicks, we can't just leave him alone! We've got to-"

"Do something about it?" Now he's breathing hard himself. Feels as if he's going to lose the ration he's had earlier this evening any second now. His voice sounds raspy, and he has to literally force himself to continue "We can't. We've already been over this, Will... and he doesn't want us to. He's right. They would rip us to pieces -- like before." He shakes his head to himself in an attempt to shake off the awful images suddenly flooding his mind. Apone... going into spasms... screaming as an eyeless creature bursts from his chest in a fountain of blood... His eyes are trying to find the monitor again, but he can't stand the images now, doesn't want to watch -- abruptly, he turns his back on the instrument board. His voice is but a whisper. Firm and compassionate at the same time. He's not going to make this an order. "We'll need to keep a cool head to come out of this in one piece... Watching him --" he fights with the word "-die... won't help us. And it won't help him. He doesn't even know we're grounded. Might be better for him to think we've made it... "

"He's right." A new voice joins the discussion. Ripley. He looks up to see her standing there at the corner, her gaze fixated on him, understanding in her eyes... and something else. Guilt? Is she blaming herself for this mess? "Even if it were possible to get him out -- which it's not -- you... couldn't do anything about... his condition..."

"But maybe Bishop could... you know... perform an emergency operation on him. Maybe..." Hudson runs dry, his tone an indication that he's not believing his own words. They sound desperate, clinging on to hope against better knowledge. Hicks doesn't intervene. He knows his team mate good enough to know that Hudson needs to say it out loud to sort things out for himself. The ComTech's not stupid. He locks eyes with Vasquez and sees consent in the black eyes. Regret, pain... and consent.

"Man..." The ultra-tough smartgun-operator gives him the hint of a nod. He can virtually hear her unspoken thoughts -- What a fucking mess...!

"Hudson...?" Wordless communication. His comrade's finger hovers over the switch that will cut them off from their leader... once and for all. It's hard... so hard... a deep breath. The image of the monitor shakes again -- then goes black. Silence follows, weighing them all down. Nobody speaks. Hicks closes his eyes as pain and grief threaten to overwhelm him. How long has he been serving with Apone? Ten years? Longer than anybody else. He's been there in his squad right from the start. From the time on where the Master Sergeant had been just a lowly corporal... like himself. Always fair. Always just. A leader he had always looked up to... and now it's his time to find out whether he'll be able to step into the big man's shoes. He's been thrown into the cold water, just like Gorman. Will he be able to swim? Or will he drown, taking them all with him? Gorman drowned over there at the processing station, and now he's holding on to him for survival... they all are. The knowledge is like a big rock tied to his foot, threatening to pull him down.

"I'm sorry, Hicks..." Ripley's voice. As he reopens his eyes, he sees her apologetic look -- as if it were really her fault they're in the pits now. Her idea to come here. Or her creatures. He turns his back on her brusquely, trying to shake the sudden burst of anger he's feeling... to sort out his feelings - and sees Burke sitting on his mattress, woken by the hoopla they are making here... meeting his stare with drowsy alarm. A red-hot flash of rage comes over him. If it's anybody's fault, it's the company's! Human sleazebags like Burke! Sending us out with a rookie lieutenant... They didn't listen to Ripley at all! Those arrogant, greedy pricks...! There's a furious sparkle in his narrowed eyes as he continues to stare at the confused company rep.

"It's okay," his voice -- amazingly enough -- is still calm, albeit bitter with cynicism. "We already knew what happened to him, right?" The urge to close the gap and hammer the company rep right through the wall for what he did here is almost irresistible now. He, the most cool-headed of them all, is in the middle of losing it, and if he's going to let it happen there's no telling when he will stop... whether he will be able to stop at all... and what it will do to everybody's state of mind... It takes a HUGE effort not to follow his instincts! He turns around, suddenly hardly able to breathe. Burke will never know how close he came to being smashed to a pulp. They're all staring at him, probably waiting for some encouraging or comforting words, hardly ready for the hard look he's giving them. Hicks inhales sharply in an attempt to swallow his sudden burst of anger. He can't give it to them right now. Right now, he's feeling anything but reasonable, or sensible, or fucking optimistic even! If anything, he's feeling the overwhelming desire to be alone. "I'll be in Medlab, in case anyone needs me." MedLab's big. There should be a way of finding a quiet place for himself there despite Gorman's and Bishop's presence. He stomps off without looking back.

"Man, I don't like this," Skin's complaining while we're strutting through Level 3, the one above the aquatic domain of Mac the Knife, closing all hatches along the way which don't lead towards the underwater laboratory 4. A huge dark shape passes under our feet with calm dignity, leaving us further behind with each move of its big tail-fin. The tiger shark doesn't react to us even though it must be hungry after an enforced diet of two days. Of course. Despite the transparent floor he can't see us. My ever-reliable database tells me that sharks usually hunt by scent and tactile input. Eye-sight is not important to them -- so Mac's either ignoring us or doesn't even know we're here. He himself would be hard to ignore. His massive shape is very impressive. It's one thing to read about a 14-foot killing machine... and yet an entirely different thing to actually see it. I can't help but feel curious about Darwin's little experiment tonight. Skin's opinion is of course different. "How can you simply waste such a perfect creature?"

I shrug.

"She said she'd build you a new one. So why the fuss?" He shakes his head furiously, making his little samurai ponytail move.

"Damn Isis, we're talking about a living creature here -- not some...technical gadget!"

"Yeah, okay. If you want to get all sentimental..." I roll my eyes. "So what? He's a clone, and the new one will be done from the same DNA. It's going to be the exact same stupid fish!"

"It won't be Mac," he refuses stubbornly, his gaze fixated on the disappearing shark's silhouette. I sigh. How can anybody be so illogical?

"Skin, you know the sole reason for the existence of this little pet zoo of yours is-"

"-to ensure a never-ending supply of guinea-pigs," he sighs, pressing the next button. We see the door beneath us slide shut. Slowly but surely we're getting Mac where Darwin wants him. "Yeah, I know that. But why does she have to take him when there are so many alternatives? Just feed them this crazy ape, or --"

"The ape?" I sigh inwardly. "Forgive me for asking, but how do you think would this help us in determining how adaptable Xenomorphis Terribilis is to water?"

He glares at me.

"Don't be snide, Isis. I don't see why she can't simply throw the thing into another part of the basin. We'd be able to see whether it can swim -- why does she want it to be attacked?"

"Cause she wants to see how good it can swim," I reply evenly, rounding the corner behind him. "Two answers with one test."

"But he'll die!" My colleague looks down onto his acid-scarred hand uncomfortably. "His head will corrode when he's taking a bite off it!"

"Yeah..." I admit in mock compassion. "That's why we'll all be wearing black tonight, too. I forgot to say."

"Man!" he groans, closing the last hatch. His pet is now captured in an aquarium of approximately 30 x 30 metres. To our left side is the stairway that leads down to Lab 4's operating room, where we're going to sit tonight to watch the spectacle of alien vs. the most efficient predator Earth has to offer. Darwin was adamant to perform this test before the great meeting with Weyland Yutani's brass tomorrow. "I forgot how much fun working with you is."

"Well, I'm sorry Kira's sick and I've got to be her replacement. I know how close you two are." He glares at me, and I decide to shut up before the situation escalates. After all, I'm having a full schedule for today and need to hurry to get everything done. Rosselli and Vox, two of W.Y.'s top representatives, will arrive within the next two hours, and I'm the one responsible for preparing their lush executives' suites. Plus another check on our valuable marine... and the portable stasis beam for tonight. This before everything else. We're going to have a massive catastrophe on our hands if the gadget doesn't work...

We've reached the end of the staircase and step into Lab 4's control room, facing the massive console and the huge panoramic window of indestructible security glass behind it. Mac's gigantic form passes right in front of us, calmly making his way to the left side of the basin. The water's breaking the light from above and creates interesting visual effects in the observing room where we are standing. Everything's looking good. It's tidy, the vending machines on the left corner of the entrance is operational and just delivering a cappuccino upon Skin's demand. With a sigh, I step forward, eyeing the hundreds of switches, scales and counters on the console. They light up like a Christmas tree as I'm hitting the main switch. Time for a thorough systems check. I've granted us exactly one hour for it. Time to get moving.