The first thing he notices is that smell... that horrible, antiseptic smell... it's different from the metallic tasting rain with its underlying aroma of burnt ashes. Not really better... but it's clean... almost too clean.
"Just get it done, Keisha, okay? I'm sick and tired of listening to your constant griping!" A female voice of undeterminable age. Not very old, though.
"But why-" He knows this one, has heard it before. In his... dreams?
"No buts, remember? Just do it!"
Silence. Followed by the muffled sound of footsteps and the familiar hiss of a door opening and closing. More footsteps, passing in front of him, getting further away, the young female voice he recognizes by now mumbling something unintelligible. The most immediate source of noise is coming from straight above him now, a constant symphony of clicking and beeping and humming. Hicks forces his eyes open and finds it a little less impossible to do than before.
The place is white, but not blinding white. The light's been toned down to a pleasant twilight that's easy on his eye-nerves. Definitely not Operations anymore... or the tunnel. He feels a bit confused. The images which reach his brain are somewhat blurry and hesitate to stumble into focus, no matter how hard he's trying for it. The ceiling he's looking at doesn't tell him anything, and so he turns his head sideways on the cushion, searching for some kind of clue about his whereabouts -- and winces at the stab of pain in the back of his neck. Unconsciously his left hand climbs up again to touch the gauze pensively. What the -- He pauses as he sees his arm... really sees it. It's skinny. Nothing but flesh and bones... and an IV-line leading up from the vein on his wrist to a drip at his bedside with multiple thin plastic bags.
He stares a while longer, the meaning of what he's seeing slowly seeping into his clouded conscience like thick syrup. Hospital... he's in some kind of hospital. Looks as if they got him good this time. Really good. By the looks of it, he's half a skeleton already... and came close to wearing one of those black body bags they've always been making their morbid jokes about in order to avoid actually having to think about death. More memories come. Body bags... yes... He's the only one who made it, right? Hudson, Vasquez... Apone...Ripley... they're all dead. His mood goes belly-up with the jolt of sudden realization. Everybody's dead -- except him ... and the girl? There's something about her, something he should remember, too, right? Was it just a dream? That bizarre black & white face staring down on him, telling him --
["She ... didn't ... make... it..."]
A sudden sense of urgency makes him prop his hands against the mattress and push himself to a sitting position -- to his surprise he doesn't even make it halfway before he falls back, gasping. Exhausted.
What the hell is wrong with me?
"Hey -- we've finally decided to wake up, huh?" a familiar female voice reaches him, sounding honestly happy. Hicks turns his head in the direction of the approaching footsteps and sees a young nurse heading his way, white teeth shining in an encouraging smile on her dark face. Young? She looks like a teenager! 16, or 17 maybe. Her shoulder-long hair is neatly bound into dozens of tiny braids, which again are pulled back to form a ponytail of braids on her neck. Putting the small pile of towels she's been carrying on a nearby table, she steps up to him, and he notices a slight limp on her. The name tag on her green frock reads Keisha. "How are you today, Dwayne? You look like you're feeling much better."
"Yeah?" Man, what a strange feeling to use his tongue again. And the connection between his brain and throat seems to experience substantial problems, too. "Don't know..." His throat is dry like the desert.
I feel like shit! he wants to say.
I feel like an APC ran over me! he wants to say.
But he can't even summon up the words in his mind, let alone utter them. And this damn throbbing in his neck... he can't remember hurting his neck. How? When? "How am I?" A strange question, he realizes as soon as he's uttered it. But she appears to understand, as she sits down on the edge of his bed after a short glance to his bio-readouts. A somber, serious look replaces the relived smile she had displayed until now.
"Well... you're obviously on the way to recovery now. But it was pretty close." Her hand moves as if to touch his in a reassuring gesture, but is drawn back at the last moment. "Do you remember anything?"
"How's the girl?" he inquires instead, somehow answering her question by that. "Where is she?" Her expression becomes strange... guarded, somehow.
"I don't know, Dwayne. I'll have to ask Dr. Hikahi, but he won't be -- what?"
"You do know," he states quietly, sinking back into his cushion. "Tell me. Please."
"Dwayne-"
"Please." His gaze is urgent, his eyes pinning her. He's sniffing the truth, and she sees it. The young woman inhales deeply, feeling extremely uneasy all of a sudden. "She's dead, isn't she?" He sees the answer in her eyes even though she's still hesitant about telling him. A sinking feeling overwhelms him, robs him of the last of his strength. His head seems to weigh a ton all of a sudden. Brown eyes muster him compassionately.
"I'm sorry, Dwayne." She is almost whispering now. "She was already dead when they brought you both here." She swallows, seeing the sorrow in his eyes and feeling awful. He doesn't appear to be surprised though. It's almost as if he already knew... but then again, he'd been too drugged yesterday. Impossible he could remember anything Isis told him, right? "You almost died yourself," she adds in a futile attempt to explain the logic of the tragedy to him. "And you are a strong, trained soldier. She-" She stops when she sees his weak, hopeless shadow of a smile.
"Not anymore." He casts his gaze down and shivers again at the sight of his thin arms. Something else finds the way from his memory into his consciousness. His leg. What about his leg? There are the shapes of two legs under the blanket, but after his long-time military career he knows well enough how the docs sometimes place cushions under them to diminish the shock for freshly amputated patients. Strangely enough though, he doesn't care. So what if he has only one leg left? Everybody else is dead. His squad -- which was more like his family. Ripley...he sighs, not seeing Keisha anymore. He killed her himself. He remembers it now. Sees her blood-streaked face in front of his inner eye. Hears her desperate plea.
["Please -- kill me. Remember your promise."]
Man, no more... please! He squeezes his eyes shut in a vain attempt to make the image go away. The thunder of his 38mm... NO MORE!
["Will they come for us?"]
He's succeeded in making Ripley go away... but now it's Newt's voice in his ears, and he almost feels her weight against his side again. Feels her little body huddled against him to find some protection from the raging storm and driving rain, longing for some warmth. For how long? One week? Longer? It felt like an eternity, and she had been sleeping the sleep of death already long before the bright light came down from the stars to get them. On some unconscious level, he knew it even then. Seeing his own condition rapidly deteriorate in the elements and radiation, with no more food to sustain them and being forced to drink the contaminated water raining down on them, he had known their days were counted.
"-she your daughter?"
His caretaker's voice snaps him out of his dark thoughts.
"Huh?"
"Was she your daughter?" He can see she's a little embarrassed to ask him, probably feeling her question is stupid or intruding or whatever... but also, she appears to genuinely care. He looks at her... or rather, through her, seeing the girl's dirt-smeared face, hearing her voice echo in the narrow black tunnel where she found him.
["HicksHicksHicks! Do you hear me? Do you hear me?"]
He swallows bitterly.
"No..." The realization of what has happened is slowly beginning to dawn on him. A feeling as if he'd swallowed a huge block of ice...while being simultaneously being hit over the head with a baseball bat. The result is cold numbness. "She saved my life." His eyes eventually find back to the teenager, noticing the surprised expression on her features. He licks his dry lips, but to no avail -- his mouth and throat are like a dried-up well, too. Thirsty, yes... he's thirsty. And again, he doesn't care. Inhaling deeply, he adds: "And I promised to take care of her... and to get her out of there...alive. Dammit..." Suddenly weakness and desperation come back with a vengeance as he covers his burning eyes with his hand, squeezing them shut. He leaves it there, not wanting the young woman to see his pain. What kind of God takes the life of an innocent child and saves the one of a soldier with more blood on his hands than most people in colonized space? What kind of a fucked-up universe is this?
"I'm sorry, Dwayne..." Keisha whispers, feeling awful. "I'm so sorry." The desire to reach out and take his hand for comfort is almost unbearable now... but again she can't summon up the courage. He's a grown man, for Christ's sake! A soldier! More than likely ten, twelve years older than her! What would he think? So her hands stay in her lap, clutching the fabric of her nurses frock helplessly. But there must be something she can do for him, right? "Would you like to talk about it?"
Hicks hears her tentative voice from the foot-end of his bed. Why is she still here? Doesn't she understand he wants to be alone now? Why did they save him and not Newt? Or since she was already dead like everybody else of his squad -- why did they have to bring him back? There's nothing left here for him. He's all alone now. All alone in the middle of a huge black hole he shouldn't have climbed out of. "Dwayne?"
"No. Just leave me alone." His voice is toneless and flat, his eyes still shut, left hand covering his face. He doesn't move "Please."
There must be something she can do.
"Can I get you anything? I can't give you anything to drink unfortunately, because your stomach's not yet ready for it, but I could --"
"Just leave." More determined now. Impatient and almost angry. She swallows, feeling awful. She wasn't supposed to tell him, and she didn't want to -- BUT HE ASKED! What was she supposed to do? It was so important to him, he didn't even ask all the questions she was ready for! Like where he was... or what about his leg? He didn't want to know. Like he doesn't care at all! As if he's not even happy to be still alive... She inhales deeply, desperately wanting to say something meaningful, something that would make him feel better... but she doesn't even know him. She doesn't know what happened to him, or what he's been through, or what's important to him besides the girl. So she finally stands up, silent, looking down on him insecurely. He doesn't seem to register. A final glance at the bottles on the drip. He's still set. No need to exchange any of them. For a moment she toys with the idea of maybe injecting a little extra sedative into the IV-line to help him to a deep, dreamless sleep... but he's got to start dealing with it. There's no use in delaying the inevitable.
"I'm sorry, Dwayne," she repeats, putting the remote with the call-button next to his right hand on the blanket. "If you change your mind or need anything, just call me, okay? Here." There's no reaction. The young Arcturian picks up the towels she left on the table and makes for the door, feeling bitter, not even hearing the hissing mechanism as she passes. Walking down the deserted corridor, her steps echoing hollowly, she can't help but brood over her dark thoughts. This is not what she wanted to do. When she left her planet two years ago together with Hikahi, she had hoped to do something good, to help people. All the misery she had seen had triggered the desire in her of trying to make a difference in the cold and often cruel ways of human societies. And now she's here and... and everything -- her noble ideas, her principles, everything she'd set out to do - goes down the toilet.
Nauseated by the realization, she stops, her face a mask of bitter disillusionment. Her stomach twists into a cold knot as she notices which door it is she's standing at. What is this, an evil joke? Why did I come here? she thinks, incredulously, involuntarily stepping up to look through the tiny window into the room. She doesn't want to, but her legs have a different idea. Watching silently, she stands there, biting her lip and hugging herself. The nausea worsens, and the flood's rising behind the dam of her self-control, threatening to break it any moment now. She's hardly able to move and step aside as the door opens to let out Dr. deJoria, who's almost running into her.
"Keisha?" A confused glance. "What are you doing here?" She stops as she notices the nurse's desperate expression.
"I don't know..." the youth whispers, hardly able to suppress the choked sobs. Her eyes stay glued to the window as her view is again obstructed by the closing door. "I... I just find it so hard to do this..." As if on command, the blond little girl in the adjacent room turns her head from the TV screen to look at her - sending down an icy shudder Keisha's spine. "It's so hard to lie to him..."
Hadley's Hope -- Day 4 -- 0100 hours
A cold chill makes the tiny hairs on his neck stand on end and travels further down his spine. Hicks knows the feeling all too well. He turns around. Sure enough, a tiny figure is standing in the doorway, looking at him. Operations is down to emergency power at night, but though he can't see more than just her small silhouette, he knows it's Newt who is standing there in her usual shy stance, obviously uncertain whether she shall disturb the peaceful silence of Operations. Hicks spins around casually in his chair and invites her in with a smile and a little nod.
"A visitor for me at this time? That's nice. I was beginning to feel kinda lonely here." He waits for a return smile, but Newt still seems too shy to react to his joke. But she steps closer, slowly, one step at a time, as not to wake anyone. Since most of Hadley's involuntary occupants are sleeping further back in the big room or in MedLab, there isn't really much reason for her concern, but after having observed the girl over the course of four days now, Hicks has come to the conclusion that this is simply the way she has learned to move around the alien-infested station, no matter how safe her surroundings appear to be. He can't blame her. After all this caution has kept her alive for over three weeks, when she had been on her own - way before they had virtually stumbled over her. He watches her approach and notices the concentrated expression and sweat on her face as well as the little, tightly clenched fists at her sides, and he knows the reason for this unusual visit in the middle of the night.
"Another bad dream, huh?"
She looks at him for a moment, silent before she nods and comes to a halt in front of the brightly illuminated instrument board, glancing over the dozens of tiny lights in wonder. The blue light of the surveillance monitors illuminate her face.
"What are you doing?" Her whisper is almost inaudible.
"Well...", Hicks bends forward, placing his elbows on his thighs and folding his hands. "Essentially, I'm watching television. Although the program is a little dull." He gestures at the monitors. Newt's eyes follow his hand. "You know, on these monitors we can see everything that's happening around us -- which means nothing, at the moment. There's nothing to be worried about." At least not yet, he continues in his thoughts. The situation can virtually change any minute, but that's nothing to tell a six-year old child who's just woken from a nightmare. Better to spread a little optimism. She probably knows anyway. "Wanna help me?" She bites her lip, insecure.
"You mean, watching the monitors?"
"Yeah. I could use some help, you know? I am getting a little tired, and it is easier to stay awake if there are two watching. Oh, and there is another very important task for you: You must punch me if I fall asleep. Don't let me close my eyes, okay?" He closes his eyes demonstratively and waits. About ten seconds later he feels a soft touch at his shoulder and shakes his head, eyes still closed. "That wasn't hard enough. I'm still sleeping." He imitates a loud snore. The next punch is harder, and it's accompanied by a tiny giggle. Carefully he opens one eye. Newt's standing right in front of him, covering her mouth with her hands.
"This is silly."
Hicks smirks, pleased with himself. He's managed to cheer her up again. Another small victory in this mess. Something positive in this endless night.
"No, it isn't. I'm wide awake now, see? Thanks." He looks around. "Now, where do we get a chair for you? Let me see." It appears as if all chairs are located further behind in the room, close to the sleeping bodies of Vasquez, Hudson, Ripley and Gorman, and he doesn't dare leaving the monitors out of his sight for even a brief moment. Something on the edge of his perception claims his attention: One of the monitors is flickering and turns to black while he's still watching, sending an electrical jolt of tension through his nerves and instantly putting him into alarm mode. Holding his breath and eyeing the motion sensors of the robot sentry unit closest to the concerned video-camera, he braces himself in expectation of seeing one or more of the bastards there in another attempt to make it to their human prey. But nothing's there. No blinking dots, no read-outs, no nothing. Everything stays inconspicously calm. Eventually, his heartbeat returns to normal, and he allows himself to switch his attention -- at least partly - back to the girl. "Okay, you know what we'll do?" He grabs her under the arms and carefully sits her down on his thighs. She seems very light for a girl her age, but that's hardly a wonder considering she's barely had anything to eat during the past month. "How's that?"
"Okay."
"Okay? Good." Hicks leans back. "My suggestion is that you watch the three upper monitors, and I keep my eyes on the two lower ones." And the one that just quit on us. "Agreed?"
"Aye-firmative."
He can't help but grin. It seems that Newt's absorbing more and more of Hudson's language every day. They're probably going to have to intervene before she gets started on using some of the nastier words in the Private's vocabulary.
A sad smile's playing around Hicks' mouth as he wakes from his memories. It had been a good night, a night that had left him with the feeling of not being completely useless. His presence and little jokes had calmed down the girl enough to send her back to sleep after an hour of shared observation duty on the monitors, and his own -- after Apone's death -- somewhat dark mood had at least temporarily lightened. And since it had been Vasquez' turn to wake from a bad dream without being able to dose off again -- rare enough for the tough Mexican -- he had put the opportunity to good use by leaving the perimeter to fix the defect circuits on the video camera. And while he had been at it, another idea had gained a footing in his unoccupied brain, probably triggered by the permanent boredom. A little spark of adventure that he was sure none of the others would have appreciated... but hell, nobody except Vasquez -- and maybe Bishop -- would ever know, right? It had come to him during his fast search for some work tools in the room closest to the defect cable: Somehow his attention had focused on a calendar on the wall, a picture of snow-covered trees and a frozen pond, very scenic... and the realization had hit him, however inappropriate it was at that time: It was December -- late December. Two days before Christmas, to be exact...
Hicks stares at the wall right in front of him, or rather the virtual beach the illuso has been set on by Keisha, probably for the calming effect of the waves. He doesn't see them though, nor does he hear them. His mind's in Hadley's Hope again, scanning the room he's standing in for treasure... possible Christmas gifts. Something to make life a little more pleasant for the next approximately 12 days before help can arrive. Something that would perhaps rise everybody's spirits for a moment or two, even if the very thought of Christmas in this hellhole seems downright preposterous. Some luxury items, not necessary for their immediate survival. Something like...
"Vasquez?" he mumbles into his head-mike, covering his mouth. He may be feeling adventurous, but he's not stupid. Too much noise can kill, especially here, outside the perimeter. The smart gunner's reply comes immediately.
"Copying."
"Everything still calm?"
"Like a graveyard," comes her fast answer. Awkward silence. "Damn," she mutters. "Didn't mean it like that."
"I know... " He inhales deeply. "Listen, I'll be looking around a bit. Might take a few more minutes."
"What are you doing?"
"Surprise," he smirks. "Just keep an eye on the readouts for me. I'll be back real soon. Over and out." He steps behind the office table and pulls open the first drawer. "Let's see what we've got here..."
"-oke up and is coherent."
The door slides open and spits several people into his room. The young nurse he's already seen. And that ascetic-looking, middle-aged doctor with the annoyed expression on his face who's preceding her seems likewise familiar, even if he can't put a name to him, yet. As for his third visitor... he stiffens, briefly questioning his being awake and out of the drugs' embrace -- for there it is, the black and white face which had brought those terrible words
[She... didn't... make it.]
and has been following him into his dark dreams. It's not a ghost after all. Nor is it the product of his drug induced nightmares. It's for real... and attached to the slim, trained body of a young woman in a black jumpsuit. Hicks can't help but gape at her appearance. Very short black hair frames her exotic looking face with the high cheekbones -- but it's the tattoo that's demanding his immediate attention, almost seeming to automatically pull it in and hypnotically bind it. He dimly remembers having seen such ritual tattoos before. Back when he was young. At school, in some ancient photos... what was it? Some kind of tribals, right? From some kind of pacific tribe? Maori? Something like that. The black pattern across her face functions almost as a mask, keeping the focus off her large, dark eyes and full, uncolored lips. Even without any make-up -- she's stunning... except for the strangely cold expression in her eyes. It's news to him that brown eyes can look that cold. Kinda like Vasquez when she's real riled,
[Vasquez -- she's dead, too]
but without the hot boiling temperament underneath. Scrutinizing. Staring at him with professional interest and nothing more. No care, no compassion, no nothing. The result is a sudden feeling of vague uneasiness. The notion of being a rare virus under the microscope. A brief glance to the girl's dark face who's standing behind his new visitor, looking excessively ordinary compared to her all of a sudden -- and angry. There's unmistakable tension between the members of the little group.
"Corporal Hicks," the mysterious beauty says with only the faintest trace of a studied smile. It's right then when his mind decides he doesn't like her: "What welcome news to finally have you back among the living!".
She sounds somewhat military... but the rest just doesn't add up. She's not introducing herself, neither by rank nor by name. And nothing looks right. This ain't a military installation he's at... You know damn well whose station or ship this is, soldier!' an alarmed voice in the back of his mind whispers, and his eyes widen in horrified realization. They're Weyland Yutani staff, remember? It had been Burke's people who came back to fetch you... who also killed Gorman... and probably Bishop... and yourself almost, too! Who shot the Sulaco out of the sky and - and now what? They've got you. What do they want? Why did they come back?
"What d'you want?" he replies, warily. He's on enemy territory, that's for sure. The doctor -- his name plate reads Hikahi -- brushes past the dark beauty to check on the readouts above his head and the drip at his side.
"Relax," the man tells him with a thick accent Hicks recognizes as Arcturian, shooting a tale-telling look back. "You're safe here. There's nothing to worry about. How do you feel?"
"Nothing to worry about?" He'd get angry if he only had the strength, but all he can give them right now is a skeptic glance. "This a Weyland Yutani ship?"
"Not a ship," the brunette says evenly. "You're on Phooka Station."
"Whatever." He doesn't really listen. "It belongs to W.Y., right?"
"Yes." Without looking at him, she pulls a chair over and sits her behind down next to him, folding her hands in a business-like manner. Her simple answer sends a shudder through her opposite. No accent here. If anything, she's speaking the clearest English he's ever heard.
"What do you want from me?"
She's slowly shaking her head now, an unbelieving smile playing around the corners of her mouth. The movement of the dark lines in front of him makes Hicks dizzy.
"Geez, you could be a little more thankful, don't you think?" A curt nod towards the doctor who seems to have a hard time keeping his tongue in check while he's pretending to be busy with the replacement of the glucose bottle on the other side. "The good doctor here lost quite some sleep over your wellbeing. He literally brought you back from the dead, and all you can do is gripe about it?" It earns her an angry stare.
"Why did you?" Hicks shifts his attention to Hikahi, eyes narrowed in suspicion. The doctor simply looks at him.
"It's my profession."
"Aw, hell...!" Damn, he can already feel what little strength he has desert him. He can't even think straight anymore! "Don't give me this shit! After all what happened, you're saying you saved me without ulterior motives? Please!" It's more of a sigh than the angry reply he had intended, and his overwhelming weakness annoys him to no end. His eyes stay on the doc's face for a moment longer, then wander back to the woman on the other side of the bed. She's not looking at him though, and her eyebrows are haughtily arched towards her hairline.
"My, Doctor Hikahi, your patient seems a tad paranoid, wouldn't you agree?"
"Where's Carter Burke?" Hicks is too exhausted to continue this discussion as heatedly as the occasion deserves. His dry throat's hurting and over his head he can hear the accelerated rhythm of his heartbeat, which does nothing to help him regain his composure. "Ask him."
"Carter Burke?"
He glares at her. Oh yeah! Like you don't know him! But if she's lying, she's very good at it. Not a trace of insecurity in either her voice or her face is giving her away. But he's really too tired now. The confrontation, however short it has been so far, has drained him of the little strength he had.
"Forget it," he mumbles, more to himself.
"Good," she replies. "'Cause we're not here to fight with you. We rather thought we'd bring you up to date with concerns to your whereabouts, your health... everything that should be of more interest to you right now than kicking our asses for saving you."
She's talking perfect sense, even if she does so in a cool, detached and slightly condescending manner. If he could, he would blush now. He's feeling kind of sheepish. Yeah, he's in the snake's pit, alright, but right now what he should do is probably find out as much as he can about the state he's in, or their plans for him. 'Cause there is still that voice in the back of his mind insisting they didn't burn a lot of energy to retrieve him from Acheron for nothing. Does that count as being paranoid? And even so -- being paranoid ain't an automatic guarantee they're not out to get you, right?
"Okay..." he agrees warily. "So?"
"You've probably been wondering about the cut on your neck," the doctor at his right side begins..
"Can't remember hurting it..."
"You didn't." Hikahi folds his hands and gives him the professional mix of concern and care Hicks is familiar with. "We implanted you a new PDT. State of the art."
"But-"
"I know. The USCM doesn't do that to their soldiers since they don't want hostile forces to be able to pick up the signals on their scanners... but to be honest - you're a long way from serving right now, and if you like, you can always have it removed later. Right now we need the exact data it delivers to ensure your battle against leukemia will be successful. A nice side-effect of it is also that we can spare most of the wires we'd usually have to torture you with."
The word bounces around in Hicks' head like a stray bullet. It makes the little hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rise, makes his skin crawl.
"I've got leukemia?" Hikahi nods matter-of-factly, whereas the young nurse at his foot-end is looking apologetically at him. She's looking sorry... for him. Alarm sirens spring to life in his head. "What -- how-"
"Don't worry. It's not like in the old days. I'm confident we're going to have you cured within the next four weeks." He sees the dozens of questions in his patient's eyes and continues: "Leukemia is a common side-effect of radiation... and you've been exposed to a very heavy dose. A deadly dose in fact." He lowers his voice. "It was also the reason for the child's demise. I'm sorry."
The lump in Hicks' throat makes a dramatic reappearance. Here he is, worrying for himself, when everything and everybody else went to hell. Why should he really care whether he's going to live or not? It won't be like in the good ol' days EVER again. The doc has left his place next to his head and steps up to the foot-end of the bed, unceremoniously folding back the blanket and exposing Hicks' legs. Hicks can't help but twitch in anticipation of the awful image of the sorry remains... after all, he vividly remembers how it felt back when he was lying in that darn tunnel... but a wonder happens - it's still there! That hasn't been a cushion under the blanket. Funny enough, he feels a tidal wave of relief washing over him as he watches as the doctor removes a strange looking, dark bandage which is covering his entire lower leg down to the ankle.
"Okay..." Hikahi pauses and looks at him. "This will feel a little strange."
"You mean it's going to hurt."
"Yes. But not much, don't worry. This bandage has very, very thin needles on the inside ... they are penetrating the muscle and are under weak current to help building it up again. It's looking worse than it is. Just be ready for it, okay?"
Hicks' glance slides down to his right leg, inwardly preparing for the worst.
"Isn't he a wizard?" The dark beauty's voice pierces his concentration, even more since the sarcasm in her tone is very obvious. He turns his head towards a non-telling face, a question on the tip of his tongue -- when Hikahi removes the bandage.
He can't help but wince, looking in disbelief at the gadget the doctors placing on the side. It looks mean! With dozens of shining metal needles which appear to be even thinner than fiberglass -- but, damn, they're long! And the tiny droplets of his blood on them don't do anything to make them look less like a torture instrument. But even as he's taking in the breath for a complaint, he sees his leg... and shuts up in amazement. The calf muscles had been torn to shreds as far as he dimly remembers... his recollection of those last days in the ruins of Hadley's Hope being rather vague... but except for the three parallel-running thick red scars on the back of his leg, it's actually looking pretty good. There's even a little muscle tone and not the crater holes he sort of expected, because, man, that had been a mean infection in there! As if she's reading his mind, the woman at his side says:
"You should really thank the doctor for saving that leg! You know, his first instinct was to get out his saw and -"
"Isis, shut up!" Hikahi raises his voice, his eyes sparkling with fury. "He doesn't need to hear this now!" He shifts his attention back to his patient. "I'm sorry, Corporal. I was only trying to help you. Your leg was in such bad shape, it would have been safer -- and easier to --" He interrupts himself and smiles apologetically. "I apologize. Why don't you forget about this? All that counts now is that everything took a turn for the better and is hopefully working again." He grabs his patient's foot. "Now, let's try and move those toes for me, okay? Let's see whether everything's working as it should."
Hicks looks down, at first not knowing which muscles to strain to get his willpower transferred down there. Nothing happens. A sinking feeling washes over him. Fear. Ridiculous. Why does he even care? The young colored nurse next to Hikahi gives him an encouraging look.
"You didn't use your muscles for a month, Dwayne. This is quite normal, don't worry. It doesn't mean anything. Just try to concentrate, okay?"
"You're feeling that?" Hikahi again, closing his fingers around his toes.
"Yeah." Man, if only he wasn't so damn tired...
"Good. Now try to move 'em. Come on. Come on, try harder!" It's ridiculous, but Hicks feels sweat trickling down his face. It doesn't help to sense the slightly bemused look his other female visitor -- Isis. Hikahi called her Isis! -- is granting him, as if she was wondering what could possibly be so hard about this task. His whole body tenses as he tries to focus on his right foot. And finally, to his endless relief, he feels his toes move just the slightest bit. The doctor gives him a satisfied smile. "Well done, soldier! Looks like we reassembled you correctly." He straightens and looks at Keisha while he's still addressing Hicks, but it's obvious the words are foremost meant for her. "You should practice this as often as possible, until you are strong enough to start with the real rehab. Keisha here will help you with the exercises. It will take some time to build up the muscle again, but that it's already working like that is a small miracle, trust me. Some people lost their legs for much lesser reasons."
His patient looks at him blankly.
"Yeah... guess I'm a lucky dog." Hicks' cynical reply earns him a consternated sigh from the Arcturian and a bemused smirk from the woman next to him. Only the nurse's face remains serious. Is this even a trace of compassion he's seeing there? Well -- he doesn't want it. Compassion from an Weyland Yutani employee -- he must be dreaming! Inwardly shaking his head to himself, he asks the one million dollar question. "When can I go home?" Let's see how well they lie. He stares into the beauty's brown eyes, searching for the little flicker of insecurity that would give her lie away. But his piercing gaze is met by indifference. And her voice is likewise calm and content.
"We are very far away from the standard hyperspace routes, I'm sorry to say. The next ship that will dock here is due in about eight months."
"Eight... months? " Don't tell me you're taking this at face value, soldier! the knowing voice in the back of his mind sneers. You know they're just telling you shit. They won't let you go AT ALL! But still... he swallows visibly. "Can't... can't you just freeze me until..."
"No, sorry," Hikahi replies, wrapping his leg up again with a normal bandage now. "We don't have any cryo-facilities on this station."
"No - what?" That's a load of first-class bullshit they're giving him here, and his tone's betraying his annoyance. No cryo-chambers on such a modern station? Sure... and they don't have computers either, right? It's the woman who answers, again with that slightly condescending touch to her voice he can't help but hate already.
"We are a full-time research station, Corporal. We work here. We don't travel. There's no need for us for cryo-sleep whatsoever. And since the tubes take up considerable space and energy resources, we decided to spare them. I'm afraid you'll have to tough it out with us for those eight months." She ignores his hostile stare.
"Well, first of all we've got to get you on your feet again of course," the doctor adds, putting the blanket back. "This alone will take some weeks. Months, if you want to get back to the condition you were in before."
"Why would I want that?" Right now, all he wants to do is sleep. All this hoopla around him has left him completely spent. Too much information at once, and too many awful details... leukemia... eight months until... He can't even think straight anymore. Hikahi raises his eyebrows.
"Don't you want to serve again?"
"Serve?" Hicks' voice would be bitterly sarcastic if he had the energy left for it. "You mean, I go out, get shredded to pieces and screwed sideways... can't wait to get a repeat?" A weak laugh. Okay, time to collect another lie: "Does the Corps know I'm here? Do they know what happened?" Fuck, why is he even asking this? It's not like he can't guess the truth, no matter what they're going to tell him.
"The Corps should know about it in the meantime, yes." Isis is looking at her fingernails, not him. But not to avoid his probing stare, no. Judging from her expression, she's likelier simply plain bored. As in not giving a damn. "We sent out a report three weeks ago." Seeing the obvious question on his face, she places her hand on her lap and adds: "It's still too early for a reply. We'll tell you when we get it."
Sure, he thinks, closing his eyes. The exhaustion is substantial. He's done for, for the next few hours, even though he knows that sleep is probably going to bring along another one of those grueling nightmares. Seems there's no way out for him -- it's either staying awake in an uncertain and unsettling situation, feeling fully well that something's off, or diving down to the memories of his weeks in hell. Whatever he chooses, it's clear he won't get much rest.
"You tired?" He doesn't honor the ridiculous question with a reaction. "You wanna sleep?"
"Let's leave." The doctor's voice, footsteps leading away from him. "He's still in recovery and needs all the rest he can get. He's also probably going to have to chew on what we gave him for a while."
"Chew on?"
"Think about. Come on, Isis. Leave him alone. You can come back tomorrow -- he won't go anywhere." More footsteps, then the rustling of fabric as the blanket gets pulled over his arms all the way to the chin. Someone touches his shoulder.
"Sleep, Dwayne... and don't worry. Everything's gonna be okay... shhhhhhhh..."
He lets himself fall.
The alien drone is huge. My head hardly reaches its shoulders as I'm standing right in front of it for the first time, nothing separating us except for the experimental, portable stasis beam which is generated by the little remote control in my hand. It's a somewhat eerie feeling, because you can't see it. You don't know if it's really there, protecting you. The only way you'll know it's not working as it should will be to have the thing jump at you and tear you in two. But this would probably happen so fast, you'd probably be dead before you'd have the chance to be shocked. There are three heavily armed security guards around me, their weapons pointing at the xenomorph's center, but they wouldn't be able to stop it if Darwin's little gadget should really screw up. Even if they'd fire at once -- I'm standing only two meters away, and the acid splash would reduce me to a sorry puddle in a matter of seconds. Better not to think of it. I take a deep breath and address Darwin, knowing she's standing not far behind me.
"I guess we're ready to go."
It's 3.00 a.m... Most of the station's inhabitants are in their quarters, sleeping, probably dreaming of a nicer place than the cold metal surroundings; unsuspecting of the terror which is about to roam the corridors above them in a minute. It's the last thing on my list for tonight after the hectic day, and even I can feel the strain on me. I might be an artificial person, but today I'm feeling for the first time that I've got limits, too. It's also the first time in my existence that has me honestly hoping I won't screw up.
"Alright," my boss says, and it's also for the first time in ages I think I'm hearing something like excitement in her voice. "Then let's go! They're already waiting for us down there."
As if it understands her words, the thing before me shoots out its inner jaws -- against the shield, uttering a shrill, ear-piercing shriek that sounds unmistakably angry. Does it have a hunch about what's about to happen to him? That it's about to give its life for the noble cause of enhancing mankind's knowledge and help us turn its brethren into weapons? Probably not. But it's pissed nevertheless. I move the remote just the slightest bit, pushing the being into the direction of the door. The other one we separated it from earlier shrieks in the back of its dark hive. It's indeed as if they knew...
We're facing the door now on our way to the elevator, carefully measuring step by step. I know Darwin and the guards are standing there, watching our approach and forming a tight cordon around us, but I don't look at them. My full concentration belongs to the most valiant guinea pig we've ever faced in this facility... and probably beyond. It's the equivalent of a dance on the tightrope, blindfolded. Just one false step, and we're all going to fall. The thing claws at the invisible barrier, swishing its tail in fury and trying to turn around. I adjust the beam, make the space even smaller, and push on. Its arms are hanging by its side now. There's not enough room for it to raise them anymore, and it's forced to take small steps only, making it look a tad ridiculous. Nobody laughs though. They're all scared shitless behind me, except for Darwin maybe, who's nevertheless treating her object of study with an amount of respect I've never seen her give to anything else... probably the only way she knows how to express fear. We've reached the elevator. With the alien right before me, I can't reach for the switch. Darwin does it for me, stepping up so close to the predator that all it would take for her to touch it would be for me to deactivate the stasis shield.
"Careful!" I hear one of the guards behind me say. Unbelievably, she grants him a thin smile. She's actually enjoying the scenario, no doubt about it! Something different from the old same-o, same-o procedures, huh? The cabins arrive, and with them the most critical moment. I'll be alone -- with only one of the guards -- with the thing on this ride. The elevator's not big enough to accommodate us all in there, especially with the security distance everybody cares to keep from the xeno. So it will be me, one scared guy and it in one cabin, and Darwin with the others in the other, riding down to Lab 4. Approximately thirty seconds of being on my own. I begin to understand why nobody else wanted the job.
The dreaded tone of the arriving cabins. The doors slide open. Now or never, I guess. I can feel Darwin's questioning glance on me.
"Will you be okay in there?"
"Hey," I joke. "You know me: I'm the woman without nerves, right?" I don't dare take my eyes off the xeno. "What about Mr. Kick-your-ass-any-time?"
"Oh, I'm definitely ready to kick some," the guard's replying, desperately trying to sound macho. But he can't betray my trained ears.
"Okay..." Darwin seems to be satisfied enough as she steps up to the other cabin, still hesitating. "We'll see each other again in thirty second from now, right?"
"Don't worry," I reassure her. "I'm up to this. Piece of cake." I don't know what cake actually has to do with it, but it's Skin's standard remark whenever Darwin asks him for anything tricky or out-of-the-ordinary, and she always seems to be satisfied with it. She nods -- at least I think she nods, I'm not looking at her -- and disappears in the cabin with the two guards. The door closes. We're alone now. It may be nonsense, but I believe the thing's bracing for something in front of me. Getting ready to raise hell.
"So, Mr..."
"Leary."
"Mr. Leary. Let it go in first. Then we'll have it walk out in front of us on the backside. Whadda you say?"
"Alright," he agrees, his voice sounding definitely strained. "Just keep it in check, okay? If I've got to fire in there, we're both going to get roasted."
"Don't worry," I assure him cooly and push the big, black fighting machine into the elevator, all the way up to the backdoor, not allowing it to turn around. Stepping in after it, I see its tail twitch and smile. Yeah, you'd like to give it to me badly, huh? Too bad for you I'm the one with the remote. The guard enters the cabin behind me and the door slides shut. Now that we are actually crammed in here with not more than 2.5 meters between us and the beast, we both don't feel like talking.
"Level 3, Lab 4," I instruct the elevator. "And no music!" Wouldn't that be a funny image to have this thing ride the elevator twitching to the sound of the latest techno-tunes? The bland female computer voice asks me for my authorization code, and I enter it. The cabin's dropping silently. So silently I can hear my companion's heavy breathing behind me. And the anguished screaming of the metal floor under the thing's hind claws. It can barely move, but even so it's got enough power to dig into the steel alloy. It radiates a vague smell of wet metal... like money you dug out of a wishing well. I can't help but think of the duel we're about to witness. Maybe Skin's right. Maybe this thing will have a very late -- or very early -- fish dinner instead of Mac having his Xenomorph à la Surprise. We're going to see very shortly.
Coming to a stand, the backdoor opens, opening the way to the hatch where we're going to dispose of the alien. It hisses angrily and tries to turn its head in my direction, but it doesn't stand a chance. I usher it into the corridor and see Darwin and the other two guards waiting for us, their weapons locked onto the E.T.
"Well?" Darwin, surprisingly sounding a bit relieved.
"No prob," I reply casually. "Hey, I'm the lord of the remote control, right?"
"Right."
We make for the hatch, and somehow I can feel a strange kind of tension building on our silent way to it. Rising anticipation. We all know we're very likely about to watch an awesome -- and probably gruesome -- show. Two killing machines duking it out... live! Who could ask for a better late-night program?
The time has come for the last critical manoeuvre: moving the alien into the hatch with the retractable floor, and thus dump it into the pond... or rather, the corridor leading towards the main basin. I don't know how fast it is exactly, but the prospects of having the stasis beam cut off by the closing hatch are hairy. If it jumps at once, it might get one of those capable claws into the door before it closes... and then? If the guards have to shoot it, everything's been in vain. We could of course go up and get the other one, but then we won't have anything to show Rosselli and Vox in the morning... not to speak of the possibility of the same thing happening again. Well, since there's no alternative, I guess it's idle thinking about it, right?
"Ice, we're going down the control room," Darwin says. No doubt she's noticed the delicate situation, too... and wants to get away from it? Naw, I decide. She's simply trusting me to pull it off. "Meet you there in a moment, okay?"
"Okay," I say, pushing the alien into the opened hatch and stepping back to gain a little more security distance from it for the eventuality of its attack. "Leary? And you others -- ready for action?"
"We're set," the guard confirms, and I can see the three pulse rifles to the left and right of me pointing at the xenomorph's back. "If it so much as twitches, it's dead."
"No no," I object, hearing Darwin's disappearing footsteps on the stairs in the back. "Don't fire until I say so. It'll most likely try to attack, but I don't think it'll be fast enough. It might make it to the door, but not before it closes. Fire only if it gets out... wait for my command." I adjust my fingers on the control, straining. Game time. Here's your chance, sucker! "Ready?"
"Do it."
"Close hatch!" I order the voice-activated controls, raising my hand with the remote to have the stasis shield effective to the last possible moment. The pneumatic drive hisses, and in the second before the steel-adamantium door slams shut I see the E.T. whirl around so fast my optics only show it as a dark smear in my vision -- right before its left arm shoots through the almost non-existent gap. Tortured material bulges in its hinges, and through the angry hiss of the thing I hear the surprised gasps of the guards, see their pulse rifles jerking and know what's about to come. "Don't!" I scream, jumping into their line of fire, just outside the savagely thrashing claw's reach. "Activate floor mechanism!"
The thing hisses and spits at me. On the monitor above the hatch I can see the floor opening up right underneath the alien's feet. It props them against the walls, digging into the alloy, squealing. It's fury's impressive. With a sharp twang, the back of its tail hits the metal, leaving a shiny scratch on the wall and taking out the neon lamp ... and then it falls, landing with a splash in the water. The four of us stand there for a few seconds more, stunned by the sheer ferocity and speed of the attack, our eyes following the dark silhouette as it dives -- gracefully - through the water. Okay... I swallow. There's no further test needed to confirm that the thing's most certainly well-adapted to water. It swims like a crocodile in fact, or rather a crossbreed between crocodile and dolphin, diving up and down and sideways, driven by forceful movements of its strong tail. Uh-oh... I fear the worst for Mac...
"Fuck!!" one of the guard utters, wiping his forehead and exhaling audibly. "That was too fucking close for comfort! That bastard's fast!"
"Yeah," I agree, turning on my heels into the direction of the stairs without being able to take my eyes off the amphibious predator. It can't get into the main tank yet, not until we open the last door... but something tells me to hurry up just the same. If only because I can't wait to see what happens further. The three men in their heavy armor follow me down, the noise coming from them equaling a herd of rhinos, so naturally everybody in the control room's looking into our direction as we arrive. Not that it's crowded. Darwin, Skin ... and Kira, I'm surprised to see. She's still looking sick, but that could also stem from the fact that she had to get up in the middle of the night to come here. It's a big event, and -- sick or not -- everybody of our little tightly knit group who's not in ICU-treatment is required to be present. The honorable Dr. Kurtz however is missing. Knowing Darwin, my guess is she didn't even tell him. Asking for something is a sure way complicate things with Phooka's big man. He can't forbid what he doesn't know about, right? My boss points her chin into the direction of the empty chair next to her and after telling the guards to help themselves with the autochef, maybe to a cappuccino or whatever they like, I oblige, noticing Skin's pale complexion even in the bluish dim light. He doesn't want to be here, that's for sure. A shadow passes over our heads, and I look up, seeing Mac's brown striped silhouette circling his realm. I sense the difference in his behavior at once. He's agitated. No more circles in calm dignity -- he's in hunting mode now, the big tail fin pushing him forward, the head checking to the left and right, taking in the water, tasting it for the sent of blood and expelling it through its gills. In his slightly opened mouth I can see some impressive sets of teeth. There's no doubt he's already picked up the vibrations in the water, even if there's still the barrier between him and his prey. After all, he's a highly sophisticated predator himself. He's searching for food, madly hungry after the two days of enforced diet.
"That was quite a show our friend delivered at the hatch," Darwin mentions casually, without taking her eyes off the monitors which show the alien in the flooded corridor. "I guess it hated being pushed around by you." She casts me a thin smirk. "You've made an enemy."
"Well, it has to get in line," I grin. "But I was sure glad the portable stasis beam past this test," I agree. "I must admit I was worried back there for a second."
"Good thing you kept those trigger-happy machos from going bonkers. " She glances back to where the guards are busy raiding the coffee-machine. "They would have killed it. They looked as if they shit their pants..." Shifting her attention back at me, she adds: "It takes some guts to do what you did. I appreciate it, Isis. Just wanted to let you know. You've already proven yourself to be a valuable addition to my staff."
"Are you going to show this footage to the brass tomorrow?"
"Oh, yeah. Absolutely," she laughs, nodding at Skin, and I can't tell whether she was joking or not. "Alright, Lord of the Beasts, we're all set. We've got the popcorn, we've got the drinks, so let the show begin!"
I silently raise my right eyebrow at her somewhat unusually cheerful state of mind, but manage to keep my mouth shut and my gaze fixed on Scylar, who doesn't look as desperate as before but rather bloodthirsty himself, now that the time has finally arrived. I guess he's still believing his pet will make short process of the E.T..
"Do your thing, baby!" he mutters to himself, so low that I'm the only one who can hear it. His fingers fly over the keyboard, and the gate to the main basin opens. "Go get it!"
The barrier's not even up halfway when the alien squeezes it's flexible body through the opening gap and enters the tank. The tiger shark turns too, sensing the difference in its surroundings and having learned to associate the vibrations from the door with the arrival of prey a long time ago. Just one forceful swing of the tail fin spins it around 180° and accelerates it into attack mode. I can't help but feel fascinated by the transformation of the calm 14-foot fish into the biologic equivalence of a sleek, deadly torpedo, set on destroying the intruder in its kingdom.
"Get him, Mac! Get the fucker!" Skin seems to have completely forgotten about what will happen to his precious one once it's taken a bite off the xeno... or maybe he doesn't care. If Mac has to die, he should at least take the thing down with him, right?
Incredibly, the shark accelerates even further, shooting through the water with deadly purpose, nose pointing into the direction of its prey. The alien has dived down to the bottom, all four limbs propped against the tiles. It doesn't move. Is it counting on its camouflage? A concept that's working fine in a metal environment, but here its dark silhouette is as obvious as a roach on a vanilla cake. Maybe they're powerful but dumb? Can't adapt to new situations? From the corners of my eyes I can see Darwin straightening in her seat, eyes wide in excitement. The moment of attack! The shark turns sideways, opening its jaws to the max and extending three rows of saw-blade-like teeth. Several tons of biting pressure are about to crush the alien and rip it apart -- as it catapults itself upward with one violent move. The diagonal angle brings it up against Mac's white belly. Simultaneously the shark's jaws crash shut -- as the alien's claw sinks into its abdomen all the way to the xeno's shoulder!
"No!" Skin's chair flies back as he jumps to his feet. In the back, I can hear the guards gasp. Kira groans. The water turns red right before us as the alien plunges its other arm into Mac, who's spinning around in a sharp angle, his tail fin trashing around. Half of the xeno's head disappears in his flesh. It looks as if the alien's trying to climb into the shark! "Fuck, no!"
"Damn Skin, sit down!" Darwin yells without looking at the agitated biologist.
"God, look at that!" He sounds choked, close to tears. He doesn't even hear her. Or his mind is too absorbed by the scene unfolding in front of us. I didn't know there was so much blood in a fish -- even a fish of this size! 'Cause when the xeno retracts its claws, a dark-red cloud explodes out of the wounds along with strands of flesh and entrails, hiding the most gruesome detail of the slaughter from our view. A wet sound next to me, and then the rising stench of bile and medicine -- Ms. Kitana just spilled her scanty dinner onto the floor. Nobody else seems to notice though, as our collective gaze is glued to the underwater ballet of death.
Earth's perfect predator is done for, that much is clear, 'cause even as it's thrashing around in a frenzy that would shake off every other attacker, its teeth snapping into the red water time and time again without finding its prey, the alien continues to disembowel it, to virtually rip it to pieces. Again it plunges its limbs -- this time all four ... plus its jaws -- into its opponent, tearing, clawing, shredding, making bloody confetti of Mac's organs, and this time its entire head disappears in the ragged hole its teeth have dug. The tiger shark goes into its death throes. Another cloud of chunky red obstructs our view, and I spin around to see the guards in the observation seats gaping at the scenario, their mouths hanging open. Their green-hued faces look almost comical. Another 45° degree spin and I look at Darwin, not knowing whether she even knows we're all still here, despite the stench of puke from the floor. Kira's covering her mouth and dully mumbles something about going to the restroom, but her legs don't carry her as she attempts to get up.
"Look!" I hear Darwin's excited shout. I turn towards the massacre once more. Mac's shredded body's sinking to the floor, the thrashing having ebbed to the last twitches of some nerves which don't know the gruesome truth yet. She didn't mean him though, as her finger points towards the dark silhouette that's shooting through the red mists of the tank -- straight at us. I have but a moment to register the reflection of light on grinning metal jaws -- before it crashes into the security glass at full speed.
"Ouch!" I say, knowing that the impact must have hurt. The glass is indestructible. It doesn't give. It is -- there's a tiny, glistening fissure where the thing slammed into the wall. Before I can even point it out to the others, a high-pitched sound pierces the room -- and the tiny fissure spreads into a cobweb. Pressurized water shoots into the control room. It's clear what's about to happen. "Down!" I dive under the console before I'm even aware of it, knowing full well that running would be futile. The rustling of clothes to my left indicates someone -- probably Darwin -- is following my example -- as the pane bursts into the room with a violent gush of red water -- and all hell breaks loose!
The churning flood of liquid, shark chunks and shards crashes into the room with death-bringing force and fills up the rectangle in an instant, the roaring of the water drowning out all other noises. Without thinking, my hand dives into the pocket of my frock, my fingers closing around the remote control -- probably our only chance for survival. I adjust my eyes to the circumstances, scanning my surroundings as I dive with quick strokes into the direction of the staircase. Little pressure waves behind me. Probably Darwin. A moment later, my head breaks through the surface -- damn that fishy smell! -- and I recognize our problems are even bigger: The pressure door to the corridor has closed -- effectively locking us in with the alien!
A high-pitched scream in the back of the room. Treading water, I turn around and see dark red bubble to the surface where one of the guards was. Probably having been disarmed by the brutal flood, they can't defend themselves, and now the xenomorph's turning this room into a slaughterhouse! One of the remaining two screams and rises his arms, splashing around like a human propeller. The next moment, he's sucked below the surface. I turn around to see Darwin's wide-eyed face before me, her braid swimming behind her head like a wet albino rat. Skin surfaces next to us, eyes wide with panic. I'm amazed I'm still noticing all the tiny detail around me -- like the glass shard sticking in his cheek - without being distracted from the number one question at hand.
"Let's go through the tank!" I shout over the death screams of the second guard, who's somehow made it to the surface again. "We should be able to- " A deep humming interrupts me. My boss's eyes scan the walls. The pumps. The pumps that were installed in this room for just this case of emergency -- but of course nobody thought it possible!
"No!" Darwin says, breathlessly, spitting water, nervously watching the surface. It's already starting to sink. A huge brown body with gaping red holes bobs lifelessly between us and the far end of the control room, obstructing our view. There's still movement. The alien? The remaining guard? "The water will be gone in about two minutes. We-"
"We'll be dead in two minutes!" Skin's voice, freaked out way beyond reasoning. His frightened glance darts from wall to wall. With him here, there's only Kira missing from our staff. Where is she? I dive again and -- see a dark silhouette in the red-hued water, racing towards us with unreal speed! A glimpse of glistening metal teeth. A shrill shriek from the surface, muffled by the water in my ears. They've seen it, too. No way out. We're fucked. We're -- The remote! The pressure wave generated by the alien reaches me -- when I hit all buttons at once, my hand pointing at the approaching xenomorph -- to no effect! The next I know, it's upon us, jaws open wide, claws ready to rip me apart. I face death with open eyes. See the inner jaws shoot toward my brow -- and bounce back from an invisible barrier -- 5 inches from my head! Nothing touches me, not even the waves caused by the alien's full stop directly in front of me. We're inside a protective underwater stasis bubble, something I don't think has been created before! But damn, it can save our fucking hides! How deep does it go? Does it surround us like a real bubble... or is it like the beam I used to bring the alien here... open at the bottom?
Someone's screaming behind me. Skin. The alien's so close now, I could touch it without reaching out at all. It's claws slash at me, want to rip me to pieces as they did with Mac - but again they can't penetrate the bubble around us. Air -- I need air! But that would mean letting it out of my sight! -- No matter! The burning of my -- real -- flesh is drowning out all other sensations now. Becomes imperative. One stroke brings me to the surface, gasping.
"Isis, where-" Darwin, frantic.
"Stay behind me!" We're in the corner next to the locked door at the staircase I can't see the stasis shield, don't know how big it is. "Stay close!" Maybe one third of the water is already gone -- meaning at least two more minutes before our feet will touch the ground again.
"Where is it?" Skin shouts, gagging at the taste of the bloody water he's been swallowing.
"Right here!" No sooner have I finished as the black nightmare surfaces in front of me, dripping, glistening death, lunging at me. Again, it bounces off the invisible barrier and falls back with a splash, uttering an angry squeal. I can't help but jerk back, bumping against someone behind me. They're screaming, both Darwin and Skin. They don't know about --
"It can't get us!" I yell over the angrily hissing and splashing alien. "Stasis shield's active!"
"But-"
"It's surrounding us! We're safe, but just as long as you stay behind me!"
"But how-" Darwin shuts up. It doesn't matter right now. Right now the only thing that matters is that it's keeping us alive. How is a question that's a galaxy away with the alien slashing and biting and tearing like a rabid lion right in front of me. Like Skin's crazy ape in his pet zoo, only infinitely more deadly. It doesn't understand why it can't get to me. I'm right here, defenseless, warm breathing prey -- there's nothing between us! Why can't it just rip me apart and tear the flesh off my metallic bones the way it did with the guards? Smash my colleagues' heads with its inner jaws and feed on their brains? The creatures are still a mystery to us, but if I understand one thing, it's that the thing before me is pissed off big time! Again its jaws slam shut right before my eyes, the attack as futile as the ones before, and it falls back with a big splash. Somewhere in the back of the room, I sense some kind of movement.
"Leary?" I yell, swallowing water. It tastes sickening. If I were human, I'd puke my guts up right now. "Leary! That you?" My feet touch the ground. Yeah! Finally! It can't sneak up from below anymore!
"Hold on!" The guard's voice. "I lost my rifle! I-"
"Don't kill it!" Darwin screams from behind, making my ears ring. She sounds frantic.
"What?" Skin, incredulous. For the first time, I'm in tune with him -- against my human alter ego. Has she lost her mind? He says something else that gets drowned out by the splashing of the water when the xenomorph catapults itself at me with all its might. The water's shallow enough now for it to prop its limps against the floor and add even more ferocity to its attack by catapulting itself upwards-- but the barrier holds. Scylar yelps behind me.
"Don't kill it!" Darwin repeats in case anyone could have misunderstood her. "We've got to catch it alive and return it to-"
"You're fuckin' crazy, lady!" The guard sounds unmistakably mad. From the corners of my eyes, I see him push himself through the belly-deep water -- suddenly ducking to pick something up. When he straightens again, I think I see the bulky shape of the pulse rifle in his hands -- and feel a little better, despite what Darwin says. "The bastard's already killed Raines and Gonzales! I'll be damned if I-"
"You will be damned if you kill it!" Darwin hollers behind me, her tone indicating she means every word! For the first time ever, I question her sanity, but I don't get to think about it longer, since the alien -- fed up with its failure of making confetti of us -- whirls around in the sinking water and decides to go for the more accessible prey in the room -- Leary! I hear his shocked gasp even through the splashing water as the beast closes the 45 feet between them with the speed and determination of a missile.
"Noo-!" Skin's yelling behind me as I jump forward, my fingers fiddling with the controls of the stasis beam to turn off the shield around us and catch the alien in it before it slaughters the guard. Darnit, how did I -- Leary raises the rifle, stumbling back.
"Don't shoot!"
Ha, whatever, boss! She can't seriously expect him to --
"Got it!" I yell, raising my arm and pressing the button -- all at once, when the creature -- impossibly -- jumps up straight into the air to avoid the beam, getting a hold on the ceiling. "Fuck!" How did it know-
"You missed!" the guard shouts, standing with his back to the wall now with nowhere left to go as the alien leaps from the ceiling straight at him. The pulse rifle's angry bellow drowns out its furious shriek and Darwin's scream. Muzzle fire lights the room -- and is deflected by the stasis field around the alien, flashing bright blue under the energy pulse! I got it -- in midair, following its movement as it crashes to the floor, captured! Leary's shot slams into the ceiling, vaporizing cables and circuits, shredding the metal panels over our heads and sending red-glowing shrapnel flying through the room. Sparks rain down on us -- as the light turns off. I'm the only one left standing as the others throw themselves to the floor -- and feel a hot draft pass by my left ear with a high-pitched whine. It's pitch-black except for the flickering from the damaged wiring above us.
"I got it!" I announce. "Stay calm. The situation's under control!" Even though the emergency system has yet to kick in, I see everything. My vision is as exact as ever as I step up to the captured xenomorph and shrink the beam to the smallest size possible. Except for opening its jaws and hissing at me, it can't do a thing. Only now do I dare to take my eyes off it to scan the still dripping room -- and see the guard sitting on his ass, eyes glazed in shock, cradling his weapon probably without even being aware of it. He's probably not even aware of me in the darkness.
"You okay?" I ask, hearing footsteps behind me. He doesn't answer. His mouth is moving, but there's not a sound coming out of it. Above my head, the bright blue emergency lights spring to life, bathing the control room in an atmosphere that feeds the illusion of still being underwater. And damn, it stinks!
"Leary?" It's Darwin behind me, sounding riled like I've never heard her before. "You heard me, didn't you?" I don't get her. If the beam hadn't worked literally at the last second, the guard would be dead. He waited as long as he could -- longer. If the shot had been a hit, the spraying acid would have melted him like candle wax. Reducing her angry words to background noise in my head, I take in the damage. It's bad, and I don't know how she's going to justify this secret test to Kurtz tomorrow. He's going to go ballistic on her for sure! Never mind the disaster with three dead and the destroyed lab -- she didn't ask him. She needs his approval for any such extraordinary undertaking -- and she didn't even bother to ask him. I sure don't wanna be in her shoes now! Lab 4 looks like it's been bombed. It's totally, utterly destroyed. Despite the obvious damage -- the broken window to the tank and the shards crunching under our feet, the sparks and crackling of the electrical fire in the ceiling - the water's made short process of the highly-sophisticated electronics in this room -- millions of credits literally flushed down the drain. Even the wealthy company will be pissed at this. I turn around a bit -- keeping the beam where it was -- and my feet touch something. I look down. It's a severed arm, still sticking in a white frock, which is dark red at the place where the shoulder should be. The nails are painted a glossy pink, and the clenched fingers are still holding a pen. Looks like I found Kira... or at least a part of her.
"Darwin?" I tug at her back without looking at her. "Darwin!" I sense her turning around, angrily inhaling to pass on some of her grief to me, too -- but then she shuts up.
"Oh..." She can't seem to think of more.
"I -- I found Kira," we hear Scylar's unhappy voice from somewhere close to the console. Mac's corpse is partly blocking our view as we look over... then a wet sound as he retches. Skin retches? I would have kept any bet he didn't even have a stomach! He's seen so many gross things in his line of duty, I seriously thought he was one of us -- cold-blooded down to the last cell of his body. Guess I was wrong. We stare over to his dark, bent-over silhouette... and I see something else... or rather, someone else lying between us and Mac. The shredded, bloody mess is barely recognizable as human and looks as if the unhappy guard -- 'cause the bright patches of the remains of his uniform tell me his identity -- got caught in a ventilator. I feel Darwin stiffen next to me. She's detected him, too. She's probably already thinking about how she's going to explain this disaster to Kurtz... and how to keep it from Rosselli and Vox. She'll have to, or we're all in deep shit. But first -- we gotta climb out of it. We're not yet out of the giant stinking mess we maneuvered ourselves into. I turn my head to look at the alien that's still crouching on the floor like a jaguar ready to pounce -- and then frozen in time. It's just waiting for me to fuck up! It's going to be a long way up to the Ivory Tower again... I don't even want to think about being in the same cabin with this killer right now.
"Darwin?" As I raise my eyes to meet her look and get the approval to get going, the surviving guard behind us starts sobbing. The pulse rifle falls to the floor with a dull clatter. I'm surprised to see the tough, big guy break down right in front of us -- until I see what's lying right beside him: It's a head...
"Will you be okay bringing it back, Isis?" my boss asks me with an uncharacteristically husky voice. The full scope of what has happened is probably beginning to dawn on her. Is that fear I'm hearing? She points at the crying Leary with her chin. "I don't think we can count on him to help you." She inhales sharply. I guess she's detected the reason for the guard's nervous breakdown, too. She's always pale, but right now she's so white, the blue hue of the emergency lighting gives her skin the complexion of a corpse. "I'm going to call security and order a team down."
"If Leary didn't torch the circuits," I add skeptically. "Or the water-"
"The alarm systems are water-resistant."
"Yeah, but you don't want Kurtz or our guests to be woken by the wailing of the claxons, right? Wasn't that why we switched to Silent Alarm in the first place?" She stares at me, her silence admittance of her temporary perplexity -- for the first time since I've known her.
"Can't you..."
"Override the emergency system?" I stare down at the alien. It hasn't moved. It can't. But I'm feeling still uncomfortable in its presence... all the more since I can't see the thin stasis layer that's protecting me. Half an hour ago, I made the mistake of severely underestimating it. I'm not going to repeat it. "You know I can. But someone's going to have to keep our killer here in check in the meantime..." I raise an eyebrow, knowing fully well how dicey the situation still is. Scylar's a wreck, we don't have to see him to be clear about that. He's probably shaking so hard right now, he would lose the alien in an instant from his focus. Leary's the same. This leaves only us women for the tough job. And since my artificial nature's making me the only one equipped for the task at hand, it's down to Darwin to use her I.Q. to override her nerves. She knows this. Taking a deep swallow, she raises her hand to take over the stasis control.
"Okay... do your thing, Isis. I'll do mine. Get us help, and get us out of here..." Leaden silence, only broken by the dripping water and the crying of the guard and Skin further back. "We're also going to need some medical personal." I nod and ready myself to hack my way into Phooka's operating system.
"You're okay with this?" I ask one last time with a brief side glance at the creature. Her hand with the remote is steady.
"Yes. Go."
It wasn't the monitor revealing the patient's REM status that startled her. Even with the steady line of hills steadily reaching peaks and descends, indicating that the patient's wakeful period was near, that didn't startle her to the least. Nor was it her watch beeping out loud, reminding her that her shift was almost over. She'd been waiting for it to beep for ages, as it seemed. Her eyes are already dark and puffy from the other endless nights she's had to commit to ever since the patient arrived. No. The beeping didn't surprise her either. And it isn't the fact that the tray of food near her is getting cold too. Lord knows, her stomach has been grumbling all afternoon, demanding food only to be denied by rigorous procedures and reports and this and that. Because, let's face it, this is Phooka. And in Phooka, there is no such thing as, dare she say, a lunch break. Not even the fact that she needs to compose a report to Hikahi in regards to how well this day was (which is a waste of time, if you ask her since today is like yesterday and the day before that and the day before even that) in less than ten minutes from now. No. None of these things listed above bother her. None of them caused her to freeze in place, as if unable to move or think, like right now.
It was the lights turning off only to turn back on with a bright blue color that did it, though. It was the doorlocks in this entire sector automatically cycling and sealing off. It was the yellow light above her flashing on and off, as if she were in some a nightclub. Equally surprising was the electronic voice she's still hearing echo throughout the station, calmly informing the residents of the sudden status of Phooka, talking as if all the people here were as unemotional as that robot bitch, Isis.
Wide eyed like a woman about to meet God, Keisha stands paralyzed, observing the monitor right across her. It's located on the wall adjacent to the doorlock leading to the room. It has an awkward oval shape, like an eye, blinking red and black. Red and black. Red and black. Red and black. Keisha blinks herself, feeling somewhat nauseated. There are over a thousand of these screens, each found in every room. She hates them. Each time she passes by one of these oval shaped monitors she feels like a character in George Orwell's 1984 novel, where Big Brother watched everyone and everything. And why not? The monitor, itself, looks like an eye! She can sometimes swear that it follows her wherever she goes... Up. Down. Left. Right.
Keisha leans slightly toward it, her arms dangling down as if she were a zombie of some sort. Her chocolate features reveal an eerie paleness to them as she continues to study it, eyebrows slightly lifted in a bit of amusement. And grief.
A small red X sign keeps flashing on and off again in the monitor. Red and black. Red and black. Red and black. Keisha blinks again, trying not to get sick again. She takes a deep breath and barely glances at the words below the X sign: "Emergency System Activated."
Can this be a drill? She wonders. Not that this idea would be too far-fetched. They had, what, over ten drills last month alone? Supposedly, it was to prepare all residents of Phooka for any unwelcome events that might arise in the future. Lord, how many times did they get her out of bed because of those stupid drills? Ten? Fifteen times? And each time, Hikahi was always the one to bark at her for not being fast enough. Jerk. Couldn't he see that she was during that time of the month when he yelled at her last time?
She remembers his angry glare, him shouting and talking about some nonsense. Responsibilities, she thinks. Yeah. Responsibilities. And she tried to keep from laughing since he always looks funny when he gets angry. That day was no different. His face turned red like a fresh tomato, ready to burst. His forehead somehow grew long and a bundle of wrinkles were created between his eyebrows as he frowned. His eyes were nothing but small gleaming beads, sparkling by frustration and stress. He yelled and yelled and yelled at her, still keeping that face throughout the lecture. All the while, she tried to tighten the loose knot on her stomach that threatened to collapse if she let it. Ha! It was a helluva moment for her, despite the harshness coming from Hikahi's harsh voice.
The young black woman sighs heavily, a little angry with herself for letting her mind drift off like that, even when something serious could be brewing right now. That's her problem. If she could name one thing she'd like to change about herself, it was that her mind always wandered off, even in the worse of times. If she didn't remind herself from time to time on where she was then she'd be daydreaming than getting any work done. Then again... can anyone blame her? Cooked up here with nowhere else to go can do this to a person. She's also too young for the residents here to take her serious or, as she continuously hopes for, to take interest in her. It's always the same everyday. So-and-so wants this, Keisha. Do this. Do that. And after you're finished, I want you to do this too.
"Never a dull moment here in Phooka," she tells herself very quietly, unaware that her mind is still drifting off.
The hills in the REM monitor next to the patient's bed start to beep. Keisha immediately turns around, cursing herself for forgetting the poor man also inhabiting the room. Quickly, Keisha shuts the oval monitor off, so as not to alert the patient that the station might be experiencing some technical difficulties.
Poor Dwayne, she remembers as she watches in silence the blond-haired man starting to stir from his slumber. After the little visit with Hikahi and Isis, he was worn out. Tired. And yes, she'll admit, he was pissed off too. Who wouldn't be? She may not know the entire story but it doesn't take a genius like that bratty face, Darwin, to realize that things must've been bad for Hicks prior to coming here. He practically looked like a glob of flesh before Hikahi and his team worked their wonders on him. Dwayne was ready to meet his maker for Christ's sake, that's how bad he was! So even simple tasks can be a burden to him. Which leads her to the question: whose idiotic idea was it to put so much strain into a still-recovering man? Was it Hikahi or that robotic slut? Must've been her. Only a cruel person would do such a thing to Hicks. Hicks. Poor Hicks...
PHOENIX
Michael Biehn Archive
Choose skin:
The characters belong to various production/film/TV companies. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
|
|