Acheron
Wierzbowski... Spunkmeyer... Dietrich... Ferro... Frost... Crowe... Drake... Vasquez... Hudson... Apone... They were all dead. And so was Gorman, the rookie Lieutenant. No one ever figured out what happened to the Company man, Carter Burke, but there was no likely chance that he had made it out of Hadley's Hope alive. Even if he had gotten out of the colony compound without running into any of the aliens, he wouldn't have made it far enough to avoid the blast from the exploding atmosphere processor.
No one cared whether Burke had lived or died anyway. No one...
Corporal Dwayne Hicks, the last one left alive of the elite US Colonial Marine team, sat on the metal floor, his back against the metal wall, smoking a cigarette. A white bandage covered the left side of his face and another bandage protected the injury to his chest and left shoulder. He recalled when he had blown the shit out of that last alien. He and Ripley had just gotten into the lift. The door hesitated to close, even after he had punched the button hard several times. Just as the door started to close, the alien launched itself toward them, preventing the door from closing any further. Pure reflex had caused Hicks to raise his shotgun and fire it at the creature. Its head blew open and its acid blood sprayed him, eating through his armor and burning his flesh.
And then Ripley went after the kid. He couldn't figure out how Ripley had held it together down there while he had lost two thirds of his entire team in less than fifteen minutes. She managed to locate Newt and rescued her, while being pursued by what Ripley later described to him as the mother of all aliens. The alien queen bitch responsible for laying all the eggs in the colony's atmosphere processor.
Things had started looking good once Bishop had gotten the second dropship down from the Sulaco and they were headed off, just as the atmosphere processor blew. Unfortunately the concussion from the blast literally shook the dropship, damaging it. Bishop was forced to land it back on the planet. He had glided the dropship down, trying to get as close to one of the other atmosphere processors as possible.
And this is where they were now. In the dropship with nowhere else to go. The good news was that Bishop patched to the Sulaco and a distress call had been sent. The bad news was that they had to lay low until the rescue team arrived. The worse news was that there were aliens crawling all over the place. Apparently the colonists at this particular atmosphere processor had also been exposed. Hicks and Ripley had managed to kill off a few that had wandered too close to the dropship, and every once in a while they would make their presence known again.
It was quiet for the moment and Hicks looked down at the sleeping child curled up on the floor against him, her head resting on his lap. Every once in a while Newt squirmed and whined in her sleep and Hicks found himself reaching down to caress her head. Then she became quiet again. It was an awkward moment for him, not being used to this. Kids... this wasn't his cup of tea... this was for like... married people or something.
The drugs were starting to wear off and he was feeling that god-awful overwhelming pain again. He looked up and saw Ripley talking to Bishop in hushed tones. Then he followed Bishop with his uncovered eye as the android walked up to him. He knew the look and knew that Bishop was about to tell him something he wasn't going to like. When the android didn't say anything, Hicks turned his eye away. "Spill it, Bishop. What is it?"
"We only have enough food and water to last one more day. That doesn't even include my portion."
"Shit..."
"Ripley said she would go out to the processor and see if she could find something."
Hicks looked back up again and then turned to Ripley as she walked up to stand beside Bishop. "No way... you're not going."
"I did it before, Hicks," she said. "I can do it again."
It didn't escape Hicks that she had already reverted to last names, just like before. She wasn't calling him Dwayne anymore. He moved Newt off of him so he could get up. She stirred and came awake. "I'm going," he said with conviction.
Ripley frowned and looked at him, putting her hands on her hips. "Not likely. Look at you."
Hicks yanked off the bandage from over his left eye. He couldn't see shit from it. Everything was blurred. "You have to stay here with the kid. She needs you more than she needs me." He walked over to the weapons rack and removed a pulse rifle. He grabbed three extra clips and shoved them into the utility pockets of his fatigues.
Bishop came up behind him. "Everyone seems to forget that I'm even here. I can go, you know. They might not bother me."
"Bishop, you have to stay here in case there's any communication from the rescue team. You're the only one who can guide them to our location. Besides, we haven't seen anymore bugs in the last two days. Maybe we got them all." He grabbed a cloth satchel and slung it over his shoulder.
"Hicks, please be careful," said Ripley. "Don't take any chances. We really need you."
Hicks turned to Ripley. Newt had gotten up on her feet and was now hugging Ripley's waist. He stared into the kid's blue eyes. She stared back wide-eyed and terrified. Then he looked back up at Ripley. "I'll be back real soon."
Bishop hit the button to lower the side ramp. Hicks jumped off before it touched the ground. Then he turned to watch the small ramp go back up.
The wind was howling loudly and it was pouring rain, as usual. It hadn't stopped raining ever since they had first arrived on Acheron. He crouched down and scanned the immediate area. There was no movement anywhere except some debris rolling around, being pushed by the winds. He stood up and started walking forward in the direction of the atmosphere processor, which was only about three hundred yards ahead.
The crumpled and mutilated bodies of dead aliens were strewn around. Even though Hicks knew they were dead, the mere sight of them made chills shoot up his spine. They were hideous creatures out of one's worst nightmare. When Ripley had first described the creatures to him and the rest of the team, everyone had misjudged the seriousness of what Ripley had told them. They had been overconfident and had gotten their asses kicked. It was a harsh reality check and Hicks wasn't about to underestimate them again... ever...
Two hundred yards to go...
Hicks glanced left and right and then turned completely around in a circle, checking to make sure nothing was sneaking up behind him. More alien bodies blocked his path and he moved around them, giving them lots of room. Again, they were dead, but he didn't even want to come within five feet of them. He turned completely around again, his pulse rifle held up and ready.
One hundred yards to go...
Hicks glanced back toward the grounded dropship and then turned back around to the compound as he approached the doors. The double doors were lying partially open, having been nearly ripped from their hinges. He switched on his flashlight and panned the beam around the interior before entering. The coast was clear. He pushed one of the doors aside and it made a loud creaking sound and then it fell with an even louder metallic crash. Hicks froze and waited, watching with his right eye because his left eye couldn't focus.
Nothing came charging down the corridor. Hicks began to have high hopes that maybe they had indeed exterminated the bugs from this facility. He had no idea how many colonists were at this particular station. But the station was smaller than Hadley's Hope, so maybe there hadn't been as many victims to spawn the bugs.
He stepped through the doorway and walked silently down the corridor. The first door on the left revealed a small communications office. One glance told Hicks that none of the equipment was usable. It had been shot up and some of it fried by alien blood.
The next room was another office. So were three other rooms that he just passed without inspecting. Hicks went deeper into the compound and came across what looked like the mess hall. After a quick glance around, he found the food and drink dispensers. He hit the drink dispenser first, punching repeatedly for water bottles. The bottles flew out of the shelf and scattered all over the floor. He chased after them and stuffed them into the cloth sack he had slung over his shoulder. There were only eight bottles. The machine had stopped spitting them out.
Hicks moved to the food dispenser and paused to let the issue sink in. How was he going to collect food that was already processed and cooked? He tried to read the labels, but some of them were already faded from the constant dripping of water coming from holes in the ceiling. So he decided to just push buttons and see what he got. Beef stew, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, sausage links, scrambled eggs, baked beans, fried chicken, salisbury steak, mushrooms, onion rings, french fries and cornbread.
The cornbread reminded him of Spunkmeyer... 'It's good for you, boy. Eat it.'
Hicks grabbed trays and piled food on them. He didn't care what ended up mixed together. It was all food. Then he covered the trays with other trays and using ducktape that he had in his pocket, he wrapped it around the trays so they stayed together. He threw the seven trays he had made up into the sack. That was it. He was out of there, heading back the way he came.
Just as he reached the unhinged doors leading to the outside, he heard something. He turned slightly, his pulse rifle up. As he slowly and quietly lowered his bag of treasures to the floor, he turned completely around to face the corridor. The sound was coming from one of the offices. It almost sounded like a whimper, someone crying. He slowly crept forward, moving toward the sound.
When he entered the office, he slowly moved around to the other side of the desk. Lying on the floor, on its side was a dog. A golden retriever. Hicks crouched down and the dog whimpered, lifting its head to lick his hand. In a corner, about four feet away was a puppy. It was cowering behind some boxes. Hicks turned back to the dog in front of him, seeing the marks on its face, knowing that it had been in contact with a facehugger. The dog whimpered and Hicks ran his hand over its head, scratching behind its ear. He needed to do something. The poor thing was going to soon suffer through having a creature burst from its chest and then there would be another alien running loose.
He made an adjustment on his pulse rifle and placed the muzzle against the dog's head. He had never killed a dog before and bile rose to his throat. But it had to be done. He had to put it out of its misery. "Sorry, girl." He pulled the trigger. A single shot went into the dog's head and it died instantly. He wanted to puke and quickly turned away, focusing his attention on the puppy. "Hey, come on, little guy... com'ere."
The puppy whimpered, wanted to come out, but hesitated. Hicks extended his hand, knowing that it smelled like food after having grabbed it from the machines in the mess hall. Finally the puppy edged out from behind the boxes and came up to his hand, feverishly licking his fingers. Hicks picked up the puppy and carried him out of the office.
Then there was another sound. An all too familiar sound. He reached the doors and bent to pick up his sack. He no sooner stepped out when two aliens came bounding up the corridor toward him.
Hicks turned and ran backward, firing his pulse rifle at them. The aliens screeched and even as they fell, two others burst through the doors. Hicks turned and ran... then turned back around, firing again. More aliens poured out of the facility. Where the hell were they coming from? How could there be so many more of them?
Ripley saw Hicks coming. She saw the three aliens hot on his heels. "Bishop, open the hatch!" She ran in back and grabbed a pulse rifle, slamming in the clip quickly and then running to the hatch.
Hicks continued to run. His pulse rifle was out of ammo. Holding the rifle in one hand, the sack of goodies and the puppy in the other, he didn't have any hands left to load a new clip. And even if did, by the time he loaded it, the aliens would be on him. He saw the hatch coming down. He saw Ripley step out with a pulse rifle in her hands.
"Hicks, get down!" she yelled.
Hicks dove for the ground and Ripley let loose over his head. He looked back and they were still coming. He tossed his rifle away and used three limbs to crawl his way forward, scrambling to get to the hatch.
Ripley continued to fire until there were no more aliens coming out of the compound. She waited with her pulse rifle ready until Hicks picked himself up off the ground.
Hicks moved toward the hatch and slid passed Ripley. "Thanks."
Inside the dropship, Hicks handed Bishop the sack. "Bottled water and whatever I could get out of the food dispensers. It's not pretty, but it's edible." Then he turned toward Newt, who was sitting on the floor, her legs curled up and her arms wrapped around her knees. He walked over to her and came down on one knee as he put the golden retriever puppy in her lap. The kid smiled as she hugged the puppy and the sight of her smile made his heart gush. Both Bishop and Ripley came up to stand beside him as he got up.
"Where'd that come from?" asked Ripley.
"I found it in one of the offices. The mother's dead."
"You do realize that we now have another mouth to feed," said Bishop in an unemotional manner.
Hicks turned to Bishop. The android was right. He hadn't thought about that. All he had thought about was wanting to bring a smile to the kid's face. Ripley put her hand on his shoulder. She didn't have to say anything. He knew she thought he had done a good thing.
"Is it a girl or a boy puppy?" asked Newt.
Hicks crouched down in front of her again and picked up the puppy. "Let's see... " He pretended to be looking at the puppy's face, but he glanced down below its belly. "It's a boy puppy."
"What should I call him?" she asked Hicks.
"I don't know. He was a brave little puppy, though. You should give him a brave name." Hicks stood up and started to move away.
"How about Cujo?" suggested Bishop.
Hicks gave Bishop a frown as he walked away.
Bishop shrugged. "It was just a joke."
"Leave the jokes for your nightclub act, Bishop," Hicks tossed over his shoulder. He walked toward the front of the dropship and sat down in the pilot's chair. His cigarettes were lying on the console. He reached for one and lit it, then stared out the window at the compound. How many more aliens lurked inside, waiting for them to make a wrong move? He had nearly lost the battle out there. If it hadn't been for Ripley.
Then Hicks saw movement among the alien bodies. One of them was still alive. It turned to look at the dropship, probably looking right at him and opened its mouth in what Hicks imagined to be an angry hiss. "Yeah, fuck you, too." He watched as the creature turned and crawled back into the compound.
Newt came up and sat down in the seat behind him. She held the puppy in her arms. "Did you ever have a dog?"
"No, I never had any pets."
"If you ever had a dog, what would you name him?"
Hicks knew what she was trying to do. She wanted him to name the puppy for her. He ran a few names through his mind, names he had heard before. A friend of his back in fifth grade had a dog. "Hm, if I had a dog, I think I'd name him... Travis."
"Can I call him Travis?"
Hicks smiled at the kid. "Sure. He looks like a Travis, don't you think?"
Newt smiled and nodded her head, hugging the puppy.
"Go take him in back and see if he'll eat something. He must be pretty hungry." Hicks watched as the kid hopped off the seat and carried the puppy in back. He turned back to look out the window, dragging on his cigarette. He was glad he had made somebody smile.
Six days later, the rescue team finally arrived and picked them up. They were taken to the Sulaco and left on their own.
The Sulaco was soon homeward bound, controlled by the navigation system of the ship's computer, which had been programmed by Bishop. It's three human passengers, one dog and one android slept peacefully in cryo-chambers, oblivious to the warping of time as the ship moved through hyperspace.
Gateway, the space station above the Earth, received the Sulaco's signal two days before its intended arrival and they made preparations to shuttle to it when it finally positioned itself in Earth's orbit.
Gateway
Hicks was restless. He hated being confined in this sterile white room, in this sterile white bed. It made him think too much and his thoughts always went there. To that planet. Always seeing his team, his friends, being attacked in his mind's eye. Always seeing that alien splatter when he shot the hell out of it and its acid blood spraying him, eating through his chest armor.
Hicks closed his eyes at the memory of seeing the dead colonists hanging from the walls, held in place by secreted alien resin, their chest cavities blown open by the creatures that had burst through. He prayed those of his team that had gotten captured, and not instantly killed, didn't have to go through that kind of death, that the colony's atmosphere processor had exploded before that, sparing them the agony.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door chime. "Yeah, come in." When the door slid open, he was surprised to see two people he didn't think he'd ever see again.
Ripley and Newt stepped in. "Hey there," said Ripley as she approached the side of Hicks' bed. "How're you feeling?"
"I dunno. How do I look?" he asked.
"Not too bad. For someone who's gone through hell and back. How's your eye?"
"It's okay. They fixed it. I have to put these god-awful drops in it every four hours. I swear I can taste the stuff when it goes in my eye."
"But we made it out alive."
Hicks nodded his head and looked down.
"Hicks, I never got a chance to say this, but I'm sorry about your team."
"Yeah, so am I," he said slowly, still looking down.
"What're you going to do when you get out of here?" asked Ripley, trying to lighten the somber mood in the room.
He looked back up at her. "I've been promoted to Sergeant. I get my own team."
"Congratulations," said Ripley with a smile. She was unsure if he was happy about the promotion or not. "I'm glad for you."
"So what're you going to be doing?" he wanted to know.
"I'm going home. Maybe start growing vegetables."
When she laughed, Hicks realized she was joking. He couldn't picture her being a farmer. Newt had been standing slightly behind Ripley the whole time and she tugged on Ripley's shirt several times.
"Oh, Newt wanted to say hello." Ripley lifted her up to sit on the side of the bed.
"Hey, kid," said Hicks as Newt turned to face him, her blue eyes wide and bewildered. He smiled at her and she reluctantly returned it. "How's Travis?"
"He's okay. They wouldn't let me bring him in here," she said sadly. Then she held her hand open.
Hicks looked down at a silver chain with a pendant on it. The pendant was also made of silver and was shaped like a small lizard. "What's this?"
"It's my good luck charm. It's a newt, just like me. You can have it so you can have good luck, too."
Hicks looked up at her, deeply into her blue eyes. "I can't take your good luck charm, kid. It came in handy for you. You should keep it."
"But I want you to have it."
Hicks glanced up at Ripley, who raised her eyebrows and motioned for him to take it. "Okay. I'll take it." He took the chain and slipped it over his head so the pendant rested on his bandaged chest. "Thanks. I'll wear it all the time."
"Promise?"
"Yeah, I promise." The kid smiled at him and reached over to give him a hug. He hugged her back, even though his shoulder was on fire from the movement. Then she pulled away and hopped off the bed. Hicks had a feeling that he wasn't going to see her again. He didn't think he was ever going to see Ripley either. He was going to miss seeing them both. But the memories were painful and seeing them would only bring back the memories, the bad ones, at least.
Ripley moved closer and bent down to kiss him on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, Dwayne."
"Yeah, Ellen, you too."
Ripley held her hand out to the girl. "Let's go Newt. We have a shuttle to catch."
Newt turned back to Hicks and waved with a smile. "Bye."
"Bye," he said, holding his hand up in response.
After they left and the door slid closed, Hicks lifted the charm hanging on the end of the chain and inspected it curiously. "Good luck charm, huh? We'll see about that."
Thirteen years Later
The wind was howling on the surface of the desolate planet known as LS-119, although it was referred to it as Deadsville, only because there was nothing living on it at the moment, other than a few hives here and there. The planet had been evacuated several months ago after the first bug sightings. The infestation needed to be eliminated before the planet's residents could return.
Over the sound of the wind was the sound of a dropship. It circled over a tall mound of rocks about a hundred yards away from an abandoned town.
The pilot of the dropship looked down from the side window. "Holding steady at 50 feet."
A female voice responded to her. "Almost there. Hold tight." In the background was the sound of gunfire and screeching.
Beneath the rock mound, inside a cave, four figures, dressed in heavy armor and helmets and carrying state of the art lethal weaponry, swept the tight corridor with gunfire. For every bug they killed, another took its place. But the small squad continued to advance, carefully stepping over the dead creatures, avoiding the pools of acid blood.
The alien drones began to retreat, heading back to protect their queen. They blocked the entrance to the nest, but it didn't discourage the squad of humans. They sprayed the drones with fire, burning the creatures alive. Once the squad was satisfied that their path was now unhindered, they advanced, pushing aside the charred remains of the drones.
The leader of the squad moved ahead of the others, stepping over a dead drone, or at least what was thought to be dead. The drone revived and grabbed the leader's ankle.
The leader unsheathed a machete and cleanly sliced the creature's arm at the elbow. As the acid blood ate into the steel of the machete, it was tossed aside by the leader, who then bent to remove the creature's lifeless hand, still clinging to the leader's ankle.
The alien queen, suspended in the air over her gigantic egg sack, screeched in fury at the death of her drones. Her arms flailed angrily at the approaching human. The other humans remained behind, but held their weapons up in preparation.
The leader moved closer to the queen and after removing the helmet, a torrent of blonde hair cascaded down, falling passed her shoulders. She smiled in victory at the queen. "And so it ends for you today." She lifted her pulse rifle and sprayed fifty rounds into the queen's face.
The bullets ripped the queen's head to shreds. The queen haphazardly fell from her suspended net and crushed a dozen of her own eggs beneath her. The other three humans moved forward and began to spray the remaining eggs with fire, burning everything in the alien chamber.
The pilot glanced down toward the rock mound again as she continued to circle the dropship. "How's it going down there?"
The female voice returned. "It's clean. They're all dead. We're ready for evac."
The pilot smiled. "Another one bites the dust. I'm coming down."
The dropship landed several yards away from the mound. The four figures stepped out of a hole in the mound and approached the drop ship. They clambered up the ramp and the dropship immediately lifted off.
Orbiting the lifeless planet was a submarine-shaped ship, decked out in battle guns and antenna. The Judgement looked battered and worn on the outside, but the inside was even worse. It was rusted and needed a major cleaning. None of its crew seemed to mind.
The dropship lifted into its cradle beneath the belly of the Judgement and came to its final resting place in the docking bay. When the ramp lowered, the four figures and the pilot exited. They made their way out of the bay through a door that noisily slid open upon their approach.
The woman was the leader of the squad of alien fighters. She was tall, a good head taller than some of her counterparts. Most men were intimidated by her height and she used it to her full advantage. But then again, she intimidated most men in general. By her sultry looks, by her piercing pale blue eyes, by her lean and muscular physique, by her chosen profession: bug hunter.
She made her way down the main corridor, continuing on as the rest of her crew turned down various other corridors. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll on her. When was the last time she had slept? Thirty-six hours ago? Which was about seventeen hives ago. Seventeen hives and seventeen queens on that planet. A more than typical infestation. The same question haunted her mind over and over again. How did these things get from one planet to another?
Before she had a chance to reach her quarters, she heard running footsteps behind her.
"Lieutenant, Lieutenant... Gateway wants to know the situation on LS-119. They want to know when the residents can return to their homes."
She turned around to face Roth, her communications officer. "I told Packer to relay the message. Can't anybody do anything right on this ship?"
"Sorry, Lieutenant, but Mr Packer has already retired and..."
"Don't say it, Roth, don't say that you didn't want to disturb him because you don't seem to have a problem disturbing me. Now get over to his quarters and get the report from him. You got that?"
"Yes, Lieutenant."
She sighed heavily and waited until Roth dejectedly walked away before she turned toward the door to her quarters. When she stepped closer, the door slid open. She began removing her armor as she walked inside, leaving it wherever she let it drop, her eyes falling on her prized possession.
Like a ritual, she walked up to the gargantuan creature standing in the corner of her large chamber and touched its chin. The creature was dead, of course. She would never have allowed a living one on her ship. This was her trophy. Her very first queen kill. To have it so close to her made her fear the deadly creatures less.
The alien queen was a perfect specimen. Her head was lowered and her mouth was forever frozen open, revealing her jagged, razor-sharp teeth. If she had been alive, anyone this close to her would have been dead or been a host for her young.
The door chirped and the Lieutenant sat down in a chair in front of the queen. "Come in." The door slid open and Bishop entered quietly. She turned to look at him. "I hope you have good news, Bishop. I'm in the mood for some."
"Well, it's good news and bad news." Bishop walked up to her, glancing up at the immobile queen. Even though he was an android, he still got creeped out looking at the alien queen, always remembering how one of them had literally ripped his arms out during one of his missions with the Lieutenant.
"Give me the good news first," she said.
"I found him."
"And the bad news?"
"He doesn't want to be found."
"Can you elaborate on that?" she asked impatiently with a sigh. "Whatta you mean he doesn't want to be found?"
Bishop shrugged and quietly continued. "He's using an assumed name, Elliot Norris."
She smiled to herself, finally turning away from the queen. "Elliot?"
"I checked his file. It's his father's name. And Norris was his mother's maiden name. So it wasn't that difficult to find him."
"And you know where he is right now?"
"Yes. My source says he's in this vicinity."
"Change course. We're going."
"I'll inform the helm." Bishop headed for the door.
"And bring me his file." She got up and started to walk toward the bathroom and a much-needed shower.
"Rebecca..."
Rebecca "Newt" Jorden paused at the entrance and turned back to Bishop. He was the only one she tolerated calling her that. No one else dared call her by her given name for fear of getting a boot shoved down their throat and not in a very nice manner either. But Bishop had been like a father to her. He had always been there while she had been growing up, even when she had had that blowout with Ripley over her wanting to join the Colonial Marines. Bishop had gone with her. Ripley had wanted Newt to remain on Earth, get a good education and work in some office, doing some high-priced fancy desk job. She wanted no part of it. She needed to be out there, fighting her demons. Doing this job made her nightmares almost bearable. It gave her a sense of purpose and gratification to know that she had prevented future human deaths by disposing of any alien hives that were reported to her.
"He's not who you think he is."
Newt looked up at him, her thoughts drifting back to the present. "Why do you say that?"
"He's second on the most wanted list. He appears to take pleasure in ridding the universe of those involved in criminal activities, or at least those that rub him the wrong way."
She shrugged. "So? What's wrong with that?"
"Well, vigilantism is still against the law in most parts of the populated universe."
Newt shrugged again. "His chosen profession means nothing to me."
"He's unreliable."
"I've known better people that weren't very reliable."
"And he's also quite unstable."
"So am I," she said dryly as she walked into the bathroom.
Somewhere on Aquifer
Aquifer was known as the riff raff capital of the Omega system. It was home to mercenaries, hoodlums, crime lords and anyone involved in anything illegal. It was also the favorite hangout of the Centurions, a species that resembled humans in most ways, except for their eyes and their teeth.
The Centurions and mankind had run into each other over a decade ago. Although a union was established between the two races after a five-year feud, there was still suspicion about the Centurions and they weren't very trust-worthy.
This was the reason Corporal Charles Packer refused to allow his Lieutenant to go without the squad.
"I'm going alone, Packer," Newt stated firmly as she checked the clips on two pulse guns.
"This is no place for a decent woman," he argued.
"Oh spare me the lecture, Packer. You know I can take care of myself."
"Why are you risking your life for this nobody anyway?"
"Because we need him."
"We need him? What the hell do we need a mercenary for?"
Newt strapped the holsters with the pulse guns to each of her thighs. She ignored his question. "I gotta go."
Packer tagged along behind her as she made her way down the dropship ramp. When he continued to walk with her, Newt stopped abruptly and turned to him, grabbing the front of his uniform. He saw the determined look in her steely blue eyes and shivered.
"I won't say it again, Packer. I'm going alone." She released him roughly.
Packer threw up his arms and stepped back. "Fine. You're the boss."
As Newt walked down the dirt street, she glanced left and right from the corners of her eyes, feeling the stares of those standing around the buildings. The sun was starting to go down on the port city and the wind kicked up the dirt, blowing her cape behind her wildly. Somewhere to her left, several shots were fired and a scream followed. No one seemed to care.
The neon sign above the entrance read "The Louvre". This was the place Bishop had told her about. Newt inspected the other neon images of women with exaggerated assets. This place was obviously nothing like the museum in Paris, back on Earth. She wondered who had thought of that name to call such a place.
A drunk staggered out of the entrance and almost collided into her. Upon seeing her, he gave her a toothy grin, or at least whatever was left of his decayed teeth. She tilted her head at him impatiently when he leered and wiggled his tongue at her in a suggestive manner. Then she unsheathed a ten-inch blade from her belt, holding it up just as suggestively.
"Beat it, asshole before I chop that tongue off and feed it to my man-eating tiger."
The drunk thought better and quickly staggered away. Newt re-sheathed her knife and looked back up at the sign. Maybe Packer had been right. This was no place for a woman, or at least not one who didn't sell her assets to the crap on this planet. She realized that every man in the place would want to sample what she had. Before she changed her mind, Newt pushed the door open and stepped in.
The lounge was crowded. Every table and chair was taken. It was dark, except for the center of the room where brightly colored lights flashed on a dance floor. Five scantily clad women were dancing in unison at the center. They danced to the beat of loud, garish rock music and all eyes were on them.
Until Newt walked in...
She eyed the staring men in the lounge. Her hands were at her sides, her fingers twitching, itching to pull her guns out. Her Colonial Marine uniform held no authority in a place like this, so she was on her own defenses.
In a dark corner booth, a sole figure wearing worn snow goggles and a cowl over his head glanced up from his drink. He could sense the change in the mood surrounding him. A woman had walked in the door. She was wearing a Colonial Marine uniform. His first thought was that some scum had recognized him and alerted the authorities. But they sent a woman instead, a woman to do a man's job. He smiled to himself and shook his head, taking a drag out of his cigarette.
Newt finally decided that she wasn't going to get anywhere just standing around. He was here and she needed to find him. So she slowly began to move around the perimeter of the dance floor, eyeing everyone. After awhile she wasn't sure who she was looking for, what he even looked like. It was too dark.
The stranger in the corner booth kept his face hidden in the shadow of his cowl, but his eyes followed her every move through his night-vision goggles, which permitted him to see everything. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and on top of it, she was drop dead gorgeous. He admired her courage for walking into a place like this.
Newt stopped near the bar and surveyed the men sitting there, all of them gawking in her direction. "I'm looking for Elliot Norris!"
They all turned to look at each other and then in unison they all started laughing rather hysterically, like she had just told them the funniest joke in the universe. The music continued to play, the dancers continued to dance. No one responded to her.
Newt frowned to herself. She wasn't going to get anywhere in here. But she was pissed off to no end. She approached the bar, furiously pushing an unsuspecting sole out of her way. "Scotch."
The bartender stared at her for a moment. When she put money on the bar, he poured her the shot and slid it toward her. Newt picked up the shot glass and gulped down the scotch, savoring the heat that burned down her throat. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and started to walk away from the bar.
The guy that she had earlier shoved out of her way stepped in front of her. He gave her a sneer. She stared him down, her brows knitted together in a threatening fashion. The guy stared back at her. He started to reach for his pistol.
"That's right," Newt said with disdain. "Go for the gun. I haven't killed anyone in the last hour. Should be fun."
The guy decided to lower his hand and then he stepped aside.
"Smart move," she said as she moved away from him, glancing back to make sure that he didn't change his mind again.
As she walked along the edge of the dance floor, the five women continued to dance. Newt ignored them, even after one of them circled her erotically. She was going to kill Bishop for making her come down here for nothing. It was obvious that the man she sought was not in the place. She headed for the entrance only to see that five tall Centurions had stepped into her path, forcing her to stop in her tracks. She hated Centurions, having had one too many confrontations with them that all ended badly. For them. Sighing heavily, she folded her arms and stared them down.
The one in the middle spoke first, his voice booming, even over the loud music. "You have no business here, Marine."
"Fine," she said as she unfolded her arms and started forward again, "I was just leaving anyway." Newt intended to just walk right through them, or over them, whatever it was going to take. But she soon saw that they weren't going to budge.
And it didn't look like she was going to get any help from anyone else in the place. The one in the middle started walking toward her. Newt slowly began to back away, her fingers close to her guns. She would use them, if the need arose.
Then she backed up into a wall. She didn't have to look back to know that it was no wall, that it was another Centurion. Making it a total of six. Before she had a chance to react, the one behind her had quickly taken her guns from their holsters. But she wasn't about to give in that easily. She whirled around and slammed the palm of her hand into the front of the Centurion's throat. The Centurion was taken off guard and his arms went in the air before he fell back.
Newt watched helplessly as her precious guns went sailing in opposite directions, disappearing into the crowd on either side. Then someone grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms down. The Centurion she had knocked down was back up on his feet and moving toward her. She pushed upward with her feet, bringing them up to slam into his face. The motion forced her holder to loosen his grip on her and she took advantage of it, turning so she was facing her attacker. She smiled and slammed both her hands into his face, bloodying his nose.
The stranger watched the exchange with growing interest from his dark booth. The girl had balls that just didn't quit. But he knew she was no match for half a dozen Centurions. They'd soon overpower her no matter what moves she possessed.
Newt turned to her next attacker. When he advanced, she kicked him in the gut, only to be blindsided by another Centurion with a hard fist to her face. She went down hard on all fours. The Centurion that had punched her delivered a kick into her gut and she howled in pain, spitting up blood.
"Hey!"
Newt looked up and saw a dark clad figure standing at the edge of the dance floor. His head was covered with a cowl and he wore snow-goggles. Her vision was slightly blurred from the blow to her face and she wasn't sure if the stranger was even human.
The Centurions all turned to face him.
"Now is that any way to treat a lady?" he asked the Centurions.
The leader was holding Newt's head up by her hair. He abruptly released her and moved forward, sizing up this new opponent. "You want a piece of me?"
The stranger pushed the cowl off his head and pulled off his goggles. "Yeah, I want a piece of you."
Newt gasped when the stranger had revealed himself. It was him. It was Dwayne Hicks. She studied his features. He still looked the same, maybe a little older, his hair a little longer. But there was something else there, something she had never seen in him before. Something dark. Something deadly. Like a predator targeting his prey.
Hicks wanted to take out the leader, but the Centurion stepped aside and motioned for his men to take over. No problem. He'd just have to take out all of them. He wasn't prejudice, he just hated Centurions. Six less Centurions in the universe wouldn't be a great loss. As he slowly moved to the center of the dance floor, the dancers quickly scattered in every direction.
The crowd of onlookers began to place bets amongst themselves. They knew what the Centurions were capable of, but most of them also knew what Elliot Norris was capable of. None of them however knew that Elliot Norris was Dwayne Hicks. None of them knew his background. They just knew he was bad news of the dangerous kind.
Hicks kept his face lowered, watching from the tops of his eyes as the first Centurion approached. He also sensed one approaching from somewhere behind him. When the Centurion tried to grab him from behind, Hicks ducked at the last second and moved behind the Centurion, wrapping his arm around his neck. He wrapped his other arm around the Centurion's head and gave a yank until the Centurion's neck snapped. The Centurion fell in a heap and Hicks stepped over him, completely forgotten.
Newt got up on her feet when she saw that the Centurions were no longer paying any attention to her. But she remained rooted, unable to take her eyes off Hicks.
The Centurion who had first approached from in front of Hicks was now coming at him head on, bending to ram him in the stomach with his head. Hicks kicked out, striking the Centurion in the face, then rammed his fist into the Centurion's stomach. The Centurion fell to his knees. Hicks stepped behind the Centurion, grabbing him by the back of the neck and placed his knee on his spine. The sharp sound of the Centurion's spine snapping rang loud enough to be heard above the loud music. Everyone cringed. Hicks released the limp Centurion and nonchalantly smoothed the wrinkles off the sleeves of his long coat.
The Centurion leader was seething. "Kill him!"
The next Centurion advanced while another came from behind. The same ploy again. This time they attacked at the same time. One grabbed Hicks from behind while the other slammed a fist into his stomach, then a fist into his face. Hicks used the Centurion behind him for leverage and he lifted himself up, wrapping his ankles around the other Centurion's neck. Another broken neck was the result. Still horizontal, Hicks spun himself in mid air out of the Centurion's grip and as he came down on his feet, he lunged forward and slammed his forehead against the Centurion's head. The Centurion staggered backward.
Another Centurion advanced, having produced a large double-edged saber and circled Hicks. Hicks sneered as if he was enjoying all of this. The Centurion attacked, swinging the saber at Hicks, who ducked. Another swing and he ducked again. Hicks grabbed the Centurion's wrists and swung him around hard. The saber struck the Centurion he had given a concussion to, slicing his stomach open, right beside Newt. She gasped when she realized that the Centurion's blue blood had splattered all over her face.
Hicks, still holding the wrists of the Centurion, dragged him toward Newt, who jumped and stepped back involuntarily. He yanked the saber from the Centurion's hands and held it out to her. "Here, hold this." She just stared at him, so he shoved the saber into her hand, dragged the Centurion away by the wrists and then released him. In the blink of an eye, Hicks produced nine-inch blades in both hands, like they had suddenly materialized out of nowhere, like magic. He straddled the Centurion on the floor and crossing his wrists, he brought the daggers against the Centurion's throat and with a double stroke, slashed deeply into him, blue blood splattering everywhere. When Hicks got up, he pushed the Centurion with his foot. The Centurion rolled toward a table. The occupants of the chairs surrounding the table quickly scrambled out of the way, trying to avoid being hit by the massive dead Centurion.
The crowd was going crazy. He twirled the knives twice before turning to face the remaining Centurion, the leader.
Newt glanced around at the crowd. The bets were now going in Hicks' favor.
"I'll kill you!" yelled the Centurion leader.
"Give it your best shot," replied Hicks confidently, momentarily wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
The Centurion dragged two of his own blades out of his belt. The two of them circled, sizing each other up. The Centurion lunged at Hicks, daggers swinging. Hicks blocked each of the Centurion leader's blows, sparks flying from the clashing metal. The Centurion backed off. Hicks smiled, motioning him forward with his blades. The Centurion rushed forward again and again Hicks blocked each of the Centurion's rapid dagger swings. Then the Centurion kicked out, hitting Hicks in the kneecap. The distraction was all the Centurion needed to slash with the knife and managing to slice the side of Hicks' arm. Hicks kicked out with his left foot, knocking one of the knives out of the Centurion's hand, then slammed the back of his dagger into the Centurion's eye. Stunned, the Centurion staggered backward and grabbed his remaining knife with both hands, holding it out in front of him in a defensive posture.
Hicks took a moment to glance down at the tear in his coat sleeve. He looked back up at the Centurion leader who was trying to get his bearings. Hicks twirled the blades in his hands several more times. This caused the crowd to cheer him on.
Newt was mesmerized by the pure aggression Hicks exhibited, the brutality in the way he killed his victims. He seemed to be enjoying the battle, thirsting for more blood. She had always thought of the former Colonial Marine as levelheaded, straight-laced and by the book. At least that's how she remembered him. He had left a lasting impression on her. She had been so impressed by him when she was a kid that he was the main reason she had joined the Colonial Marines. But her last impression of him had been thirteen years ago. A lot had happened to her in thirteen years. A lot had obviously happened to him to make him so bloodthirsty and earnestly sought after by the authorities.
Hicks waited for the Centurion to attack. The attack came and he whirled his blades, first blocking the knife the Centurion held and then delivering a criss-cross of cuts into the Centurion's face. But the Centurion continued to advance. Hicks abandoned the blades and they disappeared from his hands, again as if by magic. He punched the Centurion hard in the face, and then delivered another blow, smashing the Centurion's nose with the heel of his hand and sending his elbow into his groin. The Centurion doubled over. Hicks yanked the knife out of the Centurion's hand and buried its ten-inch blade into the back of his throat. The Centurion collapsed on the dance floor, making a gurgling sound.
The crowd cheered and whistled enthusiastically. Hicks raised his foot and scraped the bottom of his shoe across the Centurion's face. "Fucking Centurion shit." He ignored the cheers all around him and started walking wearily toward the bar. As he wiped the sweat from his face, he passed the Marine woman, deliberately avoiding her gaze.
Newt watched him walk away, tossing the saber aside after realizing she was still holding it. "Hicks..."
Hicks heard her call his name, his real name, but he kept walking. The bartender immediately set up three shot glasses and poured tequila into them. It's what he usually drank. He stepped up to the bar and picked up the first shot, downing it. He sensed her approach, even before he saw her from the corner of his eye. Shit, he could smell her coming even before she reached him.
"Dwayne Hicks," she stated rhetorically.
"Never heard of him." Hicks picked up the second shot and downed it.
"Thanks for helping me back there," said Newt, trying to start out on the right foot.
Her scent drifted into his nostrils and Hicks closed his eyes and frowned. He needed this like a hole in the head. "Look... " he started as he opened his eyes and trained them on the tag containing her name and rank. "... Lieutenant Jorden, I'm not coming peacefully so you might as well just leave me the fuck alone."
Newt decided at that moment that she wasn't going to reveal who she was to him. He believed that she was here to arrest him. When he picked up the third shot, she grabbed his wrist, preventing him from bringing it to his mouth. "I'm not here to arrest you," she said.
Hicks could have broken her hand for touching him but he was too damned tired. His eyes came up and met her electric blue ones. For a brief moment he thought he recognized something in them. Then he shook his head. He had obviously been without a woman for way too long. He pulled his wrist out of her grip and finished off the shot. "You know my real name. Why else would you be looking for me?"
"I need your help."
Hicks frowned. "The Company fucked me up the ass more than a dozen times. You think I'm stupid enough to continue to let that happen?" He needed to move away from her, somewhere where he couldn't smell her any longer. Her scent was making him crazy. What the hell was she thinking, walking into a place like this, smelling like that? She was an accident waiting to happen.
Newt reached up to touch her cheek where the Centurion had punched her. The skin was broken and she winced from the pain. Her fingers came back bloodied.
"Whatever it is you want from me, I can't help you. I work alone." Hicks motioned for the bartender. "I need a refill." The bartender immediately came over to pour more tequila into the empty shot glasses. As an afterthought, Hicks added. "And get her some ice."
"I'm not asking you to join the Colonial Marines, Hicks. I know you're a former Marine. I read your file." The bartender handed her a rag with some ice in it and she placed it on her cheek, wincing in pain again.
"So, what does my file say?" Hicks pushed one of the shot glasses toward her.
Newt accepted the shot and drank it. "It says you were part of a marine team before they were all killed by our bug friends. After that you were promoted to Sergeant and put in charge of marine teams for seven years. Then you finally quit. It says you began working as an independent contractor before you took the law into your own hands. And now you're a wanted man."
He pulled out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. Then he searched his pockets for his lighter. Where the hell was it? "And what does it say about me quitting?"
Newt reached into her utility belt and retrieved a lighter. She ignited it and placed the flame in front of him. "Only that you snapped and became violent. You spent two weeks in prison on Gateway before you escaped, injuring two guards and stealing a passenger freighter."
Hicks laughed to himself and shook his head, lighting his cigarette before the flame blew out. "I snapped? Well, they're fucking right about that." He recalled the time they had almost given him a lobotomy.
FLASHBACK -- SPACE STATION VICTOR ORBITING MARS
Commander Jonathon Kilroy stood beside the examination table where Hicks was lying beneath a white sheet. He worked on a keyboard while his assistant, Miles stood at the head of the table.
Kilroy looked at Miles. "I'm going to remove the stasis field, Miles. How's our patient?"
Miles leaned over to check the instruments on a band around Hicks' right wrist. "He's out cold."
"All right," Kilroy continued, "Let's see what the manual says." He flipped through some pages of a manual. "Okay, it says here to fragment the brain into thirty-six sections. Miles, why don't you start by removing the top of the cranium while I prepare the electrodes?"
As Kilroy walked toward a counter full of small machinery, Miles moved toward Hicks' head. Then he picked up a small laser instrument and ignited it.
Hicks was conscious. He was aware of the two men in the room and he had a bad feeling about this. Fragment the brain into thirty-six sections? Were they talking about his brain?
Just as Miles was about to bring the laser instrument down, a hand grabbed him by the throat.
Kilroy turned and gasped just as Miles was thrown aside, and then watched as Hicks tossed the sheet aside and jumped off the table. "Now, hold on there, son." As Hicks advanced toward him, Kilroy backed into a computer console. He quickly turned and punched a red button. A siren went off, red lights flashing.
Hicks grabbed Kilroy and pushed him through a glass-plate wall. Then he quickly found his clothes and put them on.
A set of doors slid open and Hicks rushed out, glancing through the window of the space station. He saw three security guards heading down one of the corridors. Hicks ducked down and headed in the other direction, checking through the windows to make sure the next corridor was unoccupied. Reaching the other end of the corridor, Hicks blended into a crowd of people making their way around the perimeter of the station. He approached the next corridor and stepped into a line of people waiting to board a medium-sized freighter that could be seen through the windows. A hatch lay open toward the front. Hicks left the line and stepped through the opening.
The freighter pilot turned as Hicks appeared. "Hey, chump, passengers go in the back, so get the fuck out."
Hicks advanced and smashed the pilot's face with his fist. "You get the fuck out." And Hicks tossed him out the hatch. He glanced down at the controls of the freighter. "Okay let's see. You push this, turn that. Piece of cake." He pushed a button to close the hatch door and then activated the freighter.
Back out in the corridor, people impatiently glanced at their watches, waiting for the signal to board the freighter. Suddenly a sharp movement caused the platform to shake. The freighter started lunging back and forth, trying to break free of the station's locks. Everyone panicked and quickly scrambled to get away from the eminent disaster.
Hicks glanced to his left, watching as the station's locks started to crumble.
A voice came on an intercom. "Freighter 36, you are not cleared to unlock! Shut down your engines!"
Hicks pressed a button to respond. "Kiss my ass!" He pushed the lever to make the freighter shoot forward again.
When the freighter finally broke free of the locks, it turned and flew away from the station.