by Weston Ochse
Cruz sat, returning to his work.
Hoenikker stood for a moment, his hand rubbing where he’d been poked, then he turned and walked back to where Kash was working.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
Hoenikker stared at Test Subject #3 and she stared back at him. She cocked her head, shook it as if to say no, then looked away.
He gasped.
“Tim. What is it?” Kash asked, her eyes round with concern. “What’s wrong?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. He couldn’t even breathe. The cocking and shaking of the head was pure Monica. She was the only person he’d ever seen shake her head that way. Twenty years had passed, and now they were back together, only to have her die in front of him.
For the sake of a Weyland-Yutani experiment.
When he could finally breathe again, he gasped. The room swayed around him. He put his hand out to grab the table to keep him from falling. He had to free her. He needed to get her out of there and to a place of safety. But how? How could he save her? Where could he take her?
The room snapped straight and he could suddenly breathe.
And think.
He knew exactly who to talk to.
Without comment, he hurried out.
26
It took him three tries to find Reception Tech Rawlings’ room. If there was anyone who would know what to do, it would be the guy who knew everything.
The first time the door opened it was a female security guard who’d been sleeping in the nude. He’d barely processed her nakedness, apologized, then hurried away.
The second room turned out to be a storeroom and was devoid of human occupancy. The problem was the corridors. He still didn’t know the layout of the station. His paths went from his room to the bathroom, the mess hall, and the lab. He really hadn’t paid attention to what was in between.
As he approached his third try, two men and a woman came through the door. He recognized Buggy from Comms, but the others he didn’t know. They nodded at him and he nodded back. Once at the door, he knocked and waited for it to open.
After a moment, Rawlings opened it wearing nothing but underwear.
“If you’re looking for more hooch—” he began, then stopped talking when he saw it was Hoenikker. Rawlings glanced down at his naked black torso and Weyland-Yutani underwear. “You. What do you want?”
“I need your help.” Hoenikker pushed past him into the room. He paced to the end of the room, then turned. Rawlings closed the door and scratched near his crotch.
“Can’t you see I’m under the weather?”
Hoenikker spied the empty bottle on the desk. “Looks more like you’ve been drinking.”
“Lots of things can make you under the weather,” Rawlings replied. “Drinking is one of them.” He went to the edge of his bed and sat on it. “I’d offer you something, but as you can see, we’re fresh out.”
“I’m not here to drink.”
“Then what can I do for you, Doctor?”
“It’s her. I know it’s her.” Hoenikker paced back and forth from the door to the wall and back again. His normally ordered thoughts were a jumble. “How do I make them understand? They can’t kill her. They just can’t. Maybe I still have a chance to make it all up. Maybe I can be there for her now.”
“Whoa now, killer. I thought I was the one who’d been drinking. What’s got you all juiced?”
Hoenikker stopped pacing. “Her. I told you. It’s her.”
Rawlings shook his head. “You haven’t even introduced her.”
“Monica. My girlfriend. She’s here!”
“Well, that’s great, my friend. You and her can get some nookie, and have a great old time.”
“No.” Hoenikker shook his head furiously. “You don’t get it. She’s in the lab.”
“She’s in the lab? But only scientists are in… the…” Rawlings blinked quickly. “She’s one of them?”
Hoenikker threw up his hands. “That’s what I’ve been telling you. She’s there in the lab. Test Subject #3. Containment Room Three.”
Rawlings rubbed his face, continuing over the top of his skull. “Oh, Doctor.” He shook his head. “You’ve got to be mistaken. It can’t really be her.”
“Oh, it is. At first, I was like you. ‘It couldn’t be.’ But then when I saw her do some of Monica’s mannerisms— mannerisms I haven’t seen replicated in twenty years—”
“Okay.” Rawlings patted the air. “Let’s say that what you’re claiming is accurate. Let’s say that an ex-girlfriend of yours from twenty years ago somehow got crossways with Weyland-Yutani, and became a test subject at a science station at the ass-crack end of the universe. What do you intend to do?”
Hoenikker straightened. “Rescue her.”
“Rescue her?” Rawlings stood.
“Yes.” Hoenikker nodded. “Rescue her. With your help.”
“My help?” Rawlings sat back down. “I picked a doozie of a day to start drinking again.” He smacked his face several times, then closed his eyes and opened them. “Damn. You’re still here.” He paused a moment as if in thought. “So, what do you propose?”
Hoenikker shrugged. “I don’t know. Hide her in a room? Steal a shuttle? Something. Anything. I mean, we have to do something, right?”
“We don’t have to do anything. I know you want to do something, but look… We don’t even know if it’s her.”
Hoenikker leaned in. “Can you check?”
“Can I check? Shoot. I have access to everything. I can even tell you what Bellows is reading right now.” Rawlings got to his feet, went over to his desk, and sat down. He began to fiddle with his vid screen. Punching numbers and swiping until he got to what he wanted. “What did you say her name is?”
“It was Monica Enright,” Hoenikker said breathlessly.
“So, here’s what I have. I have no first names, just initials. Then I have last names. I have two Ms. One M. Russel and M. Trakes. Sorry, Doctor. It’s just too vague.”
Not to be defeated, Hoenikker asked, “What’s the background on M. Russel?”
A swipe and a few moments later, “Okay. Gender is female. Forty-three years old. From Earth. One son. Not married. She was arrested for murder aboard a Weyland-Yutani space station six years ago.”
Could that be her? “You say she has a son. How old is he?”
“Thirteen. Sorry, Doc. Can’t see that it could be yours.”
“Of course not.” Hoenikker felt dizzy with the information. “What about the other one?”
“M. Trakes. Also female gender, but thirty-four years old.”
Hoenikker nodded. “With cryosleep, she could be any age between thirty and forty-three.” He nodded. “Go on.”
“M. Trakes has two daughters.” Rawlings punched a few digital keys on the screen. “Aw. I see it now. One of her daughters has a rare disease. Costs a fortune to get it taken care of. The company has offered to take care of it. They chose this one specifically because she’s AB negative.”
“That’s the rarest blood type.”
“Wait a minute.” Rawlings punched a few more keys. “All of them are AB negative. Must have been difficult to track down that many volunteers with the world’s rarest blood type.”
“Any more information about M. Trakes?” Hoenikker asked.
“She’s from Earth as well. Her daughters are with her husband.” Rawlings shook his head. “I’m afraid this wasn’t much help.”
“I don’t know,” Hoenikker said. “She could be either of the two. The only way I’m going to find out is by asking her, it seems.”
“And you think Cruz is going to go for that?”
“He won’t have to. He won’t be there.” Hoenikker began to pace again. “We’re going to need a distraction.”
“And then what? What is it you’re going to do? Steal a shuttle, you said? Hide her?” Rawlings picked up the empty bottle, tipped it upside down over his mouth, then grimaced and put it back
on the table. “This is the Weyland-Yutani machine you’re up against.”
“I understand that, but I—”
“Do you really understand? We’re talking Weyland-Yutani. They could disappear this whole station, and no one would even blink. They’re probably the most powerful corporation in the known sectors, and you want to go against them. Even if I were to help you—and I’m not saying I will—how many others on the station would help? Because we’re going to need a goddamn lot of them.”
“Maybe when they hear my story—”
“They’ll what? Be willing to lose their jobs? Be prepared to go to prison? All because Doctor Timmy Hoenikker found out that one of the voluntary test subjects used to be his girlfriend?”
Hoenikker stopped pacing and stared at the floor.
“Then what is it I’m supposed to do?”
Rawlings stood and placed his hands on Hoenikker’s shoulders as he faced him, naked down to his underwear.
“What do you do? Nothing, Doctor. There’s nothing to be done. This is merely the irony of the universe, that you two might have met near the end.”
“I can’t—” Hoenikker gulped. “I can’t accept that.”
Rawlings gave him a look a mother might give a child who’d just discovered he wasn’t the center of the universe.
“You’re going to have to. This is out of your hands.”
27
The next morning was set for the experiments to begin. According to the plan, they’d remove the lower half of the cryogenic travel cases so the Ovomorphs would awaken. Then, sometime between ten and thirty minutes later, each Ovomorph would detect the presence of another biological organism, and would deliver the face-hugger, who would then find the organism.
Pitting human against face-hugger, there would be no winning for the human. It wasn’t even a challenge, especially since there was nowhere for the humans to run.
Cruz insisted that all doctors be present to acknowledge the sacrifices the test subjects were making, but Hoenikker believed that was all a ruse. Cruz wanted them all there for cover, so he wouldn’t be the only one gleefully observing the destruction. Still, Hoenikker couldn’t deny that the lab was finally functioning like an actual lab, as if Cruz had been able to spin it into his own, as easy as running a Colonial Marine platoon.
Hoenikker would be there, but first he had something he had to do. At four in the morning, after a sleepless night, he entered the lab. The lights were in maintenance mode and cast the room in a barely lit gloom. He noted the two synths watching him, but ignored them. He wasn’t going to do anything that would cause them to come alive.
He approached the workstation in front of Containment Room Three and sat before it. The chamber was dark, except for the blinking lights on the cryogenic travel cases. He dialed up the vid display and toggled infrared, noticing immediately that Test Subject #3 was sitting up on the rear ledge and facing in his direction. So, he wouldn’t have to wake her up after all. He toggled the lights up to fifty percent to reveal that she was staring back at him.
He turned on the intercom. His mouth felt dry. He’d planned a speech. He’d practiced in the mirror.
All that came out was, “It’s you, isn’t it?”
She wore her blond hair short. The wide space between her eyes accentuated her features. High cheekbones made it seem as if she was always on the verge of a smile. Her green eyes mesmerized as they caught the light and changed.
She nodded.
He bit his lip.
“I knew it from the moment I saw you.”
She cocked her head and shrugged.
“Will you talk to me?”
She stared at him for what seemed like forever, but was only thirty seconds.
“What is it you want me to say?” she replied, her voice as soft as he remembered. “That you broke my heart? That you walked out on me—on us?”
Twenty years and a hundred parsecs flashed through him. He remembered them holding hands in college, going to class, concerts, even the library terminals. Her kiss tasted sweet because she was always sucking on one candy or another. Even the smell of her clothes burst through him in a timeless hurricane of scent memory.
She’d make him dinner most nights. Nothing special. They were students. But just the effort of someone making him instant noodles or instant rice was a convenience he’d taken for granted. And her smile. She always smiled at him as if not to smile would drive him away.
Now, looking at her, he could see her without a smile, yet she was still beautiful—and he’d left it all behind. Had he thought that it would be too much? That he’d end up behind a desk doing something corporate and meaningless? Had he been afraid that his dream of becoming a scientist would be lost, because he’d have to settle with her as soon as she became pregnant or decided she was done with school?
Or was it just that he’d been a selfish prick who didn’t understand that he’d had it good.
“That was twenty years ago,” he said.
She regarded him with side eyes. Then she stared at the egg resting in the cradle of the cryo travel case. She didn’t seem to be afraid of it.
“Ever wonder if your life would be different if it wasn’t for a single decision?” she asked.
Had his leaving started her on a path from which she couldn’t return?
“Me leaving?” he asked.
She sneered. Then she stood and walked to the glass, putting her hands on it.
“I’m over that. I mean the decision I made when I decided to kill the man I was with, for his money.”
Hoenikker, who’d been leaning forward, sat back hard. He’d hoped she’d been the one with the terminal illness, but she was the murderer.
“What? You didn’t know?” she asked, adding a little vinegar to her sugar. “I’ve killed many a man. Turns out I like it.”
All he could do was shake his head.
“Turns out I’ve always been this way. My desire to please was nothing more than an emotional placeholder. When I pleased people, they would return the gesture, and it would fulfill something in me. But what I found is that a man begging for his life is even more of an emotional rush—the idea of pleasing them because I might allow them to live filled me with a certain ecstasy.”
He couldn’t parse her words with the memory of her. They didn’t match. It was as if his old girlfriend had had her mind wiped clean and replaced. She couldn’t have been like this when they were together.
“What are you saying?” he asked.
“I can see you there, feeling sorry for me, and wondering what would have happened had you not walked out. I’m not exactly sure. You might have become my first victim or you might have kept me from killing—although, I have to tell you, Timothy, murdering is such a fucking rush.”
Hoenikker flicked off the intercom. This wasn’t his memory. This was someone else entirely. Sure, it was Monica, but it was as if something had invaded her body, changed her.
He sat and stared for several moments as her lips continued to move, not even wanting to know what she said.
“Not exactly what you expected is it?”
The voice came from behind him.
Hoenikker spun.
Cruz sat back in an alcove, where Hoenikker had missed seeing him, his attention so focused on Test Subject #3. Cruz held a glass in one hand and an unlit cigar in another.
“I knew you’d come around,” Cruz said. “I just wanted to see what you would do.”
“I thought about trying to free her.”
“Anyone with a scintilla of decency would do the same, if they were in your shoes.” Cruz took a sip of amber liquid. “I’d expect nothing less.”
“But what you said before—”
“Was absolutely right. We need to approach this as scientists. Not as regular people. We can’t afford to be regular people. We have a responsibility to try and make the Colonial Marines safer. Everyone safer, and if it takes twelve people sacrificing themselves, then so be it.” He held out the g
lass. “Have a sip of this. You need it.”
Hoenikker stood and went over, accepted the glass and took an angry sip. He felt so manipulated. How was it other people had such a better handle on their emotions? He knew the answer, of course. Other people used their emotions more often. They practiced at it. Hoenikker had spent most of his life trying to avoid emotion. As the liquid burned through him, so did his anger.
“She’s not the same person,” he said, turning to regard her.
“Does that make any difference? Would you save her for the person she was?”
Hoenikker shook his head. “She just made me remember things. Regrets.”
“Oh, Doctor Hoenikker, we all have regrets. We can look back and hear them following us like footsteps if we listen close enough.”
“What’s she getting out of being a test subject?” Hoenikker asked, passing back the glass. Cruz accepted it, made a motion for cheers, then took a sip.
“She was facing a life sentence, and bound for a terraforming prison work detail. Dangerous work. Nothing I’d wish on my worst enemy. This is her way out. This is how she is escaping her fate.”
“Escaping her fate,” Hoenikker repeated. “Just like I did when I walked out, all those years ago.”
She knocked on the glass.
He thought about turning the intercom back on, but what was there to say? She was a different person. He stared at her for a long moment, trying to revitalize his feelings for her, trying to return to his need to save her, but that emotion was irrevocably lost. So, instead, he shook his head, turned, and left the lab.
Hoenikker needed to get some sleep. The testing began in the morning, and he needed to be there to record the data.
