Rating: NC17

Spoilers: None

Author: Vasalysa, with many undying thanks to Geek.

E-mail: cmbower@ennorath.net Comments are always welcome

"-was here. Look at him. Even we don't heal that fast."

Finch was crouched beside McQueen from the loudness of her voice. He groaned, suddenly feeling stiff. Opening his eyes, McQueen saw Finch and Vansen squared off across his body. "Enough," he croaked.

Vansen placed a canteen to his lips and he drank thirstily. "Sir, what happened?"

He struggled to sit up and Finch leaned him against her. "Silver came while everyone was asleep." A shiver went through him. "Get me my clothes. I need to get dressed."

'Phousse brought his clean uniform, shorts and socks. "Your boots are still wet."

"Everyone's boots are still wet." Hawkes sounded petulant.

Putting his socks on, McQueen said, "She drank from me, I think. Then she had me drink from her."

"Did she say anything about healing?" asked Finch.

"Yes. For me to believe my body was healing. To feel it that way."

"Typical forced healing. The blood you drank was saturated with a symbiote that lives in vampires. When you drink the blood and think certain ways, it will accelerate healing or other things. What else?"

He started slipping his shorts on. "She said the mission was still in effect. The shipyards in this system have three of those damn super Hive ships in production. Maybe as much as a month left till they're completed."

"Oh, god."

"I agree, West." McQueen accepted a hand up from Finch and decided to use her help to get into his flight suit. "But she said we can't leave for twelve hours. Why, I don't know. But getting that recorder is top priority. It has to get to the fleet, no matter what."

"Twelve hours?" Finch chewed her lower lip as she helped him straighten up. She zipped him up, swatting his hand away. "The recorder must be some distance away."

"Her Hammerhead left wreckage where the Chigs ambushed us." West sounded tired still.

"That's a good three hours trek," 'Phousse sighed. "I'm not looking forward to that again. It was hellish enough the first time."

"Was there anything else, sir?" Finch let him hold onto her arm.

"No." He looked around the cave. "How's the wood holding out?"

"It won't last twelve hours."

"Hawkes, you said the cave goes back further. Have you gone to explore?"

"No."

McQueen heard the sheepishness and the tightly reined in fear. "Vansen, go with him. Find out where it goes. Maybe there's a back entrance. Or more wood. But first, is there anything to eat around here?"

"More meat. It's lightly smoked now."

"I'll take some. I'm starving."

"It's the accelerated healing. Your body is burning calories fast," explained Finch. "Russell, there should be some of those damn bars in my pack. Grab two, please." Then she looked McQueen in the eyes. "How much did you drink?"

"I don't know. Two, three minutes worth."

Finch's eyes went wide. "Damn, no wonder you're in such good shape. Thirty seconds is standard, forty-five doing extra." She caught the bars Russell tossed her. "Eat them both. You need the extra vitamins and minerals. Ignore the taste as best you can."

The smell of coffee permeated the cave. "Coffee any one?" asked St. John.

Vansen spun around. "How?"

"Instant and I boiled water in my helmet."

"That's destruction of property!"

"Not mine. I've an old WWII steel helmet, complete with strap, tucked up inside the padding, works as a pot. Been using it for six years. Finch, you want to make a stew if we find something to go with the meat?"

"Yes."

"Kay. Meanwhile, there's enough coffee here for everyone to have at least one small cup."

"Instant coffee and smoked meat. Sumptuous banquets in the Marine Corps," laughed West.

"Better than damn rat bars," snapped Hawkes.

"Anything is better than rat bars, except maybe worms." 'Phousse shuddered. "I hated survival training. I'm a city girl at heart."

McQueen sat down, feeling unsteady. "So why did you join the Marines?"

"My ex-boyfriend's little girl was having a hard time accepting me as a friend. And I wanted to find myself, to know who I am, before I started working on reactors again. Unfortunately, the war started."

"There's Paul."

'Phousse smiled at Vansen. "Yes, there's Paul. I don't know if there's anything between us really or not. But I would like to find out. His last letter said he was almost ready to start physical therapy. He had only two more sessions in the tank to go."

"Sir," Hawkes looked up from the chunk of meat he had been gnawing on. "Was it bad, the regeneration tank?"

McQueen sighed heavily. "It was hard, and the only reason I could keep going back into the damned thing was because I knew all of you were waiting for me. And Paul, he kept me going. His support...." McQueen closed his eyes and took a deep breath, deciding to let them understand. "I would have panicked more often if it hadn't been for him. He would have me go first so he could hold my hand as I went in. Then he'd be picked up and wheeled over to his tank. And the damn fool would scream his war cry and shove off into the tank. Damned crazy." He shook his head. "We could see each other and type messages back and forth. Cassie would read to us both or bring her music or just talk to us."

"She's a good kid."

"That she is." McQueen glanced at Russell.

"Who's Cassie?"

"Silver's daughter, West."

"What?"

"Thirteen years old. Looks like her mother. Same no nonsense attitude. Doesn't take it from anyone, not even colonels." McQueen grinned.

"Or generals or admirals or corporate moguls or anyone." Finch laughed. "And neither does her mother."

"So, how did Paul take the time in the tank?" 'Phousse sat down beside McQueen.

"A lot better than I did, I think. He never seemed down, not even during the tests between tank sessions. And they were grueling, especially for him. Seemingly checking every nerve in your body. The ones for my ear were agony until it finally was healed. I can't imagine the pain he must have been in with so much of his body no longer functioning."

"Sir, just how bad was Paul?"

McQueen looked directly at 'Phousse. "Bad, real bad. With the muscle and nerve damage, he would have been confined to a wheel chair or even a bed for the rest of his life with only one arm working. But by the end of the month, he was actually able to flex the other hand and both feet."

A sob escaped from 'Phousse. "Thank God!"

McQueen pulled her close and held her while she quietly cried into his shoulder. As he did so, it occurred to him that he was not feeling a lot of pain from his ribs. "After our sessions, there would be about two or three hours before the tests would start. The first half dozen times I was nearly out of my mind by the end of the four days. Paul had them wrap him around me so I could feel him there and he could talk softly to me. I don't remember much more than that. I knew enough not to move or I would hurt him. I just remember him holding me, keeping me sane. After that I could handle it just by holding his hand, but he still talked to me. My tests were usually over before his and I would stay with him, holding his hand, giving him something outside the pain to focus on. The last several times he had me play the messages you lot sent. He was going to use them the same way. It gave him hope, knowing you were pulling for him, that you hadn't forgotten him."

"I miss him," whispered 'Phousse.

"I know. I miss him, too, and I know he misses you. And the others."

'Phousse sat up. "Thanks. Oh, I got your shoulder all wet."

"Chalk it up to the price of caring."

"Sir?"

"I'm going to do something I'm not terribly good at, so please bear with me. My time in the mines insured I would never have biological children, but I do have a family. The 58th is my family and you are my kids. Ross has been kidding me about my 'kids' since shortly after I took over the 58th. Each and every one of you has carved a niche into my heart and it hurts like hell when something happens to any of you. I'll still kick your butts into next week when you screw up, but it doesn't mean that I don't love you. I may not be able to show it very often back there, but I want you to know it. I'll still worry like a mother hen every time I have to send you out without me... or Silver. And I will still do my duty to the Marine Corps, however it falls. And I am still your commanding officer and I expect the respect that is my due. When you screw up, I will discipline you, as you deserve. But I need you to understand that I will always love you as my kids and I'm damned proud of you all. And I mean all of you." He looked at Finch, St. John and Russell. They nodded, understanding.

'Phousse hugged him quickly. "Thank you for that."

"And I want you Vanessa, Shane and Nathan," McQueen used their first names deliberately, "to know, or rather, understand that I'm still learning how to express what I'm feeling. If you think I'm making mistakes, please tell me."

"Yes, sir." West came over and crouched down with a hiss. "I think you make a damn fine father."

"Thank you. I'll do my best to live up to the title."

With a soft smile at odds with her hard-nosed attitude most of the time, Vansen said, "I agree with Nathan, sir."

"Thank you."

Hawkes stood nearby. "So does that make Silver our mother?"

With a laugh, 'Phousse rolled away from McQueen. "Oh, Coop. The things you say sometimes."

"What? What did I say this time?"

Grinning, West rose and slapped the big Marine on the back. "It's all right, Coop."

"Well, he's our male CO and you're saying he's like our father. So, Silver's our female CO. Doesn't that mean she's our mother?"

McQueen gave Vansen a quick look. She dropped her gaze to the floor briefly before nodding and looking up at Hawkes. "If Silver's willing to forgive... I'll accept her as a mother."

Both West and 'Phousse looked at Vansen, surprised. "Shane?"

"I know, I protested too much. It's obvious that Silver's not totally human and I can't ignore what I've seen on this planet. So, I'll apologize to Silver and I'll accept her into the squad."

"You're a better person than most, Shane." West smiled. "A lot of people would still try to deny what they've seen."

Opening one of the bars Finch had handed him, McQueen asked, "So where's the coffee?"

"Coming right up, sir."

The bar had a slightly bitter taste to it and he gladly washed it down with the hot coffee. "Have you eaten, Vansen?"

"Yes, sir."

"You finished, Hawkes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Take your flashlights and see what you can find in the nether regions of the cave." He saw Hawkes' sigh and the almost rebellious look. "You can do it, Hawkes. It's just a cave."

"Yes, sir," Hawkes said resignedly.

"Or would you rather go for another couple of swims?"

"No, sir." Flat, very flat.

"Then go explore and burn off your energy."

"Yes, sir."

St. John brought over some of the meat that had been smoked. "Not a lot of flavor I'm afraid, sir, but I didn't have any sugar to add to the brine."

McQueen shot Vansen another look before taking a bite.

"St. John, next time tell me you need sugar." Vansen glanced at West and 'Phousse. "I usually have some on me. In water proof packages."

"Full of surprises, aren't you, captain?"

"It started after Deimos. I never wanted to be short on sugar again."

"Yeah, I know the feeling. Hated that damned place." St. John chuckled. "But boy, did we learn to scavenge."

"You were there?"

"Hell, yes. Of the twenty of us Silver sent down, eight came back. Silver led the rest of them on Ixion. She lost another twelve there."

"Another hell hole." McQueen stared down at his hands, still feeling guilt for his part of Deimos.

"Sir, you had no choice. Once you found out about the Ixion shipyard, you had to destroy it. You had to leave us there on Deimos." St. John looked sad. "There was no other choice."

"But less than ten percent of our forces on Deimos survived. Barely 2000 out of 25000."

"But we held the planet, sir. Those of us who survived, we're history. Every one of the men and women on Deimos and Ixion are recorded, those who died and those who lived. I heard in Washington, DC, that they're building another wall like the Vietnam Wall for all the fallen of this war, all of them. But the names will be holographic so that they can add to the list."

"Small consolation to the grieving."

"I don't plan on adding my name to the wall, but I'd be honored by it."

Russell rose. "We knew you had helped make the choice, sir. We never held it against you."

"War is hell, sir. You are a part of the command crew aboard the Saratoga. As such, we expect you to make the hard decisions, even when it'll cost lives for the greater good." Finch laid a hand on his shoulder. "We would rather have someone who knows the costs, understands it in his gut, than some hotshot who doesn't remember what it's like on the front lines or worse yet, never did anything except shoot on a firing range. We may hate the choices, hate the losses, but we respect the guts it takes to make those gut-wrenching, guilt-ridden decisions."

"Not many understand."

"Not many have had Silver as a commander. We've seen her, and you, making the difficult choices. She's had to sacrifice men in order to save the mission, if she thought it important enough."

"She's planning on sacrificing herself this time."

"What?"

"She said she was walking dead. That getting the recorder to the fleet was worth her life."

"What did she look like?"

"Death warmed over. Pale." McQueen remembered the burns that covered her body. "She's badly injured still."

"Sounds like that's what she's up to all right. Damn. Sir, if we somehow manage to get her on the transport, you realize all bloody hell's going break loose."

"Yes." He took another bite of the meat. "West, you're going to be in the transport. 'Phousse will fly your ship. Unless someone else gets seriously injured."

"Yes, sir."

McQueen caught 'Phousse's eye and then pointed to West with his chin. She smiled and he knew she would fill West in on what was going to happen on the trip back, to him in particular. He sat back against the cave wall and started seriously chewing on the jerky. When Finch started to talk to him again, McQueen shook his head. "I need to think, Finch."

"Yes, sir."

An hour later, Vansen and Hawkes returned from their trek. "There's plenty of dry wood back there. Looks like Silver stockpiled. How I'm not sure. The cave branches out into three sections. None of them lead to the surface. But it's not quite as damp."

Hawkes crouched by the fire, feeding some branches in. "How long do we have to stay in here, sir?"

"Another ten hours or so. Sorry, Hawkes, but Silver was adamant. We were not to leave the cave for twelve hours."

"Hope the Chigs haven't found our ships." Hawkes shivered.

"I don't think so. I think that they've been trying to find her. And as long as she doesn't go back to where our ships are, they should be safe. The trick will be staying ahead of the Chigs once we're on our way back."

Hawkes poked the fire, restlessly. "Sir, what's the plan when we get out of this cave?"

"How big is the recorder, Finch?" Time for another hard decision.

"It'll fit in a pack, sir."

"All right. Hawkes, Russell, Finch and St. John will be responsible for carrying the damn thing and getting it to the transport. The rest of us will be support. That recorder must under all circumstances make it back to the fleet, no matter how many lives it costs us here."

"May I ask why them, sir?" Vansen was sitting across the fire from McQueen.

"They can take a lot more punishment than the rest of you and keep going. I don't intend to leave anyone behind, but if I give the order for you to lift off, do it." He fixed the four Invitroes with a hard stare. One by one, they nodded back, including Hawkes. "It's obvious that we can live off the land here to some extent so if a rescue is authorized, we should still be alive."

"And we can inconvenience the Chigs at the same time," smiled 'Phousse.

"Always a plus in my book."

West nodded. "Two on point?"

"Yes."

"I'd like to, but I don't think that's a good idea, so I'll play tail end Charlie."

"I'll stay with you," said Vansen.

"Looks like it's you and me, baby," McQueen drawled to 'Phousse.

Laughing, she nodded. "I'll go anywhere with you, darlin'."

"How about some songs to pass the time?" McQueen waved Finch over to him. In a quiet voice, he asked, "Do you have anything in your packs to help make sure everyone sleeps for roughly six hours?"

"I think I can come up with something, sir."

"Good. I want everyone to get a good sleep before the trek back. I want to start packing up about an hour before we head out."

"Yes, sir."

After singing and talking for two hours, Finch rose and started handing out two pills to everyone. "Colonel's orders. Take them. It'll be about an hour before they take effect."

"Vansen, why don't you take Russell back and show him where some of the wood is located. This fire needs more wood."

"Yes, sir."

As the two disappeared, McQueen pointed to St. John and the way the two had gone. With a grin, St. John took off after them. "Finch, make sure some wood gets back here, hm? Take Hawkes with you."

"You're so devious, sir."

"All part of keeping the troops healthy. Build your own fire."

"Right," she drawled, following St. John, Hawkes on her six.

Several minutes later, Finch and Hawkes returned with huge arm loads of wood. They made the trip three more times before not coming back, having grabbed blankets for everyone.

"Are they doing what I think?" asked West softly.

"You've got them for fifty hours, Nathan. She needs this more than even I did." 'Phousse sat down beside West who was stretched out on his blanket. "Do you still hurt?'

"Yes. It's easier to lie down than sit, right now."

"Take the pills. I suspect they're to let us sleep the rest of the time." She started massaging West's shoulders.

"You know, 'Phousse, I really miss Paul and that damn lucky shirt of his."

"Yeah, me, too."

McQueen sat watching quietly. He banked the fire and made sure there was enough wood in it for the next while. When he started feeling tired, he stretched out on his blanket. His dry turtleneck shirt was draped over his pack, which he planned to use as a pillow. A second blanket he set beside the pack.

Warmth on his throat woke McQueen and he knew Silver was back. The slight sting on his neck heralded the pleasure surge through his body and he felt himself responding eagerly. Even as Silver kissed him, McQueen unzipped his flight suit, allowing access to the rest of his body. His free hand he curled around her head, deepening the kiss. He arched into her skillful hand. When she lifted her head, he opened his eyes.

Aware of the two across the fire, he said softly, "Silver, I want to make love to you just once before the transport."

Equally soft, "I'm badly injured still."

"I'll be careful, I promise. Please."

Silver trailed her hand up to his chest. "Don't come in me. I need the life in your seed."

He stared at her. "I'm sterile."

"Like hell you are. Oh, there's damage from the mines all right. But you were at least forty percent fertile before the regeneration. That famous Invitro healing, you know. I'd say you're up to sixty now. A vampire always knows." She licked his throat, and then slowly slid her fangs into him again.

As pleasure suffused his body again, McQueen marveled at the changes she had wrought in his life. Her hand pumped, making him buck once, twice. Then she moved down and sucked him into her mouth. He stifled his cries with his forearm as she worked to bring him over the edge.

West stared at his superiors, his own body hard from the sight.

"We shouldn't watch," whispered 'Phousse.

"How can we ignore them? I'm as ready just from the sight as he is."

McQueen came back to his senses to find Silver nestled in his arms across his chest. "Your turn."

"The children are watching." He heard the laughter.

Turning his head, McQueen could see the two pairs of eyes. "Vanessa, take care of Nathan."

"Yes, sir."

"Nathan, return the favor."

"Yes, sir."

"There, the children are occupied now." McQueen gently rolled her onto her back. "Let me make love to you, Lysa."

She lay still beneath his hands for long moments and he knew that she was combating the pain with the pleasure he was trying to produce for her. Then McQueen was rewarded with her arching up into his hands. "Yes," she whispered.

Using all his skill, McQueen slowly brought her to a climax, hoping he could banish the pain for even a short time. His mouth and hands roved her body, avoiding the hideous burns that he didn't dare count. As he brought her toward a second climax, McQueen eased into her, using slow, deep thrusts to start with.

Her good arm wrapped around his chest and she lifted herself up to his throat.

He nearly cried out as her fangs sank into his throat for a third time. Control was lost as incredible pleasure flashed through him and he mindlessly thrust into her, hard and fast. When she pulled away, McQueen struggled to regain his fractured control and did so barely. "I'm damn close, Lysa."

"Roll over."

Obeying, McQueen felt her mouth burning a trail to his aching groin. Her hot mouth sucked him in and he felt her fingers under his neck. As fire burned through his body from her teasing his neck navel, he forced his forearm across his mouth, feeling the screams of pleasure building. His body thrust outside his control, mindlessly seeking its pleasure. McQueen found himself a passenger in his own body until suddenly he was overwhelmed and sent spiraling out of his body.

He came back to himself slowly and was pleased to find Silver still with him. His forearm was taken and she licked the blood his teeth had drawn. As she set his arm down and started to slash her wrist, McQueen said softly,

"No more than what you took, Lysa. You need the strength. I'm a lot better now."

She nodded once and placed her bleeding wrist over his mouth. With a wry grin, Silver took it back a minute later, licking it once to stop the bleeding.

McQueen reached up and pulled her down in front of him. "Sleep." He pulled the second blanket up and over them both.

"The recorder-"

"Can wait a little longer. Sleep." He felt her relax into his arms.

"Do you understand what will happen if I make the transport?"

"Yes. The hunger, the anger, it will lash out at me. I will be hurt, possibly killed. But you are worth the risk, Lysa. I understand the danger. Now, sleep, love."

McQueen stroked her wet hair until she slipped into sleep. With a sigh, he glanced across the fire and saw Nathan spooned around Vanessa. He smiled and curled around Silver, holding her close.

He was alone, McQueen knew instantly as he woke up. Opening his eyes showed that Silver had not left though. Finch lay on the ground several feet away, her hands twined in Silver's hair, as Silver drank from her. Silver released Finch and the younger woman sighed.

"Oh, I've missed that. Three months without is hell."

"I thought Deimos, Ixion, Tantos and Dicte were hell."

"They're just approximations of it. Life without you is hell." Finch caressed the bare shoulder above her. "How badly are you injured?"

"Bad enough. When my Hammerhead was shot down, I ejected, but the pit crashed into the side of a mountain on the way down and landed on a ledge. My right shoulder was dislocated and I popped it back, but I still had to climb down a cliff. I had to use the arm. At one point, it couldn't take the weight. I fell thirty feet or so. Broke the shoulder when I landed on it. Internal injuries, bleeding for sure. The burns you can see for yourself. Various other sprains and torn ligaments. A dent in my skull."

"How long ago did you lose the Hammerhead?" McQueen asked, sitting up.

Silver smiled at him and limped back to him, settling down in front of him. As he drew her against his body, she said, "Five days now. I had no luck hunting. I'm a lousy shot with my left hand so I had to hunt on all fours. When I heard you fly overhead, I made my fastest time in the direction I had heard you disappear to. Almost too late."

"Just in time, Silver." McQueen stroked her cheek.

"Then everything becomes a blur mixed with large amounts of pain."

"The Chigs ambushed us at the slope." West spoke softly.

"Ah, yes. Protect, kill, blood-lust." Silver's gaze grew distant. "They've been hunting me since my arrival. But the most they ever did was plasma burns. Bad enough. They hurt like sons-a-bitches."

"Then you led us here." 'Phousse held some meat and she took a bite.

"Yes. It's been my base camp." Silver sighed and closed her eyes.

McQueen realized she was asleep and shook his head when West opened his mouth. He stayed where he was for several minutes until he was certain she was going to stay asleep for a while. Then carefully he rose and stepped over to the other side of the cave.

"How long has it been?" he asked Finch quietly.

"Everyone should be waking up soon."

"Good. Grab something to eat." McQueen followed his own advice. He took a large piece of smoked meat and started chewing. "How did you get the weapons in?"

"Russell's large plastic bag. All the rifles and the pistols fit."

"Then that's how we'll get them out again. When you've finished eating, start packing. Put your dry clothes on top. We'll swim naked and dress on the other side. Where's my pack?"

"Here." 'Phousse handed it to him.

"Wish we knew if the rain had stopped." West lay back down on his side.

"Still hurts to sit?" McQueen rested a hand on the young man's arm.

"Yes. Got my bottom and thighs good. Upper arms, too."

McQueen nodded. "Rest then. I suspect you'll be in a lot of pain by the time we reach the transport. Do you have any painkillers in your pack?"

"Yes, sir. I'll take them if I need to."

"Good." McQueen returned to the other side of the fire and started to quietly unpack his gear so he could pack it again with the under water trip in mind. He cleaned his pistol and secured it in its holster. Everything was put in waterproof bags.

One by one the other squad members returned to the main area. Vansen looked uncomfortable until 'Phousse grinned and said, "Have a good time, Shane?"

A blush crept up Vansen's cheeks. "Yeah."

"Hawkes any good?"

"Oh, yeah."

"I'll have to try and get him in on my next orgy." When Vansen jerked her head up and stared at her, 'Phousse laughed. "Honey, they were all over me whenever the colonel was flying."

"She's convinced me to try it at least once," grinned West. "Hawkes, come here."

Hawkes crouched before West, worry in his face. "You all right?"

"As well as can be expected. Have you learned how to kiss since you tried it on Shane during that trip to Mars?"

Hawkes scowled at the memory of being slapped. "Yes."

"Good. Show me."

Hawkes' eyes widened momentarily, then he lowered his head and gently kissed West.

Wrapping a hand around the Invitro's neck, West deepened the kiss. He broke it off a moment later. "Oh, man, I'd say you've learned."

"Are you interested now?"

"Let's say, I'm curious. I'll let you know when we're back on the Toga. All right?"

"Kay."

"All right, people, time to be Marines again." McQueen stood up.

"Yes, sir," was chorused back by the young people.

"Everyone re-pack your gear. Put your boots in a bag so they don't get wet again. We're going back out naked, then dress out there, so pack accordingly. Russell, you're in charge of transporting the rifles and pistols again." McQueen tossed his pistol and holster to Russell.

"Yes, sir."

"How much time out of that twelve is left?"

"About forty-five minutes, sir," answered Finch.

"Do we go out early?" asked Vansen.

"No." Silver's voice was tired sounding. "We'll be exposed. The Chigs regularly move a Hive ship over this area and it always stays for twelve hours. Why I don't know. Fighters, bombers and transports fly in and out for the entire time."

"How did you get in here then?"

"I'm a lot harder to pick out than a human shape, Hawkes." Silver started coughing, deep body racking coughs. "Wake me when it's time. I'll scout the area." Her eyes closed.

"After you've re-packed, eat as much as you can of what's left of the meat. Don't want to waste it." McQueen followed his own advice, grabbing another piece of smoked meat from around the fire pit.

While the others ate and sorted through their packs, McQueen cleaned his rifle before giving it to Russell to pack away. His K-bar he kept with him.

He waited until an hour had gone by before waking Silver. It tore at him to see how painfully she moved even now. Her form shimmered and suddenly there was a four footed beast where the woman had stood. She slid into and under the water.

"Strip and pack your clothes."

Several minutes later, Silver reappeared, and then retreated back outside.

"Let's go, people."

Pack in hand, McQueen dove into the water and swam the twenty feet to the surface of the deep pool at the base of a hundred foot waterfall. He treaded water for a few seconds to appreciate the beauty of the spot, then side-stroked his way to the shore where Silver stood on sentry. She waited for him to get out and start pulling his clothes out of the pack before settling down on her stomach to wait.

One by one, the others struggled out of the water and began dressing.

McQueen finished lacing his boots and stood, K-bar in hand. He scanned the surrounding area. "How long did it take us to get here from the ambush?"

"Three hours. In the pouring rain." Russell started unpacking the weapons. He handed McQueen his holstered pistol and rifle.

"So, with luck we can make better time. The weather looks clear as far as I can see." McQueen glanced over at Silver. "Nearly ready."

She lurched to her feet.

"'Phousse?"

"Ready, sir."

McQueen gave the rest of the group a quick look. West was not quite finished, having difficulty leaning over to do his boots. Before McQueen could say anything, Vansen knelt down and took over the task.

"All right, Silver. Where's the data recorder?"

Limping, Silver started walking along the bottom of the cliff. Thirty feet from the water, she started pulling rocks away. McQueen quickly took over. The rocks shifted and revealed a hole filled with a pack, a M-590 and a pistol. Behind the pack, he discovered a large, flat, square metallic object. He opened the pack and found Silver's uniforms and boots in it. Knowing how hard it was to break in new boots, he pulled them out to place in his own pack.

"Anything else, Silver?"

She nodded.

McQueen dumped the contents and opened his pack. Pulling six rifle clips and two pistol clips out created some room. He slipped the clips into front pockets on his flight suit. Two books and a CD were nosed out by Silver and he carefully placed them in his pack. It took more work to fit the boots in. She also grabbed the collar of a uniform.

"Any one have room for a spare uniform?" He packed the recorder in Silver's pack.

"I'll take it," volunteered Finch. As she took the uniform, she asked, "Didn't you bring a journal, Silver?"

Silver shook her head.

Finch laid a gentle hand on Silver's. "Let's go home, colonel."

"Who's first with the recorder?"

Hawkes stepped up. "I'll go first." He took the pack from McQueen and carried it in one hand, his rifle in the other hand.

"Let's go, Silver."

McQueen watched as Silver took a deep breath and he could see her personality submerge, disappearing from her eyes. The form before him became feral and the pain masked. With surprising speed, Silver turned and loped off, limping; yet moving quickly.

At a jog, McQueen was able to keep her in view. He continually studied the surrounding area, knowing it likely that they would run into Chigs again.

This time, they were able to ambush the Chigs. Silver stopped, dropping into a crouch at the edge of a clearing. Seeing her ears flick, McQueen stopped twenty feet back and sank down into the undergrowth. He crawled up beside her, pleased to see 'Phousse on the other side of Silver, stretched out in the dirt.

Forty Chigs stood in the clearing. About ten were using equipment to study the remnants of Silver's Hammerhead fuselage. Seven appeared to be setting up a mortar at the far end of the clearing, possibly to demolish what was left of the Hammerhead. The rest milled around near the mortar, waiting for something to happen.

McQueen eased himself back ten feet and pointed to Russell and Finch, then Hawkes. He gestured to the ground and he watched as Hawkes sullenly sank to the ground, the recorder held close, forbidden the upcoming battle. Knowing that Russell and Finch would protect Hawkes, McQueen gestured for West and Vansen to move to his left, toward the mortar.

Back at the clearing edge, McQueen tapped Silver lightly on the shoulder. Her ears flicked once, but she did not turn to face him. He tapped her again, harder, and recoiled at the leashed violence in her eyes when she slowly faced him. McQueen showed her five fingers and motioned to the right. Her lip curled revealing the fang and she crawled backwards and headed to the right. He fought down the shiver her actions caused and knew she would attract the Chigs' attention.

Five minutes later, McQueen heard a Chig scream from behind the fuselage. As the majority of the Chigs turned to the source of the scream, he opened fire on the mass of Chig soldiers near the mortar. Chigs dropped like flies, but he knew they would soon figure out where the shots were coming from.

Silver appeared on top of the fuselage, roaring. The Chigs turned and started shooting at her, almost frantically it seemed to McQueen. She leaped down behind the wreckage and the Chigs, ignoring their dead, converged on the fuselage.

In short controlled bursts, McQueen concentrated on shooting the Chigs. He relied on West and Vansen to take out the mortar team. A few Chigs turned around and started spraying the woods with suppressing fire. McQueen rolled and put a tree between them and him. He saw 'Phousse doing the same. On her other side was St. John, also protected.

A roar, and Silver shot around the wreckage and into the Chigs, teeth and claws slashing. She cut her way through the Chigs and disappeared into the woods on the far side, away from the rest of the squad. Only ten Chigs remaining standing.

McQueen rolled onto his back and slapped a new clip into the rifle. Shifting back onto his stomach, he saw only five Chigs. A couple of quick bursts and the last of the Chigs went down. He glanced down the way and saw that the mortar crew was dead as well. Gathering his feet under him, McQueen started to move forward, intending to ease into the clearing.

From across the clearing, McQueen spotted Silver. Her head shook and he froze, frowning, but took the warning. Someone else remained.

He scanned the woods on the other side, looking for what appeared out of the ordinary. Since Silver was moving slowly to his left, that was where he concentrated. The sun came out from behind a cloud and he drew a sharp breath. Light glinted on silver. An AI. How many more, he wondered. He didn't put it past the AIs to allow their nominal allies to be slaughtered, just so that they could have the fun of killing the Marines.

McQueen could only hope none of the others revealed themselves before the AIs grew tired of waiting for their targets. He slowly turned his head and saw 'Phousse looking at him, questioning. Comprehension dawned on her as he drew cross hairs before his eyes. She turned and passed the information to St. John and the others. Unfortunately, McQueen had no way to warn West and Vansen. With luck, they would take the continued silence and lack of movement from him and the others as a warning and stay put.

Carefully, McQueen raised his rifle and took aim. He could see what appeared to be a left arm and adjusted to the left and up a bit, going for what he hoped would be a head shot. Gently, McQueen squeezed the trigger.

A Jacob-D Model staggered out and fell to the ground, clutching at its upper chest. Cursing under his breath, McQueen finished off the AI. Shots hit the tree beside him and he flung himself back and to the right. He guessed there had been five shots aimed at him.

Firing started from his side as McQueen scuttled to a new position.

An AI tumbled into the clearing, minus a head, and McQueen knew Silver had taken it out. Two more appeared, sprawling on the ground. There were at least two more, McQueen figured. He fired several controlled bursts at chest height. Shooting was sporadic from both sides as everyone tried to guess where the others were.

Silver contributed to his side when another headless AI slumped into view. Only one more AI, McQueen hoped. Someone from his side connected with another AI.

McQueen waited for Silver to appear. He heard no more firing from the other side, but did not trust the AIs not to just duck and wait for one of the Marines to become visible.

A commotion in the woods across from him drew his attention. An AI backed out, firing into the woods in all directions. The number of bullets that slammed into the AI nearly tore it in half. Silver slunk out of the woods and sat down. With cat-like aplomb, she started washing her face of the oil and hydraulic fluid.

Rising, McQueen waved the members of the squad who could see him forward. As everyone gathered, McQueen pulled a fresh clip and reloaded his rifle, sliding the two partials into a different pocket. He watched as everyone else who had been in the fight did the same.

"Ok, Silver. Lead on."

One more lick and Silver rose, padding away through the woods. McQueen and 'Phousse kept her in sight. When they reached the top of the rocky slope, McQueen wondered how the hell they had managed to climb the damned thing. Going down was going to be tricky. Even with four feet, or rather three, Silver started small slides.

"Spread out. 'Phousse start down here, I'll move twenty feet to your left. Go down in pairs. Wait till the pair in front is at least half way before you start down. We don't want to bury someone under a ton of rock."

No one ended up buried, though several slides got started. Fortunately, everyone was spread far enough apart that the lower ones were able to scramble out of the way of the slides.

The rest of the trip was anticlimactic. They found their ships, uncovered them and piled in. With a grin, 'Phousse commandeered West's Hammerhead. Hawkes put the pack with the recorder into the transport and McQueen stowed it in a locker.

"Finch, Russell, get us out of here," McQueen ordered as he slammed the transport's door shut. "St. John, get her on a bunk and strap her in. Then man the roof gunnery station. West, you take the port guns." McQueen made his way to the starboard gun port and strapped himself into the chair.

They were just clearing the atmosphere when he fastened the chinstrap of the helmet. "Anything on LIDAR?"

"No, sir," reported Finch.

"Reverse of the way we came in. Shadow of the moon while we make sure no one is around to see us skip town."

As they hugged the moon, McQueen used his eyes to check the space he could see. "Any one see anything?"

"No," West, Finch and St. John said.

"N- Shit! It's one of those damned super Hive ships. Coming up on our tail, sir."

"Finch, tell the Hammerheads to drift to the moon surface. Do the same. Real slow. Maybe they won't notice us."

"So much for a month till they're operational," muttered West.

"It could be one they'd already finished. Radio silence," Russell said quietly.

From his station, McQueen could see the moon surface approaching. The Hive ship did not come into his view until they were almost down. A chill swept through him at the sight of the huge plasma gun port. A dozen secondary weapons ports were visible as well just from the bottom. He didn't want to think about having to go up against one of these monsters in a Hammerhead. A landing bay became visible as it slowly passed overhead.

"Guess no one told the ships they had visitors on the ground," whispered West, hand over his mike.

"Thank you for small favors," replied Finch. "We better wait a while for it to get far enough away for us to slip out of here."

McQueen counted five seconds and judged the super Hive ship had traveled ten of its hull lengths. "At least fifteen mikes. Be on the look out for fighters."

Twenty minutes later, Finch announced, "All right, everyone. Queen, ease on up to the moon's north pole and have a quick look see, hm?"

"Roger, Trey."

It seemed a long five minutes before Vansen slid back into formation. "Nothing to see. Shall we risk it?"

"Go for it," ordered McQueen.

"Queen, you take point. Jack and Ace, you cover our rear."

"Roger."

By the time they reached the outer rim of the system two and a half hours later, McQueen felt like someone had been beating on the inside of his skull. He slipped off the helmet and hung it up, securing it in place. With a sigh, he slid out of the weapons station and stretched. He found St. John rigging a privacy shield, made up of blankets, across the rear of the transport. His weapons belt he hung on a hook by the hatchway.

"Be damned careful, sir," St. John whispered. "She's out of it. The hunger is in control."

McQueen nodded, not quite understanding.

"You'll get it when you see her. She's out for blood."

"Mine."

St. John nodded once, tersely. "Good luck."

"I think I'm going to need it. Don't let West interfere."

"Of course, sir."

Taking a deep breath, McQueen hoped he was ready to beard the lion in its den. He ducked under the blankets and took a single step in.

Silver lay strapped into a lower bunk, eyes closed, still, covered with another blanket. As he took several more steps, her eyes opened and he understood St. John's remark. Hunger stared at him, soul-devouring hunger. His body froze involuntarily as it instinctively sought to hide from the predator only feet away. Silver's left hand reached up and ripped the strap loose across her chest and upper arms, then the one across her thighs.

She rose, stiff and stilted, almost like a puppet. Then her eyes locked onto his and McQueen felt all of his willpower drain away. The legend of the vampire did indeed have basis in fact, he knew now. Her body underwent a subtle change, the stiffness disappearing as the hunter prepared for its prey. The tips of fangs appeared on her lower lip.

He barely had time to register her weight shifting before she launched herself at him, slamming him into the bulkhead. His head snapped against the metal wall. Fingers like vises clamped down on his upper arms and a knee crashed into his gut. He reminded himself not to fight, to endure, even as he was flung at the rear wall, face first. Hastily raised hands kept him from hitting his face on the wall when she hit him from behind, fists to his kidneys. Then her left arm slid up under his, wrapping her hand over his neck, catching him in a half Nelson. His legs were kicked out from under him and she forced him to his free hand and knees.

Her breath sent shivers through him as her mouth fastened onto his throat. A sob escaped him as her fangs sank into his flesh savagely. Pleasure warred with pain as she wrenched his body into a position of her choosing. Pulled onto his side, Silver released her hold on the back of his neck, trading it for her left forearm under his jaw, forcing his head back until he felt as if she were going to push his skull off his spine. Her shoulder kept his upper body off the transport's deck. Forced flat to the floor, his hips were held in place by her right leg over his thighs, which then curled under his knees.

The twist in his spine hurt like hell and he struggled to relieve some of the intense pressure only to have his head forced further back as she removed her fangs from his throat. Blood oozed down the right side of his neck. Breathing hurt and he could feel ligaments in his neck stretching to the breaking point. As hard as it was, McQueen forced himself to relax, to cease struggling.

The pressure on his jaw eased slightly as she allowed him maybe an inch of relief. As she licked blood off his throat, she leaned forward, twisting his right shoulder further forward. He choked back the scream, feeling his throat muscles convulse. Then the additional pressure was gone.

Her right hand struggled to unzip his flight suit. Realizing she wanted access to his entire body, McQueen used his free hand to do so. Some more pressure was relieved on his jaw as a reward. He jerked though when she again sank her teeth into his throat hard. She stayed there for only a moment before licking him clean.

He was caught completely unaware by her next move. With a hard shove, she slammed his upper body against the floor and released his legs to follow. His flight suit was yanked down around his thighs in one swift motion. The deck felt cold against his stomach and then he heard the sound of fabric tearing. His tank top was ripped off his upper body and McQueen couldn't help a shiver, knowing his hands were still trapped in the sleeves of his flight suit. Head turned to the side; he could see her above him, her hands resting on his hips, fingertips just in the hollows. Her feet were between his thighs and he wondered what she was going to do next.

Claws dug into his hips and he bucked at the pain, stifling a hiss by biting his lip. He watched as her head lowered and he felt her tongue on the base of his spine, just above the shorts' waistband. The fabric bunched up tight between his legs momentarily, then slackened as she brought her head up once more. Her right hand released its bloody grip and again he heard fabric tear. Cool air raised goose bumps on his now exposed buttocks.

She stretched out on his back, using her left hand to again pull his head back, but not as far as before. Swiftly she sank her teeth into him and he shuddered at the pain caused. Then when she released him, McQueen found himself wrenched up and over onto his back, hard. It felt as if she was going to rip his throat out as she again drank from him, this time from the left side. He could feel the lower teeth digging into the abused flesh on the right side. Her tongue licked and cleaned his throat.

Bites that drew blood were trailed down his throat to a nipple where more blood was drawn. He bit his lip to keep the whimpers in as she moved to the other side and sucked up more blood before leaving a bloody path to his groin.

The flight suit restricted his movements and he struggled to slip it down his legs. With an impatient growl, Silver jerked the suit to his ankles. He kicked his feet free. She shoved his thighs apart and McQueen tasted blood as he anticipated the next bite. He jumped as fangs were buried into the inside of his right thigh. Pleasure warred with pain. His body responded to the pleasure and he wondered how long she would toy with him before finishing him off. Still she drank from him and he started to feel the effect. In his chest, his heart labored to move an increasingly shrinking supply of blood. He guessed she had drained him at least half way.

McQueen forced his hand into her hair, stroking with his thumb. "Please, Lysa, don't kill me."

The fangs disengaged and he felt her lick his flesh again. She sucked on his scrotum and then released it before licking his hard cock. The trail of blood up his belly to his nipples was licked up and she paid gentle attention to the first nipple she came to, laving it thoroughly with her tongue. Then she moved to the other one. She moved up his throat and he wove the fingers of his other hand in her hair. As she covered his mouth with hers, he looked into her eyes and breathed a soft sigh of relief. A form of sanity stared back at him.

Her kiss was hard, demanding, and McQueen let her dominate. When she slid down onto his hard cock, he gasped and bucked gently, his hands still in her hair. She rode him, driving him into orgasm. Just before he felt it coming, Silver slipped off and sucked him into her mouth. The mere act drove him over the edge. Blackness tinged his vision and he rode the sensations into darkness.

When he came to, McQueen found himself on a bunk, wrapped in a blanket, naked. He started to move and felt an explosion go off in his head. He groaned.

Finch appeared, a cup of something hot in her hands. "Easy, sir. She drank you down pretty far." She lifted his head slightly. "Drink as much as you can. It'll help both the headache and your body."

It was some sort of herbal concoction, McQueen concluded, from the taste, but his senses refused to identify the smells and tastes. After only half of the cup, he motioned for Finch to take it away. "Silver?"

"Next bunk over. She'll be back to you soon enough."

"Going to kill me if she keeps drinking from me."

"She'll start giving some back from this point on. Try a little more of the tea. It'll help your body produce more blood."

"How's West?" McQueen asked after several more sips and handing it back.

"He's just fine. Russell and St. John successfully diverted his attention from what was going on back here. He's sleeping at the moment."

"How'd you get hot water?"

"Disabled a couple of alarms and used a Sterno can. Try and finish it."

"Did you look at Silver?" He took the cup from her and drained it.

"Yes, she's healing. That shoulder and leg are going to be a bitch, though. The medics are going to have to break the shoulder again. It started knitting in the wrong position. Torn ligaments in the leg will heal in time. Those burns are nasty and a couple of them are infected, mainly on her back."

"We'll have to do what we can."

"I've doctored what I can, but there's only so much she'll take from me at this time. You'll have to do the rest."

"Now?"

"No." Finch let him lie back down. "Go to sleep, colonel."

McQueen obeyed.

A hungry mouth on his woke him some time later. Opening his eyes, McQueen saw Silver leaning over him. He kissed her back, gently pulling her down on top of his body. With care, he rolled her onto the bunk under him and he leaned on an elbow. He pulled away from the kiss. "Silver? Lysa?"

"I'm in control, for now." She ran her good hand down his face, throat and chest, down to tease briefly before returning to his face. "Are you all right?"

"It wasn't nearly as bad as they said it would be. Just a lot of interesting bites and a few strains and bruises."

"Yes, I can see the bites and bruises. Sorry." Her hand gently touched his bruised and bitten throat.

"Hey, I'm alive, Silver. I'm not broken into pieces. That's good. I can live with the rest." He winced as she pushed him onto his back.

"What is it?"

"I wasn't designed to corkscrew. I could really use one of those massages about now." McQueen caressed her face. "But it'll pass. You need to heal, Lysa."

"In time." She kissed him. "Right now, I want something else. You did your usual good job down on the planet." Silver put her nearly useless hand to work.

"I try to be of service." McQueen felt his body responding to her hand. "Let's trade places."

McQueen roved over her body, his hands and mouth soothing the pain, he hoped. Gradually he started to concentrate on bringing her to a full arousal.

Like she had in the cave, Silver defeated his plan to make gentle love to her. The intensity of the sensations caused by her teeth sinking into his throat sent shudders through McQueen as he lost all control and started thrusting with no regard to the consequences. Only when she released him did McQueen know she had come and he was close. Dropping his head down onto her uninjured shoulder, McQueen fought to steady his breathing.

Silver pushed him over onto his back. "Go with it." She moved down his body and sucked him into her mouth.

Arm across his mouth, McQueen moaned as Silver expertly pleasured him. He let his body dictate its own rhythm and came so hard he almost passed out again. Chest heaving, McQueen ran his fingers through her hair. "God, Lysa. I've never had such intense climaxes. Is it because you're a vampire?"

"Yes." Silver returned to stretch out beside McQueen.

McQueen drank from her wrist when she offered it and closed his eyes, remembering what she had told him the first time. He counted to thirty and pulled away. "Lysa, keep it. You need it."

She smiled sadly and licked her wrist closed. "Go to sleep."

Silver woke him some time later. "You need to eat."

"What about you?"

"A bit beyond me right now."

"Lysa, how badly are you injured?"

"Bad enough. I can't eat or drink anything except blood right now. Finch'll have something for you to eat and drink. Go on." She practically shoved him out of the bunk.

"Hey, give a guy a chance to cover up, will you?"

"West's sleeping. The others won't care. Besides, it's a little late to be modest." Her eyes closed.

Looking down at Silver, McQueen realized that she didn't look all that much better than before. He started to walk through the blanket curtain and nearly jumped out of his skin when Finch suddenly appeared.

"Sorry, sir. I heard you two and figured she was ready to send you out to eat. Why don't you go sit on the other bunk and I'll bring it to you."

McQueen settled down cross-legged on the other bunk, pulling the blanket over his lap and leaning back against the wall. When Finch came in carrying a plate and a cup, he patted the bunk beside him. He took the offered food and drink, wrinkling his nose at the drink's smell. "More of that tea?"

"Yes."

"Shouldn't she be looking better by now?" McQueen ate a bite of the warmed MRE dish.

Finch chewed her lower lip. "Yes. It isn't as easy for the vampires to heal themselves. They can use their blood to heal others, but it takes a lot more for them to heal. That's part of why they drink as much as they do. It occurs eventually, but the worse the injuries, the longer it takes. Unless they drink from another vampire."

"Which we happen to be out of at the moment."

Finch smiled. "Looks like it, sir. By the way, sir, I'll try to bring you something to eat and drink every four hours or so. It'll help offset the calories you're burning and the blood loss."

"All right. Anything else I should be aware of?" He took a deep drink.

"This isn't normal behavior."

"I sort of gathered that. Any idea what's going on?"

"It's one of two things, I think. Either she's keeping herself in mission mode or..."

"Or what?"

"Or the internal injuries are so severe that her body is merely striving for a balance until we reach medical help."

"Neither one is exactly a great choice." McQueen sighed as he ate some more, his eyes on Silver's labored breathing. "And if she's in mission mode still? If she slips out, she'll come after me again. Right?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long has it been since we left the planet?"

"Six hours."

"At least forty-four to go just to reach the buoy. All right. Thanks."

McQueen finished the food and tea. Handing the dishes back to Finch, he said, "Let's hope that she starts healing."

"Yes, sir."

He sat for several minutes, head tilted back slightly, wondering what was going to occur during the next forty-four hours. Then McQueen moved over to sit beside Silver, stroking her matted hair back from her face. She had moved onto her stomach, facing away from the wall.

"Finch, do you have a brush or comb?" he asked.

"Just a mike."

Finch handed him a stiff bristled brush. "Here you go, sir."

"Thanks."

Working out the tangles occupied McQueen for nearly twenty minutes. He had turned Silver's head so she faced the wall in order that he could get all of her hair. The first he knew that Silver was awake came when her hand seized his left wrist hard enough that he lost his grip on the brush.

She jerked his wrist down to her mouth and he fought back a scream as her teeth penetrated both sides of his wrist. McQueen swore silently as he tried to extricate his wrist. Her hand released his wrist and grabbed him behind the head, pulling him down over her body to where she could reach his throat. Fear shot through him at the sheer hunger in her eyes and McQueen prayed that she would not hurt him too badly. As she withdrew from his wrist, Silver slammed him against the wall hard enough to stun him for a second. Her teeth sank into his throat, ravaging flesh already badly abused, and McQueen bit his lip to keep from crying out.

Pain warred with pleasure and McQueen felt his body slowly responding to the pleasure. In an effort to show his willingness, McQueen ran his hand along her side and arm. "Please, Lysa, not so hard. I'm not going anywhere."

McQueen was pulled down onto his back as she rose onto her knees, freeing his throat. Knees on either side of his hips, Silver started nipping at his chest, drawing blood once more. He tilted his head back, opening himself to her.

Her mouth wandered from his aching groin to his bloody throat, licking blood and sucking more to the surface. At last, she mounted him and McQueen let his body go on automatic, using his hands on Silver's waist to hold her up above him, taking the weight off her injured shoulder. He almost growled in frustration when she dismounted, but made no resistance as her mouth sucked his cock in and drove him over the edge almost instantly within a few minutes.

Barely conscious, McQueen felt her roll him onto his side and settle in behind him. Her right wrist appeared before his mouth and, as he drank, McQueen heard whisper soft in his ear, "Sorry. I lost control. Should have left me behind."

"Never. We need you, Lysa. I'm done." McQueen knew he hadn't taken nearly enough, but was determined not to weaken her too far. She had to heal, before the hunger killed him.

"Not enough, McQueen. Finch's tea will only help so much. You need to speed up your blood production. And the only way to do that is with our mixed blood. Drink some more. With luck, I won't need more for at least six hours."

Reluctantly, McQueen drank until she pulled her wrist away, a minute later. "Lysa, are you still in mission mode?"

"Not exactly. That's part of the trouble. But if I were completely out of it, you'd be dead by now and so would probably one or two others." She draped her injured arm over his chest.

"I want a straight answer, Lysa. How badly injured are you?"

"If I were merely a tank, I would be dead."

"Oh, god, Lysa." He started to move, but her arm tightened slightly.

"Nothing you can do, but what you're doing."

"Finch said some of the burns were infected."

"It doesn't matter in the long run. They are minor." Her hand touched his cheek lightly, clumsily. "Sleep, McQueen. Sleep and heal. I'll try my best not to lose control again."

"Lysa, don't shut me out."

"I'm not. I'm trying to keep you alive. You and the others. Please sleep, McQueen."

Her hand dropped from his face and McQueen felt fear that she needed to fight so hard to keep from killing him. He cursed the fact that they had no doctor and resolved to have one assigned permanently to the squadron, if he could find a volunteer. That made him remember Adam whom he had known for so short a time. But the squadron had told him tales of the AI.

"Lysa, do you think there are more Adams out there?"

"Somewhere."

McQueen knew he should tell her about Adam, but did not want to depress her further. She was dealing with enough stress for the moment.

Silver managed to stay in control for the rest of the trip back to where the Saratoga's buoy waited. Dressed for the first time since boarding the transport, McQueen waited impatiently in the cockpit hatchway as Russell downloaded the information.

"Ah, bloody hell. It's another thirty hours." Russell slammed his fist into his thigh.

"We'll be flying on fumes by then, colonel," announced Vansen, furiously.

"Nothing to be gained by waiting. Set the course and let's go. Just hope that they've got patrols out to watch for us and keep the Chigs off our backs." McQueen let his shoulders slump. He knew he was running on the knife-edge of exhaustion. Between blood loss and not enough real rest, McQueen knew soon he would collapse.

Finch pulled him away from the hatchway and pressed a cup into his hand. Absently, he started to drink it. He frowned at Finch. "It's different."

"Just added a sedative. You need some sleep. We'll wake you if she needs you." Finch faced him unrepentant. "Now, drink it. We can't have you collapsing from exhaustion."

"Go on, colonel. Get some sleep." West rose from the co-pilot's seat. "Everything's under control."

McQueen gave West a mock frown and drained the cup dry. Handing it back to Finch, he said, "Don't hesitate to wake me."

"We won't."

A nagging sense of worry drove McQueen to wakefulness. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair, realizing he needed to get a trim. Getting to his feet, McQueen made his way to the water dispenser, wanting to get the bad taste out of his mouth. His bare feet made no sound on the deck as he padded across the transport. Stepping in something wet, his first thought was that someone had forgotten to clean up a spill. Then he realized that the lights were down too low.

The cockpit hatch stood open and McQueen cautiously made his way forward. West sat in the pilot's seat, slumped forward.

"Come in, West. Anyone there? What the hell is going on over there?" Vansen's voice wavered between terrified and furious.

McQueen glanced at the co-pilot's seat and froze. Head back, Russell stared at the ceiling, a gaping hole where his throat used to be. A look back at West and McQueen saw the blood trail down the chest and lax arm. He pulled West's body away from the console and swore, the console had been trashed, and only the receiver had survived.

Backing up, McQueen spun around. He stared into the darkness of the hold and swallowed, knowing that death stalked him. Finch and St. John were dead, he knew, leaving only him. The only thing he could think of was to somehow force the rest of his kids to destroy the transport. No way was he going to let a berserk vampire loose on the Saratoga. That meant he had to get to a weapon's pod.

He felt for the rifle rack by the cockpit hatch and frowned when he came up with no rifles in place. Someone had moved them. Slowly McQueen eased toward the starboard weapon pod. Trying not to move the blanket, McQueen slipped through to the other side. He froze when his feet touched fabric and something moved.

Crouching, McQueen took a couple of deep breaths, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darker area. He ran his fingers over the fabric and quickly oriented himself to the body. Long hair, so it was Finch.

Fingers clamped down on his exploring wrist, tugging him down. Realizing she was still alive, barely, McQueen leaned over.

"She died. But then an hour later, she woke up. Tossed St. John against the wall, broke his back. Left me for dead. Went forward, then came back. She's waiting for you."

"Where are the rifles?" Her chest hardly rose under his hand.

"Back there with her." Finch's breath gurgled.

"Finch, I'm sorry. I'm going to fire on the Hammerheads. Hopefully they'll destroy the transport."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't let you do that."

Finch's hold on his wrist tightened, impossibly so, pulling him onto his knees.

Shuffling sounds came from behind him, from the cockpit area, and sheer terror pulsed through McQueen. They had been changed into undead creatures, monsters with familiar bodies and faces. Even as he struggled to break the grip on his wrist, other hands grabbed his ankles.

Teeth worried at his legs and arm. With a burst of energy born of panic, McQueen broke free, lurching to his feet and stumbling toward the gun port. He knew he had no time to aim at one of his kids. It would be all he could do to manage a single shot. Fingers inches away from the weapon's trigger, hands dragged McQueen down to the floor, burying him alive, tasting his still living body.

McQueen screamed, "No!" as he was dragged away from the gun port, arms and legs captive.

He fought desperately, but could not free himself, even as his flight suit was unzipped, baring his heaving chest. Then the lights came up enough to illuminate his surroundings. The mutilated bodies of the four Marines held him firmly to the floor, pinned securely. Fresh blood coated their pale lips, his blood, and he sobbed from the avid hunger in their cold eyes. From the darkness stalked Silver, her gray eyes dead and lifeless until they landed on him. Fear coiled in his gut from the mockery of love in her eyes and knew she intended to make him like herself. A true, undead vampire, to stalk through the corridors of the Saratoga, killing wantonly.

In a last effort to free himself, McQueen managed to wrest his right hand loose and draw his pistol. He fired at Silver twice, seeing the bullets hit her square in the chest, making her halt temporarily. A cruel smile curled her lips and McQueen shoved the muzzle under his jaw, pulling the trigger even as hands grabbed his hand. Pain flooded him, but he knew he had failed as the pain continued and he could see Silver crouched over him, fangs ready to sink into his flesh.

"Should have done that immediately, instead of trying to reach the gun port," she whispered. "Now, you shall become a fit consort for a dark queen."

McQueen screamed as she sank her teeth deeply into his throat for the last time.

West stared at the tossing and restless form of McQueen. "Damn, maybe you shouldn't have drugged him, Finch. I think he's trapped in nightmares. He's not going to get any rest this way. It's only been two hours."

"It was the only way I could think of to get him to sleep." Finch sighed.

"Look, I have an idea, but I'm going to need a bit of help. And he's going to fight us hard to start with. Silver started giving him massages to help him sleep and I've been doing it since he's come back." Russell gave a shrug. "It's helped. He seems to get more than two or three hours worth that way. I'm going to try and start a massage. I need to roll him onto his stomach and I need someone to hold his arms down until he realizes what is happening."

"Finch, if you fly for a while, I'll help Russell." St. John stuck his head out of the cockpit. "It'll be easier that way."

" And we need to strip him again."

"Oh, he'll love that." West shook his head. "This trip has been one major disaster. Are they always like this?"

"This one hasn't been nearly as bad as three or four others." Russell smiled at West. "Come on. Help me get him out of the flight suit."

McQueen fought the three Marines, trapped in his nightmare. When they finally managed to slide the flight suit off his writhing body, it took all three of them to roll him onto his stomach.

St. John grimaced as he held McQueen's arms from the next bunk. "West, grab his ankles. Hold him."

Hands running lightly over McQueen's back and shoulders, Russell started singing softly, not really paying attention to the words, more interested in giving McQueen another way of knowing he was safe. It irked Russell that McQueen's struggles were proving arousing to him, and he fought the arousal. By the time, McQueen ceased struggling, Russell was breathing just as hard as his superior. He met St. John's gaze and recognized that the other was just as aroused.

"You know, guys, this is really weird, but ah..." West sounded a bit scared.

Russell snared West's neck and brought him in close for a hard kiss. As West's hands started fumbling with their zippers, St. John moved behind West and ran his hands up hard thighs and over a raging erection.

"Shall we adjourn for a few minutes? Then Russell can finish giving the colonel that massage." St. John nipped at West's neck.

"Most definitely."

It was nearly fifteen minutes before Russell returned to where McQueen lay, still restless. "Ah, colonel. Too bad you don't indulge in a little light sex. It's would make this a lot easier. And you would rest better." Russell started to wipe his hands on his bare thighs, but smiled as he realized that his fingers were still coated with lubricant. He eased a finger between McQueen's tense buttocks, taking it slow and stopping whenever McQueen tightened up. The point came when he could start a gentle in and out motion, the tight muscle relaxing enough to allow it. He added a second finger once satisfied it was safe to do so.

Once he had McQueen loosened up sufficiently, Russell rolled McQueen onto his back. Sliding his fingers back in and making sure he found McQueen's prostate, the young Marine started pumping his fingers in and out quickly. Then he waited until McQueen's cock, hardening under the prostate stimulation, crept out of hiding. He sucked it into his mouth, beginning a fast rhythm with mouth and fingers.

He nearly jumped in surprise when hands gripped his head lightly, altering the rhythm a bit. Russell kept pace with his fingers, feeling the tenseness of the stomach muscles under his other hand.

With a hoarse cry, McQueen came, his hands forcing Russell down on him.

Russell rode McQueen's bucking hips, sucking McQueen dry and withdrew his fingers. When released, he took a deep breath as he sat up. "I didn't intend to wake you, sir."

"Just what the hell did you think would happen? No way in hell I was going to sleep through that kind of stimulation." McQueen sprawled on the bunk. "I'm starting to feel like a god-damned cow. Being milked dry all the time."

"I'm sorry, sir. I just wanted to drive away the nightmares."

"That you did. Thank god." McQueen closed his eyes.

The sheer relief in McQueen's voice told Russell that they had been bad, really bad. "I started to give you a massage, but you were fighting us and the nightmares. We sort of reacted to that and then I thought maybe a little sexual relief would drive away the nightmares."

"You achieved that objective." McQueen sighed. "Now, what?"

"How about I give you that massage?"

"Dos so." A heartbeat and then McQueen said, "And Russell, if you ever do that again, without my express permission, I'm going to break you in two."

Hearing the anger in McQueen's voice, Russell said quietly, "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"That's not the smartest thing to do to me, especially considering the nightmares I usually have. I've been known to come out swinging or with a weapon ready."

"I'll remember that, sir."

McQueen rolled over and stretched out, pillowing his head on his arms.

Fingers trembling slightly, Russell started the massage.

McQueen woke up feeling better and stretched, the sense of frustration having departed for the time being. He did a few exercises before dressing again. Entering the blanketed off area, he found Finch sitting beside Silver. "How long has it been?"

"Ten hours since I gave you the sedative. Eight since Russell tried his new technique."

"Has she awakened at all?"

"No."

McQueen heard the fear in her voice. "We'll just have to hope that she can stay alive until we reach the Toga."

"Sir, do you usually have such strong nightmares?"

McQueen stared down at Silver. "Yes."

"I'm sorry, sir. I wish there was a way to help."

"Silver was trying."

Finch sighed, stroking Silver's cheek. "She needs more blood. And there's only one way she'll take it."

"But she's not conscious."

"The hunger is."

"Do you hate me that much, Finch?" he asked quietly.

"Sir?" She wrenched her gaze up at him, startled by his words. "I don't hate you at all, sir."

"It would be easy to think it, given what you're suggesting I do." McQueen met her eyes squarely. "You are suggesting I offer myself to the hunger."

Finch could only nod. "I've already tried. She ignored me."

"There isn't enough mingled blood in you. But there is in me." He closed his eyes. "Go brew some more of your tea. Make it strong. I'll need it... if I survive."

"Sir, I don't want to lose both of you."

"Thanks, Finch." The real concern in her voice made him smile sadly. "Let's hope we all make it to the Toga."

"Yes, sir."

He waited until Finch had left before sitting down beside Silver. "I'm back, Lysa." McQueen twined his fingers in her hair, hoping maybe he could pry himself loose before it was too late. Slowly, he lowered his throat to above her mouth.

A shudder coursed through him when her teeth fastened onto both sides of his throat, hard, and jerked him off balance. He felt blood running down his neck to under his flight suit. "Lysa, easy, please. Just drink. I'm not leaving." Her swallowing dug the fangs deeper into his flesh and he knew a lot of blood was going to waste, doing neither of them any good.

McQueen freed one hand and unzipped his flight suit, thinking ruefully he might as well have stayed undressed. "Lysa, come on. Take what's running loose. Don't waste it. That's not like you."

After a long moment during which he was certain she was not going to budge, Silver loosed her grip on his throat and followed the trail of blood down his chest to his stomach.

Feeling lightheaded, McQueen could only prop himself up on his hands and wait for her to return to his throat. She moved back up toward his throat and he lowered himself once more, wincing at the pain as the teeth slid into his torn flesh.

Weakening, McQueen sank down onto his elbows. "Lysa, I can't lose much more. You have to stop drinking. Please, Lysa." His legs trembled and finally could not longer support his weight. He dropped to his knees, dragging Silver with him toward the edge of the bunk, crying out as her teeth cut through more of his throat.

"Lysa, please, you're killing me. Please, Lysa, stop." His voice grew fainter as he struggled to remain conscious.

The last thing McQueen felt as darkness dragged him down was the roughness of her tongue on his throat.

A hand slid under his head and lifted it slightly. McQueen hissed as a hundred Chigs started beating his head to pieces.

"Easy, colonel, I've got something for the headache. Open your mouth slightly. Just enough so I can pour some of this in."

McQueen obeyed Finch's directions and felt a warm liquid fill his dry mouth. Reflexively, he swallowed and swallowed again as more followed. A few of the Chigs wandered off for better entertainment and he sighed in relief.

"Well, the good news is you're alive, though I doubt it feels all that good at the moment. The bad news is she drank you down real far. You've been unconscious for at least eight hours. Take a bit more, sir."

Eyes still closed, McQueen drank until she tilted the cup away. Her hand slid out from under his head and he guessed that was all he was getting.

"Would you like some plain water, sir?"

Moving a lead lined jaw, McQueen didn't recognize his voice as he croaked, "Yes."

"Russell, where's that painkiller? I need two of them."

"Too loud."

"Sorry, sir." Finch lowered her voice and moved away.

McQueen dozed off until she started to raise his head again. He felt his face contort in pain, but could not summon the energy to control it.

"Open up, sir. I've got some painkiller for you."

The pills tasted as foul as ever and he wished just once doctors would make medicine that you wanted to take. Water washed into his mouth and he swallowed gratefully.

"Do you want to try and eat anything?"

"No. Sleep."

"Ok."

The next time he woke up, McQueen moved his head slowly, leaving his eyes closed. This time only a dozen or so Chigs showed up to beat on his skull. With a groan, he ran his hand through his hair, massaging the tight muscles.

A strong pair of hands slipped under his and took over the task. "Easy, colonel. Just lie still. Let me do that," whispered Russell. "Do you want some more water or tea?"

"Please. Whichever." His voice sounded rusty.

Russell raised his head and McQueen obediently opened his mouth. He drank the tea poured into his mouth greedily. A sigh escaped when the cup was taken away. Both hands returned to massaging his skull, driving the Chigs away until only a couple remained.

"How long?"

"Another six hours. Think you can eat anything? If you think you can keep it down, it would be a good idea."

"Why not?"

Bite by bite, Russell fed him a warmed up MRE. All without McQueen opening his weighted eyelids. Afterward, McQueen drank some more tea. "Silver?"

"Still alive."

"Worth it?"

"It's hard to tell. We'll know when the doctors tell us just what's wrong with her."

"Hm." McQueen let the darkness roll over him.

A mouth kissing McQueen brought him back to partial consciousness. He drank the warm liquid pressed to his lips a moment later, knowing he needed it desperately. A voice told him to feel his body healing and he sank into the process, unaware how long he drank. Eventually the voice told him to sleep and he did so, hearing, "Go to sleep, love. Sleep and heal. And forget."

Dragging himself back to consciousness, McQueen felt lightheaded, but alive again. He had a vague recollection of something having occurred while unconscious, but could not dredge it up. Getting to an upright position started the headache again, but it was bearable, a paltry half dozen Chigs busy inside his skull. He opened his eyes slowly; ready to shut them if the light was too bright. The light was dim, but bright enough to see everything.

Biting back a groan, McQueen forced himself to stand up and stagger over to where Silver lay, pale and still. Her chest rose and fell; slightly less labored it seemed to him. He sank down beside her, tired by the ten feet he had traveled.

"Hey, soldier, do I know you?"

Her weak voice was music to his ears. "Considering how much of me is in you, you better." He winced at how rough his voice sounded.

"You'll recover. You look better. Throat's not so bruised anymore."

Gently, McQueen touched his throat and found that the wounds were closed and for the most part healed. The right side remained sore to the touch, though, having been savaged the worst. "Well, you're conscious again. So I'll count that as a step in the right direction, too."

Finch shouldered aside the blanket. "I thought I heard the two of you, muttering. You, colonel, drink all of this." She shoved a cup into McQueen's hands. "And you, colonel, are drinking from someone beside the colonel." Finch stared down at Silver.

"That I can do now."

"Good."

Looking at McQueen, Finch said, "We made contact with the Toga five minutes ago. They're sending an escort. We're still four hours out."

"Four hours. Four hours to regain some sort of strength." McQueen sipped the tea, not even noticing the taste.

"After she's done some feeding, you can have some of her blood. You lost way too much to be doing anything active. In fact, you shouldn't even be up." Finch stared at him hard.

"What? I've been unconscious except for twice. Once with you and the other with Russell." McQueen finished the tea. "I'm going to try and go to the cockpit. If you hear something fall down, it's me." He stood up and slowly, unsteadily, walked forward.

St. John slept on a bunk as did West. By the time he reached the cockpit, McQueen felt like falling down and sank into the co-pilot's seat with a pleased sigh.

"Nice to see you back among the living. Wasn't too sure about you for a while there." Russell handed him a ration bar. "All out of MREs."

"From the splitting headache I had when I woke up after eight hours, I think I should feel more worried about it, but I don't. I'm not sure why I don't." McQueen took a bite of the ration bar. "How're the others holding up? Eighty hours in a Hammerhead is pretty extreme."

"They've been sleeping as much as possible for the last thirty hours, tying their navs into the transport's whenever they've slept. But they're getting pretty antsy, now. We're so close."

"How soon will the escort arrive?"

"Two hours."

"All right." Taking another bite, McQueen asked, "Are you going to give Silver some blood?"

Russell shook his head. "I just came on and someone has to fly this bird. No offense, colonel, but you're in no shape to do it. Finch was flying before me so she'll give up some. St. John should probably donate. If it weren't for the fact that West would probably go nuts, I'd suggest he donate some, too."

"Thanks for the massage. Drove the Chigs pounding on my skull away, for the most part. There's still a few left, but I can handle them." McQueen turned his gaze outward, staring at the star studded sky, feeling at peace.

"You're welcome, sir."

Fifteen minutes later, Finch appeared in the hatchway. "You can go back to her, colonel. See if you can get her to drink some water. I just tucked St. John into bed again. I think I'll join him."

McQueen nodded. He waited until he had finished the ration bar before rising, feeling stronger already. "Do you know where a mirror might be?"

"No marks left, sir. I looked shortly before I took over from Finch." Russell studied the LIDAR.

"Hm."

Dropping the ration bar wrapper in the trash receptacle, McQueen headed back to Silver, smiling at the sight of St. John wrapped around Finch on a bunk. He sat beside Silver, pleased to see she was still conscious, though in pain. "How bad is it?"

"Nothing I can't handle. How are you doing?"

"Surprisingly well, for someone who was damn near emptied. You gave some back to me at some point, didn't you? When they weren't paying attention."

"Some."

"How much?"

"Enough to keep you from dying."

"Damn. What about you?"

"I refuse to let you die. I'll survive." Silver reached up with her arm and pulled him down to her. "And the reason I won't let you die is so I'll enjoy more of these." She kissed him deeply, desperately.

McQueen returned the kiss, wishing he could do more than kiss her, but knew he was too weak for anything more. Coming up for air, McQueen looked down into Silver's eyes. "I don't want to drink from you."

"But you will." Before he could argue, she continued. "I need you strong enough to handle whatever is waiting for us on the Toga."

"All right."

Silver slashed her wrist and held it up to him.

He licked up the blood that ran down her arm and then sucked on the open wound. The flow of life force was almost palpable to him this time. After a minute, he pulled away. "That's plenty."

The wound closed, Silver pulled him down onto the bed beside her, wrapping her arms around him. "Sleep a while longer. Keep me company."

Sliding easily into sleep, McQueen's subconscious heard the words spoken. "Sleep, heal, grow strong. Drink." Then after a long pause, during which he drank, she continued softly. "Feel your body grow strong, steady. Sure. You will wake recovered. Heal, grow strong, my love. For both of us."

A hand on his shoulder woke McQueen. "Sir, we're an hour out from the Toga," announced St. John. "Thought you might want some time to prepare."

"Thanks."

McQueen sat up and raked his hands through his hair, thinking he would definitely need to make the barber one of the first stops, after a decent meal, after a shower, after getting clean clothes, after... He chuckled to himself, realizing he had his priorities straight. Giving Silver a quick look, McQueen made his way aft to the head, intending to use the facilities and the small sink.

When he came out, his face no longer felt so grimy and he felt almost human. A few exercises to work the kinks out of his body and to get the blood circulating made him feel even better. McQueen donned a pair of socks and dug out his boots, lacing them up firmly.

He felt like Lt. Col. McQueen again as he entered the cockpit. "Who's our escort?" he asked Russell.

"The 64th."

"Good crew. Patch me through to our pilots."

"Yes, sir."

"Vansen, Hawkes, 'Phousse, how are you holding out?"

"Good to hear from you, colonel. Doing fine. Just waiting to get to the Toga so I can get out of my Hammerhead," laughed 'Phousse. "I don't want to sit in it for at least a week. Think we can arrange that, colonel?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Is everything all right, sir?" asked Vansen.

"As well as can be expected. Silver's still down, but I'm back on my feet."

"Good to hear, sir."

"Hawkes, you awake out there?"

"Yes, colonel. I want out. No extended patrols for a while, ok, sir?"

Hearing the almost frantic tone, McQueen said, "I can make that happen, Hawkes."

"Good. Cause, sir, it's all I can do to keep my hands off the cockpit, sir."

"Only a little while longer, Hawkes. Hold it together for a bit longer. You can do it."

"Yes, sir."

McQueen heard the attempt at strength. "You'll do it, Hawkes. 'Phousse, keep him talking. Vansen how's the fuel situation?"

"Fuel, what the hell is that, sir?"

"Will you make it back?"

"We may need to be towed if the Toga has moved any further away. Even a few feet would be too far."

"Queen Six, this is Toga Control."

"Toga Control, this is Queen Six."

"Prepare to rendezvous in thirty mikes."

"Thank you, Boss Ross." McQueen let his heartfelt relief sound in his voice.

"Welcome, Queen Six. This better be worth it."

"It is, Boss Ross, it is."

"Toga Control out."

"Hear that, Hawkes? Thirty mikes. That's all you have to worry about," 'Phousse said.

"I can do this. I can do this."

McQueen knew that Hawkes would need some serious down time before he spent another long patrol in his Hammerhead. "Hawkes, I would have had you on the transport, but I needed you out there in case the Chigs spotted us."

"I know, sir. I'll make it, sir."

Next : Chapter Eight
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