To Tyler's silent surprise Chelsey merely shook his head, though his expression suggested he wanted to deny it even as he admitted it. "Where from? The company has had control over this sector of space for... generations. They would have said something if they'd come into contact with an E.T. like this."

"Would they?" Tyler found himself asking in return, unwittingly mirroring the other man's thoughts. John and Jane Doe wouldn't really want to know that they weren't alone in the universe... the Does, the common man, wanted to be secure in their superiority over all other things. War of the Worlds, The Thing, To Serve Man, The Tommyknockers... all ancient tales, all about hostile alien life. Man was terrified of the hypothetical E.T.

But E.T. wasn't so imaginary anymore, now, was he?

Yet neither, so far, did he seem hostile. Rude, perhaps, but who knew what passed as rude to Mr. E.T.?

"Is the risk worth it?"

His gaze, which had blurred on the far wall as he thought, went back to its previous point of focus. The freelancer looked somewhat unsettled, understandably, but Tyler found the expression rather out of place on Chelsey's oft-stern visage. But the question was a valid one.

As he'd stated just moments before, it was practically impossible that they wouldn't eventually be found by other humans. If they told this E.T. "no thanks, we're good to go," their supplies would last them a very long time (especially since Tyler didn't need to eat), long enough to hold through to wait for a human rescue. The offered medical aid wasn't a dire necessity either-- the only one of them bleeding all over the place was Tyler himself, and it wouldn't kill him.

"Technically, it isn't," the synthetic finally responded, idly poking at a bit of the mercurial film covering one hand. "Neither one of us are gonna die from our injuries, so we don't need the medical aid, and can hang tight on our own until our own people get to us. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious. If it's honestly friendly, we lose nothing. If it's faking-" Tyler found himself working up another grin. "-me and the First Law drag your ass outta the fire again."

Chelsey shook his head, and the android's grin picked up a notch. "Don't hold it against me, man, you know I can't go against protocol." Protocol of course being, for an android, that programmed code of behaviour that no synthetic could ever go against even if commanded to.

"Right," the man responded, speaking flatly as he looked at the airlock. "We'll go, then." Chelsey's face grew as dour as his voice. "We'd probably be better off to go."

Better off? Tyler wondered, watching his comrade pull himself to his feet and turn to rummage in a crate, his back to the android. He was about to ask for clarification, but Chelsey wasn't done yet. "Look," he said, his back still turned, "Lemme set you straight on what's been going on before we got into this mess..."

And boy, was there some setting straight to be done! Tyler stood still, listening raptly at first, but then turning to collect up supplies as well, when he understood that Chelsey had a long story to tell. So while Tyler re-packed the synthetic repair kit and gathered up some other useful things, he listened as Chelsey told him how Chelsey and his squadron had been hired by Weyland-Yutani to eliminate a competitor by the name of Stephaniaq. Typical merc mission, right? Not so. The mission botched due to miscommunication (or misinformation?), and most of Chelsey's squad were injured or killed. After laying low for two weeks, Chelsey had led them back to a place he thought they'd be safe: Carina.

Then the story rolled into events Tyler was familiar with-- the chaos aboard the USM Carina. It had begun when a small ship had docked, the pilot claiming his crew was in critical state and needed help. Tyler barely remembered that-- as a synthetic, he was a multipurpose workhorse, and when the Carina didn't need a full barracks of marines, there were plenty other jobs for him to do. He'd been a technician that day, working in a bay on the opposite side of the station, and thus medical concerns were nowhere near a priority for him. Someone had informed him of the new ship's arrival, clearly, but there hadn't been a need for him to know anything more than that.

Then suddenly, the Carina was under attack. Black things, Chelsey called them bugs, and was absolutely certain that Stephaniaq had sent them in retribution. That was the part of the story where Tyler's own knowledge really kicked in. He'd been tossed into his marine gear, re-protocoled for battle, and sent to combat "unknown hostiles" that had come off the little ship. From there, the story was the same. The hostiles did more damage than they took, and the Carina collapsed around itself.

"Then the evac went out, I found you counting sheep under a bit of debris, and here we are," Tyler concluded when Chelsey had finished, shaking his head. "Shit. Sabotage after all, but a fucking weird kind."

After deciding he'd packed enough to supplement whatever Chelsey was grabbing too, Tyler recovered his marine-issue torso armour from the crate where he'd stowed it and put it on again, and filled the multiple pockets of his pants with all the bullet-clips they'd take. He then pulled his M-41A pulse rifle (also marine issue) from the same stow-crate and slung its carry-strap over his shoulder so the weapon rested at his hip. Going to meet a hopefully friendly E.T. with a large gun at his side was no doubt against any rule of diplomatic protocol that could ever be written, but there was no way in Hell he was going into a foreign ship to face an unknown entity without some kind of defence. He wasn't paranoid-- just careful. "Ready when you are, Chelsey."

"Right..." the other man nodded, and apparently seemed to regret it. The faintest line creased Chelsey's brow for the merest moment, then the moment seemed to pass and he gathered up his own batch of supplies and moved for the door. "Let's go."

Tyler did take note of his comrade's momentary discomfort, but did not comment. It was admirable how Chelsey was trying not to complain, and Tyler understood what was probably a desire to not appear weak. Or not to appear weaker than he already had: knocked out by falling debris and dragged to safety by an android that was twice the mess that he was... Tyler could not suffer from such pangs of pride exactly as humans did, since such things could interfere with his programmed protocol, but he still understood them.

Chelsey paused at the edge of the open hatch. Tyler moved up to stand beside him, and they both stared down the little corridor. It was definitely alien. The airlock now gave way to a walkway surrounded by tubing, and the walkway glowed with the weirdest colour combination he'd ever seen... something fuchsia and black all at the same time. His optical sensors almost went crazy trying to pin it down into a single spectrum. The door at the far end was open, and beyond it was darkness, which the little purple robot had vanished into.

Not reassuring. Not reassuring at all.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler saw Chelsey give him a glance. Perhaps having second thoughts? But it really was too late now, wasn't it? The E.T. was expecting them.

And there Chelsey went, taking the first step. As much as it could be called a step, for where the walkway began, gravity ended, as Tyler also discovered as he moved forwards as well. His final step sent him drifting slowly upwards until he caught hold of a protuberance he had to assume was the walkway's handrail.

"This is Major Tom to Ground Control... I'm stepping through the door and I'm floating in a most peculiar way..." Tyler found himself murmuring, almost humming, in a singsong manner, quoting a few lines of an ancient song despite the solemnity of the situation. He never could be one-hundred-percent serious about anything.

Holding his carton of supplies close to his chest, Tyler pushed himself towards the dim portal with his other hand. A little push was all he needed to drift, almost serenely, over the long, practically ultraviolet walkway, and he caught hold of the portal's edge to stop himself. He poked his head cautiously into the dimmer space beyond, his vision slowly shifting to a mode better suited for low light and darkness, and cast his gaze about for either little robot or alien greeting party.

"Anybody home?" he muttered to himself.