"Lex...Hon. Come here."

Lex's father drops down on one knee. He points to a small plant pushing itself up through the powdery snow. Twelve year old Lex bends down, both hands pressed against her kneecaps, and squints at the tiny piece of flora her father is pointing at.

"I see it, Dad! What is it?"

"It's not so much what that is, Lex...As why it's there. So much of life is about resiliency. Even on this harsh mountain...Life finds a way to make it. In a few years...That tiny seedling will be a sapling pine. A few more years after that...It will be a giant tree. It doesn't look like much now. But give it time."

Lex stares at the tiny pine seedling with a disinterested grimace. Her father is always going off on these National Geographic type tangents. The clients pay him good money to take them climbing. Yet, he spends so much time giving mini science lessons along the way. Sometimes, the lessons can be fun. Like the time they found cougar scat and three abandoned cubs. Most times, they just make her sleepy. But that's what makes her dad special. He always has a story for everything.

"Come on, Dad. We don't have time to watch that tree grow. We need to reach the summit before nightfall."

"I know...I know. You're bored with your old man. I can take a hint," Mr. Woods says, rising and throwing an arm around Lex's shoulder.

"Nah. I just don't like the idea of losing clients."

Chuckling softly, father and daughter make their way towards the mountain trail.

-

-

Present Day

Scorvo's transport ship

Post-detonation

Lex places both hands over the sides of her face and breathes a sigh of relief. She opens her eyes and gives Scar a friendly smile.

“Every day is a roller-coaster with you!”

Stepping closer, Scar takes Lex’s face into his hands. A memory forces its way past any thoughts of the present. The collapsed ice shelf…Before the serpent mother had broken free. There was something he had wanted to do. Using his thumb, Scar wipes away the makeup covering the acid scar on Lex’s cheek. The warmth within the ship, and the sweat dotting the surface of Lex’s skin, makes his task easier. With a wistful smile, Scar lowers his mouth to hers.

Lex throws her arms around the resurrected warrior’s neck, drawing him closer. Wrapping his arms around Lex’s slender waist, Scar holds her tightly. When they finally separate, Scar runs a hand through her hair.

“You are not exactly how I remember you. But I could never forget you.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“It’s been more than eleven years, Scar. That’s how long…You were gone.”

“That is a long time for an ooman. I am sorry I could not be there for you…My vil’par.”

Hearing Scar utter a word Scorvo has said to her over and over, causes a shiver to course Lex’s spine.

“What exactly is a vil’par? I still don’t understand. Why did you mark me?”

“Do you not know? I believed you could feel the n’fiis too. I thought…You would understand.”

“Are you saying…You love me, Scar?”

“Yes. That is the ooman word for it. Before all others…I chose you.”

“I figured as much,” Lex says. “And I can’t deny it. I believe…I feel the n’fiis as well.”

Scar is overcome with emotion. Pulling Lex into another kiss, he releases over a decade of suppressed passion. It’s a crazy thing being reborn. Lex presses a hand against one side of his chest and laughs softly. Scar pulls back with an amused expression.

“It gets better. Come on.”

Lex takes Scar’s hand and leads him deeper into the ship. Passing the murals and etchings of epic battles, Scar can’t help but grin. So much yautja history contained in one little transport vessel.

They finally arrive at the room where the three pedestals are arranged. Lex stands in the doorway as Scar approaches the pedestal on which his mask sits. He traces the acid score on the mask’s upper left corner. Using both hands, Scar removes his mask from its position upon the pedestal. He remembers doing the same the evening their transport pods jettisoned to the frozen ooman continent. Hot-headed Chopper. Brave Celtic. Dead now. Only he remains. And only due to a stroke of ooman luck.

Scar puts on his accessories one piece at a time, discarding Scorvo’s armor. The last item Scar reaches for is the ceremonial combistick. He holds the large staff up to the red pulsating light and extends it fully. A large grin alters the hunter’s face as he retracts it back into a closed position. When he is finished, Scar turns expectantly to Lex. The only thing missing is his mesh suit.

“Almost just like I remember you,” Lex says.

Scar extends his right hand to Lex. She approaches him slowly—not out of caution but awe. Not every being is granted a second chance at life. In the time that it takes Lex to reach him, Scar removes his mask. He pulls Lex into another tight embrace.

-

-

Castleton Police Department

Deputy Newsome hustles past two officers shooting the breeze in the crowded hallway. He practically runs into the operations room, dodging officers holding files or booking suspects. He stops short of plowing into Detective Mackey’s desk.

“Whoa, Dave! What’s the hurry? We don’t have an I.D. yet on the perp found out at the Mattley place. And forensics is still checking on the blood. You got some goodies for me? I’m all ears. I need some good news.”

“I don’t know if you can call it good news. You know that buddy I told you about last night?”

“Yeah. The one who works out in California. What about him?”

“He just called me. Said one of Weyland Industries’ research facilities was vaporized last night.”

Detective Mackey’s eyes grow as wide as saucers and he jumps to his feet.

“Well, that can’t be good for stock prices. Come on, buddy! I think I need a drink. Coffee’s on me. You drive.”

-

-

“Mr. Weyland…You have a call holding on line three,” a woman’s voice says over the phone speaker.

Michael Weyland presses a button on the phone’s expensive wooden base.

“Put them through,” Weyland says.

“Mr. Weyland?”

“Yes, Ms. Stafford?” Weyland says, drawing a hand over his brow and attempting to stave off a headache.

“Mr. Weyland…It’s been over eleven years. I want to know where my son is. It was your uncle who contracted Max to go to that frozen forsaken continent. Why won’t anyone tell me what happened to my son?”

“Because we don’t know, Ms. Stafford. We’re just as much in the dark as you are. We are doing everything we can to piece together what happened in Antarctica. Once we have some more answers…We will inform you of everything. You have my word.”

“But Mr. Wey—”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Stafford. I have a very important staff meeting I'm already late for. Please, try not to worry.”

Hanging up the phone, Michael Weyland grabs a paperweight off of his desk and hurls it across the room.