Ashkelon Station: In Orbit of GL382

07/23/2183

“It wasn't supposed to be the both of you,” miss Chen stated plainly, taking a seat across the table from Keren and Sheren. “But I suppose that can't be helped now.”

“What is going on?!” Keren asked more forcefully than she intended, “Where is our father?”

Miss Chen tightened her lips as her hard, dark eyes stared at the sisters with pity. Clearly what she had to say wasn't something they wanted to hear, and she knew it, “Your father...” she began slowly, “...is unwell. He is alive, but he cannot speak to you.”

Beneath the table, Sheren's hand found Keren's and squeezed tightly.

“What happened to him? Where did he go?” Sheren asked.

Miss Chen drew in a deep breath before she continued, “Your father is a hero. Above all you must believe that. His efforts served his people. His sacrifice will create a better future for the Union.”

Kerens eyes glanced behind the old woman to the flag hanging on the wall. She felt anger rising up inside her once again. So now he was some sort of spy and a traitor as well as a liar? Why should I even feel surprised? He put them all at risk, which he obviously knew very well, “So that's what this is about? You're telling me my father serves the Union of Progressive Peoples?”

Miss Chen nodded pridefully.

“Bullshit!” Keren retorted, yet in truth her outburst spoke of resentment, not disbelief. With every further word of denial she uttered, she felt her own voice begin to crack, “He fled the U.P.P. as a refugee! He told us the Union was a wasteland full of poverty, cruelty and injustice. He came to the ICSC for a better life.”

“That is exactly what he was trained to say. The truth is he cherished the Union, as do we all. Let me show you something,” the old woman said moving over to a file cabinet beside the computer. She unlocked a drawer and removed a file which she handed over to Keren.

Stenciled on the top was her fathers name, Guo Ho. Inside the folder were records and reports listing statistical scores, certifications, honors and marks of achievement. Events, exams, competitions and training camps were all outlined and documented.

Most telling were the pictures. Guo as a boy. Guo as a young man. Most were official-looking photos standing at attention before a military training academy, or else doing drills or exercises. Here he was firing a rifle. Here he was running over an obstacle course. Here he was swimming under barbed-wire stretched across a pond. Yet there were also other photos taken of a more personal nature. Guo reading a book, Guo playing music. Guo seated at a large family dinner. Guo laughing with other children who might even be his own brothers and sisters?

Sheren started to whimper and sob.

“Why do you have these photos?” Keren asked closing the file.

“They serve as a useful reminder. A touchstone. Sometimes he would come down here to look at them and ask me about news from home.”

Sheren started to cry much harder. Keren pulled her close for a hug.

“This isn't the father who raised us!” Keren spat coldly tossing the folder across the table harshly. “Why do you even bother to show us these things? It isn't enlightening, or comforting. It's hurtful and disturbing!”

“It's the truth!” Miss Chen stated matter-of-factly. “I know it all seems terribly unfair. But we honor our own. There is a place for you both in the Union.”

“Fuck that!” Keren spat. “I don't want any part of the Union or any of this!”

“Do you think you have a choice?” Miss Chen asked coldly.

“I should have never come here.” Keren stated to herself.

“Nonsense! You are exactly where you belong. Do as your sister does if you need to. Let the tears come if they must. Yet still you must understand. Resentment for the past will not serve you in the present. Here you have safety. Here you have family. Here you have a future. Be grateful for that!”

Keren grit her teeth together. This is such fucking bullshit! “We're going to leave,” she stated in a tone of clear challenge. “Don't try to stop us!”

The old woman looked dubious, “Would you rather end up in the custody of Jĭngtì Lóng commandos?”

Keren glowered, “What do they want with my father anyway? That's why they are looking for us isn't it? Was he spying on them?”

“That was part of his mission, for a time, but you are thinking about it the wrong way. Ask yourself what you were doing to serve the Union? Your fathers mission was ultimately about you Keren. It was always about you.”

Keren almost laughed, “You've got to be kidding?! Is there a file about me over there as well?”

“There is,” the old woman conceded. “But our plans for you were cut short when Eva went missing.”

“Eva?” Keren asked in a voice more like a whimper. That name sent a shock through Keren's mind. Her best friend. Her only friend. There was power invoking her name, same as her fathers. It forced her to think emotionally and Keren liked that not at all. Given the great stresses and threats she was coping with, emotion was a liability. Her time spent with Eva felt like a lifetime ago. Keren did not appreciate the reminder of better days, or the context of hearing her name spoken by a stranger with such unworthy familiarity.

Miss Chen nodded, “Yes Eva. Granddaughter of Z'ev Darkon, Ashkelon Station's Administrator and the daughter of Eve, a leading researcher and scientist for Technion Interstellar. Your friendship would have potentially opened new doors for us. Guo's marriage to your mother was the first step in that direction. Haylia's family, the Sterns, hold a great deal of influence over Technion Interstellar's board of directors. Haven't you ever wondered why your last name was hyphenated to Ho-Stern?”

Keren felt bile rising up in her throat, I'm gonna be sick. The more I listen, the worse it gets!

“Shut up!” Sheren suddenly shouted across the table.

The old woman moved faster than Keren would have believed possible. Even from a seated position she took them both unawares. Sheren's face recoiled from the slap of a bony-knuckled backhand before Keren could even think to react. A moment later, as Keren flinched to make a move, the stubby barrel of a compact automatic pistol pressed against Sheren's temple. “No, you shut up!” the old woman hissed. “Stop acting like a child!”

Sheren's sobs immediately choked up as she gasped, tense and terrified.

“That's better,” Miss Chen stated approvingly before returning to her chair, slipping the pistol back wherever it had materialized from.

“What do you want with us?” Keren asked, thinking very carefully about her options. There were plenty of firearms close at hand, but none of them looked loaded. Nor did she think she had better than a fair chance to overpower the old woman hand-to-hand, bizarre as that was to admit. Even her father, the best martial artist Keren had ever seen, moved that fast.

“I want to help you,” Miss Chen stated with sincerity. “But first you have to help yourselves! Stop pretending this will all go away. It's time to grow up and face reality.”

“Fine! You want us to face reality? We need to see our father!” Keren demanded obstinately. “It's been over three years!”

Miss Chen sat back in her chair, seemingly hesitant and unsure to grant that request.

“We have a right to see him,” Keren pressed. “And until we do, we will remain uncooperative and unconvinced about anything you tell us. You lost the benefit of the doubt when you pointed a gun at my little sister you fucking bitch!”

That prompted a blink of surprise from Miss Chen, but also a reluctant acceptance, “He is isolated, under guard. As neither of you have sworn your vows and oaths of service to the Union yet, I will have to request special access from The General. These arrangements will take some time...”

The General? Who the fuck is The General? Keren wondered, “You've had plenty of time to approach us and do that before we arrived on your doorstep. Why didn't you?”

“That was your father's wish!” Miss Chen explained with frustration. “He left instructions that you be spared the truth and allowed to move on with your lives if something happened to him.”

“Until these commandos came after us because of what he did?!” Keren snorted derisively. “Your mercy to leave us in the dark has almost got us killed! What's to say your truth's will be any different?!”

“That depends on you!” Miss Chen pivoted. “Victor Li Shing is a dangerous man. Ruthless! But just like any schoolyard bully he assumes he makes the rules in his own playground. We can use that against him.”

Keren narrowed her eyes, “We?”

“Myself and the rest of us who serve the Union. Who else do you think I stockpile all these weapons for? Your comrades will all fight and die to protect you.”

“My comrades?” Keren asked confused. “You already pointed out that we have sworn no vows or oaths of service to the Union. We are not yet one of you.”

Miss Chen nodded, “The rest of us have sworn our vows, that's all that matters. We owe it to your father and the Union we all serve to protect you. You both look exhausted. Come back upstairs and let me make some beds up for you. While you rest I will use the time to make arrangements with The General so you can see your father. I promise you'll be safe here for the time being.”

“Ok, on one condition,” Keren stated stubbornly.

“What's that?”

“Hand over that pistol!” Keren stated holding her hand out.

_ _ _

High atop one of Asheklon Stations towers, within the visiting executive penthouse suite of the Jĭngtì Lóng Corporation, Catherine Grey stood before a floor-to-ceiling view port captivated by the view of the planet below and the reverie of her own thoughts. Reflected in the glass, her large aqua-blue eyes and the delicate, feminine shape of her face were perfectly replicated. A constant reminder of who she used to be, and who I will never be again.

Though undeniably beautiful, there was no warmth in the tight set of her lips or the sad far away look she had as she stared down at the fantastic view of the world below. Not a blue planet, like Earth, GL-382 was more akin to Mars. Beneath sparse, fast moving clouds there were wind-worn mountain buttes, stony deserts and low canyons stretching from horizon to horizon.

Here and there spots of civilization pockmarked the rough terrain. Huge swaths of cultivated grassland, irrigation canals, greenhouses, atmospheric domes and satellite dish arrays surrounded the largest of the planets colonies. Yes as serene as it might seem from up here, Catherine knew the surface below was less hospitable.

Strong winds and frequent dust storms made atmospheric flight risky. Face coverings were compulsory while outside a protective dome. Travel between colonies was usually done with heavy duty wheeled vehicles or railways. Strangely, for such a large world, the population of roughly one hundred thousand was rather low. Approximately ten percent of that population were prison inmates besides.

“Beautiful isn't it?” commented Dr. Gordon who stepped up beside her dressed in his medical lab coat. His voice was English, crisp and cultured from a lifetime in upper-class academia. As a leading researcher in theoretical robotics and synthetic design, his career in surgically-integrated prosthesis was invaluable to Catherine. Henry gave up tenure at Cambridge University Hospital to serve as her personal physician. Yet his value to her as a friend was much dearer to her in truth.

“It's so vast and desolate,” she said.

“A world of wide open vistas and high mountain views. Reminds me of Montana.”

“Montana?” Catherine questioned turning her face towards him in puzzlement.

“In a way, if you squint just right,” he joked behind his usual shy smirk. Henry was in his early forties, handsome and clean-shaven with premature, distinguished wrinkles around his eyes and the corners of an easy smile. His hair was ash-blonde with hints of gray at the temples, thick and neatly combed.

Sensing there was more to that story Catherine prodded him with her elbow, “And what were you doing in Montana?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. I wanted to play at being a cowboy and make a real campfire under the stars,” he chuckled.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Catherine laughed, for the first time in at least a week, “Oh I'm sure that must have been interesting!”

“There were cramps and saddle-sores to be sure. Suffice to say the real cowboys weren't nearly as impressed by me as I was by them. Most-a-pity!”

“Well it's not too late!” Catherine quipped, “There must be a fair few of them down there where the buffalo roam!”

“Do you really think they have buffalo? Surely not! They've been extinct for some time now.”

“Only one way to find out! It would be nice to breath fresh air again at the very least,” Catherine suggested.

“That's true. They say they've managed to engineer the atmosphere down there to nearly ideal conditions.”

Catherine had heard the same, although, the joint efforts of Technion Interstellar and the Jĭngtì Lóng Corporation required several decades to accomplish what Weyland Yutani's state-of-the-art atmosphere processors would have managed in half the time. Yet, in that, there was also a point to be made. This world would secure its own destiny, unbeholden to the powers of the United Americas and the Three World Empire. It certainly was not Earth, nor even Montana, but it was a world to be proud of nonetheless.

“Your blood work looks good today, except for that spike in adrenaline. We'll have to look at adjusting your levels again. Do you feel jittery? Tense? Have you eaten anything?” Dr. Gordon asked.

Catherine shook her head to all the questions at once. Her sense of hunger was not what it used to be. After all a synthetic body did not require the same amount of nourishment as a living one. What was left of her could subsist easily off of a vitamin-enriched protein shake and a granola bar. Yet that was not the point he was making when he asked.

Henry assured her from the beginning that the aim of her recovery was to restore her life, humanity and happiness. No matter what percentage of her body was artificial, maintaining her identity was the most important thing. That included the routine of regular meals.

“Seeing what I've seen tonight hasn't encouraged an appetite,” she muttered under her breath as the memory of what Victor did sent a familiar creeping sense of anxiety flashing through her nerves. Synthetic body or not, deep-rooted emotional issues sometimes still got the best of her. “I was going to go for a run to clear my head,” she stated, having changed from her dark blue business attire into a loose fitting jogging sweat suit.

Dr. Gordon placed an arm around her shoulder. These last four years they spent together designing her new body and integrating her mind to work with it brought them very close. It also made certain realities very clear, primary among them, the difficulties of life around her step father and all the things she wasn't allowed to talk about.

Behind them, through an adjoining door in a private conference room Victor was in a meeting with the half-dozen mid-level executives who ran the station labs for the Jĭngtì Lóng Corporation. Catherine had been present at enough such meetings to know exactly how they went. It always made her skin crawl. She could almost hear the imperious tone of Victors voice and the unnerving footsteps he made pacing around the circumference of the table breathing down their necks.

Sitting with him in the same room with him was bad enough in normal circumstances. Worst of all when he was imposing his will upon lesser peers, colleagues and business partners. Taking part in such meetings in any way, even just as a silent observer, heightened her anxiety to its peak.

The way those corporate puppets looked at her made her all at once weary and self conscious. Rumors about her injuries, and the near-death experience that caused them, preceded her everywhere she went and carried on long after she left. Some looked upon her out of pity or fascination. Others felt threatened by her presence. Most assumed she was endeavoring to follow in his footsteps.

Victor of course made no secret of his wish to have her at his side, teaching by example how to wield authority and influence. Those beneath him envied her for it. This above all she would never understand. Having Victor as a step father was nothing to be proud of. The way they looked up to him, even as he suffocated the air from their ideas, crushing their pride beneath his heel, baffled her.

So far as Victor was concerned, Dr. Gordon and his team were outsiders too. Especially while aboard the CSCS Kowloon. He made that point very clear to Catherine stating they were never to be made aware of any details about his business or military secrets of the CSC. Just as she made it very clear to him that she wouldn't go anywhere without them.

Her relationship with Victor was about as far from a loving, respectful family bond as one could imagine. In many ways, Catherine was more his hostage than his kin. Especially now that he had invested close to one hundred million dollars into her recovery and her new body. Such an expense went against everything she expected from someone so cold and calculating. The fact he seemed to care for her at all was perhaps the most irreconcilable thing about him.

Catherine was fourteen years old when Victor married her mother. The fact that marriage occurred less than a year after the death of her real father set in an early sense of resentment that only worsened when he dragged her away from life on Earth and all the friends she left behind. Her mother however, remained content so long as she was treated to a life of luxury, affluence and leisure in the New Eden Sector.

Catherine's real father was Lt. Cmdr Higgen Grey who commanded a patrol ship in the Sol Sector for the Royal Navy. As long as Catherine could remember she wanted to follow in his footsteps. A lifelong ambition that never wavered, even after his death. Thus as soon as she was old enough to enlist she returned to Earth and the Royal Navy College in Dartmouth. Four years later she was a naval pilot with ambitions towards officer training. Not long after that, Catherine's misfortune ended that dream and restored her mothers grief.

At times it felt like Victor spent a large fortune to bring her back to life just so Catherine could do whatever she had to do to convince her mother that she was going to be fine. Am I fine? She wondered for the upteenth-hundredth time. She didn't have an answer to that and she was beginning to doubt she ever would.

The funny thing about recovery was the pressure that came with it. Phrases like, Every day is a blessing. Every breath is a reason to keep living, etc. and so on, were beginning to make her sick. What was the value in survival if every breath had such a high cost to pay? Would anything she ever did for the rest of her life be worth upwards of one hundred million dollars? Doubtful. For certain no one was going to let her live in peace without judgment, pity or expectation.

There was no chance she could continue her service as a pilot in the Royal Bavy. At best she would be a morale officer, paraded from base to base making speeches to new recruits. Dr. Gordon encouraged this, but Catherine knew he had his own reasons to do so. So long as she remained on Earth, under his care beneath the umbrella of the Three World Empire; her value to them as a specimen and/or symbol outweighed her own freedom. If she agreed to such a life she would never be allowed to take risks and serve with bravery the same way her shipmates did.

The fact Dr. Gordon and the rest of her medical team agreed to accompany her all the way out to the Outer Rim Territories was a clear indicator of her value to them. She heard plenty of rumors about proposals for a new rehabilitation program for other wounded veterans based on the promising results of her complete organ transplant. On one hand that was a great idea. Certainly it meant the difference between life and death for her. There was much she could say to encourage and inspire others to make the same choice she did.

But on the other hand, there was a huge difference from a privately funded experiment, where cost-was-no-concern, and a government funded program. What worked for her wouldn't work for everyone, especially when budgets were involved. Nightmares she had waking up paralyzed were based on real experiences. Sometimes there was a de-sync betweem her synthetic nervous system and her real one. Such issues required expensive diagnostics and potentially hugely expensive surgeries to correct.

At what point would such costs outweigh the usefulness of a rehabilitated sailor or soldier? Catherine was horrified to imagine what might happen to her, much less a hundred or a thousand others like her, without nurses, surgeons and technicians readily available. How would tax payers consider the costs of their maintenance and upkeep worthwhile while so many millions of others suffered from a lack of basic needs?

The only way to justify it would be to make sure the rehabilitated soldiers were in many ways better-than-human. Catherine herself was capable of great feats of strength, speed and endurance. But she was just a pilot, not a marine. She had no desire to strap on bulky body armor while lugging heavy infantry support weapons across a battlefield the way she knew many in the military imagined she could.

The United States Colonial Marines had powered-armor-exoskeletons and gimbal-mounted smart weapons. You could train, equip and transport an entire brigade of such troops for the price of just one of her. By all reasonable expectations that was a more cost-efficient approach to maximizing firepower. Still... the rumors persisted, and not just back at home. Within the Central Space Consortium, more than a few corporate labs and synthetic manufacturers wanted a chance to examine her up close.

Shortly before this journey began Victor suggested he could arrange a career for her in the ICSC Defense Fleet. At first the idea angered her simply because it was his. The last thing she wanted was Victor determining what she did with her future. Yet the more she considered it, the more she had to admit it might be the best shot she had to get back aboard a starship and out into space.

Of course the idea of serving in the ICSC Defense Fleet didn't thrill her. Compared to the Royal Navy they were a rag-tag fleet of half-assed wannabe's! Even her own father made more than a few disparaging remarks about them in his day. Yet in her heart, she knew he would have also encouraged her to serve however and wherever she could. And so she had agreed to come along on this voyage as an 'observer', just to keep her options open.

At the time she had no idea she was going to be boarding the newest prototype destroyer the CSC had available. The level of security and secrecy surrounding the CSCS Kowloon were impressive by any standards. Even Victor was hard-pressed to pull enough strings to get her and her medical team on board for its maiden voyage.

Up until their arrival and the subsequent events at Dizzy's Club, Catherine was actually enjoying herself; excited about what a career in the ICSC Defense Fleet might offer. Whatever its reputation, the Jĭngtì Lóng Corporation was serious about their business in weapons development, and just as serious about protecting their colonial assets outside of the CSC. She could see herself doing a lot of good for the people out here. Would that be so bad?

“Hey whats that?” Dr. Gordon asked, distracting her from her musings. Outside the heavyweight thermally-tempered aluminosilicate glass was a huge metal spider clambering unto the stations hull. Catherine stared at it for a long moment, immediately fascinated.

It had eight legs surrounding a bulky multi-windowed 'cab' at the center with a bright yellow abdomen in the form of an escape capsule jutting out from the rear. From the scale of the airlock it emerged from, and the view port windows it moved over, Catherine guessed it had a leg-span of about fifteen meters, though the legs themselves seemed to be capable of 'shrinking' to facilitate movement in tighter confines.

The cab itself was large enough for maybe three to four occupants, with an external airlock to facilitate extravehicular spacewalks. It might weigh as much as thirty metric tons but its movements in the vacuum of space were surprisingly graceful. Each of its eight foot pads seemed to stick to the hull with ease as it moved two pairs of legs in an alternating rhythm effortlessly moving across the stations surface.

“It's an E.M.V.,” Catherine answered. “An Extravehicular Maintenance Vehicle. Somewhat different from the ones we use for orbital space stations back on Earth.”

“How interesting,” Dr. Gordon commented. “Is that dangerous work?”

You damn well know that's dangerous work! Catherine heard herself complain inwardly, but she bit her tongue, “Yes of course it is, but somebody's got to do it.”

They watched the E.M.V. together in silence for a while as it climbed closer and closer towards the top of their tower. Flashing strobe lights atop the cab helped them track its progress, even when it would occasionally disappear into shadow. Each time it paused at some access port or another, an additional flashing strobe light would light up over the external airlock before two figures in EVA suits would emerge, tethered together.

“Is that the usual way you do that kind of work? In pairs?” Dr. Gordon asked.

“Yep! Always use the buddy-system in EVA duties. Only one person needs to concentrate on the tools and the actual labors involved. The other should remain in constant communication with the commander in the E.M.V. remaining vigilant for unexpected emergencies.”

“Sounds like an easy gig,” he chuckled.

“Hardly!” Catherine argued. “Those suits are heavy and difficult to work in. You might not think that matters floating in zero-g, but you have to remember those suits are constructed out of several layers of stiff, resilient materials designed to resist against tears and punctures. Besides that, they are pressurized. Every move you make works against the resistance of that pressure attempting to hold that stiff, inflexible, suit in shape.

Without gravity holding you in position, everything you do requires careful thought and execution. Something as simple as turning a spanner tries to rotate your body in the opposite direction. You end up exerting yourself twice as hard using additional muscles just to hold yourself steady. EVA work is miserable.”

Catherine was starting to get irritated now. Both with Dr. Gordon and the crew inside the E.M.V. She imagined they should have external cameras on the cab and the used of finely articulating arms to do some of their work without having to risk going EVA themselves. Yet for whatever reason they never did.

The nearer the vehicle got the older and worse-for-wear it looked. Its motions appeared less fluid and synchronous up close. A few of its legs were clearly sluggish and jerky. One of them seemed to be of an entirely different make than the others. One of the strobe lights on top of the cab blinked on and off intermittently, and there were signs of patched repairs to hydraulic cables and electrical cords. All of which made Catherine's anxiety start to spike.

Dr. Gordon, she knew, was experienced as a zero-g surgeon and familiar with all sorts of injuries related to work in space. He doesn't need me to explain how difficult and dangerous a spacewalk is. He's just trying to get me to talk about my accident and face my fears.

“Ok I'm going for a run,” Catherine said, turning and walking away from Dr. Gordon. Henry watched her go and frowned, deep in thought. There wasn't much else he could do under the circumstances. She was going to make her own choices.

As Catherine moved across the living area, around the corner where the bulkhead pressure door was, the statuesque form of one of Victor's bodyguards waited for her. As usual there was always one inside, and one outside, the main exit. Another one stood inside the conference room with victor while the last one was monitoring communications somewhere.

“I'm going for a run,” she informed it.

“I'll come with you,” it answered, knowing that was what Victor would want.

“Don't be ridiculous! How would that look? You're not dressed for that,” she answered. “Besides, what will Victor think if you left Dr. Gordon in here unsupervised?”

The bodyguard frowned, stuck in a dilemma. It raised one of its wrists up to its mouth as if to speak into its suit cuff. Catherine knew this is how it communicated with the others.

“Look, do what you want, but I'm not waiting for you. Go change and catch up if you must,” she said and brushed past him through the pressure door.

Meanwhile, the E.M.V. spider stopped climbing just thirty yards or so from the view port. Henry glimpsed motion inside the cab windows. For a moment he thought he saw the occupants staring up at him. Then the external airlock opened, as before, but this time the two figures that emerged were each carrying duffel bags.

Curious, Henry watched them climb down a few ladder rungs beneath the airlock. Careful and slow, each of them reached for and grasped the hand rails in exaggerated slow-motion before they pushed off and floated down to the hull. Magnetic boots took hold thereafter. Slowly but surely, they turned and started walking upwards towards him tethered together and to the E.M.V. itself by way of a long cable. Their suits were high-visibility yellow, but faded and dull from years of use under high intensity ultraviolet rays. Same as the paint on the E.M.V. itself.

As they neared Henry could make out facial features through their helmet face plates. One of them was a man, the other a woman. Both were Asian and middle-aged. By the time they made it up to the edge of the view port itself he could see sweat beading on their foreheads. Neither of them looked very happy, but their expressions were pictures of determination and resolve. Tough Buggers. Henry though to himself, raising his hand to wave. They both waved back, but neither smiled. Instead they spread out to each edge of the view port, about three meters across, at the limits of their tether. Then they unzipped their duffel bags.

Henry watched them pull out two identical devices, roughly the size of a lunchbox, setting them against the hull just below the edge of the glass. Powerful electro-magnets were activated to hold them in place before the man and woman moved together again. Each looked up at Henry and gave him a thumbs up. Henry returned the gesture, but then each of them flipped him off.

“Blimey! What a pair of cunts!” Henry cursed as they turned away, hugged each other and deactivated their magnetic boots. Immediately the cable tethering them to the E.M.V. started to retract pulling them back rapidly. At that point Henry felt sweat beading on his own forehead as a certain realization struck him. Momentarily paralyzed with fear he stared down at one device, than the other, before he turned and bolted.

The synthetic bodyguard by the door did not react well towards Dr. Gordon charging towards him in a panic. With one quick motion he stiff-armed him, knocking Henry to the floor. The brit coughed and cursed, trying to suck in another breath and shout a warning at the same time.

“Damn it! Let me go! There's... a... bomb...”