By SCSPIEKER - Dec. 31, 1969 One of the officers kicks the wall and curses his luck. "Sure, we'll see ya, Healy," he slurs. The moment passes without retaliation: she's too busy to hear, jogging down the corridor toward the hub. [Patwardhan] Private Booths called her "Doc" once or twice, Healy remembers. Wouldn't hurt to try it sometime-- Patwardhan has a look in her eye that says Semper Fi, Prepare To Die, something crazy. She really meant it when she said they ought to nuke this whole place. It was just a blur of motion, like a man in a rubber suit but godawful, wholly alien. Healy's stomach clenches at the thought. How close she was! Patwardhan's been that close. Her crippled hand, scarred face, haunted brains; Healy understands that animal fear now, the sensation of being preyed upon. But with this technology-- sweeping glance at the simple geometric shapes around her, the length and breadth of the endless hall testament to humanity's development, sticks and stones giving way to culture and thought made obsolete by steel and petroleum surrendering to fusion piles and interstellar conquest-- no human should feel this helpless against another being in known space, should they? Somewhere Patwardhan had seen an overhead schematic of key sections of the station. She knew there were eight docking anchors like this one, and that the Korea was just a stone's throw from the central hub and its complex of elevators, ladders, and lifts, on the opposite site from the Gaines lock. The hub is a pipeline to the station, open on nearly every deck from top to bottom. You can climb the ladders to any deck, all the way if you want to. On the cargo decks, there are large lift platforms, and four elevators run the entire length. Convenient as it is, they know that if one of those things got in here, it could go anywhere. All of this is going to have to be sealed somehow, or everyone cloistered away into easily protected areas. Could a station this big really be made airtight, so to speak? Doc's team had tried that one already, on the crew decks of the Korea, and they still got in. They find themselves waiting for an elevator, furious and yet somehow unable to explain it. This place is already dead. Somebody's coming up the Korea hall. Mina looks breathless. She's just come from the supply ship's dock and found the officers guarding it to be healthy and alert, if slightly terrified. They told her about the incident with the Colonial Marines droid, running over Kaohn and Anderson with a forklift, of all things. Something about aliens and a shootout. Some janitor missing on the Gaines. And the aliens, "black termites, only big as a house, all teeth and slime" described one of the officers, repelled and the umbilicus sealed. Leifer didn't make it out, either. No word on who else might be missing. Somebody from tech services mentioned a cargo handler went in with the janitor, plus some Company insurance watchdog, according to admin. That's where she wanted to be: up at the top of the station, in the operations center. She's relieved to see Healy and that marine woman Patwardhan more-or-less intact, but so many questions are racing through her mind that she doesn't know where to begin. Despite her horribly be-weaponed state and disheveled appearance, Healy still manages to gather some civility when Mina comes up the corridor, "Mina… I'm glad you're here… do you have any idea where Burnett is? I was just taking Private Pa… oh sorry… Mina, this is Private Patwardhan, I'm not sure if you met before. Anyway, I'm just taking the Private here up to ops to see what we can do to contain this situation." Healy slams the button for a lift a few more times. The slow arrival of the lift is only adding to her fears about how safe the Rodina really is. Before Mina can answer her previous question, Healy suddenly pipes up again, "You've just come from the Korea dock right? Is everything okay there?" [Mina] Mina nods to Patwardhan, noting the doctor's horrific injuries. She itches for a cigarette, yet she doesn't reach for the spare stashed behind her left ear. "Burnett's been MIA for a while now. Johnson's been trying to get hold of him, but no luck so far." She crosses her arms and looks to the lift door. "Everything seems ok on the Korea. The supply guards are scared sh*tless, but that and paranoia seems to be what's keeping most of us alive down here." She smiles, but it lacks humour. [Healy] Healy listens to Mina's appraisal of the situation aboard the Rodina. She checks the lift again then turns back to the lieutenant, "Where were you headed towards? Since we can't find Burnett, it would be handy if you come with us up to ops... is the station on any sort of alert yet?" [Mina] Mina let the word hang in the air. Truth was, she didn't know where the hell she was headed, but she wasn't going to let the other cop know. Her eyes drifted back to the doctor's wrist. This injury, while not life threatening seemed to convince her more of the danger that lurked in the halls, walls, ventilation system of this ship. She looked back to the lift and licked her lips before speaking. "And yeah, I think we should stick together." "Okay, here's what I got. When this boat pulled in at, uh, LV4-- uh, Acheron, they brought up two colonists. Says here that they broke quarantine to bring them aboard because they were infested with a parasite... uh, doesn't go into detail about that. They found it while searching some shipwreck on the surface. I guess the Korea crew thought it was serious enough to change course and head back to its home base, skipping its cargo off-load. "Now get this: one of the guys, uh, named Stansfield died a couple hours later. Here's what the captain wrote: 'Parasite forcibly ruptured through his stomach killing him. Used him as a living incubator. Crew on alert, body to be jettisoned, proceeding with search... course correction delayed.' "That's the last journal entry. The ship records show that the autonav activated a few hours after this. Guess that means nobody filed the usual reports and the ship's mind bank decided to steer for home on its own. Say, Sarge, let's get the f--- out of here, huh?" [Booths] Booth's own bitter odor hangs about him as he steps up the hallway leading to the hub, a mixture of clean sweat, incinerator fuel, and the unplacable chemical stench of fried alien. He'd had the opportunity to lay in silence for a few moments and relished the soft luxury for his battered body. As good as pussy, almost, just to set creaking joints flat on a mattress. But his eyes had been wide awake. It occurs to him, as he makes a right-hand turn up the hall, that there should be some kind of activity around here. These corridors are lined with private quarters, and somebody would be playing music-- what time is it?-- or indulging in other entertainments, but also no signs of an emergency evacuation, either. Despite the odd discarded hard-copy or errant sock laying the halls, the place is as neat and tidy as his earlier slow walk through here, before he knew his ship was infested. Before he knew of Leon's faulty manufacture. What had caused the android to act with such violence? His programming should have prohibited any thought of harm toward the security officers. And it was strange, too, how the aliens had arrived at the lock just a few moments behind him. Had he lured them there somehow? And where the hell is everybody? He hears voices up ahead, some of them raised loudly enough to discern. "Everybody relax... We don't know exactly what's going on... Just keep moving, please..." He finds his answer upon reaching the central station hub, a high column running the length of the ship festooned with ladders and elevators. About thirty individuals in grubby work clothes or recreational sweats are waiting impatiently to climb into the next available elevator. The heavily-armed marine doesn't go unnoticed as he approaches, entering the circular foyer surrounding the hub. A thin man in a once-white uniform cuts through the crowd to greet him. "Mister!" An elevator door opens in the central column, and eight or ten individuals begin to step inside, filling it to capacity. Others have given up the wait and are climbing up the ladders. Looks like everybody's headed to the top, like rats leaving a sinking ship. Not a bad analogy, that, he supposes. The man in charge slows at a comfortable distance and takes a long look at Booths before speaking again. "Where did you come from? We heard there was a firefight on the Gaines. Are they-- is everything okay?" The name tag on his breast reads KIRKWOOD, the badge on his sleeve indicates his position as a station maintenance worker, maybe an electrician. [Booths] *mischevious smile* Booths shrugged heavily. Gods but he wished he had a cigarette, or even some chewing gum right now. He kept walking, sidestepping KIRKWOOD, with his peculiar limp. His course headed right for the elvators, through the crowd gathered there waiting for a car for them, or simply taking the ladders up. Not that he cared. With the simple expedience of more weapons (they didn't have any), and his elbows, he plunged right in. The elevator's occupants clear out, leaving Booths quite alone. They whisper curses and fears as he presses the button that will take him to level 2. He doesn't relax his ready-at-the-shoulder weapon position, and doesn't spare a word on Kirkwood, who's too stupid to realize that his disapproving frown will have no effect on the marine. Not while those things are running around unchecked. But Kirkwood couldn't know that. The doors seal him in, and Booths' eyes go systematically to the corners of the small coffin. Bring it on. There's a slight clink-rattle sound trapped in the walls, along with the usual hum of the lift motors. Both sounds cease as the elevator stops and the doors open into a plexiglass prison cell, with a security-card checkpoint two steps away. Beyond the glass, he can see some twenty persons crowded together around computer monitors, or off in small groups apparently having livid conversations with one another, the best and brightest of Rodina puzzling over a formidable compromise of their integrity. Healy, Patwardhan, and others are looking at deck plans or something, pointing out objects of interest. Nobody's armed. Looks like he hasn't missed anything. He fishes around for the flat plastic card someone had given him-- his name is scrawled on the surface in black magic marker-- and slots it in the checkpoint. As he expected, he's not cleared. Everyone in operations is too busy to notice his arrival. [Booths] Then he toggles the com-gear in his helmet. "Patty, if you or someone else don't open this stupid door, I'm going to blow it open, as in right now, marine." With un- hurried motions, Booths slings his close in assault rifle, and brings out the M41. Nothing like a little mayhem for first impressions.