You sprint into the station's starboard cafe. You wish you were wearing a sports bra, but the jiggle isn't as bad as it would be on your bustier friends. You wonder if you'll see them again -- this business with dark shadows and dead doctors can't be good for your actuarial life expectancy table.
As the door shuts behind you, you're surprised to feel a man's hands grab you from behind and cover your mouth. You headbutt backwards and free yourself, but the tranq applicator clatters to the ground.
You quickly put a long cafe table between you and your assailant. It's Michael Wong, one of Dr. Stewart's other assistants. He's very well lit, and he's got your tranq.
"Hi Michael," you say, ready to leap either way.
"Hi, pussy," he says, surprising you with sudden crudeness.
"Rachel. My name's Rachel."
He laughs. "Rachel. Pussy. It doesn't matter. It's coming. It doesn't care. It will take what it will take"
"It?" you ask.
He just laughs and starts circling the table clockwise. So do you. It's unequal. He's got the tranquilizer and you're weaponless. He's fully clothed in civilian gear and you're down to just your bra and panties. But you don't go easy.
The cafe has floor-to-ceiling space windows offering a view of planet #90-Beta where the team's been harvesting specimens, but your focus is to the living, breathing enemy much much closer and much much cruder than the primitive bacteria. |