CHAPTER SIX

Sam was standing behind the door of the staff quarters watching the corridor through a security camera. Karen sat alone in the corner mumbling something into a small voice recorder, the prisoners huddled in small groups chatting nervously, a few shooting disgusted looks at Karen. They were wondering how she could sit there making up a story for her next broadcast, when their lives were in danger, Sam thought he understood, she needed to do something, he watched the corridor, the prisoners talked, she was trying to ocuppy her mind with work. Sam's attention was drawn back to the screen where he could see a guard approching the door, he was about to turn away when the door slid open and the guard stepped in.
The guard focused its mechanical eyes on Sam and raised its rifle, took aim and fired. Sam flew back under the force of the impact, he twisted in the air his shoulder spurting blood.
Next, chaos. A prisoner screamed, the guard began firing into the group of prisoners, Karen dived behind a stack of chairs. One of the prisoners dived onto the floor slid over to Sam who lay unconsciouss on the floor, he picked up Sam's gun turned around and fired two rounds in quick succession, both exploded in the small of the guard's back, it went down and lay twitching. Then there was silence, all the prisoners looked at the prisoner with the gun, Karen moved over beside Sam. The prisoner put two fingers
to Sam's neck and sighed, "Faint pulse and he's breathing, but he's in poor shape." He stood up looking at all the others.
"We've got to go. The guards are shooting people with ID tags. We are no longer safe even with Sam here!"

Mark surveyed the empty room, there was blood in the corner and a few prisoners lay dead. He spotted Karen's recorder, he picked it up and pressed the playback button. At first there was Karen's voice describing the riot, then a new message started, recorded
over the last one, it was Karen's voice.
"Mark, Mr Thomas, we waited here but a guard came in and shot Sam, they must have gone crazy, anyway he's not doing too well, we are trying to get down to medical, I've got to go."
The message ended and Karen's original 'story' started up.
"Where's medical?" asked Mark.
"Eight levels down and towards the rim."
They left immediatley rushing to the lift.

As they moved in a quick walk which stopped at every corner to look around, neither spoke. Mark saw the look on Thomas's face, it was the same look he had when he watched Kairn kill Hal, and when the guard shot John Patrick. It was obvious Thomas was worried about Sam. Mark felt the same, a strange feeling or fear that
something was going to happen to Karen.
"What do we do?" asked Mark as they turned another corner, he felt immediatly foolish, and knew the answer before Thomas gave it.
"I don't know, I'm just trying to keep us all alive for now."
They turned another corner and Mark saw a heavy door ahead, it was one that slid upwards, the sort was pretty typical on all orbital stations where in emergencies all sections must be sealed airtight. In the door was a small window, from it a ghostly white
light crept into the hellish red illumination of the emergency lighting.
Before Mark could ask Thomas spoke, "The medical labs have their own power supply for obvious reasons."
The doors control panel had been shot and wires and circuit boards hung obscenley out of the hole in the wall.
Mark began to beat on the doors, a prisoners face appeared at the window and after a few seconds the door began to rise. Once in a prisoner at the door began to touch two wires together, each time he mad contact a spark hissed in the cool air of the lab, after
about five sparks there was a fizzing sound and the great door began to roll down.
Thomas lay his gun down on a counter and went to the side of the bed in which Sam lay, Mark held onto his shotgun a little wary of the prisoners. He looked around at the large room, it had two beds which took up very little room and it was unsurprising because the
efficiency of the medibots which whirred around Sam's shoulder meant that there were never more than two prisoners in the medical lab at any one time. The whole room was clean and the 'hospital' smell of disinfectants and other chemicals added to the
impression, it wasn't just clean, it was sterile. The white light glared off the polished tiled floor and white counter tops. The room was quite large but had very little equipment, mostly counters for some unknown purpose, a sink, the two beds and a small glass cabinet of chemicals or drugs or something similar.
There was a groan and Mark's attention was shifted back to Sam, around him were Karen, Thomas and the tall blonde haired prisoner who had shot the guard.
"He's regained conciousness!" sighed the tall prisoner with relief, "looks like he'll be alright." Having said this he walked over and sat down with some of the others and began to talk quietly.
"Where -?" began Sam wearily.
"It's okay Sam, you're in medical!" replied Thomas to the unfinished question.
Sam seemed satisfied and fell asleep once more.
"Who is that guy?" asked Karen quietly indicating the tall prisoner.
"Jonathan Matthews, he's an American." replied Thomas, "He killed eight people one day, just blew them away with a semi- automatic rifle."
Mark eyed the man cautiously, he was tall at around six foot four, had short blonde hair, what was usually considered good looking, he wore trousers unlike the others who wore traditional jeans, (prisoners had not been required to wear a uniform since the intoduction of the orbital stations.) He had spoken clearly and in good English, probably very intelligent, some people were like that, seemed perfect, good looking, charming, intelligent,
nice in the average sense but a borderline psychotic nevertheless. Karen voiced Marks question, "Why?"
"Nobody knows, he wont speak about it, he admits it but wont speak about it. Throughout out the trial he said nothing apart from tell what he had done, gave no excuses, nothing. They thought he was preparing to plead insanity, and let me tell you I'd
believe it! But he just took his sentence and came quietly."
Mark looked at him again, he was now cleaning Sams shotgun, Mark decided it would be very wise to watch this man.
"What about the others?" asked Karen, "I mean Manuell, what about him?"
Mark regarded the young man, he couldn't be more than twenty five, he had a slightly darker complexion than most which seemed to suggest there was a bit of south american or spanish blood in him, he had black curly hair which was kept short, he wore jeans
and a white t-shirt which was stained in blood from Sam's shoulder when he and Jonathan had carried him to medical, he still looked shy, almost embarrassed, but it could have just been fear.
"Manuell's a good kid, did some drug smuggling at the time when the government in England were really cracking down on it. He was born in London but fled to France where he was caught by international authorities and he was eventually sent here for ten
years, he seems pretty much okay now, he only didi it because hecouldn't get a job, you know, foreign workers have to be given a third of all vaccancies, by European federation law, but everyone knows that the rest of Europe especially France, Germany Italy and
some of the bigger countries wont accept British people." Thomas blushed a little realising he was perhaps revealing a little too much about his own opinions, "anyway that means a third of British jobs are gone, Manuell took to drug smuggling, but seeing how that on his release he is guarenteed a job for the next five years under prison release policy, this could turn out to be a blessing in disguise." He coughed a little as he remembered their
present situation again and hastily added, "If we can sort this mess out!"
"What about him," said Mark trying to change the subject by pointing out another prisoner.
Suddenly the lights flicked off and the they were in darkness. A few seconds passed and then the lights came back, this time the familiar red emergency lighting, but this time it was flashing in synchronization with a deep beeping siren.
"Oh shit," whispered Thomas, "not now!"

"What's going on?" Karen voiced the question on everybodies minds.
"It's C.O.I.N. it's shut down all life support systems, it's the final option if a prison break cannot be controlled."
"So what does this mean to us?"
"Well it means we are going to run out of oxygen in about an hour, and the temperature will not be favourable, pressure will also go."
"So what's the plan," asked Mark.
"Well now it seems we can't restore control, and we can't just wait it out, we've got to get to the shuttles, perhaps make it to the moon."
"And how exactly do you suggest we get past the guards down there in the launch bay?" asked Jonathan harshly.
"I have a plan for that, just wait here everyone I'll be back in a minute."
As the prisoner by the door started to operate the makshift controls and the door rolled up, Thomas ducked under it and into the corridor as he began to move into the pulsating emergency lit corridor he heard someone mutter, "We ain't going nowhere."
Mark watched Thomas disappear and then turned to Manuell who was sitting on the vacant bed looking towards Sam but his eyes showed that he was not looking at Sam.
"You okay?" asked Mark as he came to the side of the bed.
"Yeah," he whispered and then again louder as if trying toconvince himself, "Yeah, I'm fine."
"You guys really like Sam don't you?" asked Mark probing for the seed of a conversation.
"Yeah, he's okay, he's fair you know, but not soft or nothing."
"Yeah, " Mark surveyed the prisoners, there were eight in total, so them plus Thomas, Karen, Sam and himself made twelve, twelve survivors out of over four thousand people. Then shaking off that train of thought he added, "Who's that guy by the door?"
"That's Tony Lewis, you might of heard of him."
"What the Australian terrorist who blew up the plane carrying fifty South African men, women and children?"
"Yeah that's him. He's not too bad, bit of a one for politics and that, bit of a radical really."
Mark added the little, fat man to his growing mental file, "He seems to know about electronics."
"Well he's our repair man, but he was used to things blow up, so repairing must be like working backwards."
"Who are the other guys?" asked Mark hoping that his question would seem more friendly than interigational.
"Well there's Jonathan Matthews, he killed eight people, he's a bit of a psycho but he's okay with us. Over there is Terry, Terry Fitz-Hume, he's actually Russian, he raped a few women in the past but he's completely changed since he's been here." Mark eyed the
black haired man Manuell indicated, he was quite tall but very puny, he didn't seem much threat at all, he looked like someone trying very hard to be on their 'best behaviour'. "There is old Red Thomas, he's an American Bank robber, decent enough sort of
guy, only did it for the thrill of the chase, he's really calmed down a lot, he was younger than I am now when he did it and he made all sorts of trouble for himself and wound up here. Then that black guy over there is Tom Finch and he raped two women in
Atlanta, weird because they were two sisters who he attacked in seperate incidents, he dosen't seem to care, he thinks he's real tough and is one of the few guys who feel no remorse."
"What about those two guys?" asked Karen who had been standing behind them, she pointed at a young white man and an oriental looking man, they were sitting a few metres apart and away from everyone else.
"That's Christian Lentin and the other guy is Chinese but he moved to France when he was two, his name is Micheal Navoe," having said that Manuell drifted back to the others, Mark wondered what had caused this sudden reticence, had it been Karen's interjection? Unlikely. Or perhaps it was that Navoe was French and Manuell had every right to hate the French if Thomas was right.

After a few moments the door rolled up again and Thomas entered carrying a heavy bag which thudded onto the counter as he dropped the bag. Without speaking he opened the bag and tipped out the contents. There were four rifles and four shotguns, and various
ammunition. Mark and Thomas took rifles, Lentin also came forward, took a rifle and slammed home a magazine with practised ease,
Manuell took the last rifle and the others took a shotgun, Karen coming up and claiming Mark's discarded shotgun. Pockets were filled with ammunitiom and everyone sat down to play with their new toys. Jonathan and Thomas remained standing.
"So what do we do now?" asked Jonathan.
"Okay this will be tricky, but anyway two people, er, Lentin and I will go down in the lift and secure the area outside the lift, " he looked around to see Lentin nod in agreement, "Then a middle party consisting of say Karen, Terry, Tom, Lewis, with Red and Navoe looking after Sam. Then you and Mark who will be watching our backs will come down, okay?"
Jonathan murmured an affirmative, and Thomas repeated "Okay?" looking around to see everyone nodding reluctantly.
"Seems like a good idea to me," came a weak voice as everyone turned to see Sam sitting up in bed, the beginings of that inane grin creeping back into place.
"Sam how are you feeling?" asked Thomas quickly and Sam realised it was more than a pleasant inquiry.
"I'm a bit weak, but I can walk," he winced, "with a little help!"
"You've got it," smiled Thomas, "okay let's go, Lewis get the door please."

Thomas and Lentin led the way quietly out of the lab, noise wasn't important, but stealth and apprehension has an unusual effect on people. Following behind were Red and Lewis holding up Sam who limped between them, the others followed immediatly
behind, Mark and Jonathan lagging behind a bit.
They came to the centre of the station, the area around the gleaming cyliner of the lift shaft was deserted, the floor stopped just before the shaft and the only way to get to it was the small walkway which extended to the lift door, this circular gap looked like a moat and the walkway like a drawbridge, they could only wonder what lay inside the castle.
Thomas dashed to the lift doors his footsteps clanging on the lighter metal of the walkway, he pressed the button by the lift and scampered back to the others, "Just like Knock-down Ginger!" he exclaimed as he joined them behind the corner, they all greeted
his exclamation with confusion, except of course for Manuell.
They waited silently as the lift ascended, there was the a slight purr as the doors opened and the lift was clearly empty. They all moved quickly to the lift, all taking a bit more time to view the area than Thomas had been able to. As the light flickered on and off it revealed almost ashamedly the piles of dead prisoners, the battle had been easy the guards had won, only two metallic carcasses could be seen, their casualties had been few. "Okay," said Thomas stepping into the lift, "We'll send the lift back when it's all clear, if the lift dosen't come back within five minutes, well you'll have to think of something else." "Don't worry!" said Lentin joining him in the lift, "We'll be back!"
The lift doors closed silently and they were gone.
As the lift descended Lentin took up a kneeling position his rifle pointing up slightly and to the right edge of the door, Thomas lay flat on the floor similarly pointing his rifle upwards, but focussing on the left hand side. In the corner were the floor buttons and the 'L' for launch bay was illuminated at the bottom of the list, the other buttons in turn were illuminated, the light mimicking their descent. Thomas realised he had been holding his breath and let it out in a steady puff, then, spooked by the noise of his own exhalation gasped another breath, the lift came to a stop and this time Thomas did not breathe out. There was a pause for about thirty seconds and Thomas released his breath to whisper, "What's going on??" "I don't know, perhaps the doors are stuck, maybe-" but he was cut off as the doors slid apart suddenly revealing the deserted launch bay.
Lentin was the first to move he stepped out into the bay area, rifle pressed against his side following his line of sight. "Looks clear to me!"
"Okay I'm sending the lift back!"
Thomas regarded the bay carefully, it was empty. Of the five launch tubes two were taken up by shuttles and one by the emergency lifeboat craft. Apart from that and the computer contol in the corner the place was dead, strange that it should be deserted, it was a primary defense point.
"Thomas over here, I think you had better see this."
The lights in the shuttle bay were their usual light yellow, C.O.I.N. couldn't control the launch bay lights or the tubes, anyway one of the corners, the collection point for officers in an emergency was in partial darkness. As Thomas came to stand next to Lentin he looked at what the man was indicating, and Thomas almost did wish it was complete darkness.
Ten of the staff were propped limply against the wall, heads lolled at unatural angles, people bled from the chest, some arms had been reduced to bloodied stumps by shotgun rounds. The worst was that the right eye of each had been pulled out and a bloodied optic nerve conected the small white orb which lay on each's cheek to the empty socket which had been ripped apart by superhuman fingers.
"For fuck's sake," gasped Thomas before he vomited against the wall, he coughed savegely as he felt the fingers of fear and repulsion grip his stomach and squeeze the breath out of him. "What could have happened?" asked Lentin in disbelief, his feet still rooted to the spot and his eyes stared in incomprehension at the scene, then again more strongly, "How could this bloody happen??"
Thomas kneeling now a little further away his tear filled eyes
averted from the carnage. "This is the staff emegency meeting
point, they would have waited here with the guards for
protection," he laughed although he found nothing funny,
"Protection, they just massacred them, Four of my chief guards, two section commanders and four office clerks." "And you said you wasted Kairn, and he killed Hal."
"John Patrick and Hartfeild are dead as well," admitted Thomas. "Well that's that then, they are all dead, that's why none of them came to us."
"Yes but this is the rendevous point for staff on or below the maintenence floors, there should have been at least two or three hanging around by the staff quarters, their meeting point is the staff room!"
"Who is unnacounted for?"
"Joespeh Bart and Mick Farradai." replied Thomas scanning the parade of death with a quick glance.
"Knowing those two if the was any trouble they would head straight down and sort it out, they were probably in the middle of the riot."
"Did any of you hear about the riot before Woodsley came here?" "No," replied Lentin honestly, "They probably didn't tell us because we are seen to hang around Sam too much, or perhaps no one outside Woodsley's elite were told much beforehand. And you've got to remember they don't talk to me much anyway."
Thomas nodded solemnly.
The lift hissed slightly as it came to a stop and Thomas and Lentin quickly scampered from the nightmarish corner. "It would be better not to let the others see that," said Thomas drawing in an apprehensive breath, not willing to even point back to 'that'.
"Okay, let's just take them over to the lifeboat." The doors opened and the others nervousley shuffled out, when they were all out Thomas again pressed the button and the doors closed and the lift ascended.
Mark sat quietly by the door as they waited for the lift, Jonathan patrolled the walkway, there were two entrances to the area, one which was directly opposite the lift doors, and the other which was the other side of the lift shaft, every few minutes Jonathan would lean over the walkway railings to get a look at the entrance, finally he sat down opposite Mark. "What is taking so long?" he mumbled to Mark who was staring at his knees.
"Perhaps-" began Mark but Jonathan waved him to silence. Mark strained to listen, "What??"
There was a soft chink.
There was a louder clunk.
Jonathan slowly leaned over the railings and the entrance came into view, his head shot back and he worked the pump action of the shotgun.
"What did you see?"
"Just the eyes, at least three pairs!"
"What do you want to do?"
"They might split up, you take the left side and I'll take the right." and with that Jonathan jumped up and rushed around to the right firing his shotgun as he rounded the corner, Mark was a few seconds behind and by the time he had got around to the left a guard had fallen, there were eight in total plus the one writhing on the floor, and five had moved towards Jonathan, three began to make a move towards Mark. Jonathan knelt down and placed two shots into the chest of the first guard, he sprung up and leapt back two strides working the pump action as he went then retaking his kneeling position and firing similarly at another guard. Mark fired a small burst of bullets at the first guard, they rebounded of it, sparks flying everywhere but finally two found the same spot and the metal alloy covering the skeletal structure was peirced and a bullet hit home in the chest circutry and the guard went down, he staggered back and fired a volley of shots which took the second gaurd. He took aim a third time and the recoil of a longer burst hit him and his feet gripped badly on the blood which oozed from a nearby pile of bodies, he fell backwards, his gun still firing discharging it's load into the dark walkway of the floor above, the gun spluttered and then the magazine was empty, he rolled over and kicked out into a flying start of a run, skeltal hands of metal raking down his back, but failing to find purchase. He was just onto the walkway where he saw Jonathan who had dispatched his guards stabbing the lift button with his index finger, but the lift was already ascending. The metal talons grabbed Marks shoulder and he swung around with enough force to bring the guard onto the walkway with him, the walk was just wide enough for three men to walk abreast and when the guard hit the railing it pushed back and carried mark to the other railing which hit him in the stomach and winded him, by instinct more than anything he brought the not quite useless gun back into the groin of the guard, not in pain but under the sheer force of the blow the guard doubled up and a second blow to the chin straigtened it and it staggered back a few paces back against the railings, Jonathan brought his shotgun around in a baseball like stroke which caught the guard under the chin and it toppled over the railing and plummeted all the way down to the launchbay below. There was a large crash and then a few bangs as the others made sure their uninvited guest was not overly mobile. The lift doors slid open and Jonathan was nearly into the lift he threw a worried glance over his shoulder, mark followed his gaze and saw the dim red of the guards eyes coming from the entrance opposite the lift doors, they were approaching in their lurching walk that seemed to propell them nonsensically faster with each lumbering stride, the momentum of their metal bodies carrying them on to greater acceleration. Mark and Jonathan were both through the lift doors when the guards began to step onto the walkway, and the doors were closing as the first guard's hand gripped at the closing door, Mark who had reloaded his rifle raised it towards the guard.
"No!" screamed Jonathan, "Not in here!" He lunged forward sweeping the gun in a low arc which crashed into the chest of the guard, it reeled back crashing into it's companions. The doors which had opened when the guard had blocked their movement, now slid silently closed and the lift began to descend. "Sorry," said Jonathan eventually, "but if you fired in here a ricochet could kill us."
Mark nodded his understanding, he opened his mouth but he was still gulping air and couldn't talk. Finally he breathed more easily and sighed, "Thanks, you know for back there, I guess I owe you one."
"Perhaps you do, but the time will come before we get out of here that I will need a similarly favour Mr Cadgarret. "Mark, please."
"Okay since it's informal I will let you in on a little secret, my friends call me Nathan!"
"Nathan?"
"Yes."
"But I thought that was short for Nathaniel?"
"It probably is but I think it is equally extractable from Jo-nathan."
"Ha I suppose so."
"Yeah I got sick of John and Jonathan, I mean they're good names but they sound too formal, I think you can get more from a name, I mean I can get Joe and Nathan can't I?"
"Yes, if you want."
"You must forgive me Mark, I didn't mean to ramble on the delacacies of appelation."
"Not at all!"
"Can you just do me one favour."
"Name it!"
"Don't ever call me Nat. It sounds like a flying insect."
"Thats probably because it is!" laughed Mark. They laughed a little and the tension began to lift, and then the lift stopped.