HPA3 Auction Day Pt 2
Summary
Norman attempts to leave the Alioth System with the _Repulse_ but has he finally underestimated his enemies?
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Story
The fake moustache flopped to the ground, the noise amplified in the deathly silent room. No one moved, frozen still by the sight.
Kim jumped to his feet. “It’s Mosser!”
The spell broke. The crowd erupted in screams of terror as they scrambled away from Sam. Everyone had heard of Mosser’s reputation as a cold blooded pirate. Sara waved and gestured, yelling for calm, while the auctioneer dived behind his dais.
The INRA men were already moving, hands reaching into their jackets.
Norman held his ground against the wave of terrified people, focused entirely on Stenson, tracking his movements.
Sam finally reacted. He didn’t run, he didn’t tense, he simply clapped his hands together.
The back wall of the room exploded. Flames gouged out wall bonding and spread through the room like tongues of death.
Norman hit the deck. Wall fragments blasted through the room. The INRA men disappeared beneath a pair of fireballs.
Then the lights went out.
Norman jumped to his feet. His neural lace gave him superior night vision, but he didn’t need it. He had already memorised the distance and obstacles. He leapt onto the nearest seat, hurdled the next, turned right, took a step and dived.
He collided with a body. They crashed to the ground. Hands grabbed for Norman’s face. Footfalls rang through the floor, their bass thud accentuated by the mortal screams surrounding him.
Norman found Stenson’s face. Before he could retaliate, Norman rammed his fist into Stenson’s jaw then reeled backward. He raced down the aisle and dove over the seats, collapsing into a heap.
Dull red lights ignited, illuminating the room. Norman stayed down, hands over his head. He could taste the plaster, caking his mouth and clogging his nostrils. His right fist throbbed. Stenson had one solid jaw.
“No body move!” yelled a deep voice. Not Stenson.
Norman, spitting plaster, rolled over and edged himself to a sitting position.
A gun muzzle jabbed into his face. “I said don’t move!”
Norman reeled back, more surprised than hurt, and blinked to get his eyes back in focus. One of the INRA stooges stood over him. His hair and face were singed, but he still looked ready to fight. Norman forced a quiver into his lips and started shaking and murmuring quietly to himself.
The stooge withdrew the weapon, seemingly satisfied Norman’s act of cowardice posed no threat. He ran his pistol over the remaining scared people.
Norman pulled himself upright and cracked his neck and shoulders. The room was a total mess. The rear wall was missing, as well as sections of the roof.
Sam was gone.
Norman’s stomach almost flipped. It had worked, even better than he had hoped. Sam still had to escape the station though, so they weren't out of the woods yet. He just had to stay quiet and everything would fall into place.
Stenson knelt by Sara's side, shaking her and calling her name. He yelled out to the INRA men, asking for help.
Norman had to hand it to Stenson. Even if he was working with the arrogant and self serving group INRA, his policeman instincts still held sway. Protect and Serve: Stenson had principles. Perhaps the two of them had more in common than first thought.
The door, hanging by a thread to its hinges, burst inward, crashing to the ground as paramedics rushed through. They scanned the room without stopping and picked out a pair of bidders close to the destroyed rear wall.
Sara coughed, startling Stenson, but he recovered and pulled her up to her feet. Stenson gave her what had to be a rare smile and moved onto the next person. The INRA stooges were animatedly discussing something in the corner.
Norman sat back down on his chair. He felt like someone had pulled the plug out of his toes and all his energy had drained away leaving a dry shell. Absently, he reached for his coffee cup but it shattered shards no longer held any drink. Sighing, Norman stretched back and waited for his with the paramedics.
Stenson swore as he slammed the door to the backstage area. Norman frowned and turned back to Sara. Her hair was a mess and dried blood graced her scalp, but her internal fire, visible through her eyes, was as bright as ever. “You were saying?”
“He managed to escape,” Stenson interrupted. Steam erupted from his ears. His face looked like a bright red balloon.
Norman let the man vent. He knew Stenson's anger was focused internally, for letting his arch enemy escape again. _You’re standing right next to me and you can’t even recognise me,_ thought Norman.
Sara gave her stock standard business smile: slight curvature, the top row of teeth visible, but no real warmth. “He didn’t get escape in the _Repulse_ however. And none of the invitees were seriously hurt," she added, almost as an afterthought. She waved the auctioneer over from the corner stall where he and his colleagues were working through the transaction they had just completed with Mr Costello, the Aegean representative.
Norman idly examined the room while the auctioneer loped over. Housed at the far end of the bidding room, there was little damage to indicate there had been an explosion next door. Sam had calculated his explosive requirements perfectly.
Sara cleared her throat in what was becoming an annoying routine. “Mr Dover, you were the next highest bidder for the _Repulse_ with a bid of five point nine billion. Are you interested in completing the purchase at this price?”
Stenson's jaw dropped. He slammed it shut and charged forward. "You can't be serious," he said. "Mosser clearly rigged this auction. The results can't be trusted. You'll have to start again."
The auctioneer straightened upright and looked like he was about to slap Stenson, but decided against it at the last second. "No one rigs P&O auctions; our processes are pure. This Mr Mosser character bidded like everyone else and followed the auction rules." He stamped his feet together. "This auction is valid, sir."
Sara signalled the auctioneer back to his seat then said in her schoolmasterly tone, "Mr Stenson, NRS invested a lot of money in this auction. My job is to ensure that this sale occurs, and that it occurs as quickly as possible. If Mr Dover wants the _Repulse_, it's his.”
Stenson threw up his hands with a curse and stomped to the far side of the room.
A warm glow spread through Norman’s chest. The Alliance had just offered his the perfect platform for the HPA on a silver platter. They wanted him to have it. He wanted to savour this moment. He had learned a lot about planning and manipulation over the years, but this had to be one his crowing achievements. But he couldn't gloat; that wouldn't befit his character. Instead, he smiled. "Yes, please, I will buy the _Repulse_ at my bid.”
Sara stood up and extended her hand. “Then we have a deal. Congratulations Mr Dover.”
Norman shook her hand, standing to match her. She nodded to the auctioneer and they swapped seats.
Norman glanced at Stenson as the auctioneer organised his datapad. Stenson was stroking his jaw, patchy purple from Norman's sucker punch. His eyes bored into Norman, as if he could feel the fist imprint on his face and tie it back to him.
Norman resisted a shiver. He put the paranoia down to the high stakes of the game. Stenson wasn't that amazing. Talented perhaps, but not superhuman.
The auctioneers bald head was caked with blood, but he gripped his datapad with steady hands. “I just need to go through the payment options with you, if you please Mr Dover. It'll only take a moment."
Norman nodded. The sooner they were done, the sooner he could get out of Stenson's sight. “Please.”
The paperwork was drawn out in triplicate. With a final thumb print, Norman handed over nearly six billion dollars. His hand tingled with the thumb scan, senses heightened by the precariousness of his position. If Stenson were to suddenly figure everything out. . .
The detective was still studying him inquisitively. The two INRA stooges barged through the door and whispered to Stenson. He nodded and left the room with them.
Norman breathed a sigh of relief. With Stenson off his back the tension drained from his face. He felt free again.
The auctioneer grunted in approval at his PAD. Sara leaned forward. “Everything complete?”
"Both transactions have been concluded. The money is now in the designated account and the title deed has been transferred to Mr Dover’s records."
"Fantastic. NRS thanks you for a job well done."
The auctioneer bobbed his head, like a well trained dog receiving a treat. As he moved away to pack up the rest of his equipment, Sara stood up. "Would you like to take a walk, Mr Dover?"
Norman's heart skipped a beat as his instinctive mistrust kicked in. What this an innocent request or had Sara managed to see through him? He would have to play this carefully. He stood and offered her the crook of his elbow. "I would be delighted."
Sara glanced at the arm, as if it were a bug attempting to crawl onto her boot. "A business conversation if you please, Mr Dover."
Norman didn't have to fake the disappointment on his face. ‘Business’ could only mean one of two things. And one of them was bad. He gingerly fell into step with her as they left the back room. The auction room was charred black. Smoke lingered in the air. Emergency services worked to clear the wreckage. The doorway had been cordoned off. Forensics were already analysing the bomb fragments.
_Good luck,_ Norman thought. _You're going to need it._
“Have you put any thought into your next steps Mr Dover?” Sara asked as they cleared the ring of bystanders inspecting the damage.
Norman chuckled inside. Yes, as a matter of fact, he had thought about it. He tried to feign embarrassment. “Honestly no. My focus recently has just been on acquiring the ship. Now that I have it, I need to get it back home somehow, don’t I?”
“Indeed. Additionally, as the owner of the ship, you’ll be paying for the berthing fees.”
Norman gulped. He shuddered to think what that cost would be. “That won’t be cheap, will it?”
Sara snorted. “No. That’s half the reason we needed to get rid of them.”
There was less foot traffic than usual through the station. Perhaps people wee staying at home, still shaken by the ‘Norman Mosser appearance’. Thinking back, he hadn’t made nearly enough appearances in Alliance space.
“I’m sure you’re aware of the required crew compliment for a Long Range Cruiser?” Sara said.
Norman nodded. Although the advanced automation systems of the _Azure Sunset_ allowed her to operate on one to two people, a regular LRC didn’t have the same luxury. “A few shy of three hundred?”
“Two hundred and eighty six,” Sara said, nodding. Her schoolmaster tone was back. “Do you know where you are going to find that many people?”
Norman shrugged. “We have some volunteers back at headquarters, but I may need to find some. . . local talent.”
Sara shucked her hair. “I thought you might. I’ve already started preparing a list of possibilities for you. Just part of the service.” She gave her business smile again, but this time, Norman felt she meant it.
They stopped outside the local NRS offices. Sara leant on the door. “Why don’t you go get some food and come past in a few hours? I should have something to show you by then.”
“Sounds perfect.” Mosser paused. “Although I would like to have another look on board the _Repulse_ if that’s ok.” The last words sounded meek in his throat, like a submissive child asking a parent to play with a toy. His heart thrashed in his chest as he waited for the reply however. Everything depended on Sara’s reply. He stared at her mouth, transfixed, silently pleading.
The seconds passed, torturing Norman’s heart.
Sara reached for her Pad. “Of course Mr Dover. You now own the ship, after all. I’ll upload the access codes and command prompts to your PAD now and you’ll have full access.”
Norman wanted to sag forward in relief but held himself rigid, instead simply nodding as if her decision were inconsequential.
Sara tapped her PAD. Norman’s beeped in response: data received. “Have fun,” said Sara. “I’ll see you soon.”
Norman couldn’t hide his grin. “You bet.”
As soon as the NRS supplied shuttle left the space station, Norman jumped into action. He activated his wrist chrono's countdown. Ten minutes. He deactivated the shuttle's autopilot and manoeuvred the ship to head for the _Repulse’s_ bow. Once aligned, he pushed the engines to their maximum. Satisfied with the course correction, he leant down and untied his right shoe. He removed the sole and bumped out a single button dongle. He retied the shoe and checked his chrono.
Nine minutes.
He pressed the button on the dongle.
Nothing happened. Eight minutes thirty.
The back of the _Repulse_ brightened until engine wash illuminated the rear half of the ship. Ever so slowly, the _Repulse_ edged forward, drifting away from the station.
Eight minutes.
The _Repulse_ began to move across the shuttle's viewport.
The radio waves ignited in panicked cries as hundreds of people reacted to the _Repulse's_ sudden activation.
As pilots scrambled out of the way, polluting the airwaves with curses, a strong voice broke through the noise. “NRS Shuttle NR-70, change course immediately. Your course will intersect with the rogue LRC in seven minutes.”
“Six minutes and thirty seconds,” Norman said to himself. He didn’t reply. There were enough voices out there to swallow his whole anyway.
“Shuttle NR-70, do you copy? Change your course immediately. You are on a collision course with the rogue LRC.”
Norman kept quiet, attention shifting between the view screen and his chrono. Six minutes. Space had collapsed into pandemonium as ships flittered back and forth, barred entry to the station so traffic control tried to gain control of the situation.
The airwaves went silent. Not only traffic control, but all the other ships too. The whole area had been blanketed under the station's jammer. Or just his ship had been targeted.
Norman grumbled. Either way, it meant that traffic control were so suspicious that higher powers had been called in to control the situation. He had no doubt his shuttle was high on their priority list either.
Five minutes. Time to turn the shuttle around for the deceleration burn.
The station's main door opened. Two Viper Police ships raced out. Their engine was twisted into an arc as the ships altered course to bear down on his shuttle.
Norman swallowed the lump in his throat. Dread picked its way up his spine, clouding his vision. The police had responded far quicker than he had anticipated. Neither the Empire of the Federation could have responded so fast. No wonder the Alliance had won its freedom.
He was out of options. If he turned around now to decelerate, the Vipers would catch him up and turn him into stellar dust.
The _Repulse_ lumbered forward, building up speed as its military engines pushed the million tonne ship forward.
Four minutes thirty.
If he didn’t turn around now, he would smash against the side of the _Repulse_ and be turned into stellar dust.
Killed by a cop, or killed by his own ignorance of physics. Neither option appealed. But he had to choose one. He spun the ship about. He kept the engines maxed out.
Four minutes.
The Vipers screamed closer. The _Repulse_ filled the rear view. The locked docking bay door sat to the left, ridiculously small and blending in against the surrounding cliff of steel.
Time to open the doors. Norman linked his PAD with the ships antennae and broadcast the lock code to the _Repulse_. The bay door slowly retracted. Artificial light glowed from inside.
Norman clenched his jaw as he handled the controls. It would have been easier to pick out a solitary pixel on a high resolution datapad. Sweat dripping from his face, he corrected his trajectory by over compensating, aiming for the _other_ side of the bay doors.
Three minutes.
The shuttle's rear fins dragged around in an arc, as if pushing through treacle, but as the ship slowed, the speed vector evened out and the turn accelerated.
Two minutes thirty.
The Viper's were almost in range. The shuttle came in line with the edge of the docking bay doors. Norman tweaked the controls and with the final dregs of sideways momentum, the shuttle lined up perfectly with the open doors.
Now he just had to turn the shuttle around and decelerate from his currently suicidal speed. But he would cross that bridge when he got to it.
Two minutes.
His time ran out. The Vipers fired, twin beams of coherent light lashing out across space like talons seeking their prey.
Norman jerked the controls instinctively as if struck by lightning. The shots went wide, but the Vipers were still at maximum firing range.
Every second that passed would improve their aim. And he couldn't manoeuvre. No matter how good a pilot he was, he still had to obey physics. He couldn't fly through the narrow bay doors while flying at random angles and going backwards.
The laser beams scythed closer, pulsing with amplified heat.
Norman exhaled a deep breath. The equation was simple: He wasn't going to make it.
So he changed the equation. He spun the shuttle back around. He killed the main engine and fired up the retros. They had even less acceleration, but at least now he could manoeuvre with a hint of survivability.
One minute thirty.
The _Repulse_ filled his entire forward view. Its size was monstrous. His insignificance next to LCR's still got to him, despite his familiarity. The bay doors were still open, the artificial light inviting him in, tantalisingly close.
The ship bucked. Norman held on for dear life as the shuttle dipped and twisted from the blast.
His luck had run out. He twisted the ship around, bringing an aerofoil out of the laser beams path. He throttled the controls, mirroring the violence outside as the shuttle danced between red blades of death.
One minute.
The bay doors drifted to the right as the shuttle's manoeuvres became more desperate. Norman tried to correct, bringing the shuttle around sharply, as a laser burst flashed past the cockpit window.
The shuttle groaned at the close shave. The rough treatment and high gee's were taking their toll on its fragile frame. Norman urged it to hold together a while longer. He ripped the controls back around to line up with the bay doors, but his sideways momentum continued to thwart him, pushing him out of alignment.
Norman cursed. It was like chasing his own tail. A monstrous thump rang through the shuttle body as it lurched downward. The lights dimmed; klaxons blared. Acrid smoke filled the cockpit.
Norman coughed as he checked the damage readout. His shoulders sunk. The engine was toast. The ship was out of his control now. It was just a lump of fast moving steel, a prisoner to its momentum.
With Norman inside it. Heart filled with dread, he looked out the viewport. The bay doors were dead ahead, reaching out to swallow him.
Fifteen seconds.
Laser beams narrowed in on him from both sides. Norman growled in frustration. He couldn't do anything except rue his bad luck. To have come so far, only to lose metres from the finishing line, was not how he wanted to end.
The shuttle passed through the bay doors. The light blossomed though the cockpit as the shuttle zoomed into the bowels of the ship. The walls raced by in a blur.
Norman eyed the left wall. It inched closer and closer as the _Repulse_ continued to accelerate against the static velocity shuttle. He clenched the arm rests tight and tried to brace himself in the seat. He had a bad feeling about this.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Impact. Norman's whole world shook and imploded as the shuttle crashed into the wall. He went flying. Metal shrieked and cried. Alarms sounded then died strangled deaths as he struggled back to the seat. The speed readout raced downward.
The floor buckled and crinkled. Norman's eyes widened in realisation. The ship was coming apart. He clamped down on the arm rests, holding on for dear life as the ship drifted to the floor.
The shrieking metal filled every cilia in his ears, like tiger claws raking through his brain. The end of the docking shaft was coming up fast. Norman began to wonder what would kill him first; exploding ship or pancaked ship.
The vibrations began to ebb and the ship jerked to a stop. Norman flew into the viewscreen with a yelp.
He came to. A hissing noise broke through the haze. Thoughts and memories swirled through the maelstrom in his mind before snapping into focus.
The ship was leaking air! He had to get out, now. He struggled to his feet and staggered out of the cockpit into the lounge. The hissing intensified. Mist and cobwebs choked his thoughts as he pushed to the back wall, groping for one of the space suits.
His fingers tingled at the lack of air pressure. His face was numb, his mind blank, but his body ran on autopilot, reflexes trained into his muscles after years of emergency exits.
He couldn't remember zipping up the suit, but as soon as the helmet clicked into position, everything smashed into focus like a brick to the face. He slumped to the floor in relief but sheer will power got him back to his feet and into the airlock.
He cycled through and stepped out of the ship. The docking corridor stretched into infinity. A massive gouge lined the near wall, black with carbon scoring and distorted from the heat.
His heart panged with sorrow. He had owned the ship less than an hour and he had already damaged it. Not a good start.
Movement caught his eye from the end of the docking shaft. Were the Viper's flying in after him? He didn’t want to wait around to find out. He lugged his heavy suited legs forward to the nearest airlock. His brow furrowed as he marched forward, determination borne of survival pushing him on. Sweat nucleated across his skin, but he sucked in deep breaths and kept moving.
The airlock was ten metres ahead. Renewed, Norman pushed harder, stumbling as he grabbed the airlock door handle. With his last burst of energy, he pulled the door aside, stepped in, closed the door and began the compression cycle. He collapsed to the floor, feeling the fire in his limbs ebb away.
The light above the inner door turned green and Norman hungrily removed his helmet and gulped in large breaths of clean air. He crawled through the door and collapsed again, panting, soaking in the enormity of what he had just done. He had survived, but only just. He needed to get a new supply of clones; he couldn't keep risking his only life like this.
The rear bridge doors opened to reveal a dark and empty expanse, with a few consoles providing the only lighting. Norman ran to the engineering console and turned on the lights. The next step was to get direct control over the override he had planted several days before. Once ready, he entered in the memorised coordinates for the meeting place with Sam.
The scanners beeped, piquing Norman’s interest. The Vipers were still outside, buzzing around like angry but toothless hornets. He wondered why they hadn't tried to land inside. Not that he minded. Several other ships and shuttles flew nearby, but nothing that represented a threat.
The hyperdrive dial blinked. The engines were fully powered. Norman entered the final coordinates and engaged the drive.
The hull plates murmured and rattled beneath his feet as the ship jumped into witchspace.
The ship jerked still a split second later; a microjump, to take the _Repulse_ to the edge of the Alioth system.
“Base, this is Bond," said Sam over the radio almost immediately. "Preparing to dock.”
Norman didn't reply. They agreed he would stay silent unless there was a problem. Instead, he worked on getting more engine control routed to the bridge. The override he had installed had just the single microjump preloaded. He would need direct control over the engines to get back to Frantic's base, something he would struggle to organise without a standard crew or some advanced automation. And with the Alliance Navy no doubt bearing down on the _Repulse_, Norman knew he had to move fast.
The bridge door opened behind him. Norman grunted approvingly. Sam hadn't wasted any time getting on board.
Norman froze.
It wasn't Sam standing before him.
It was Stenson and the two INRA stooges. All three had their guns trained squarely on him.
Norman's heart went into overdrive. How had they gotten on board? The shuttle from earlier, he realised. He had written it off as harmless, not even bothering to check its trajectory. A rookie mistake. And likely a fatal one.
Norman straightened up to face his adversaries. Scenarios and plans rushed through his mind, simultaneously evolved and discarded as he reached for options. He had to stall, soak up time, until Sam could surprise them.
A chill drifted through his gut. Did Stenson know Sam was coming? If so, Norman might as well have given up right then. Trying to hide his true feelings, he sneered at Stenson. "The cop."
Stenson didn't reply. Didn't move. None of them did. Memories of the old sphaghetti westerns flashed before Norman's eyes: The opponents staring at each other, watching, waiting for the clock to strike before they could draw.
The INRA stooges cracked their necks, shoulders and knuckles, eyes staring straight through Norman.
_This is your last clone. There are no more spare clones._ The thought exploded into his head, blowing away all others. If he died now. He would be dead. Permanently. Where the hell was Sam?"
Finally, Stenson spoke. "The evil clone who has killed millions, destroyed billions of credits of property and caused nothing but chaos and misery."
Norman blanched. Even when facing death he still had professional pride. "That's a bit unfair. I made a lot of money at the same time."
Stenson narrowed his eyes, skin folding into wrinkles. The grey hair didn't fool Norman. Stenson had already proven his dangerous capabilities. "Norman Mosser, you're under arrest for crimes against humanity."
The INRA stooges advanced, passing Stenson's flank.
Norman clenched his teeth. He still didn't have a plan. Three on one, and two seconds to crunch time. Not good.
One moment the INRA stooges were reaching out for him, the next they were both on the ground, their backs a mess of charred flesh and clothing.
Stenson stood with gun arm outstretched, smoke drifting from the barrel. The gun snapped back to Norman.
Norman stared at Stenson, mind whirring to work out what he had just witnessed, but another thought overrode all others: the odds were now one to one.
Stenson grinned. "I wanted you all to myself Norman. I couldn't share you. Not after what you did to me." Stenson stepped forward, tilting his head to show the scar. His eyes grew wide and dark, as if a cloud had passed over his soul.
Norman instinctively stepped back. Something ominous wriggled down his spine, something he hadn't felt in a long time. True fear. Stenson was clearly insane. And that made him unpredictable and dangerous. He could snap at any second. Stenson hadn't come for an arrest, no matter what his police oath said. He had come for blood.
Stenson stepped forward, licking his lips, no doubt salivating at some perverted fantasy of torturing him. He spoke in a deranged voice, dark and stretched, as if strangled out of the doors of hell. "I would have waited an eternity for this. It's over, Mosser."
Norman had to act now. He couldn't wait for Sam.
_This is your last clone. This is your last clone. This is your last clone._ The mantra banged through his head, fogging his thoughts. He focused on Stenson's weapon. An Investigator Special, a slightly more powerful version of the Detective, with the typical stubby barrel for easy concealment. The power, range and fabrication specs pulsed out of his neural lace and were projected onto his vision. But the data didn't tell him anything useful.
Panic clawed its way forward into the centre of his thoughts. _This is your last clone._
The stubby barrel! Good for concealment, bad for accuracy. It was his only chance. Norman knew what he had to do. When he had faced off against the other Norman clone in the _Azure Sunset's_ infirmary, he had moved faster than de Havilland. But was
When he had faced himself in the infirmitary in the _Azure Sunset_, he had moved faster than De Havilland. But was Stenson faster than De Havilland? As the inevitablility of his death crushed down on him, Norman knew that there was only way to find out.
_This is your last clone._
Norman moved.
He dived backward, pulled out his Deathwreaker and fired at Stenson.
Norman’s head snapped back as he smashed into the console behind him. His vision darkened as he slid to the ground. The Deathwreaker slid from his numb fingers as he edged downward.
Stenson lay on the ground, unmoving, smoke issuing from his chest.
Elation surged through Norman, but stalled as he looked down. A ragged charred crater stared back at him from his chest. His heart shivered and spasmed as adrenaline tried to combat the damage. Electricity flooded his chest as his neural lace desperately tried to keep his heart ticking over. For all intents and purposes, he was dead.
_This is your last clone. This is your last clone._
Norman waited. He couldn't move, couldn’t breath, couldn’t think. He had taken one risk too many and now his grand adventure had ended. He thought he would have been angry. Instead, he just felt sad. No more adventure, no more risks, no more feeling alive. He knew he would miss that most of all.
As the bridge began to darken, the rear door opened. More of Stenson’s friends? Norman would have smirked if he could have; they couldn’t do anything else to him. They were too late. A small pleasure he could take with him.
A blonde man stepped through. He looked familiar. Lean, medium build and carrying a Deathwreaker.
Sam.
He raced onto the bridge, gun outstretched. He aimed at Stenson as he kicked the body. He checked the INRA stooges before stopping before Norman. The dark emptiness of the barrel stopped inches from Norman’s head.
Sam’s face was unreadable in the fading light. The guns buzz of unreleased energy echoed around the bridge.
_This is your last clone. This is your last clone._
Everything went black.
