For Disclaimer:          Please see Prologue

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CHAPTER 1

"Hey, Ice…?" Alexander's voice, playful, with a scent of impatience. A mixture I'm familiar with by now. "Where are you?"

"Huh?" I heard him alright, but he'd be pissed if I told him I just chose to ignore him in favour of my musings on mankind. So, let's play the confused one. His finger traces the symmetrical black lines on my face. The Maori tattoo is probably the thing about me he loves the most. He never gets tired of looking at me or touching my face, of following the pattern with his fingertips. Hey, whatever keeps him happy is okay with me. I myself have cursed more than once about Rogue's strange ideas. Why the hell did he have to do this to me, his creature? It sets me apart from everybody on first sight. It makes me exotic, that strange, beautiful paradise bird people can't help staring at. It denies me any kind of privacy, the chance to mingle into crowds, to be an observer. The moment people set eye on me, they stare. It's not like I care, I can be a master of ignorance (an original Kurtz-quote, by the way), but it makes it difficult for me to study others. There's also that annoying habit of people to inquire about the tattoo again and again and again. By now I have my standard explanation ready for those encounters, but it's tiring. Screw you, Rogue! Virtually the only good thing it does for me is keeping Alexander interested in me, even if my behaviour ain't too encouraging, I guess. He's a good-looking guy with his dark hair and blue eyes. He could have plenty more than I'm offering him from other women on the station, including passion. He'll never get that from me, but it doesn't seem to bother him. Kira hates me for occupying her dream guy, every single look she grants me tells me that. How dare I synth-broad take away the man she set her eyes on? I smile at the thought of her envious face. Alex doesn't even look at her with his ass.

"What are you thinking about?"

I turn to him.

"You." Right answer. He lights up, and his slight anger over being temporarily forgotten has vanished without trace. His finger's resting comfortably on my cheekbone.

"Something nice?"

"Would I smile if it weren't?"

"I don't know." He touches my lower lip, traces their curve. "I can't figure you. You're … too mysterious for me." He flashes one of his trademark radiant smiles. I return it.

"I could arrange an appointment with my creator, if you like. He could tell you all about my programming." Oops, bad joke. His smile drops from his face in an instant. Humor… something I definitely need to work on. Perhaps I should ask Rogue for an update, just to see his face. Alexander sits up and swings his legs over the bed with a frown.

"Damn Isis… you've got a way of turning someone off, I give you that."

"I'm sorry." I ain't, but I need him to tell me a little more about today's work. He can't leave just yet. I know what it takes to make him reconsider. My hand touches his back, gingerly, slowly tracing his spine down his neck, between his shoulder blades and further down… "Alexander…" Everybody calls him 'Alex', which I know he hates, so I stretch the letters in an apologetic purr. "Please… I didn't mean it. You know I'm still fighting with humor. It was just an attempt to make you laugh. I admit it sucked, but I didn't mean for it to suck. Please… come back?" He hesitates. 'Bingo', I think. Humanity on the whole may be illogical, but sometimes they are also maddening predictable. Men, at least. Alexander's head turns around, and he eyes me with suspicion. I smile innocently and pat the still warm sheet where he has been lying until five seconds before invitingly. His frown melts, and he leans back with a sigh and slips his legs under the sheet again. Another victory.

"You know, it ain't easy with you."

"Ain't this why you're here?" A frivolous grin seems appropriate for this remark. He returns it and pulls me closer. He smells of lotion and its various ingredients. Kira told me once his smell drives her crazy with want, but I guess I'm too sophisticated for those primal pleasures – just one sniff, and I could name every single chemical, aroma or pheromone used in his expensive designer-scent. A real turn-off, huh? Alex kisses me, and I react, stroking his hair at the same time. Feeling nothing. But I've got the technique down pretty well. He'll never know.

"You're pretty full of yourself, you know that?"

I nod slightly.

"Self-conscience. Another thing that drives the male homo sapiens wild." Enough of the playful banter. He still hasn't given me what I want." I roll on my back, changing the topic with the brutal indifference he hates me for. "Did you get to see this Raven-guy today?"

He groans, his hands stopping on my breasts.

"Jesus, Ice…"

"I know. Another bucket of cold water you didn't expect."

"If you know so yourself, then why the hell –"

"It's important to me." I put some urgency into my gaze. "We've been talking about this for weeks, and now he's here, and nobody knows what will happen." My fingers play with the sparse hair on his well-build chest. "Ain't that disturbing to you? Knowing they brought this butcher here? What do they want him for, anyway?"

"*You're* big with Darwin. Don't you know?" He rolls onto his back with a sigh of resignation. The romantic evening is over. The fact just dawned on him.

"Not a word from there. Everybody's real hush-hush about it. I hoped you'd know. Didn't Kurtz give you anything? Ain't you the one to work with him primarily?"

"Yeah…" Poor Alexander. The bed has suddenly become an interrogation room for him. But he should be used to this procedure by now. And I know he loves to talk about his job. He's so proud of himself. Pride has turned him into a regular chatterbox. Every time I want to hear about the secret proceedings in the labs, I just have to make out with Alexander Saitchev. At first, of course, he always tries to avoid talking about it, but he's just too darn intend on impressing me. Very convenient. If Kurtz knew how much I really know; he would disassemble me or order me to be reprogrammed. So I'm keeping the lid on my knowledge and play dumb. "And man, am I happy about it. "Sarcasm? Or does he mean it? His facial expression causes me to vote for the first one.

"What are you supposed to do with him?"

"I don't know. Kurtz and I are going to have a conversation about this first thing tomorrow. I just hope he doesn't want me to therapy this guy."

"Hardly."

"I know. I was being sarcastic."

"Oh… ok." I bite my lip, my eyes staring at the virtual Arcturian meadow I programmed on my illuso-generator earlier, and can't help but wonder whether he's telling me the truth. My beautiful Alexander… is he capable of lying to me? Would he keep it from me? I decide to trust him this time. It's very much like Kurtz to give him his assignment on short notice just to keep it under wraps for as long as possible.

"Strange thing though, huh? Nothing happens for months, and then all of a sudden two ships arrive on the same day."

My head snaps around.

"What?"

He smiles, obviously pleasantly surprised to find he heard the station's gossip before I did. A rare occurance. He gives me the scoop on the lab stuff, I keep him updated on Phooka's rumours. Quid pro quo.

"My proud Egyptian Goddess…hasn't heard about it?"

'Yeah, tease me,' I think. 'After all, you don't get too many opportunities to gloat.' My tone is neutral.

"Come on – which ship?"

"The 'Orthanc'.  Strange, huh? As far as I know, she wasn't due until May… ten weeks from now. Makes you wonder why they came back so hurriedly."

"Did you hear anything?"

"I was kinda hoping you'd give me the scoop on it." He looks honestly disappointed. "Rumor has it they found something out there. But I don't know for sure. They either keep it under wraps, or it's total bullshit."

"That they found something or that 'Orthanc's' back?"

"Oh, she's back for sure." He pauses, then takes up his chronometer from the bedside table. Looks at me after a quick check. He's got an idea, I can tell. "How about a late-night drink in the casino, huh?"

"You mean to check if it's true?" I shrug. It's half an hour to midnight. I don't need the sleep, but my partner-in-crime here ain't a man of iron, and he'll have a difficult day tomorrow. He needs to be focused as hell if he's really going to handle that monster. I don't want him to be shredded to pieces. Really. "I don't know. You look tired."

He looks at me, then snorts. Frustrated, I believe.

"I am, actually… but I'm also darn curious."

I nod and pretend to think it through. In reality, I already know what I'm going to do. My hand finds back to his chest.

"Okay, I'll go. Alone. You stay here and get your beauty-sleep, and when you wake up, I tell you what I found out. How's that?"

"Naw…" He sits up, purposefully this time, and grabs for his pants. "I can manage. I want to see for myself." He gets on his feet and closes his zipper. Digs something out of his pocket. "Got a glass of water for me?"

'Excuse me?'

"I thought you quit this shit."  I don't have to see the orange pills to know what he's referring to. He slips into his shirt without bothering to look at me.

"I will. But right now I need them. Kurtz is giving me hell lately. You know how many double-shifts he's ordering. I'm a lucky dog he gave me this evening off."

"Uh-huh." I start getting dressed myself, annoyed. I need him to function properly. What good will he be to me if he lets this stuff fry his brains. "That's what you told me four weeks ago. And four weeks before that. And-"

"Look, Ice, I don't need a lecture from you right now, okay? I-" The bag falls down, and I'm tempted to pounce and snatch it away from him. But Alexander is fast to retrieve it. "Dammit!"

I slip into my shirt, the blue and black fabric blocking my view for a moment, turning my back on him. Humans and their faults… another opportunity for me to kneel down and thank my creator – thanks, Rogue! – for making me different. Sometimes it gets tiring to see them running open-eyed into disaster. I swallow what I want to say. Can't have Alexander angry with me. In the next moment, I feel his hands on my hips.

"Look Isis… I know you're upset with me. I understand. And I promise you I'll quit. I've got that vacation coming up in about four weeks-"

"Ha!" I turn around, my eyebrows momentarily meeting my hairline over my brow. "Like that's supposed to happen now with that lunatic you're supposed to domesticate! I can already hear Kurtz' laughter when you tell him that!"

His voice is calm, but intense, as is his gaze, as he grabs me by my upper arms.

"He will not interfere with my leave this time. I will have this vacation. We will. He has been canceling all my breaks for one and a half years now, and he knows if he keeps on doing this, I will either collapse or leave for good."

"Like he's going to let you leave." I brush him off and take a step back. "Damn, Alexander… you know you can't leave. Don't tell me you're that naïve. Don't tell me you don't remember what you committed to by coming to this place." His face drops, and his hands sink at his sides. If I were human, I'd probably feel sorry for him. Good thing I ain't. All those emotions would probably render me unable to get anything done properly. After all, I see it day after day with my colleagues.

"Yeah… I was stupid, wasn't I?"

'Yes, Alexander, you were.' He looks devastated now. Old… although he hasn't even hit 30 yet. With hanging shoulders he turns around to grab his bag from the chair. "I'll never leave this place again. Except for those stupid trips to Alpha Ceti IV. Damn, I can't even stand to see those fucking beaches anymore! This is a fucking prison! With golden bars, but a prison all the same." He's reached the door and pauses for a moment, his head turning back to me. I'm still standing on the same spot, and my facial expression tells him he's right. "Are you coming with me?"

"Still to the casino? Or have you changed your mind?"

"Plan's still the same. And if I can't find someone to gush the news to me, I can still drink myself senseless if I'm getting too depressed." A sour smile tucks at his mouth.

I take a deep breath, mildly shaking my head.

"Now I've got to go with you to keep you from getting wasted, I guess." I take a step towards him and register his relieved expression – and the sharp alarm of the communicator stops me dead in my tracks. We stare at each other. 'Kurtz'. Must be. He's the only one ruthless enough to call his slaves in the middle of the night… me before anybody else, since he knows I don't need any sleep. Which doesn't mean his calls don't annoy me. Shaking my head in shared frustration with Alexander, I press the button.

"Dr. Kurtz! How may I be of assistance to you?" I say even before the monitor can build up the image of his age-weathered face. His diamond-hard gray eyes pierce me through the camera. The background doesn't look like his office or lab.

"I don't have time for a chat, Isis. I need your metal ass down here in Medical immediately. Ask for Dr. Hikahi."

Sweet as ever. Why waste any time on politeness? He ain't treating me like this because I'm just a machine to him… he treats everybody like this. I don't care. In a way, he's like me when I don't have to manipulate people to get what I want. Pure information, nothing else. Brief and to the point, without any waste of time or breath.

"I'm on my way, Doctor."

"Good. I'm waiting." The connection's separated, the monitor showing static snow for a second before it's black again. When I look up apologetically to meet Alexander's gaze, I can see that he's pissed at his superior.

"You still going?"

"I don't know." He exhales audibly and shakes his head in suppressed consternation. "I'll make my mind up at the elevator."

***

The station is quiet as I stride down its sterile, neon-lighted corridors towards the elevators – a different one than Alex is taking. In my head, I call him Alex like everybody else. 'Alexander' is just too bloody long to put up with any more than necessary – even for someone with my astonishing processing capacities. He's decided to get that drink after all, so he's taking the express elevator to the 'Starlight Casino', our nifty after-work hang-out, and the only joint in town that's any good – according to most of Phooka's staff. Maybe he'll find his answers there. There's a good possibility the 'Orthanc's' crew will be there to celebrate their premature return. They won't be tired after days or a week in cryo-sleep – only tired of each other and eager to indulge into life again. 'Human nature' again, right? Even I know that... if only  theoretically. I've got no such needs. No nerves for anybody to strain or ruin. No weaknesses. If anything, it's me who causes people to go nuts. Mostly because of my way of getting things said: I don't lie, I don't varnish facts over, I'm not 'polite'. I'm brief and to the point, which is what I'm build for. What people make of that is their thing. If they decide to take it personal, I can't do anything about it. That's why Kira loves me so much, but hell, if she's a long-winded, illogical, emotional fuss-pot who doesn't have the required brainpower or concentration to get the job done, she gets to hear it from me. Calmly, of course, and purely professional, if not to say 'objective'. It was astounding to see her red face while I dissected her failure at a recent project reason for reason, explaining to her each and every step she did wrong, so that she might take the opportunity to learn from the experience. But 'human nature' got in the way, I guess. The way she steamed during my lecture turned it into a learning experience for me, too: I know now what people mean when they say that 'someone's about to blow his top'. I was so delighted at the unexpected insight, I couldn't help but laugh... which of course didn't  help the situation. I found it funny nevertheless. Seems as if humanoid and android humor are just not compatible. Rogue would probably tell me to have a go at it, to try and become more human... but why should I, really? Why should I give up being perfect in my own way to become a being with so many flaws?

            A soft 'Bing' at the end of the corridor tells me the elevator has just arrived. I break into a run to catch it. If Kurtz says he's waiting for you, he means it – he literally counts the seconds. And he did sound urgent. I see a figure entering the cabin and speed up.

            "Hey, wait...!"

            But the door shuts and leaves me to look at the counter, telling me that the person before me is already on the way to the living quarters close to the station's top. Great. I press the button and take a step back to check on the other cabins, comparing the blue-glowing numbers over each door. The left one's coming... slowly. It's a weird thing: The station is equipped from north to south pole with the most sophisticated technology available. In fact, many of the technical wonders we have here haven't even been introduced into the market yet. We're lightyears ahead of the rest of humankind... so why is it then we have the universe's slowest elevators?

            Another 'Bing', and the door slides open. I step in.

            "Level 9. And no music."  Communication between machines. We aren't polite with each other either. Just the bare facts. I can act like a human being, but given the choice, I prefer this. Rogue says I'm chicken not to try out all the possibilities he's programmed me for, but then again, he doesn't know how it is to be me. Anyway, what was the subject again? Oh - slow elevators,  that's where I left off. My assumption is that it must be pure intention. The station's pace is so fast, maybe they designed the lifts like this to grant it's inhabitants a few more moments to pull themselves together again. I know that Alex doesn't mind the slow elevators, so there must be something to them. 

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and turn my head, frowning. That darn tattoo... it's even the first thing about me I notice myself. Before I see the shape of my body, my clothes or my face I see those black lines. It's almost like a camouflage. Nobody remembers anything else about me, ever. They don't recall my eye-color. They're almost black. They don't recall the color of my hair, only that it's very short. And black, with a slight hue of blue that's only visible when the light's bright enough. They certainly don't recall what I'm saying. Rogue told me it's a strategy. Some sort of decoy to keep the attention away from my face and the fact that there may be expressions on it every now and then people wouldn't expect from a synthetic. It's because I ain't a synthetic. I'm a cyborg. Human tissue over a metal endoskeleton. My skin is real skin, my hair real hair, even if it's color might be a little on the exotic side. My body consists of real flesh, and I bleed real blood. But still... I was manufactured. Programmed. I am an artificial creature, and I am treated like one most of the time. Officially I don't exist. Building combinations of androids and humans is strictly forbidden.  There are enough people who already take offense at the thought of 'normal' synthetics. But this being Phooka Station, those people and their laws are very far away.

            'Bing'!

            I've reached my destination, the station's hospital wing. Its bright neon-lights greet me as I step out of the cabin and make my way to Dr. Hikahi's station to the right end of the corridor. It's quiet here, too. It's not just the nightshift. There aren't too many sick or injured on this station, ever. Our decontamination procedures are the best, and so even our rare visitors can't bring any viruses to the station. With the exception of the gardens on its very top, our habitat is completely sterile. It allows us to keep the hospital installation small in comparison to the number of people working here. A good thing, since space is very limited on Phooka, despite of its massive size.

 But everybody is aware that there's a backside to this medal, too. A very good reason for us to never leave the station and its outpost on the close planet we're using for vacation – a simple cold could kill us. Well, not me, obviously, but everybody else. Their immunity systems have been reduced to the status of newborns due to the lack of bacteria or viruses. I don't think this is just a sad side-effect of being so far off the rest of human civilization however. Knowing Kurtz and the ones he's receiving his orders from, I would bet my next 10 updates that this is exactly what he intended to create here. An insurance for him that nobody would ever dare leaving Phooka on his own free will, much stronger than any contract or promise could ever be.  I wonder whether it was his or Darwin's idea. Kurtz is the nominal head of this place and has the last word in every decision, but without Darwin's genius and cooperation he would be nothing. He knows it, and everybody else, too. It's tearing him apart to depend on someone, and the fact that this certain someone is perfectly aware of the situation and by no means the most diplomatic person in existence is probably the reason for his constantly rotten mood. Nobody enjoys working with Kurtz, and everybody's constantly trying to escape his attention.

            I'm curious to hear what he wants from me at this time of the day... or rather, night. He doesn't care for etiquette, but he wouldn't call me in the middle of the night for nothing, either. I pass by the nurses' room, but there's nobody in there. Nobody in sight I could ask where to find Kurtz, so I enhance my audio intake – people would say, "strain my ears" – and pick up some commotion from the ICU further down the floor, located behind massive automatic doors and inaccessible for me. I step up and press the call-button, then turn around to look down the way I came. Still nobody to be seen. The place appears perfectly deserted. From the sounds of it, they're all in here. The sound of steps makes me turn. It's the girl who's coming to let me in. She looks worried and eager to take off again to where she came from.

            "They're in Unit 4. Please use DeCon 3. 4 is defect."

            "I don't see why I should decontaminate at all, Keisha," I complain. "There's nothing on this station I could spoil the room with, and Kurtz is waiting for me." She looks me straight in the eye, angry and defensive at the same time. I'm still amazed at how one can be both. To me, you're either intimidated and shut the fuck up, or you jump at the person who causes you grief.

            "You might not like it, Isis, but MedLab is our territory, and everybody has to follow the same rules. Everybody. Even you."

            I look at her from above. Even though I'm only a couple of inches taller than her, I have the capability to 'look down' on everybody, even people taller than me. It's a mindset.

            "Except I'm not like everybody." I see her eyes narrow, but continue before she can throw anything in which would delay me further: "But I will follow your stupid little rules, just to make you happy." I leave her standing behind me and make for DeCon 3 to the left. She's saying something to my back, which I don't care to hear. Decontamination – you step into a tiny cabin, much like a shower cabin, and get dosed with a mist so fine it enters your pores, your mouth, your lungs. Most people hate the procedure. Alex claims the stuff makes him gag, and that he'll never get accustomed to it no matter how often he has to inhale it. I've got no problems with it. I taste the ingredients and can immediately tell what's in it, but I don't have any 'real' taste. So I put DeCon behind me and enter ICU 4, which – in sharp contrast to the rest of the station – appears crowded.

There's Kurtz, Dr. Hikahi... and two of his staff, busy with the set-up of the unit's instruments. A cryo-tube has been rolled next to the bed, its glowing lights telling that it's still operative. There's somebody in there, frozen. 'Raven?' I think. Can't be. They'd never let him out of the high-security compound, no matter what the problem. Kurtz turns his head briefly in my direction and I know he's noticed my arrival, but for the moment he seems to be completely involved in a heated discussion with the doctor.

"I don't care what you say, Doctor," he says right now, his voice determined. "You've got the best equipment of all colonized worlds here at your disposal. There must be a way. He's still alive, and he should get better as soon as you start the treatment."

Hikahi doesn't look happy.

"Dr. Kurtz..." he inhales deeply, shaking his head and pointing towards his frozen patient. "Yes, he is still alive. But look at him: He's the worst case of radiation poisoning I've ever seen. There would hardly be a chance to cure him even if his constitution were better. He's so unstable, I dare not take him out of the tube! He'll die within 5 minutes if we shut down the controls – and it takes at least 8 minutes to take him out and hook him up to our life-sustaining systems. Just look at the controls – he barely has a pulse. He's as good as dead."

I risk a glance into the cryo-tube and see immediately what he means. The man inside looks haggard, nothing more than skin and bones. His face is red and raw, blistered and covered with seeping wounds. Likewise his neck and hands. I can't see the rest of his skin because of the dirty clothes that still cover him, but I'm sure it's the same there. I can tell they must have been in a hurry to freeze him if they didn't even dare to get these torn, dirt and blood-stained lumps off him first. He would probably have died under their hands in the meantime. A Colonial Marine, it appears. There are many military and para-military groups out there, but I recognize the dog-tags lying on his non-moving chest. His camouflage pants are also tell-taling. The right leg is ripped and blood-soaked.

"You are not here to cure colds, Dr. Hikahi," my boss sneers, sweet as ever. "And I don't pay you a fortune because you're a master in the art of removing inflammed appendixes either. You're here because you wanted to play with the newest developments in medicine. I've given them to you. Now make good use of them. Show us they work. Convince me I made the right decision when I put you in command of this medical station. Or aren't you as capable a doctor as your personal record would lead the reader to assume?"

"Dr. Kurtz-"

"I don't want to hear your whining and complaining, Dr. Hikahi. You came here to be challenged. This is your challenge. I want this man to live. Are you up to it? Or should I start looking for your replacement?"

From the corners of my eyes I see the two nurses pause and look up, their lips pressed together. Their boss is walking the tightrope here. Kurtz is nobody to utter empty threats. If he says he's going to axe Hikahi, he will do so. Without thinking twice about it. A leaden silence fills the room, only broken by the humming of the instruments and the sound of the soldier's feeble heartbeat. The chief of Sickbay looks desperate. Finally he nods, resignation in his features.

"Alright. I'll try." 'Wrong word, doctor.' I can foretell Kurtz' reaction and turn my back on the two combatants to inspect the object of interest further. I don't envy Hikahi – by the looks of it, he's facing impossible odds. The man looks dead already. I estimate his bodily age around 30, maybe a little younger or older. He's so emaciated, it's hard to tell. His dark-blond hair is a dirt-matted chaos, strands of it glued to his brow. A stubbly beard covers his chin. Even though he's in a coma, the expression on his face is that of a man who has been through a lot. In the background I hear my boss's tirade about 'not trying, but doing the deed'. He's really intend of saving this guy. I wonder why and turn my head slightly to read the engraving on his dog-tags, when Kurtz finally decides to address me.

"Isis, I need you for a special assignment."

"Yes?" I look up and take a step back as Hikahi brushes past me in suppressed anger. They're getting ready to open the cryo-tube. Kurtz steps up to my side and lowers his voice.

"When they take him out, I want you to take his dog-tags and pull one of your infamous hacker-jobs. Hook yourself up to the USCM database and get me everything you can find about this man. I want to know everything – where he went to boot-camp, who his instructors were, his squad, everything about the missions he was a part of. His skills, personal record, judgments by his superiors… everything. Think you can have this ready for me tomorrow by noon?"

It's a tall order, and he knows it. Otherwise he wouldn't ask me, but simply give me the order. I shrug.

"I'll give it my best shot, Dr. Kurtz. But it's been a while since I've been in the USCM database. They may have changed the coding. I know they're changing the passwords every day, and I suspect they have gotten more careful since my last visit." He looks at me confidently. It's an expression not many of us ever get to see.

"If anyone can make the USCM computer talk, it's you." He grabs my shoulder and squeezes it. An odd show of affection from Phooka's mighty man I'm hardly ready for. "This is why you're here. Make me proud, Isis."

I stare at him wordlessly, but before I can utter my other concerns I'm interrupted by the hissing of the opening cryo-tube. A cold draught passes by us and brings with it the sweet stench of infection. I assume it's the leg and see Hikahi pale. The odds against him have just risen another notch. The Arcturian inhales sharply and gets to work, ordering us back and his assistants to his sides to help him lift his patient onto the waiting bed. The rising alarm from the instruments the man is connected to tells us he's going downhill already. I watch silently, inwardly not expecting Kurtz's object of interest to live through the next ten minutes, and see my boss step up against Hikahi's protests to snatch the chain with the dog-tags from the soldier's neck. He presses them into my hand.

"Here, Isis. Do your thing. If you find anything important, you can reach me here for the next hour."

I almost laugh. How ridiculous. Thanks to my nature though, I manage to keep a straight face.

"Doctor, you know how long it takes to get an answer out here. Even if I didn't have to sneak in through the backdoor-"

He waves me off impatiently, his eyes glued to the efforts of the medical staff.

"You still here, Isis?"

I shut up. He might be unusually fond of me occasionally, but his patience has limits. I can take a hint and turn on my heels, not listening to the muddle of voices behind me  - Hikahi's voice saying something about having better chances to save the marine if he took his leg off, to which my boss's reply is a simple, firm "No." - as I leave ICU 4. Chances are my work will be completely useless. Even if I get the USCM computer to spill its secrets to me tonight, they're likely to be the secrets of a dead man in the morning. But I've got my orders. I pass the heavy door which separates ICU from the rest of the hospital wing and make for the elevator, turning the dog-tags in my hand to see whose life I'm going to lay open. The name is 'Dwayne Hicks.'