Barney found Gordon in the mess hall that morning. He was seated at a bench with several stern looking rebels, all of them staring intently at Gordon while he gesticulated at a set of blueprints on the table.
"...okay, so assuming that we can get the submarine around to the shallow side of the berg, then we can climb the sides in a couple of minutes. Good. Yeah. Great."
Barney hooked his legs into the metal bench, sliding over next to his friend. "What's up Gordon? Planning something?"
He glanced down at the documents. They were cutaways, blueprints for the Borealis. Barney sighed.
"Gordon, we've already planned this out. We've got people watching the place, they haven't moved. Alyx hasn't moved. We'll go in when we're sure it's not some kind of trap."
"Barney, we already know it's a trap. They've taken Alyx. Last time, I had her back in about an hour, and she will be frightened now, panicked, that I haven't come to rescue her! She needs me, Barney!"
Barney raised his arms. "Okay, okay, Gordon. I know you like her and all, and yeah, she is important, but you've got to give her time. You wouldn't want to get your girlfriend killed just running in there guns blazing."
Gordon reddened. "She's not my girlfriend Barney, just...just a good friend."
Odell clapped Gordon on the back, grinning cheerfully through a haze of cigarette smoke. "That Alyx is a tough lady Gordon. Hell, I'd be surprised if she wasn't already on her way back here right now."
Blinking in the harsh white light, Alyx stumbled out onto the deck of the Borealis. Behind her, D-9 raised his pistol and aimed it squarely at the back of her head.
"We will review your orders. Prisoners are to comply with all captor-set regulations and boundaries. Subject Vance is not to attempt escape or direct violence towards her captor for the remaining duration of her incarceration. Respond affirmative if orders are understood."
Alyx stretched her neck painfully. It had been almost three days since she had been taken prisoner on the ship, and she had lost track of the number of times she had tried to escape. To his credit, he had not demonstrated any of the unfeeling brutality she had experienced with the Overwatch back at the City 17 Citadel. Instead, he took long walks around the ship, only manhandling her when he had to. There had been no torture, no interrogation, only long hours of silence in the infirmary, sleeping or fiddling with the locket around her neck. Sometimes, she was allowed to accompany him on his restless patrols, but that privilege had now been curtailed. Every time she was near a window or out on the deck, she would strain her ears for the drone of helicopter blades, or the sound of footsteps. Once, last morning, when she had been alone, she had spied a figure, dressed in a thick parka, perched high on a neighbouring berg, glued to a pair of binoculars. She had not been completely forgotten, then, although her heart had sank when she realised it was not Gordon.
That night, with the door locked securely behind him, D-9 started off on his nightly sojourn through the bowls of the ship. It was a curious sensation, to have no directives or guidelines. He had resorted to adopting an authoritative internal voice, and he ordered himself about.
He reviewed the map of the ship he had loaded into his helmet. He had explored the engine rooms, the crew quarters, the bridge and even scaled the radio mast to get a better view over the ice sheets. This only left the cargo bay.
The lights in the hold had long since lost power, so he activated his ocular lamp. In contrast with the wind pounded, noisy upper decks, the hold was eerily silent. And more private. He too had spied the Resistance watchers, and knew that it would only be a matter of time before they had to be removed, for his- and her- safety.
Ahead, his light fell upon a thick wall of debris and ice that had fallen across the corridor. Next to it lay a pile of abandoned Combine tools. Evidently, they had only managed to clear part of this blockage before they were forced to flee.
It did not take long for D-9 to gain entrance, using a small portable cutting laser. Soon, he had carved a man sized hole, revealing a large, dark room beyond.
He squeezed through, sliding across the ice until he felt himself emerge. Standing up, he surveyed his new surroundings. The room was large, big enough to hold a dropship, and filled with numerous crates and storage items. The thing that struck him as most unusual, however, was the corpses.
There were at least a dozen desiccated cadavers, all dressed in faded Aperture Science garb, hanging by their ankles from the roof of the room. Most were missing limbs. Some of the packing crates had been opened and filled with snow, with yet more bodies visible inside.
D-9 stepped closer, his light falling on the nearest corpse. He was dressed differently from the rest, with a beanie, parka and backpack. Unlike the others, he looked dressed for the cold. His body was fresher and not missing any limbs. He was also, D-9 noted with quiet alarm, a member of the Resistance, and could not have been here for more than a week.