Six checkpoints, not including the gatehouse coming in from the road. Biometric scanners at most, retina, thumbprint, show the chipped badge, what’s the code word for today. At all of them, two men with guns.
Past all that, the tall, disturbingly thin alien was playing checkers with one of the interns; most of the scientists have gotten sick of losing, and the army officers can’t be bothered. “Hello, Greg.”
“How are you today, Kathlogroh?”
“Healing. Not so sick now.”
“Good.”
“Want to start working on ship. Any news?”
They’re not going to let you out of here, buddy. “Not yet.”
No comments:
Post a Comment