Original Chapter 1

As stated before this comic is based on an unfinished story I have started some years ago. Here is the first chapter of the story (translated to English as best as I could). You'll find some major differences, like:

• The setup is placed in 2251
• Some names are different
• The planning how to handle the situation is much more drastic

!!!!!!!!! SPOILER WARNING !!!!!!!!!!!!

You should have read the comic beforehand. The text below might ruin some fun.

Unwanted gifts

Obviously he would be entertaining uninvited guests shortly, in a little over 20 minutes. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment, so he pushed the VTOL to the back of his mind and concentrated on the matter at hand, his tomato shrubs. This strain didn't seem to like the salt desert environment any more than the last strains he had tried. And he hadn't the slightest clue why.

Nearly two years ago he had started his tomato project. Inspired by his earlier horticultural successes, he had thought there wouldn't be any insurmountable problems with adapting tomatoes to the desert environment. His encounter with success blinded him to the difficulties of adapting this stubbornly weak little plant. Maybe they were just too frail for the environment, no matter how much cross-breeding and genetic engineering went into them. Then again, the world's experts had told him he was daft to attempt cultivating wheat in a salt desert. In that case he had proven them better, with the help of well prepared soil, some specially designed anaerobic bacteria and nano-bots.

But the tomatoes were really a challenge. The shrubs before him looked ill, there were ugly black dots all over their leaves - dead cellular tissue most likely crushed by to high osmotic pressure. Sure, there was no real problem to grew tomatoes sealed against the desert, but there was no satisfaction in doing something like this. He had wanted and still wanted them to flourish under the open sky or at least beneath a simple sun shielding.

Out of the ecological, economical or practical viewpoint all his experiments in acclimatization and soil enrichment were completely nonsense. The world was producing more food than needed by any human being living within this solar system and everyone was the opinion that there were lots of more important problems to solve than cultivate the last deserts in the world. Only a small hand of outsiders like him had enough curiosity and academic interest doing stuff like this. Personally he had started his experiments simply because he had been in search of a creative hobby one could perform in a salt-desert - simply put, he had been bored to tears.

Carefully he sprayed the tomatoes with a mixture that should regulate their salt concentration. Maybe a greater wonder would happen and a big surprise was awaiting him tomorrow. But the tomatoes would probably drop dead, he didn't have much confidence in this latest mixture. With some luck he could gain one or two more days. This wouldn't be the awaited breakthrough, but at least it would be a step in the right direction.

After finishing the last shrub be pulled the foil covering the precious matrix back into place. The next spring was over 300 kilometers away, all his water was coming out of the condensation traps he had modified for his purposes. He had enough water cover his daily needs, but far to less to uphold a permanent irrigation of his garden. It was already wasting more water than he spend anywhere else.

He had to hurry up, the VTOL was almost in sight, there was a tiny dazzling black dot on the western horizon. Only 10 minutes left to do some preparations. Although he wasn't Mr. Hospitable in person he still preserved some kind of basic civility, which included not to welcome guests unwashed in smelly half rotten lumps. So he quickly collected his tools and jumped for the house.

The tools were stored in a small ugly shed beneath the back entrance. On walk thru the house he undressed and directly headed for the shower. Usually he only wasted water for washing once every two week. Actually there was no need for excessive hygiene, he was living alone, hadn't to fear any diseases or infections and his skin was well protected against dehydration. Of course he had a very strong smell, but his nose had been used to if for years, in contrast to the noses of his unknown guests.

The shower was one of those modern high-pressure models, designed mostly after the blueprints of the ones they also used in manned spacecrafts. It was an annoying piece of high-tech in a house with almost no tech at all, but this refreshing bath cost him less than two liters of his valuable water reserves. Still it would upset his well balanced water plan for the week. He wasn't really angry about it, partly he welcomed this little diversion incoming at 376,7 kilometers per hour. Apart from working in his garden and reading old books there wasn't very much entertainment in his life.

Refreshed and with prickling skin he comb his far too long snowy hair and dressed in fresh clothes, all days stuff supposedly totally out of fashion. He had never spend much time on his outfit nor cared anything about the talk behind his back.

There was no time for any further preparations, so he just stepped out of front door and waited in the shadow of his veranda. There were some landing marks, he had place some hundred meters away. It wasn't a real helicopter platform, but his marks fooled the common autopilot every time, he simply had to lean back and watch the show. Now the VTOL was clearly visible and already loosing speed, he saw the two rotors tilting up to hover-mode. The cabin windows were polarized against the hard sunlight and nearly opaque out of his viewpoint, he only saw two blur human shadows in the front seats. Luckily he hadn't to rely on his eyes to know that the additional two seats in the back where empty.

He had identified the VTOL right, its rotors were very loud by design. This model wouldn't satisfy the actual standards for inner city transport, but here in the outback it was an economical and fast taxi, no one would ever complain about the noise. With an elegant turn the VTOL dropped down on his landing mark. He had fooled the autopilot again, no human pilot would have ever managed a maneuver like this so easily. even if the security directions where handled quite easily so far away of any civilization, none of the two travelers seemed to desire direct control over their flight. Most likely none of them was a trained pilot, like over 90 percent of all renting a machine like this.

Slowly he made a step out of the shadow so they could easily find him. The front right cabin-door opened, while the rotor-blades were still chopping the air at good speed. He got a glimpse on a white uniform he recognized at once. The same moment he knew that he had been completely wrong, he was absolutely not welcome a diversion like this. Some radical, partly violent alternatives crossed before his inner eyes. Finally he decided to stay calm and stepped back into the shadow.

Although Michael was seldom visited he had expected something common. For example two reporters begging for an interview or just interested in his past or his latest petition that was almost ignored by the public so far. Or some botanists interested in his hobby with thousands of mostly boring questions. Or even two of his old squad members, although he hadn't the slightest idea what to talk about. But he surely hadn't expected a visit of two Genesis representatives. Those guys usually never got the direct way, if they wanted something they released of a horde of lawyers or a killer command.

In this case they seemed to use both possibilities at same time. The guy on the right was lean, fast and well-trained, he had short brown hair and eyes that seemed to be able to send out flashed. The other guy on the left was a complete contrast to the first, he was short, squat and sweaty with thick well organized black hair. Did he ever met better prototypes for a killer and an attorney? Hadn't they both been wearing the same white uniform with the green-gold helix logo in chest and shoulders, he might have laughed to death.

Mr. Hitman quickly scanned the surroundings and finally fixed him with his firm gaze, he didn't seem to have and any problems with the sunlight or the temperature. Michael could feel that there was more than natural hydrocarbons in his skull. If he hadn't waited for Mr. Shyster, who took his time to catch a small suitcase out of the cabin, Michael might have got into motion. The last attempt on his life was over five years ago, but he still could remember all its very detail. He had sworn not to take any chances again. But in this case Mr. Shyster seemed to be the one in charge and Michael felt in the right mood to handle him.

Watching them slowly walking towards the house was a strange feeling. To both of them he automatically attached a whole bunch of information. Mr. Hitman's heart was beating at good 56 per minute, while Mr. Sheyster's was racing at 71. There was a similar discrepancy in their blood pressure and overall body temperature, Mr. Sheyster was overheating. And just below all those signals was the permanent noise of the landed VTOL. The autopilot was still exchanging data with air-traffic control and additionally was running a complete self-check of all systems. He was flooded with information he didn't want to know. Had there really been once a time he had called a situation like this normal?

His two visitors were approaching the foot of the veranda, Mr. Sheyter in front and Mr. Hitman two steps behind. Micheal crossed his arms before the chest and placed himself so that there was no way around him. They should learn right from the beginning that they weren't welcomed on his ground. The house and the 5 square-kilometer patch around it were his private property, he had all right of the world to protect it from any uninvited intruders. But he had already spend to much time on court not to insists upon is right, especially not against a Genesis lawyer.

"Mr. Michael Otis?", shouted Mr. Shysters out of some distance, unnecessarily also waving his free hand. It was really too easy to oversee him in all this crowding. Mr. Hitmen was vaguely shaking his head, which made him a little more sympatric at first sight.

"Have you expected someone different?", replied Michael at low voice so Mr. Shyster had to listen closely to understand him out of the distance.

He completely ignored it. "I'm Edward Spencer. Pleased to meet you. Over here is Major Jakob Robbins of the marine corps. We have an important concern to talk about."

Michael was slightly surprised to learn that Mr. Hitman actually was an officer of the marine corps of the North American Union. He gave Robbins a closer look. Concerning his trained and upgraded body, it could be the truth, he was certainly no armchair culprit. But why was he wearing a Genesis uniform? Should this little detail indicate that this visit was purely initiated by Genesis and only unofficially granted by the NAU? Or was Robbins one of those pricks that forgot about there army career and went for a better paid job?

They both reached the veranda and Spencer was about to directly bump into him. In the last moment he realized that Michael wasn't going to step aside. With a soft sigh he stopped in the sunlight using his hand to cover his eyes. Michael was delighted to see him sweating like a pig.

"Well, I'm definitively not pleased to meet you. And the only important concern we could talk about is how fast you are able to jump into you vehicle and race back wherever you came from", Michael finally replied in the same low-voice tone.

Spencer didn't loose his professional, but not very charming smile even for a microsecond. "I understand that you are emotionally overreacting. But we've came here, since *really* need your help in a very important incident."

Michael nailed him with his gaze. "I don't know what my emotions should have to do with it. Concerning the experts you've dragged to court, I don't have any emotions at all. I have a printed copy of all those pamphlets hanging on the walls of my bedroom."

Even now Spencer's smile didn't slipped. He produced an ugly green cloth and moped his forehead, mostly to conceal his uncertainty. "Their are strong indications that it is a Palomino incident."

These two little words hit him like a brick wall incoming at supersonic speed. Palomino incident. The words were burned into his personality, they were the reason for his very existence, the reason for all his pain, the reason why he had killed sixteen people in his life - and maybe the reason why he might add two to this number in the next seconds.

Damn, they've instructed Spencer very well how to trigger him. But supposedly they hadn't told him what might happen after this try to reactivate one of his old conditioning. Michael felt like been beaten in the belly several times and was about to strike back. But Spencer showed no fear at all, he wasn't aware what he had done. Only because of this ignorance Michael calmed down again. There had to be more than two simple words to push him over the edge and let him do thing he would regret afterward.

"I'm allowed to hand you some important facts if you are willing to read them", continued Spencer, before Michael had chance to reply. "They will explain much more than I could tell you in one or two sentences."

Michael didn't react. He had enough to do to analyze his feelings. Had Spencer managed to reactivate something deeply buried in the bases of his personality? Unbelievable he felt interested in these offered data. Was this merely his own curiosity or an reaction he was programmed to? It was hard to find an answer to this question and he felt, that it would be the best to tell Spencer were he could store all his important facts.

Spencer misinterpreted his silence. "You can scan the data totally without obligations. Most of it will be published in the next days."

Michael knew that he was lost. Even if he kick-butted Spencer and Robbins over the boundaries of this property, the following days he would spend hours to search the newspapers for something interesting. So there was no reason why he shouldn't read the material now.

Damn curiosity. "Okay, show your cards."

Wasn't Spencer's smile broadening a little bit? He opened his suitcase at once and produced a small data-card in less a second. A professional illusionist couldn't have done better.

Michael examined the small card offered to him. It was a standard holographic memory crystal within some plastic material to protect it against the sunlight and for easy handling. It wasn't much bigger than Spencer's thumb, but could have easily stored Michael's whole private library several times.

Obviously Spencer's was waiting for him to take the card, but Michael didn't move. "What I'm supposed to do with that thing?"

It was very funny to see Spencer completely stunned. He seemed to be unsure if he should take this question serious. Every child knew what to do with a data-card. "Well, ah ... place it into your terminal and read it of course ... or whatever you might call it."

"I've neither a reader nor a computer, let alone a terminal."

This gave Spencer the next shock. Ignorant people like him would never understand that civilized humans existed over four thousand years without the help of computers or a worldwide network. Nor would they ever understand all the annoying signals those damn terminals were almost permanently polluting the air. He hadn't choose to life in a salt-desert because he felt in love with the climate.

"Ah ... yes. I could lend you my pocket terminal if you want", proposed Spencer after short guessing. "I think this explains why it was so complicated to contact you prior."

Michael ignored this last remark, his net-isolation was based on much more than just a missing terminal. Instead of giving long explanations he used the time to prepare himself to face one of those horrible terminals. "Let's have a seat."

Abruptly he turned away and opened the way to his veranda. He guided his visitors to the wooden table on the right. The table and the five chairs around it he had made all by himself, just like the major part of his whole furniture. They were the result of his tries in simple handiwork before he had discovered the fun with his garden.

Spencer followed the invitation at once, apparently glad to leave the sun. Robbins instead took his time, closely inspecting all parts of the veranda, mistrusting almost every step. Was he expecting a bobytraps waiting to blow him away? It was still unclear to which category Robbins belonged. If Spencer had spoken the truth and they were really facing a Palomino incident, Robbins might belong to special forces. Although this still wouldn't explain why he was wearing the wrong uniform.

Michael choose the place right before the wall, Robbins and Spencer almost automatically seated across the table. Without wasting a second Spencer placed his suitcase in front of him and took out a common hand-terminal. Michael had felt its presence prior, but in the same moment its photocells cached some light it became active and automatically tried to uplink. The air filled up with millions of signals on several different frequencies. He shortly closed his eyes to get used to all this noise. It was really a distracting little machine.

He almost didn't register Spencer unfolding the screen and hacking in some commands. "Hmmm... the bandwidth of the sat-link is very bad. One hardly could establish a vid-call. Is this place shielded?"

What a dork, Michael sighed. He pointed to a point at southern horizon. "Skylink 7, geosync" - his finger moved a little to the right - "ComSat 20, geosync" - a little further to the right - "Astra 21, geosync ... luckily dead" - he turned towards the western horizon - "GeoSat 10, low-orbit ... hopefully will burn in atmosphere within the next fifty years" - his finger raised higher towards the north, he glanced towards Robbins and smiled dryly. "Military spy, don't know the name. Sat-control denies its existence every time I ask."

Slowly he leaned back again. "These are the closest right now and we are almost outside all of their regular service areas. You see, I've choose this particular place wisely. If you want a better connection you should try it about 50 kilometers in the southeast."

The corners of Robbin's mouth vaguely twitched, the rest of his face stayed expressionless. Hard to say, if he was impressed or only slightly amused. But Spencer's jaw-bone seemed to drop down onto the table every moment. Yet it was not more that a cheap trick, he had checked the satellite positions long time ago, the rest was a simple calculation.

"You wanted to show me some data", remembered Michael after a short pause.

With some hesitation Spencer came back into motion. He hacked some further commands into his terminal, maybe to conceal some of the personal data, and finally handed if over to him. The screen was showing the well known blue-gold Genesis logo and below a short list of files he was allowed to access. Supposedly all higher functions of the terminal were blocked by passwords. Obviously they hadn't told Spencer everything. If Michael really wanted to, he was able to hack a model like this one within one or two minutes. But he wasn't much interested in the files Spencer tried to conceal, the really interesting stuff about Genesis and its weird connections to the government were stored in databases Spencer didn't even know their existence.

Like any modern terminal Spencer's rig was equipped with a short-range interface for fast off-net data-transfer to a similar terminal within some dozen meters. He closed his eyes and concentrated one this annoying thing before him, the rest happened almost automatically. The terminal and some of his simpler implants agreed upon a low-energy microwave channel and a coding algorithm. The accessible information started to invade his mind.

The data concerned about a research-station called Freepoint. He had never heard about this station before, but since it was circling earth on a very strange pole-to-pole orbit, this wasn't surprising. His prior researches had been concentrated on communication satellite in geosync orbit. The station officially had been put in operation at 7.8.2203. Its actual number of personal was 988, a complete list was attached. A short glance at this list only informed him about the name, birthday, location of birth, employment and nationality together with a simple portrait, fingerprints and retina scan of every person that officially had to be aboard the station. Although he couldn't stop all these useless information racing thru his memory, he tried to ignore them.

Three weeks ago - on 3.6.2251 - several unknown sicknesses had been registered by internal medical services. Since the combination of symptoms of this disease couldn't be found in any medical database, one later - on 4.6.2251 at 11:14 world time - a provisory quarantine had been declared upon the station by the Center for Disease Control and Prevention to check a possible new supposedly not dangerous illness.

Two days later over 80% of the station's personal was infected. Although the actual symptoms were no more than a usual catarrh together with light-sensitivity and a rush near the lymphatic nodes, CDC had extended the quarantine to class B and had send out a team with maximum priority. The disease obviously was highly infectious and CDC had been just following its directives.

Another two days later - on 8.6.2251 at 16:23 world time - Darran McReef, born on 11.3.2228 in Denver, NAU, hydroponics technician - who looked a little displeased on his portrait - deceased on hearth failure. At 19:53 of the same day the epidemic team had arrived and immediately ordered a complete autopsy of McReef. A degeneration of this hearth-musculature and lymphatic system had been detected. Although Michael really didn't wanted, several shoots of McReefs autopsy floated before this inner eyes.

In the following three days 63 people had died on similar degeneration. There had been no one of the original personal who wasn't now affected by this disease. The epidemic team wasn't able to detect a pathogen, there were indications for a virus, but it hadn't been impossible to isolate it.

On 12.6.2251 the first member of the epidemic team had been infected. Already 161 people had died and there was still no clue about the spreading mechanism of the infection. Several samples had been collected to be transported to the Center of Virological and Bacteriological Research, but CDC had stricken the quarantine to class A, so nothing was allowed to leave the station any more.

The rest of this report was no more than a short, not very detailed list of major incidents:

On 13.6.2251 at 14:03 world time a communication breakdown interrupted the contact to the station.

On 14.6.2251 at 6:57 world time a basic communication had been restored via the station's emergency systems. Eleven further member of the team bad been infected although they had taken every known precautions. There had been reports about collective hallucinations.

16.6.2251 The first member of the team died on hearth-failure. 2571 of the original station's personal had been deceased.

17.6.2251 Last member of the team gets infected. Number of casualties raised to 687.

18.6.2251 unclear reports of the team leader, information could be trusted. It is supposed that he had been hallucinating.

19.6.2551 at 10:06 world time second and final communication breakdown. Communication hadn't been reestablished, simple extrapolation indicates that every human aboard the station had deceased.

Apart form this list of major incidents Spencer's data-card also contained a detailed technical blueprint of the station. He only took a short glance at it. The major design of the station was mostly familiar, a 2200 meters wheel containing the living quarters and main laboratories and a slightly unusual 200 meters times 1900 meters cylinder on the rotational axis, containing further laboratories and the main parts of the life-support systems.

Obviously these information had been heavily censored, the attached reports of the epidemic team were simply too short to be complete. Also there weren't any remarks of the companies running the station or anything giving the slightest clue what they had been researching on this station. Most likely Genesis had something to do with it. He didn't felt very comfortable with this thought.

Michael reopened his eyes, closed the terminal and pushed it back towards its owner. "Interesting, but not very detailed."

This time Robbins reacted. "Are you trying to pretend that you've read all this stuff in less than 12 seconds?"

"As I've said: It isn't very detailed", replied Michael simply shrugging his shoulders.

Robbins didn't eat it. "That's impossible. Even my best men ..."

"... weren't born with their upgrades nor designed for them", Michael coldly interrupted. Robbins seemed to be worse informed than Spencer, so he tried to ignore this interruption. "You've gained my interest. Now tell my why your are here and what you want me to do. And most important: What are you intending to do."

"That should be obvious", Robbins energical replied.

Michael shortly thought about and finally nodded with a faint smile. "Certainly we've found a completely unknown, highly infectious disease that supposedly had killed or at least disabled 6895 people including a well prepared and equipped CDC-team in less than three weeks. There's no clue about the origin of this disease - at least not in this censored data - nor any obvious way to control it. Concerning my prior experiences with the military way of problem-solving I would say that you are either planning to seal the station for forever or blow it up. I would tip on the latter."

Robbins grinned coldly. "You bet."

Michael nodded again. "Sure you'll do. What you do not understand you'll blow away and possibly disperse tons of contaminated material in a gigantic dust-cloud near the ionosphere. I'm glad you've gave me this early enough so I could buy a ticket to mars before the panic."

Robbins of evidently displeased and slowly became angry. Michael had dared to criticize his glorified marine corps. "It would be a neutron shower explosion within a low pressure plasma fusion. The debris will not be bigger that one or two millimeters, sterilized by hard radiation. There's no chance that anything organic will penetrate earth's atmosphere."

"Your pretty sure about this one. May I ask how many space station do you nuke per month? Feel free to round off the number."

Spencer slammed his hand on the table before Robbins could react. "Major, we have agreed that I would lead the negotiations."

Robbin's gaze popped in Spencer's direction. Michael automatically remembers this old pun: If glares would be able to kill ... well, Spencer might have a cruel and very painful death in that very moment.

Luckily Robbins relaxed a little after a second thought and crossed his arms in front of him. "Of course we have."

This little scene was indeed very interesting and informative. There was this pettifogger - or whatever Spencer might call himself - bossing around a marine officer like stupid dog. Looking into Robbins eyes it was obvious that he was almost brimming over with rage. Michael asked himself what Genesis had done - or payed - to get someone like Robbins into a situation like this.

"Of course we know the risks of a nuclear destruction of the station", Spencer said in a businesslike manner totally ignoring Robbins fury. "We're here exactly out of this reason."

Michael knew that he should simply say no at this point and send both back without even learning the concrete offer. Maybe this was his last chance doing so. But he was already lost. "Continue."

Spencer slowly dragged his terminal back to himself and drummed with his fingertips on the back of the screen without reopening it. "As you might suspect, the incident is now pure military and in the moment the president decides about the usage of nuclear weapons. We expect his decision within the next 24 hours. But even with the presidents okay the officers in charge wouldn't load their missiles at once. The station is in a stable orbit, except its communication systems fully operational and there is no risk of any kind of internal malfunction or a collision with space debris. Viewing this situations objectively we probably have several years until forced to a final decision. The actual plan is to change the orbit of the station, so I could be destroyed in save distance to earth."

Michael shortly closed his eyes to reflect the technical datasheets he had learned. He could remember the information at all detail. "Concerning the blueprints you've handed me, the station is indeed equipped with a fusion-drive. Very handy. May I ask, why a station - that by definition should be stationary - needs a propulsion?"

"Sorry that's confidential. I'm not allowed to give you any further information than those you've already got. In the moment you simply have to accept that his propulsion-system exists."

Michael didn't like an answer like this, but Spencer seemed to be deadly serious about it. "Okay, it is there, fine. But if I interpret the data correctly, the drive hasn't been active for several decades and there are no tanks to keep enough reaction-mass to move this station seriously upward. So, how are you planing to transport this station? Tie a big space-craft to it and pray that the whole thing will stay in one piece?"

Robbins faintly smiled, but Spencer took the question serious. "You are right this is the critical point in the plan. There are basically two options. As you've guessed the first is to design a ship that is able to support the right points of the station and has enough thrust. A project like this would take at least 8 month till completition together with a 3 month test phase. The second alternative is to send a team aboard the station to reactivate the existing propulsion system."

"Let me guess a little further. You'll go for the latter. The lives of some poor guys is much cheaper than a ship for almost nothing at all", Michael bitterly interrupted. "And you are asking me to accompany this team? To do what?"

Spencer leaned back. "Mr. Otis, there's nothing decided so far. The president might deny the request for a nuclear destruction and we have to think about some other alternatives. Its neither Commander Robbins nor my job to give the final commands. I'm only referring the most probable cases and I'm acting on behalf of Genesis who wants to be prepared for any situation. Don't blame me for this situation."

There were lots of possible comments Michael could have replied to this statement. He had heard the 'I'm only a minor employee of a big company'-excuse a thousands of times. In his opinion this wasn't an excuse at all, only a sign of missing moral courage. But finally he settled down on false politeness. "Sorry, I didn't want to offend you. May I ask, why Genesis is involved in this incident? Is the station property of the company"

"That's also confidential, but I could guaranty that Freepoint isn't one of Genesis's registered sub companies."

This didn't say anything at all. Spencer had used the word registered, which meant that Genesis might be involved with the station unregistered. Michael had lots of experiences in subtleties like these. The overall capital of a business combine was limited by cartels laws, but Genesis had found thousands of workarounds for this legal limitations.

Michael sighed. "Then tell me what's not confidential. Make your point. What I'm supposed to do? And what are you willing to pay for it?"

Robbins jerked up and slammed his hands on the table. "I knew it. He's no more than a common mercenary."

With that Robbins turned away and left the veranda heading back towards the VTOL. Michael was slightly surprised to face an irascible reaction like this. What had Robbins expected him to do? That he simply would say 'Oh wonderful, lets forget about the past and I'm glad to become your slave again'? He hadn't forget anything. If Genesis wants him to do something they had to bleed for it.

Spencer had no problems with the question. On the contrary he seemed to be waiting for it all the time. Also he seemed to be slightly relieved to be rid of Robbins in this moment. "I'm allowed to offer 5000 k for every you be at our disposal until the military command decides its further activities. If they decide to reactive the propulsion system, Genesis asks you to accompany this the team and offers you a payment of 2 million k to represent its interests. In a addition we offer a special bonus of 10 million k, if you manage to analyze the disease and find a possible way to bring it under control."

Michael was stunned. This offer was far more than he had ever gained out of all these indemnification payments he had fought for. 10 million k-dollars were really big heap of money, even if this new currency still wasn't as stable as the dollar before the mega-inflation of 2198. Even 2 millions were more than enough to build a whole colony of houses, complete his library by thousands of antique books or extend his little experimental garden up to several clicks in all directions. Actually he didn't really wanted to do anything of the above, but the money would open lots of possibilities. Spencer wasn't a very got salesperson, but he had made his point short and clear. Was this his price? Was it enough to buy he conscience and loyalty?

He carefully valued Spencer's words. Had he really said that Genesis wants him - Michael Otis, lost project and incarnation of bad PR - to represent its interests aboard a doomed space-station? If this didn't worth a laugh. But what did it exactly mean?

"To make things clear and easy. You'll pay me 5000 per pay if I'll follow you wherever you want awaiting my travel orders. And you'll pay 2 millions if I keep a sharp eye on every unlucky person that's possibly send onto this station. 'This correct?"

"Correct." Spencer nodded, his smile slightly broadened. "But I wouldn't call the team-members unlucky persons, of course all of them would volunteer to a mission like this."

"But of course the will." Michael had made his own observations concerning the way trained men volunteer to crazy things, but Spencer was one of the last persons on earth he possibly tell something about it. "And what exactly do you understand by representing Genesis's interests."

Spencer simply shrugged. "As you've guessed: Keep an eye on everything that is happening upon the station and inform us. We don't suppose that the military staff might try to conceal anything, but we want to be sure."

"Nonsense!"

"Pardon?"

Michael almost bursted into laughter. "No one - especially not Genesis - is paying 2 million k for someone just sitting around, watching and twiddling thumbs. You could have hordes of guys for a tenth of this price."

"Mr. Otis. I do not make this offer, I'm just the bearer. Genesis wants you for the job and someone thought that the price is adequate to your special capabilities."

Michael sighed. This was also one of the sentences he had heard too often in this prior life. "Okay, let's turn to this finial point: If I expose myself to the stations atmosphere and do the things I was made for, so it might be unnecessary to destroy the station, I'll get five times the payment?"

"That's the deal." Spencer nodded.

"Nonsense!" Michael shook his head. "The station is going to be destroyed in any case. Do you really believe some high decorated militaries like this Robbins would give a shit to the opinion to an old freaky cyborg like me? They will jump on the chance to declare me contaminated too and nuke to problems with a single shoot."

Spencer didn't answer. He was just looking at him in his most innocent manner.

Finally Michael weaver. "Never mind. You're the bearer and it's not your problem. One final question: Why me? I'm not the only survivor of the Palomino team and I haven't been very cooperative in the past."

"I'm surprised that you're so badly informed about your colleagues. In terms of functionality you *are* the only survivor, since almost two years by now. Aron Chernov has removed some of this inner biosensors and implanted a neuroblocker in February 2249. Gina Iverson has made a total conversion six month later. You're now the only member of the Palomino team who still has his full setup."

Michael was slightly shocked. It was hard to learn the news this way, by a poor Genesis pig. People like Spencer would never understand his relationship between him and the other team-members. They had been brothers and sisters, parents and children, best friends and colleagues, other halves of each other - and there remained so little to talk about. He remembered Aron and Gina very well. He was able to understand, why they've done this final step. And he was able to understand, why they haven't informed him - because they both also knew him very well.

He tried to fixate Spencer again. Michael knew that this little Genesis attorney had said everything he was allowed to say and nearly all he knew by himself. Spencer was simply not big enough to know much more than the obvious facts. If he wanted to learn more about this station he had to meet someone more important. But ... did he really want to learn more?

Somewhere up there was this station with lots of dead people aboard. In this or that case someone would handle the problem in near future. It was really easy to call this a problem of somebody else. But he never go for the easy solution.

"When do you need my answer?"

Spencer came back into motion. This guy really knew, when to be quiet and wait for an reply. "Right now. I'm sorry, but as I mentioned before the president will come to a decision within the next hours. There are lots of preparations to do if you agree."

Michael slowly nodded. Even I this station and humanity was relative safe for the moment, this was definitively no time for lengthy personal decisions.

"Okay. So far I haven't signed anything. I'm willed to follow you back to the city - for 5000 per day as you've offered. I'm just curious and crazy enough to stay in touch with the incident." Michael finally decided. He still wasn't sure about himself. He didn't know if he was really talking and thinking all by himself. "I have to collect some clothes."

Ignoring Spencer's possible protest he stood up and entered his house. Luckily Spencer was clever enough not to try to follow him. While thinking about the things he had to accomplish before he could leave the house of a longer period a faint voice inside his had was asking him what he was doing her. He ignored the voice and tried to concentrate. The condensation traps and the irrigation of the garden had to be switched to automatic. Also he had to check the seals of his library, this salty air could do a bad job on all this old paperwork. His little provision of fresh food had to be thrown into the composter. Once he had forgotten some apples and potatoes, it had taken almost a full day to get the stench out of the corners.

After fixing up the house he walked to his private quarters and collected some of his not so old clothes. It was hardly enough for one or two changes. He supposed that it would be no real problem to buy some new outfits wherever Spencer and Robbins were going to take him.

Finally he headed toward the garden for a final check. Of course the tomatoes would die within the next days, but he could handle the lost. The rest of the garden didn't need much care and should be able to survive without his care. He just wanted to make sure that everything was on its place.

He found Robbins in the back of his house, gazing crazily at one of his little orange trees growing almost directly out of the solid salt ground. One couldn't see the little soil that was covering and protecting the roots of the tree. Robbins was staring at it as if it was the eighth wonder of earth his eyeballs seem to pop of their sockets the very next moment. Michael smiled easily. So far he hadn't liked Robbins very much, but be felt sympatric with everyone who was able to admire his work.

It was true. He really was traveling back to the city. Michael couldn't believe what he was doing nor was able to understand it. 5000 bucks didn't worth all the pain. He was used to the silence of the desert and now he was sitting inside a VTOL with more electronics than his whole house. Everything around him was buzzing in its own way and annoyingly demanding his full attention. The autopilot was permanently babbling to national and city air control and some other helicopter still hundreds of kilometers away. Behind his back Spencer was happy about his re-established connection to the net and was using his damn terminal like a maniac. All this rushed unfiltered into his head and he knew that it was only the beginning.

He tried to prepare himself to the flood that was waiting in front of him, but failed. There simply was no preparation that would make things any easier. He knew that he would be able to handle anything, but just handling wasn't enough to feel very comfortable.

Robbins was sitting to his right in the pilots-chair. Of course he wasn't trying to pilot the VTOL by himself, he was just wasting his time to monitor the auto-pilot. Michael didn't know if Robbins was a trained pilot and able to take over the controls in the almost impossible case of an emergency. But he was sure that he could do a better job in any case. He had been trained on almost everything that was able to fly and he wasn't supposed to forget anything.

Of course nothing would happen at all except a torture of his senses. He already felt some of the pulsations of the city. Concerning the auto-pilot data they luckily weren't flying to the center. They were heading toward an old military air base just outside of the suburbs. Either someone was pity for him or they simply wanted to avoid nasty reporters. He already could imaging some of the possible headlines: 'Genesis reactivating the Palomino project' or 'Old cyborg is going to save the earth for 10 million cash'. He had read lots of headlines directly or indirectly about himself, some in sympathy with him, some other in pure hate and dull agitation. He never wanted this kind of publicity, although it might had rescued his life.

"Problems?", Robbins asked looking into his direction.

Was there some kind of gloating in his voice? How much did he knew about Michael's configurations? Actually Michael was still uncertain why Robbins had accompanied Spencer in the first place. So he decided to work around. "I haven't seen those arcologies for many years."

The three main arcologies of the city - gigantic mountains of steel, glass and carbon fibers - where indeed an imposant sight, even out of this distance. But Michael had never felt much attraction to those buildings, out of his viewpoint they were totally overcrowded.

Anyhow, Robbins accepted this excuse and concentrated again on the VTOL controls. Michael leaned back and tried to relax with millions of bits crossing his inner eyes every millisecond.