Skin Game
(D)

        (We stop here.)  Albion slid into a darkened accessway, lowering
Max to the floor.
        (What?  We're almost there!)  Niccolo's agitation sent sparks
rippling through his skull.  (Pick him up, damn it!  We've got to get him
to Harvey!)
        Albion shook his head.  (He will be safe enough here for a while.
I must go back.)
        (Why?!  There's nothing back there but chaos and destruction!  What
possible reason?)
        (I must go back for Rachael Shaw.)
        Surprise and annoyance traveled along their link and Albion
blinked.  The Roben had completely forgotten about her.
        (Oh for...  Listen, she can take care of herself.  She's one of
them now.  She's probably...)
        Albion was shaking his head again.
        (She kicked you in the face!)
        He touched the swelling knot about his left eye.  (She is my
responsibility.)
        (Responsibility?  What do you call this?  We went to all the
trouble of getting you out of that cage and this is how you repay us?)
        Albion paused, made eye contact with the Roben.  (Your rescue
efforts were aimed at freeing Max.  It only became convenient to save me in
the process.  No trouble was gone to on my behalf.  You are wrong to
suggest such a thing.  You have also made it abundantly clear that there
will me no effort to rescue Rachael.  Perhaps there never was.  Am I
correct in these assessments?
        (..........)
        (I see.  Then you must watch Max while I make the effort.  When
that has been accomplished to the best of my abilities, I will return to
repay your kindness.)
        No bitterness or resentment in either his words or his underlying
thoughts.  The Roben marveled silently at this anomaly of a man and watched
as he disappeared quietly into the corridor, back the way they had come.
        Shit, he thought, Harvey isn't going to like this.  Not one
stinking bit...

* * *

        Chenille staggered against the bulkhead, gasping.  Too far.  It was
much too far.  Had she become disoriented?  It was possible in the near
darkness of the crippled ship.  Especially for someone in her condition.
The numbness had spread.  Her entire left arm was completely useless now,
hanging heavily at her side.  Her leg shook with spasms, threatening to
topple her.  Only the cool metal of the bulkhead supported her.  But for
how long?  She knew she couldn't keep up this hop and slide pace for too
much longer.
        Must get help, she thought, her mind awash in splinters, making
continued thought difficult.  Call for help.  The others must be safely
aboard Harvey by now.  Call them, have them come back.
        "Vee...?"  Her voice sounded strange, garbled and unfamiliar.
"V... V... Vee...?  C'n y'hrrmeee...?"
        "Doc?  Doc is that you?"
        "...ah..."
        "Chenille?  Speak up darlin'.  Ah can barely hear you.  Whut's yer
position?  Have you seen the others?"
        The others?  "Vee... ah... ah... h'r'oooo..."
        "Doc, this ain't funny!  Whut's goin' on"  Where is everybody?"
        "Vee... e'v'b...b... dee....?"  She wanted to cry.  This wasn't
working.  She knew what she wanted to say, but she couldn't.
        "DOC!  Whut's goin' on?!!"
        She couldn't do it.  She squeezed her eyes shut and a sob escaped
her.  The others hadn't made it back.  It had all been for nothing.  She
had failed.  Harvey's anguished howl of fear and frustration filled her
mind and the tears, finally, began to flow.

* * *

        Albion stood, expressionless and unmoving, in the empty
amphitheater, his eyes fixed on the spot where he had last seen Rachael
Shaw.  The spot where he had left her.  She was gone.  He surveyed the
darkened room wearily.  No clues.  She could be anywhere in the chaos which
engulfed this ship.  Anywhere.
        Closing his eyes and making a silent promise to the empty spot at
his feet, he turned to fulfill other responsibilities.

* * *

        "Here's another one."
        Lights bobbed and danced in the darkness before finally coming to
rest.  Three baleful eyes focused on one lone, wounded animal.  The Hunter
had found her.  Stalked her.  Following her trail of blood and guilt.
Sensing the end, He had come at last.  She hoped it would be swift, if not
painless.
        "Looks like a med tech.  In pretty bad shape too.  Better get her
to Medical fast."
        Hands unaccustomed to gentleness eased her onto a stretcher.  She
didn't care.  She had failed.  Tears continued to stream unchecked.  Too
far.  It was all going on much to far...

* * *

        "...Max?... *crackle* ... hear me?... *buzz*... *pop*... nille?
Are you receiving... *buzz*  body hear me?"
        Albion tapped at the unit plugged into his right ear.  "Hello?  I
hear you, but not very well."
        "Who the... *buzz*... *crackle*buzz*... have you done... *crackle*
...tor Chen..."
        "Hello?  I'm sorry, but I'm not receiving you very well.  This is
Albion.  I should be catching up with Max and Niccolo any moment now. We
will be coming your way..."
        "...*buzzz*...bout Cheni...*crackle* ..."
        "I'm sorry..."  A loud squeal cut him off and Albion ripped the
unit from his hypersensitive ear.  "I'm sorry," he said, then stuffed the
unit into his pocket and continued on his way.

* * *

        She heard the words, understood their meaning, but felt detached
somehow.  As if they were the assessments of somebody else's condition.
"Embolism," "cerebral hemorrhage," "paralysis."  Clinical words, meant to
describe the degree of injury sustained by a living being; a being which
was not yet dead as she was.  The med techs hovering over her used these
words freely.  She could hear them.  See them.  Feel them.  But not with
any degree of sympathy.  Her sorrow was much too deep for that.
        All around her were pain and suffering.  Beating against her in
wave upon wave of unbearable guilt.  She had done this.  All of it her
fault.  And for what?  The mission had failed.  She had failed.  All this
death and carnage had been for nothing.  It was much better this way.
Better to be dead where the madness could not reach her.  Better to sup
with the Hunter than face herself...
        Movement to her right drew her attention.  Ophidian.  The dark Lord
who was the reason for her present physical condition-The man for whom she
had defied the prime directive against the taking of any life, no matter
how insignificant or evil.  He was here, two beds over, fighting for
survival.  But it was not his movements which had attracted her gaze.  A
tall figure, clothed all in black, stood over him, back to her so she could
not see his face.  His face.  Yes she was sure it was a he.  Everything
about the figure seemed familiar, but her damaged brain betrayed her.  Her
mind drifted among shards of shattered memory, finding no clues, only pain.
Pain such as only a living, caring person might feel.
        Her eyes widened as she recognized the instrument being prepared by
the figure in black.  A hypodermic.  She wanted to cry out-couldn't
understand why none of the others were making any move to stop him.  Surely
they must be aware of his presence.  Her heart began to race as the hypo
found a place just under the wounded man's ear.  His eyes snapped open,
mirroring the fear she herself was feeling.  Pleading eyes filled with
horror.  The hypo jabbed with a hiss and Ophidian's face contorted into a
mask of pain, spasmed and froze into death.  She tried to scream.  Nothing.
        The figure in black pocketed the hypo and stepped back.  Worried
med techs came to life and surged forward, paying him no mind.  Cold blue
eyes in a far too familiar face turned to regard her.  The Hunter!  He had
come and only she could see him.  He had taken the form and face of the man
named Ophidian, then he had taken his life.  And now he was coming for her!
        Death stepped around the bed which separated them and moved to fill
her vision.  The time had truly come at last and all she could think about
was Michael and his reluctance to let her come on this ill-fated mission.
She had made him a promise then, but her honor had since been stained.
Through her own actions it had been stained and her promise was proving to
be as good as her oath.
        A cool, long-finger traced the line of her jaw; settled on the spot
where her communication implant lay.  The finger gently probed the lump
beneath the skin and cruel lips lengthened into a smirking smile which did
not touch the eyes.
        "Well, my dear, you seem to be the unknown variable in this little
fiasco.  Unknown no longer.  I hate unknowns.  They are so unpredictable.
But now that you have been taken out of the picture, it will be that much
easier to amend my plans for the destruction of you compatriots.  Once the
rest of your party has been rounded up, we will continue as planned with
but a few minor changes..."
        Chenille's crippled mind began to fumble with the meaning behind
the dark Lord's words.  The rest of her party?  Rounded up?  By the Hunter?
That must mean...  But wait... plans?  What plans?
        The Hunter was not supposed to be a malignant entity seeking the
destruction of others.  He should be noncommittal and necessary.  His
behavior was all wrong.  Too much like that other.  The one he was
impersonating...  Unless...  Her breath caught in anticipation of the next
thought.
        The dark Lord did not seem to notice her change in awareness.  His
gaze shifted toward the other bed and lingered on the body so recently
deceased.
        "It had been my intention to have that," an offhand wave,
"infiltrate your ship as my dear brother Max, with the real Max being
accidentally killed during the rescue attempt by the very party who had
come to liberate him...  you.  Pity.  There was such poetry in that plan.
        "That other had been programmed to respond like Max in every way
and, when the time was right, to bring about the complete annihilation of
itself and everybody else aboard your renegade vessel."
        Her brow furrowed.  So hard to think.  So much to make sense of.  A
robot?  But that couldn't be.  She had felt its pain, seen its blood, known
its dying thoughts...
        "I can see that you still do not understand."  The dark Lord sighed
dramatically.  "Allow me to clarify.  I have the leisure to do so.
Remember, my dear, that a true ophidian sheds many skins.  Only a fool will
judge him by just one pattern.  That... representation... was one of my own
cast off skins, if you will.  Or at least a product of that skin."  He
leaned forward.  "Yes, I see that you begin to understand.  It was a clone.
I have many such.  For just his sort of purpose.  They come in very handy.
After all, no reason to sully my own hands when others can do it for me."
        She laughed at the laughter which erupted from the throat of the
monster before her.  What he had described was evil beyond redemption.
        "Others are being prepared, even as we speak," he continued.  "As I
said, my plan continues apace.  I have only had to make a few alterations,
but the end will be the same.  In fact, I would venture to guess that your
compatriots are soon to be making an appearance somewhere aboard this
vessel.  In doing so, they will come face-to-face with their destinies."
        Chenille shuddered.  He wasn't telling her everything.  He was
toying with her.  Toying with them all.  It was then that she knew she had
never truly known the meaning of hate before that minute.  She hated this
man.  With every fibre of her being, she hated him.  That alone would
sustain her. He had to be stopped, prime directive be damned!
        "I want you to do everything in your power to repair this woman."
He was addressing the techs.  "I want her functional for... questioning.
And I want that communication device removed from her jaw."  His cold eyes
traveled the length of her body before resettling on her own.  "They will
see that you are made as whole as possible, my dear.  Have no fear.  They
will not disappoint me."
        She felt that gaze long after it had left her, sending shivers
along her spine as the techs worked to repair the damage she had sustained.
She let them work, self-absorbed with the task of sorting through her
rubbled mind to find the source of the inhibit she know must still be
there.  Find it and dismantle it.  She would have no use for it in the near
future.  This man must be stopped, even at the price of her own already
damned soul.

* * *

        (This is weird,) Niccolo hissed.  (Where are the guards?  Where is
everybody?)
        Albion shrugged, scanning the hanger for any sign of life.  (Maybe
they were all called away to help locate us elsewhere in the ship?)
        (That's stupid!  They must know by now that we could only be
heading for Harvey.  He's our only way off this tub.  This is too weird,
Al.  Something's up and I don't like it one stinking bit.)
        (What shall we do then?  We can't just sit here all day wondering
why we haven't run into any resistance.  Perhaps we should take it as a
blessing.)
        Niccolo was quiet for awhile, though Albion could feel his
suppressed fear and anger.  Much of that anger was directed at him.
        (Awright, here's the plan.)  The Roben scuttled around to pierce
him with his red-eyed stare.  (Since they've obviously found a way to
disrupt Harvey's signal, we can't ask him long distance.  I'm going over.
See what he knows.  Check things out from a new perspective.  If everything
checks out, I'll give a signal and you make a run for it with Max.  Got
it?)
        (What then?  We still have people aboard this vessel...)
        (We'll deal with them later!  Are you with me?)
        Albion hesitated, unsure how to respond, then nodded reluctantly.
The Roben was gone before he had finished.

* * *

        It didn't take long for the signal to come.  Albion had been ready
for anything, preparing for the 70 yard sprint, when the airlock irised
open and no alarms went off.  Seconds ticked by, then a short burst of
flashes from inside the ship adn he was out in the open moving with only
one thought in mind.
        At first he wasn't sure what had happened.  He knew that his flight
had been... altered... somehow.  A stumble, a jog left, and his leg went
out from under him.  A wave of sound followed closely, then the pain.  He
had been shot.  The two of them went down in an ungainly tangle.  Heavy
armored footsteps filled his ears and by the time he could roll Max off of
him to see, he was surrounded.  Two figures stepped forward: a man and a
woman.
        "Predictability is ever the downfall of the rebellious, my dear.
Did I not 'predict' it would be so?"
        "You did, my Lord."
        Albion looked up into the face of Rachael Shaw and saw only utter
contempt.
        The man beside her lifted an eyebrow, cold blue eyes searching his
own menacingly.  "It appears that you have already been damaged, rebel."
        "I did it, my Lord," Rachael sneered.  "With my boot."
        "Ah, as it should be with those of his ilk."
        They both began to laugh, but another sound had alerted Albion and
he turned to seek the source.  Harvey.  He was bringing his guns around to
bear on them.  Albion's mind began to race frantically.  Responsibilities.
He had responsibilities.
        "Rachael!" he shouted.  "Get Down!  Harvey, NOOOO!!!"  The shout
came too late as with a scream of energized power Harvey unleashed the full
extent of his arsenal, filling the hanger with destruction.