Henderson Applied Genetics: Aftermath (End)
13 Sep 2023Wild Jim Gruden
Part 7: Professional CourtesyTwo others had survived the attack on the Henderson facility, a rover mechanic and the supply officer. Both had hidden in a tool locker when the attack started and had been found still hiding when the reaction team searched the facility for survivors. If Reg and I were ever fighting on the same side again, I’d have to tell him the team he had at the Henderson job missed a few.
I don’t know about the other two, but Henderson’s corp security grilled me like cheap steak. I am sure they suspected me of something because I was the only combatant to survive. Never mind that my suit was peppered with embedded shrapnel, my shield fried, my helmet cracked, and the docs said they were amazed I could even talk given the severity of the concussion. They still suspected me of something and it had to do with Reggie
“Tell us about Reginald Smith,” one of the investigators said. She sat on the right side of my hospital bed, scrolling through a pad as it recorded our conversation. Her partner, a stern-faced older man, leaned against the med bay wall, staring at me with his dark grey eyes.
“Um… Reggie? He’s an okay guy, I suppose. I have not seen him in five or six years. Not since Deslander’s Relay.” I thought it best to lie. If they knew he was the one that left me alive, I’d find myself in an interrogation cell.
“Yes, our records show you two served together,” she said scrolling through her pad.
“So, I suppose he is a friend,” said the man.
I looked to the man and shook my head. “The only friends a merc has are the ones currently standing at his side. If Reg and I were on opposite sides of a war, he’d put a bullet in me just as quickly as I’d put one in him. That’s just the nature of our work.”
“We know he was in command of the kill team operation,” the woman said with a subtle tone of accusation. “We also know that someone disabled alarms and defenses prior to the attack.”
Now they were just fishing and hoping for a bite. I shrugged. “Look to your own people, then. We hired guns did not have access to the Control Center. Besides, Gulati and I were on perimeter patrol when the attack started.”
They kept fishing for another two hours before they left. I knew the duty logs would prove we were on patrol and that Smith was in Control. Eventually they would determine Smith was the insider.
I still don’t remember getting into the command center, fighting our way to security, or whether it was me or Gulati who sent the distress call. I cannot say how long Gulati and I were able to hold out, or even how he was killed. The docs say that a severe enough concussion can cause memory loss and that I might never fully recall what happened. I can live with that. At least I can remember Hashimoto and Gulati, but I wish I could remember if the Valkyries sang when Gulati died at the foot of a door.
As soon as I get out of hospital, I am going to pull the Gatecrasher out of storage. It’s been a while since I did any flight operations, and even with the Henderson job going tits up at the end, flight ops are sure as hell more eventful than ground security.
If only I can remember at which station I left the Gatecrasher.
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