The Battle of the Centre Deck Lift Lobby.

Major Zukov’s eyes remain riveted to the display tracking the progress the lift was making as it returned from the auxiliary computer compartment, up until now everything seemed to be going their way, but the explosion had been an ominous forecast that this was not so. Zukov rationalised that the blast was not caused by an attack from the surface. If that were the case the station would have been destroyed.

No.

This appeared to be the work of a saboteur, and the targeting of the computer systems made sense. OPEC may have the money, but they didn’t have the technology to do such a thing. Both bombs that were delivered to Israel and the United States were transported conventionally, and a potential suicide mission onboard seemed the only way that an attacker could strike at the station.

Zukov pressed the button that would make the lift stop at her level then moved away and stood with her back to the lift shaft wall, the sliding doors of the lift directly on her left. A gentle change in the surrounding atmospheric pressure told her the elevator was close and the ring of the bell announcing its arrival sounded ludicrously like the start of a boxing match.

The doors retracted and out staggered Emily Waites. Zukov didn’t get to see her face properly, as she moved straight out of the lift and away from where she had positioned herself. Waites was obviously concussed as her hair and clothes were burned badly, and she was still smoking. Although she distrusted the Recreation Director, Ana could not see her as a religious extremist and figured she was somehow a victim of the blast. As Waites staggered away, Zukov began to follow her, but in several steps, was bought in line with the still open elevator and the corpse of Bernard Brahger, the bullet wound to the head all too obvious. A startled gasp escaped through Zukov’s lips at the sight of Brahger and she turned just in time to see Waites pivot around, her eyes glazed and unfocused, totally contradicting the speed of her movements.

In this moment, all intentions became clear as Waites drew, pointed, and fired her pistol five times in quick succession aiming straight for Major Zukov. The first shot went wide to her left by more than a metre and Zukov moved instinctively to her right, colliding with the wall opposite to the lift shaft, as the second shot bulleted through the space she had just been inhabiting. Zukov could not tear her eyes from Emily Waites own, and somehow, she managed to maintain her balance, not bouncing off the wall but instead sliding along it, using her momentum to keep moving and thus staying just ahead of the lethal arc trying to chase her down.

Zukov was trapped; her only option was to keep moving forward, towards what seemed to be certain death, defenceless against an armed adversary in a confined space. The third shot nicked her left shoulder making a loud snapping sound and causing a deep laceration, but the shock spurned her on, sped up her movement. She could see that Waites was suffering visually from her injuries and ducking as she went began to agonisingly cover the short distance left between them. The fourth bullet cracked loudly passed her left ear, making it ring shrilly. Major Zukov was so close now that she was within grabbing distance but from Waites’ perspective she was point blank.

It was life or death.