“Interesting,” York said, examining Neil’s hand as though he thought he ought to have it amputated. After a moment of uncomfortable silence he let the pilot’s hand drop and returned to his desk. The holographic display flickered into high resolution shots of Neil’s hand, clearly taken by recorders hidden in the walls or ceiling. Patterns of light, clearly a computer imposition flashed over the tattoo, but they seemed to lose resolution and fade out before every quite completing. 

“There are some people, quite a body of experts actually, who would suggest we toss you in a lab for the rest of your life,” York said with a touch of dry amusement to his voice.

“If all you too are going to do reminisce about old times I dont see why we need to be here,” Saxon hissed, folding his muscular arms infront of his body. York nodded as though Saxon had made a good point. The intelligence operative raised his hand in a languid guesture. Two Terran marines in full battle gear stepped towards Saxon. The Hex hissed and shoved at the nearest guard, his companion drew a thick black rod from his belt. Snarling, Saxon shoved the first guard into the second, smashing the armored marine to the ground like a bowling pin.  Taya screamed and ducked behind a chair as the Hex swung around and leaped at York, clawed fingers outstretched.  The spy moved like a snake, he seemed to twist out from his chair like vapour, catching hold of Saxon’s body armor while he was in mid air and pivoting with his body, hurling the airborne lizard through the hologram and into the wall beyond. The bulkhead dented inward as several hundred kilos of Hex crashed into it. York was on him in an instant he drew his hand back and delivered a single sharp blow to the back of Saxon’s neck. The Hex spasmed and went limp. York stood up as though he was stepping out of a limo and resumed his seat. There was a dry alien sound that it took a moment for the occupants of the room to recognise as Sven’s laughter. 

The shame faced marines grabbed the unconscious Hex and dragged him from the room. A moment later they reemerged and escorted the still laughing Sven from the room. There was a moment of silence broken only by the click of keys at the Terminal. York, not even sweating, paused in his typing and looked up at Taya. The girl met his eyes, though she looked terrified. After a moment of eye contact York nodded and killed the display.

“Fortunately there will be plenty of time for that if things don’t go well,” York continued as though the interruption had never happened. He tented his fingers before him and leaned forward.

“Terran Intelligence has a project for you Mr Edwards,” York stated pleasantly.

“If this project goes well, we can probably find it in our heart to forget about a few convient archaeologists.” 
[@POOHEAD189]