conscience
ˈkɒnʃ(ə)ns/
noun
a person's moral sense of right and wrong, viewed as acting as a guide to one's behaviour.

There was a deep pause as the universe inhaled before a plunge, then I was moving, legs carrying me to where Holt stood in two bounds and half a second. I leaped and barrelled into his chest, knocking him backwards onto the hard stones of the plaza. Without hesitation my fangs were out and I bit into his neck, hard, drawing blood. I felt the venom course through my throat and out, into his.

Holt grunted, then batted me away, rolling me sideways onto my back. He was twice my size and was on top of me immediately, one knee on my stomach, pressing down and pinning me in place, blood pouring from the wound in his neck. He lifted the gun by the barrel and swung it down at my head, but as I winced and covered my face from the impact Marv arrived, reaching out and grasping the swinging weapon with his Earth-built arm, stopping it dead in space.

Marv wrenched it from Holt's grip and flung the weapon away, sending it sailing and skittering across the plaza, far from reach. Holt had already stopped bleeding, though he was evidently in some pain. He dodged backwards and away from Marv.

"I like the new arm," he said, nodding at it appreciatively.

"You're not the only one with upgrades," Marv said, positioning himself between me and Holt. He reached down and helped me back onto my feet.

"See? Even the best parts of you come from us," Holt said. "Anything decent your civilisation has ever managed was because we allowed it." He grimaced. "That's quite a bite you've got on you, sweetheart."

It should have killed him. It definitely should have knocked him out. "How are you still standing?" I asked.

Holt held his arms out wide. "Come on," he said, "my line of work, and you think I haven't taken some precautions against dangerous wildlife?"

"You've got nowhere to go, man," Marv said.

"I've known that for a while," Holt said, looking around at the plaza. A crowd had gathered in a loose, wide circle around us. "And now, neither do you."

There was the characteristic whine-roar noise of Red technology as aerial vehicles arrived overhead. A moment after they were in position above, three canisters dropped down, one landing next to each of us. They burst open and transparent, solid cages formed instantaneously, seemingly out of nothing.

"You have been isolated for your safety and the safety of others," a voice called from the hovering vehicles. "Do not attempt to resist arrest."

I pressed my hands against the transparent material, staring out at Holt with unbridled anger. I wanted to tear the cage down and rip him apart. Then I turned and saw Marv, in his own cage, looking not at Holt but at me, his face a picture of concern. He nodded and mouthed "you okay?" at me. All exterior sound was dulled, other than the pronouncements from the authorities.

One of the vehicles had landed and medics were examining Cal where he lay, prone and bleeding on the ground. Before I could see what was happening, the cages were lifted up into the air and brought into the rear cargo area of one of the larger vehicles. All went dark and I sat on the floor of the cage, rocking from side to side as we flew blindly through the skies of Cord.

After what seemed like forever a door slid open, flooding the compartment with light. The cage dissolved and contracted back into the canister, which sat innocently next to me. Marv was a few feet away, while Holt was nowhere to be seen. Marv walked to me and we hugged. It was a good hug. It didn't change what had happened, but it helped.

We'd landed in a hangar somewhere. A Red policeman ran up the ramp of the vehicle. "Kay, Marv," he said informally, as was the way with a lot of Red's inhabitants, "my name is Carver. I'm here to assist you."

"What's happening?" I asked, keeping one arm around Marv's waist. You know, just in case.

"Needless to say, you're not actually under arrest. Please come with me," Carver said. "Your friend is being treated now."

"He's alive?" Marv practically shouted.

"I believe so, but I don't have any further information." Carver indicated a direction out of the hangar. "I'll take you to him."

It wasn't over until it was over, I told myself. "How did this happen?" I asked, as we left the vehicle and descended into the hangar, which was huge and wide and filled with a mixture of vehicles, most of which appeared to be medical in nature. Seemed like we were in a hospital.

"The assailant had manufactured his own weapon design from common parts," Carver explained. "That's why it wasn't automatically detected and seized. It was a one-shot device."

"He only needed one shot," Marv said with a sigh. "Take out Cal and we're next to useless."

I nodded. "He probably already knew that Red portal technology can't take us to Locque. Cal's our way in and out."

We stepped out of the busy working hangar and into a gleaming lift, which zipped us through the building. In less then fifteen seconds we were deposited on another floor, where the policeman led us through several corridors before we arrived at a viewing window.

Approaching somewhat timidly, I looked through the glass. Cal was on an operating table, with several terrifying surgical machines working on him with utmost precision and incredible speed, while the surgeons stood off to one side wearing some kind of headset and glove contraptions.

Carver pressed an intercom button and asked for an update. "The projectile entered his chest and effectively exploded his heart," one of the doctors replied. "The internal damage was severe and he'd been clinically dead for several minutes before we arrived. We're now reprinting the heart. He's on life support for now."

I felt hazy and my legs wobbled slightly. My vision got patchy; blotchy, as if I was a poorly tuned television. If Cal died, that was it for the whole mission. Maybe Marv and I would get to stay on Red after all, and just live out the rest of our lives. Trapped in a utopia while our own world carried on, oblivious to its nature.

"Well, that doesn't sound too bad," Carver said. He slapped both of us on the back. "Seems like he's going to be okay!"

Marv looked at the policeman as if he were mad. "Were you not paying attention to what the doc said?"

After looking confused for a moment, Carver then smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, I forgot that medicine is in a different place on your world. Nothing the doctor said sounds difficult or life threatening. Just might take a while - a few hours."

I slid down the wall until my bottom hit the squeaky tiles. "I need a holiday," I said. I grabbed at Marv's leg. "Marv, can you get me a holiday, please?"

The hours passed largely uneventfully. We alternated between napping on benches in the waiting room and looking through the glass at the operation, until finally we were summoned back. "Your friend should be waking up any minute now," Carver announced. "I'm sure he'd like to see you when he does."

This time we were allowed into the operating theatre, which had been cleaned up and was now spotless, with not a drop of blood in sight. Cal was still on the table, which had now subtly morphed into a more comfortable looking bed with a raised back.

One of the doctors was waiting for us. She shook our hands. "I wouldn't have wanted to get to him any later than I did," she said. "But he should be fine. We had to replace most of his left lung, which had also been heavily damaged, as well as most of his ribcage. He'll be good as new now, if not a little sore for a few days." She went over to Cal's bedside. "I'll wake him up now, if you're ready?"

Marv did a double-take. "If we're ready?"

"Wake him up," I said.

The doctor fiddled with something out of sight and there was a pneumatic hiss, then Cal stirred and groggily opened his eyes, the engimatic blue flame emerging once again. He lay on his back for a couple of seconds, then sat bolt upright, looking around in alarm. Upon seeing us he relaxed a little, but was evidently confused. "Where am I?"

"It's okay," I said, putting a hand on his arm. "Holt was here. He shot you." I indicated the surgeon. "She fixed you up."

"Let's just say it's a good job we're in this dimension," said Marv.

"Holt?"

Carver stepped forward. "We have him in custody, I'm happy to report. He won't bother any of you again, you have my word."

Cal held a palm to his forehead and winced. "I should have turned him in when we first got here," he lamented. "I thought I'd give him a chance to do something else with his life."

"Don't worry," Carver said, smiling jovially, "we'll give him something to do."

"I feel strange," Cal said, moving his hands slowly over his body.

"You've had a major operation," the doctor said gently, "it is likely to feel slightly uncomfortable around your chest area for a couple of days.

"No, it's not that," Cal said, sounding more concerned. He rested his hands over his heart. "What have you done to me?"

"Hey," I said, supportively, "you'd be dead if they hadn't patched you up."

"That's not it," Cal said. He grimaced, and grunted, and the flame burned bluer than ever in his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, as if straining at invisible bonds, then after a few seconds he relaxed, his shoulders slumping back down in defeat. "I can't genoshift," he said, his face pale. "I can't change form."