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Shane let out a brief sigh and uttered silently to himself that universal word, “F**k.”
With a fraction of a second and knowing completely that a decision is the most important action in any moment of doubt or surprise. He jammed his fist directly into the neck of the service terminal. With the index finger curled and pointed, supported by the thumb, he drove his fist-full of impact deep into the left throat section and held the knuckle point deep as he took the weight of the alien in his left hand across his shoulder and silently lowered it, placing it, unconscious, on the floor.
Shane instantly stepped around the left of the operator and in a smooth motion, took control from the operator’s right hand with his own, snapped its face shield up and dropped his palm directly onto its forehead. He held it firm and placed a spiritual connection in a place that only a Lord is able to find.
The operator moaned and winced and then held still as Shane rolled its memory back and back and back. One at a time through the life spans of dirty work that this being had been carrying out until one after another after another and another until all had played right back to it revealing the evil and damage that it had been a party to and used to execute onto others as a member of this evil machine.
The “Separator” was completed, and the poor sod flopped there within its seat falling into an uncontrollable whale and quietening down to a continual and monotonous weeping sorrow of regret.
“Well!” Shane whispered to himself, “The Take Down has begun. We have no more than seven days to take these nineteen down and somehow drop the Monitor to prevent a message of distress from ever passing through the portal and to the dark, awaiting, cowardly forces.
It certainly has begun, but here standing, holding the control shaft to an actual Rig, the operator in a dribbling mess and the other unconscious on the deck. Had anything really begun at all?