Bio-Weapon

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“We’re hunting dogs, Omi, nothing more.”

The Korean ex-gang member shook his bullet-shaped head, clearly not liking that kind of talk.

Marten Kluge rolled back his sleeve to show the meaty part of his forearm and a bluish-purple barcode tattoo.

“Branded like cattle,” Marten said.

“In case you die,” Omi said. “So they know your blood-type when they resurrect you.”

“You believe that?” Marten was a lean, ropy-muscled man with bristly blond hair. He wore a brown jumpsuit, the shock-trooper training uniform. It had patch of a skull on his right shoulder and another on his left pectoral pocket.

Omi wore a similar shock-trooper jumpsuit. Both uniforms showed sweat stains and both men had circles under their eyes. Their grueling training surpassed anything they’d ever known, and they’d known plenty of bad.

“They also use the barcode to track you,” Omi said. “We’re little blips in the station computer.”

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