Drick stood and placed their arms outwards from the side of their body showing the palms with fingers outstretched as the roller door lifted. The door hadn’t even made it to the halfway point before three enforcement drones shot in under the gap and came to a hovering stance less than a metre from Drick’s face.
The drones were squat objects around the size of a football with a circular gravity inducer on the bottom. They were fitted with scanners and a direct connection to the justice department data streams. This model also had autobinder arms and ejection ports for dispensing gas or sprays. They had a flashing light that currently pulsed quickly around the upper section in a red, blue, red repeating pattern of trailing colour.
“Don’t move,” a hollow automatic voice spoke from one of the drones as the same information was flashed holographically in front of the middle drone. The text was in the four main scripts used locally and the common dialect of Terran. Drick saw the same message scroll across the bottom of their retinal implant.
“Hold out your arms, palms towards us and fingers spread” the drone continued needlessly repeating the standard script. Drick knew the procedure and had been a recip[ient of it many times.
Drick saw that the drones had their spray ports activated and if Drick moved they would likely gel them with the same stuff they used on Marsh while making the arrest.
Drick stayed still as one of the drones moved closer and triggered the skin-dent to run a full DNA and identity display. Drick watched the flowing symbols and diagrams dispassionately and waited for the inevitable.
“Identity confirmed,” the drone hovered backwards and moved over to Marsh and attempted the same procedure. Drick watched with more curiosity as it repeatedly sent the activation code but got no response from Marsh’s wrist.
“Identity denied, this K Tag is an illicit person of unknown origin,” the drone hovered back to its companions. There was a small wait while they no doubt confirmed what was going to occur.
The doorway had fully rolled up now revealing the connecting passage that led to the airlock, decontamination and central processing area of the judicial centre. Drick noted that they were in section seventeen eleven.
The drone turned back to Drick, “proceed to central processing, you will be met by an organic officer.”
“What will happen to Marsh?” Drick asked.
“The prisoner’s identity cannot be confirmed. They will be processed by a higher grade. You will proceed to central processing where you will be.”
“I get it,” Drick cut them off, “I will proceed to central processing.” Drick marched past the other two drones who obediently hovered out of the way and stomped down the corridor as loudly as their boots could manage.