The security guards escorted Falcon from the ship into a connecting tunnel, through which he was free to roll on his wheeled undercarriage. He was led into what he quickly identified as a medical facility, being run under military auspices. The walls were painted an austere grey and stencilled with authoritarian notices and warnings. There were guards and checkpoints at regular intervals, security screens, automatic sentry cannon swinging on their turrets as Falcon rolled by. At last they passed down a series of ramps and came to an underground room of blank grey walls. A false window, set high in the wall, showed Jupiter, framed as if the view were natural. The slightly flattened sphere was sunlit on one side, dark on the other. Bands of coloured cloud wrapped the world, familiar enough in their hues—but little else about them looked natural. They forked into twos and threes, splitting along angular separations, or recombined, like conductive traces on a circuit board.
