INT. CARGO BAY Boxes, colour coded by content, some as big as a small car, some the size of a fist, stacked in magnetic racks that leave little room to move around, lit brightly by light that spills from behind and around. Where you can see the walls, they're industrial white and marked with the omnipresent signage of space. TWO MEN load one a flat platform with both mag-latches and straps. They both wear suits which, while not bulky, add a certain girth, like medieval armour. The unmistakable lines of augmentative EXO-FRAMES run along the sides of their limbs, giving them many times their expected strength. One of the men, the name ROBINSON is blazed across his upper back and down one leg as well as his upper chest, pushes off the floor toward one of the upper stacks. Zero gravity. The other, VALIENT, grunts in effort as he sets the hooks at the sides of his wrists into one broad BOX COLOURED GREEN for foodstuff. He swings it in that peculiar way you shift t...
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