Re-Coil - J.T. Nicholas Page 0,27
Diamond had to have somewhere to bring in more booze, and the odds were, it would be in the back. We made our way as fast as the press of people would allow, not quite running, as the alarm slowly spread from those nearest the door outward. By the time we reached the back wall, screaming drowned out the music, and the dancing had been replaced with a mass of bodies moving in every direction, looking for a way out.
More shots rang out, and the music went dead. The lights continued to pulse and strobe, but now instead of revealing the fevered gyrations of the beautiful people, they showcased flashes of terror. The wave of bodies became a surge, pushing outward, away from the shooters. But we were on the crest of that wave, and I kept one hand clamped down tight on Chan’s wrist, concentrated on keeping my boots under me, so that neither of us fell beneath the churning feet of the panicked crowds. We reached the hatch, and the pressure from behind me, as dozens of people tried to shove forward, nearly prevented me from pulling it open.
I threw my shoulder into the person behind me, making them lurch backward. It bought me a second, no more, but it was enough time to yank the lever and jerk the door inward. I hurled Chan through it—a task that would have been much easier had she still been in her much smaller female coil—and followed after, stumbling to keep upright as more bodies spilled out after us.
I heard a scream and turned to see another black-clad assassin rushing in our direction. Whether he’d been slow on the uptake or the others had started shooting early, the killer had obviously been out of position. Our eyes met briefly over the heads of the surging crowd and my fingers twitched toward my sidearm.
“This way,” Chan barked. She had moved to the side, down a crossing corridor. I hurried toward her as she continued on. She started taking intersecting corridors, seemingly at random. Her new coil, more awkward than she may have had before, was athletic, trim, built for speed. Mine was slow and bulky, great for exercising bursts of power over short periods of time but moving quickly was not its forte. All those muscles demanded a ton of oxygen to operate, and I felt my wind failing me fast.
“Damn it, Chan! Slow down! Where are we going?” I panted, fighting to draw enough oxygen into my lungs to soothe the burning ache in my muscles. I had to stop, hands on my knees, head down, gasping for air.
“We can’t stop,” Chan said, but she slowed from the dead sprint to a walk. “Come on, Langston. If they’ve tapped into HabSec monitors, they can still track us.”
I pushed myself upright and staggered to her side, matching my pace with hers. “Running me to death won’t change that. If they’re in HabSec we’re fucked anyway.”
“HabSec doesn’t have eyes everywhere. I’ve got a place. Besides, Bit can handle the cameras for us, for a few minutes. But if they catch us before we get there, it won’t matter much, will it?”
“Fine,” I grunted as we continued to navigate the maze of corridors. I felt the gravity shift slightly, several times, indicating that we were getting closer to the central spine of the station. The corridors around us thinned, narrowed, and slowly emptied of other people. After almost two hours of walking, we entered tunnels so tight that I could touch either wall with my shoulders simply by leaning slightly to the left or right.
Where are we, Sarah?
You have entered the maintenance tunnels beneath the station power plant.
“Damn, Chan. What are you doing with a bolt-hole all the way down here, anyway?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I like working salvage, but it’s not my primary gig, okay? It gets me away from… prying eyes. And buys me time to do other things. Some of those other things… are less than legal on some habs.” I arched an eyebrow at her, and she raised her hands. “Nothing bad, not really. I just do some… let’s call it freelance technical consulting.”
I grunted. “You mean you’re a hacker. Break into peoples’ files. Steal their secrets. That kind of thing?” I couldn’t muster enough outrage to make the words an accusation. It was a tough solar system out there, and you did what you had to in order to keep your insurance premiums paid. The price of immortality