Chapter 25 - Hunted
Chapter 25
Hunted
DATE
UnderstationINTERSPACE – WAYSTATION #0085
I knew I was taking a gamble,
rushing down the next set of stairs towards the next set of
maintenance access halls. The piles of rubbish forming an obstacle
course that rivalled father’s private training camp.
I hid in an alcove overcome with a
mountain of trash, electronics and plastics galore, when the JSPs
thundered down from the next junction. I was forever grateful they
never cared for stealth, their discipline promoting the barrel-run
approach instead of the competent efficiency Iron Wall mercenary
groups were known for. I thanked whatever Machine God was looking out
for me that the Gilded Shield hadn’t been tapped to retrieve me.
The Core-centric rivals to the JSPs were reputed to get the job done,
with the most efficient brutality that means the client gets what the
client wants.
The minute I could I dug the Slate
out from my stolen boot, hopping on my other foot and nearly passing
out from the pain the movements caused. That Slate was now safely in
my stolen bra, its presence a constant reminder that I will have a
less friendly Taniwha on my heels. One that I’ve pissed off by not
only crossing into its territory, but poked it. In the eyes. My
request for Jake had been a piss-poor attempt at negotiations. But
hey, if he was angry enough, he might just kill me in a dark corner
and leave me to rot. Mercs and their egos. Surely, my plan was
.
“He’ll eat me, he’ll eat
me,” I muttered under my breath, just a bit more giddy than was
sane. I took the hallway at a run, my thick French braid whipping
behind me. I made sure to visualise the consequences of him catching
me, ripping me apart for the Slate. I’d never been to this specific
Waystation, but it seemed like it was a more primitive version of
Waystations of the Silver Belt. The technology might have been
scavenged, but the general layout should still be the same.
I shoved my way into a side door,
the heavy leather jacket leaving a sooty streak that did not look of
out place, estimating that it connected to the neighbouring halls.
I was right.
I ran as fast as my body would
allow me, which considering my fitness evaluation six years ago, was
painfully slow. Sweat was beading on my forehead already, a
combination of the Dark Lotus jacket, running on temps and the fresh
pain of the new transplant.
A stitch in my side made me slow
down to a snail’s pace, I limped onwards. Not stopping. If I
stopped, the Taniwha would eat me. And I was too near the surface and
to the JSPs to let that happen.
I had to make it to the New
Developments hall. Or failing that, find an alternative.
I looked over my shoulder, and a
whiff of roasted earth and male sweat overwhelmed my nose. By the
bandwidth, did that man smell good. I blinked, refocusing, grateful
that the space behind me was still empty. I looked forward and found
myself in a junction.
“Shit!” I whipped my head
around to look down each corridor, the signs and maps long defaced by
centuries’ worth of graffiti. I had to rely on my memory.
A door slammed open behind me.
Picking at random, I dove to the left, not even bothering to look
behind me. I suspected who it was, so I didn’t stop to see if he
saw me yet.
A crackle burst through the
overhead speakers, followed by the station’s clipped, synthetic PA
voice, repeating its message in multiple languages:
“Attention all spacers.
Curfew remains in effect due to the ongoing multi?stellar
sector poisoning event. All non?essential personnel must remain
in designated quarters.”
Perfect. As if I needed another
reason to panic.
I kept going the way I had picked.
I didn’t have time to figure it out. I needed another turn to break
line of sight.
The stitch in my side prevented me
from going faster than a power walk.
I chanced a look over my shoulder,
every shadow and alcove potentially hiding a Peacekeeper. Or Az.
Still nothing but some odd droids.
I looked ahead and turned at
another intersection, finding myself in a sterile, clean hall. A
mural to my left was an old logo I’d seen in ruins over my career.
If I wasn’t running for my life, I’d have stopped and studied it.
A seven-pointed white star inside three overlapping rings, an ancient
Seeder ship silhouetted in the middle. One of the first terraformer
ships humanity had launched from Ancient Terra.
I heard the marching of boots
against the floor coming down the hall.
I thought I was too late in diving
into the next alcove, but the footsteps retaining their speed behind
me told me I got lucky. I frowned. I couldn’t quite believe my
luck. I had never
I resisted taking a peek, instead
looking for an exit. I stared at the lone door beside me, marked
‘STELLA C. PERSONNEL ONLY’ in elegant, cursive script. It
reminded me of the writing from the wreck, the one that even had
their ‘Maintenance Store’ sign painstakingly decorated. Another
wave of roasted earth and sandalwood soap lifted from the jacket I
was wearing, blanketing me in a comfort and familiarity like a dream.
A haze started fogging my brain. The pain that should have made me
stop and rest and curl up so my body could recover was affecting my
decision-making.
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My eyes flicked upward directly in
front of me. A vent grate old, rusted, held in place by mismatched
screws and a layer of dust. An air vent that doubled as an emergency
access hatch for the electrical conduits. It was old. Wrong screws.
Wrong decade. Someone had replaced it with cheaper parts.
I stayed still, gazing at both
exits like one of them would save my life. I just crawled through an
hour’s worth of ventilation shafts. The pain in my middle flared up
with my rest, a wave of nausea and vertigo made me list to the side,
a fresh wave of sweat soaked my stolen Dark Lotus shirt. The door had
a handle. The grate had tiny, rusty screws I’d had to stand on my
tiptoes to reach.
The Slate in between my breasts
vibrated again, reminding me that Az could probably track me through
it. The stupid thing had rung non-stop while in the vents, making the
crawl awkward, where I had to make sure my chest didn’t touch the
metal ground.
My heavy breathing was also
becoming a liability, I had to put a distance between me and the
approaching marching boots.
“Ouch,
fuck!”
The
sound made me jump in place, I looked around and saw a flash of pink
through the grate in front of me. We stared at each other for a
second before the marching boots off
in the distance quickened as if they broke
into a run. I launched to my feet, shoving the door open in the same
moment a loud crash and clatter exploded behind me.
I
was towered on either side by crates, a veritable
hallway of a hoard that made my mouth water and eyes shine with a
curiosity I hadn’t felt in a long time. But the wonder was quashed
as a pair of running feet caught up to me.
“Small
station, hey, Supernova?”
Carla the cyborg merc said breathlessly.
“Wrong
cyborg, but I’ll take it. You
got my Slate?” I snapped
back, conscious of the other running footsteps following
us.
“Uh, no. Being chased by JSP jarheads right now,
kinda don’t want to get grabbed and you know...”
We
paused at a junction, and I chanced a look over my shoulder.
Jade
Sphere grunts, three of them, had faltered
in their
tracks when they saw me. Then
doubled their speed.
“Fuckers,”
I snarled, pushing Carla to head in one direction while I picked the
opposing side. “Let’s try and split them up!”
“How the fuck are you moving
like that?!” Carla shouted over her shoulder, still taking the new
direction at a run.
“Talk later!” I responded,
skidding around a new corner and praying the new wave of adrenaline
will last until I get to a hiding spot.
To my dismay, all three pairs of
boots sounded behind me. Angry tears sprung to my eyes, they really
wanted me. My new stomach dropped, a sense of dread rising instead.
‘Maybe they know. They want
me for the rest… Someone figured it out.’
“I
need my Slate,” I muttered. I needed to make some calls. If the
university leaked my medical situation. Or hell, if Anna mentioned
something to the wrong person.
Metal
on metal skittering made me look up. I stopped in my tracks, cursing.
A
sleek black quadruped security unit was leering down at us. The head
resembled Forty-Five’s, the obsidian reflective visor had a single
large ring light. It was glowing an ominous red. The three soldiers
behind me grabbed my arms, pulling
me back but I made
sure to resist them, managing
to pull arm free as I tried to show
that I was seeking protection
from a ‘greater perceived’ threat.
The
robot’s reverse jointed limbs were built for speed, and the
attached feline paws were tipped with sharp, metal claws. I
was banking on the fact it was a security robot, hopefully programmed
with the old War Crimes protection protocols. Protect women and
children.
“Alert.
Intruders detected,” it rasped, its thin voice sounding like it
echoed inside a tin. “Unauthorised personnel in restricted area.
Identify.”
‘
I thought to myself, swallowing the lump of fear in my throat. I
stayed still, remaining non-threatening for as long as possible. A
corporate unit would work a bit different. It would
have an internal database of ‘authorised personnel’, and
depending which company this warehouse belonged to now, that list
would be very small. My hope
was vanishing quickly.
The
soldiers behind me scoffed.
“Detected,”
the robot ignored them, a red laser scanning my front,
right where the stolen Slate
was still tucked in my bra.
“Asron, Scion.
Injured.”
Two laser guns appeared out of its
shoulders, swivelling to target the Peacekeepers behind me. I jerked
my arms forward and dove to the ground, the smell of ozone filling
the air for a brief moment before shouting filled the air.
“Run!” One of the men shouted,
grabbing the arm of his injured comrade and shoving the other frozen
one back. “Leave the girl, Meng and the boss can negotiate.”
The trio and the robot began
scuttling away back the way we came, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I pulled out the Slate, Az’s bored face staring back at me.
“You just saved my life, again,
void-spawn,” I muttered in wonder, thinking back to Forty-Five and
his entry as my co-pilot. “Asron, huh? That’s… a bit weird.”
I placed it with a bit more care
over my heart, glancing over my shoulder before getting up, uselessly
dusting my filthy pants.
The pain behind my ribs flared
even more viciously than before. I stumbled against the wall of
crates, the stack thankfully sturdy enough to take my slight weight.
I gasped as my vision tunnelled, more sweat soaking through the shirt
and into the jacket. The leather keeping shivers at bay for now.
Overcome by a wave of nausea, I
fell forward, retching. Black bile spilled out, but smaller, chunky
bits were the concerning additions. I tasted copper and iron, and I
knew there would be gold and silver too. A couple of organic, meaty
lumps were clumped with the gold scarabs. The nanites had coalesced
together and formed into the insect carcasses.
I tried not to think which organ
the meaty lumps came from. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter.
The nanites have finished their
job. Or perhaps, the job was finished for them. The size and number
of the nanites’ carapaces told me they finished munching on
something mechanical they shouldn’t have. The small grey vial of
the little itchy shits had ballooned to three times the volume.
I sat up straight against the
crate wall, breathing through the sick feeling in my gut and the urge
to pass out. My lungs were functioning better than before, I finally
realised. Maybe the meaty lumps were scar tissue. Maybe the hospital
fixed the filter on the artificial lung too.
I closed my eyes again, intending
on only resting until the warehouse stopped spinning.