He screamed, weapon clattering to the floor. I slammed my knee into his gut, grabbed his head, and smashed it against the edge of a crate. Once. Twice.
He dropped.
I didn’t wait. I crouched beside him and patted him down, fingers quick and practiced. He had a knife in a sheath on his thigh, military issue, curved and serrated on the back. I took it, clipped it to my waistband, and grabbed his radio.
“Unit seven down,” I whispered into the mic. “Crate breach confirmed. Subject in containment.”
There was a pause.
Then: “Understood. Sealing lower level. Deploying internal sweep.”
That would buy me maybe five minutes. Tops.
I moved.
The knife gave me confidence. I held it in a tight, reverse grip, as I crept through the maze of crates and shadows. The ship was humming now, louder than before. The floor vibrated for a moment under my feet. I realized with a start that we must be moving.
No. Not yet. I need off. I need off now.
I pushed deeper into the ship, past the crates, up a narrow stairwell that smelled of rust and damp. On the second level, I found a hallway of metal doors, all of them closed.
I tried one of the doors. Locked.
The second. Unlocked.
I slipped inside. The room was cramped but clean. A locker was open, a duffel bag half-zipped. Inside, I found a black hoodie, cargo pants, and a pair of boots. Everything too big, but thieves couldn’t be choosy.
I changed quickly, jamming the knife into the boot. My stolen comm unit buzzed again just as I was pulling up the hood.
“All units, be advised: possible decoy. Subject may be posing as crew. Use biometric scan protocols.”
I needed to move faster.
I ducked into the hallway. More footsteps, closer now. Coming from the direction of the bridge, probably.
I turned the opposite way and ran.
I moved through the crew deck like a shadow, navigating by memory more than sight. These ships had standard layouts. Bridge at the front, engine at the back, secondary exits through the cargo hatch or lifeboat access.
I needed to get to the lifeboats.
That was my only shot.
I reached another stairwell. Steel steps, narrow and exposed. I hesitated, then bolted up.
Halfway up the stairs, a voice shouted behind me.
“Hey! Stop!”
I turned, knife already in my hand.
The guard lunged. I caught his wrist mid-swing and slammed the pommel of my blade into his temple. He staggered. I drove my foot up between his legs, twisted his arm, and used his own momentum to send him crashing down the stairs. His body landed with a sickening crunch.
My chest was heaving now, blood thrumming in my ears, but I kept moving.
I hit the upper deck. The hallway opened onto an exterior catwalk. Wind slammed into me, salt-stung and wild. I must have been out for a long time, because it was completely dark outside now. The glow of city lights were visible behind me, but it was clear that the ship was moving away and picking up speed.
“No, no, no,” I muttered, racing along the catwalk.
