We approach a major intersection, where someone’s tried to make it homey. There are crates piled up to sit on like park benches, a fake tree, and a pole with street signs pointing in every possible direction, listing distances to other settlements and compounds:EURO W, EURO E, GRAVESUP, FREYACO, AFRO U, ARES TECH, and evenEARTH.
As we dash across the intersection, a voice rings out from one of the other corridors. ‘There! Target ahead!’
An instant later a blast rings out, and the plastic crate nearest me shatters, shrapnel flying as a bullet hits it. I dive over the crates, landing in an awkward roll that sends a bolt of pain up my spine, and somehow scramble to my feet.
I grab Cleo’s hand as she stumbles, and sling her toward the safety of a corridor – she keeps hold of me and uses her grip to drag me on with her.
There’s another blast behind us as we take the next turn – I keep hold of her hand now, and let her steer. We’re sprinting toward a huge set of double doors, but suddenly they start to slide slowly closed, with a soft hum and a warning beep.
Someone on the bridge is trying to herd us, corral us somewhere we can’t escape.
‘They’re using the cameras,’ I gasp. ‘We have to get out of sight.’
Cleo skids to a halt, then ducks sidelong into another room. I’m an instant behind her, and together we burst into a workshop. Like everywhere else on the base, it was abandoned mid-shift. There’s a 3D printer still running, slowly extruding what was probably meant to be the wall of a hab section. In the time since the evac, it’s turned into a rippling sheet of messy build materials, pushing up against a neighboring table and starting to collapse in on itself.
Music’s still playing softly from one corner and it masks our footsteps as we hurry past workbenches laden with tools, half of them branded with the shooting stars of the GravesUP logo.
My gaze lands on something shaped like a gun, and I grab for it, then realize it’s useless – the only thing it’s loaded with is putty or something.
‘Yes!’ Cleo hisses, her eyes lighting up. ‘Give.’
I don’t waste my breath explaining it won’t work – we don’t have time for that. I just toss it to her. She catches it without breaking stride and jams it into her belt. If she’s going to fake having a weapon, she’s going to need something more convincing.
She halts, glancing at the door we came through and then looking at the top of the 3D printer. ‘Boost me up,’ she whispers. ‘Quick.’
I crouch to make a stirrup out of my hands, and she sets her foot in it. Then I straighten my legs and shove her upward.
Cleo grabs the top and pulls herself the rest of the way, and I dust my hands off, looking up and readying myself for the climb.Earth strength, don’t fail me now.
I jump, straining up to grab at the edge of the machine, which quietly hums to itself, unaware of my struggles. The edge is smooth, and I’m white-knuckled as I try to drag myself up the unforgiving surface with the strength in my hands alone. Why isn’t Cleo helping me? I can’t even see her up there.
The back of my neck is prickling, and I’m waiting for someone to come bursting through the door, weapon trained on me. Then with one more kick I’m moving, and I scramble up to flop onto the top of the printer, breathing hard. Below me, the machinery hums away.
And I don’t know why, but that’s the moment I realize I left our helmets by the ventilation pipes. If they work that out – if they have a way to flush this room …
I look around for Cleo, who’s at the other end of the huge machine, reaching for a big box that sits on a high shelf. Her whole arm is extended, fingers straining, and as I watch, she manages to grab the box, pulling it toward herself.
Then it tips off the edge of the shelf, the contents beginning to spill, and I flinch – what was that and did we need it? But no, no we didn’t. Cleo’s fiendish.
With a series of clatters and pings, a box of ball bearings goes spilling across the floor of the workshop. They bounce like raindrops hitting the pavement, rolling into every corner, then ricocheting off whatever surface they hit and starting all over again. It’s going to beveryhard for our pursuers to move around the workshop.
Then, as I pull myself up to my hands and knees to get a better view of the impending carnage, Cleo unclips our tinydrone from her suit. She flips it over to inspect the bottom and opens its hatch to find the delivery net inside. I’ve seen these deliver takeout food before, but what …?
She pulls the putty gun – is that what it is? – out of her belt, and jams it into the net. Then she flips her eyepiece into place and she waits. So I wait too. I have no idea what she’s doing, but I know better than to interrupt a diabolical genius at work, and that’s clearly what I’m witnessing.
Her red hair’s falling around her face, and there’s a smear of dirt on the fair skin of her cheek that I want to brush away. I can’t help it – I let my gaze trace her profile, the curve of her lips, the graceful lines of her neck, the set of her jaw.
This girl is really something – beautiful, yes, but so much more. She’s fierce.
How did I not notice before? I mean, I noticedher, but how did I ever think she was scared, or vulnerable?
She’s fascinating, and I don’t want to look away.
I said I’d help her get back to Earth, and of course I will, but I hope I can convince her to stay. Hers is the kind of ingenuity Mars needs. That GravesUP needs. And maybe there’s something in her thatIneed.
A man comes bursting through the door – he’s big, heavily built, with a nose that’s been broken one too many times. This is one of the two guys we glimpsed in the corridor, right before we hid in the closet. He looks like a boxer, and his scowl says he’s spoiling for a fight.
The Boxer makes it two steps into the room, and then hits the ball bearings and goes flying – he’s actually horizontal in theair for a second, before he crashes down with a grunt of pain. Immediately he starts to push up, even angrier than before.
