A bolt grazes my thigh, searing fabric and flesh. The suppression cuffs pulse so hard they sting.
“Keep moving!” I tell her.
We reach the base of the shaft in a narrow maintenance tunnel humming with power conduits. The air is thick and warm, vibrating with redirected energy flow.
“Right!” she says, already sprinting.
We run.
Boots hammer against grated flooring. Alarms escalate behind us, security classification shifting from procedural error to active breach. Red emergency strobes ignite overhead, bathing the corridor in violent color.
“How far?” I ask.
“Two turns!”
We round the first corner just as the shaft above us erupts with pursuing officers dropping in pursuit.
Plasma bolts streak down the tunnel.
One slams into the wall ahead of Elara and detonates, shrapnel and molten composite blasting outward in a violent shockwave.
I grab her and yank her backward just before debris would have torn through her face. The explosion slams into my side instead, driving the breath from my lungs.
She stares up at me, eyes wide.
“You can’t keep doing that,” she snaps.
“Yes, I can.”
We run again.
The second turn opens into a concealed docking alcove hidden behind a maintenance bulkhead. The space is dim and cavernous, barely illuminated by low emergency strips tracing the floor.
And there, resting silent and predatory in shadow, is my cruiser.
Matte-black hull absorbing the light around it. Compact. Angular. Covert.
Varek bursts into the bay from a parallel access route, spurs glinting under flickering lights.
“They’re seconds behind us,” he warns.
“Board,” I order.
Elara freezes at the base of the ramp for half a breath, staring up at the cruiser as if measuring the weight of the decision.
“If you step on that ramp,” I tell her quietly over the escalating alarms, “there is no administrative correction.”
Her jaw tightens.
“There wasn’t one the second I rerouted you,” she replies, and runs.
Plasma fire streaks into the docking bay as she reaches the ramp. A bolt detonates against the hull beside her, rocking the entire cruiser and sending a tremor through the deck plating.
I grab her by the waist and haul her the last few steps up the ramp just as a concussive blast slams into the bay doors behind us. The shockwave throws us both forward. She crashes against the inner bulkhead, and I take the impact across my shoulder to keep her from striking hard enough to fracture bone.
“You are not subtle,” she gasps.
“I am efficient.”
