The sling was not designed for elegance. It bounced, swerved, and nearly took out a table of glowing jars as they burst from The Burnt Saint Exchange into the concourse. Behind them, smoke billowed from the exchange, swallowing the doorway and everyone inside it.
Madelaine ran at his side, hair flying loose from its tie, one hand on the sling, the other reaching beneath her jacket.
“No shooting unless we have to,” Jack said.
“Who said I was reaching for a weapon?”
“What else is in there?”
“Four other weapons.”
“Madelaine.”
“And a lockpick.”
“This is why I love traveling with you.”
She glanced at him, breathless. “This is not traveling. This is fleeing.”
“But we’re running with fuel. That makes it an upgrade.”
They raced through Crooked Halo’s lower level as the station seemed to rouse against them. More alarms sounded. Shutters slammed down over shopfronts. Vendors grabbed merchandise. Someone yelled in a language Jack did not understand, though the tone strongly suggested move or die.
A pair of armed station enforcers appeared at the end of the concourse.
Madelaine yanked the sling left into a side passage so narrow the fuel cubes scraped both walls.
Jack slammed his shoulder into the corner and kept moving. “Ow. Fine. Didn’t need that bone anyway.”
“The dock lift is just ahead.”
“Is it guarded?” Jack asked, hoping against hope it would be empty. They deserved a boon.
“Almost certainly.”
“Great. Have to love the consistency of never catching a break when we’re running.”
They burst into a maintenance atrium with a circular lift platform in the center. Above it, levels rose like corroded ribs around an open shaft. The dock signs flickered overhead.
Docks 1-9.
Madelaine slapped the lift control.
Nothing happened.
She slapped it again.
A screen blinked.
Access denied.
Jack stared at it. “Maybe ask it nicely or use light taps instead of slaps?”
“No.” Madelaine pulled out the lockpick. It unfolded into something thin and silver with a glowing blue tip. She jammed it into the panel.
“Thirty seconds,” she said.
Behind them, boots thundered, echoing down the hall, getting closer and closer.
