along her secured wrist, spreading it under the restraint, buttering the skin, and the plastic, and the pipe. Her hand is small, wrist delicate, and tucking the thumb along the palm makes it slide right out of the restraint. Nothing to it.
She sucks another breath and pushes it back in, keeping the look that she’s still secured there, though her hand can be slipped out at any time.
It’s well done, though what odds it improves are uncertain. Maybe it changes nothing because moving seems beyond comprehension, and escape would be noticed anyway. But still, it’s a stroke of luck, and a good smuggler never questions that luck will be needed.
This wouldn’t be the first time, after all, someone’s made the mistake of thinking she was too dead to fight back.
“Still awake?” Kazak calls from beyond the shadows, a black figure backlit by the thin illumination in the hold.
Petra swallows, and clears her throat with a wince. “Contract good?”
“All good.”
“And that med care?”
“Soon now,” he says, a wolf who enjoys the watching. “Almost there.”
BIOSTAT
BIOSTAT STATION
VAULT LEVEL
MARS DATE: DAY 25, MONTH 12/24, YEAR 2225
Logan walks out of the lower elevator, following the two women through a set of retracting doors and into a spacious hallway. The passage before them is curving and windowless, but elegant in its design, it’s silver walls ribbed with thin bulkheads, and flooded with indirect lighting, all its surfaces rounded and polished, meant to reflect Red Filter wealth.
The ceiling is lined with metal nozzles.
Fire extinguishers? Kill gas? What?
People in white uniforms are walking in both directions, and it’s impossible to ignore the fact that all of them are Earthbounders, and all of them are women. Most of them are young. Most of them are dark skinned.
A few even look familiar, like he’s seen them up close before, talked to them before…
And, of course, it’s possible.
How many women did we extract? His mind wanders, trying to come up with the number, though it couldn’t have been all that high. It was maybe one extract a month for the first year he was with the team, and then, more recently, it was a few every week, each one encountering greater resistance from faceless assailants that shot at them from the dark.
So, all he can really remember is a mesh of shell shocked expressions, some younger than Niri, but most about the same age, their dark eyes imploring him to help, to protect, but never to explain.
Like they all sort of knew what was coming.
He studies the faces for a minute, looking at each one as they pass by. They’re not mulling, not socializing, though they occasionally nod, smile to each other. They seem at ease. Some are carrying small items, holo pads, scanners, as if they’re at work, focused on whatever tasks have them walking down a corridor at this particular moment.
They don’t exactly ignore him, or Niri.
He catches glances, flashes of recognition, or even alarm, so fleeting it’s gone almost immediately, their gazes quickly refocused elsewhere, as if there’s still no need to ask… as if they still all know.
Dr. Williams keeps walking, and the number of women in the hallway dwindles to nothing, presumably because the doctor is moving into more restricted areas. No more doors. No more separate compartments.
Monitoring panels blink as they pass, tracking their progress.
Another pair of retractable blast doors appears ahead, and Williams actually raises her hand toward the cameras positioned around them, saluting the recognition software from four different angles.
The doors unlock and slide open.
The narrow corridor inside is brighter, harsher, an entrance hallway filled with white noise and the ionized smell of filtered air.
“The vault is in there, Niri,” Williams says, pointing to the dark glass doors at the end of the corridor. “Behind those doors is the observation deck, the place where we watch the vault, the cave.
She sucks another breath and pushes it back in, keeping the look that she’s still secured there, though her hand can be slipped out at any time.
It’s well done, though what odds it improves are uncertain. Maybe it changes nothing because moving seems beyond comprehension, and escape would be noticed anyway. But still, it’s a stroke of luck, and a good smuggler never questions that luck will be needed.
This wouldn’t be the first time, after all, someone’s made the mistake of thinking she was too dead to fight back.
“Still awake?” Kazak calls from beyond the shadows, a black figure backlit by the thin illumination in the hold.
Petra swallows, and clears her throat with a wince. “Contract good?”
“All good.”
“And that med care?”
“Soon now,” he says, a wolf who enjoys the watching. “Almost there.”
BIOSTAT
BIOSTAT STATION
VAULT LEVEL
MARS DATE: DAY 25, MONTH 12/24, YEAR 2225
Logan walks out of the lower elevator, following the two women through a set of retracting doors and into a spacious hallway. The passage before them is curving and windowless, but elegant in its design, it’s silver walls ribbed with thin bulkheads, and flooded with indirect lighting, all its surfaces rounded and polished, meant to reflect Red Filter wealth.
The ceiling is lined with metal nozzles.
Fire extinguishers? Kill gas? What?
People in white uniforms are walking in both directions, and it’s impossible to ignore the fact that all of them are Earthbounders, and all of them are women. Most of them are young. Most of them are dark skinned.
A few even look familiar, like he’s seen them up close before, talked to them before…
And, of course, it’s possible.
How many women did we extract? His mind wanders, trying to come up with the number, though it couldn’t have been all that high. It was maybe one extract a month for the first year he was with the team, and then, more recently, it was a few every week, each one encountering greater resistance from faceless assailants that shot at them from the dark.
So, all he can really remember is a mesh of shell shocked expressions, some younger than Niri, but most about the same age, their dark eyes imploring him to help, to protect, but never to explain.
Like they all sort of knew what was coming.
He studies the faces for a minute, looking at each one as they pass by. They’re not mulling, not socializing, though they occasionally nod, smile to each other. They seem at ease. Some are carrying small items, holo pads, scanners, as if they’re at work, focused on whatever tasks have them walking down a corridor at this particular moment.
They don’t exactly ignore him, or Niri.
He catches glances, flashes of recognition, or even alarm, so fleeting it’s gone almost immediately, their gazes quickly refocused elsewhere, as if there’s still no need to ask… as if they still all know.
Dr. Williams keeps walking, and the number of women in the hallway dwindles to nothing, presumably because the doctor is moving into more restricted areas. No more doors. No more separate compartments.
Monitoring panels blink as they pass, tracking their progress.
Another pair of retractable blast doors appears ahead, and Williams actually raises her hand toward the cameras positioned around them, saluting the recognition software from four different angles.
The doors unlock and slide open.
The narrow corridor inside is brighter, harsher, an entrance hallway filled with white noise and the ionized smell of filtered air.
“The vault is in there, Niri,” Williams says, pointing to the dark glass doors at the end of the corridor. “Behind those doors is the observation deck, the place where we watch the vault, the cave.
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