by K. F. Breene
The vessel issued a soft beep.
“Fifteen minutes.” Dread washed over Millicent. “C’mon. Hurry.”
“Remind me why we need to switch crafts?” Ryker asked. “We have more guns on this one.”
“Obviously because people who constantly break the law probably have a way to get on to the net without being noticed,” Mr. McAllister said as he hurriedly wrapped Marie in a large scarf. “Or if they don’t, it won’t matter anyway because they won’t know it’s Millicent. Sorry. Ms. Foster. Though why we are still using each other’s last names is beyond me. We must know each other well enough for first names by now. There is no professionalism mixed up in this situation, I’ll tell you that much. It’s all gone tits up.”
Millicent grabbed a different canister out of the medical bag, affixed a shooter to it, and pushed it onto Mr. McAllister’s upper arm. She squeezed, and the tranquilizer shot through his suit and into his skin. He flinched and looked at the offending spot. A moment later, he just sighed again. “I sure hope that was a tranq, because I can’t take anymore. I’ve never been this afraid for this long in all my life.”
“I know. You are slow and clumsy. Now get her into the other craft. I’ll move Ryker over.”
Without another word, Mr. McAllister handed Marie off before leaping into the commandeered vessel, which hovered a mere meter away, waiting for its new owners. He staggered, then turned back and reached out his hands. “Give me Marie first, then the bags. How long before I’m sleepy?”
“I’ll take the baby over,” Ryker interjected.
“You’ll barely be able to take yourself over.” Millicent grabbed Marie, kissed her, and then handed her off. She started passing the bags over. Once done, she turned to the man whom she would never be able to stabilize if he staggered toward the side and fell.
“Don’t bullshit me on this one,” Millicent said for his ears alone. “If something hurts or your muscle is going to give out, let me know. Let’s get you over safely.”
“Yes, dear.”
“I’d rather you go back to calling me cupcake if dear is the alternative.” She took a firm hold on his good arm and walked him over to the gap in the vessels. She glanced down at the distant ground, spreading its arms wide in greeting. A shiver covered her body. Best to look somewhere else. Anywhere else.
“Here we go.” She was getting ready to hand him over when he leaned toward her. She had a moment to wonder if he was about to stagger when his lips grazed up her neck before sucking in her earlobe. A dull throb pounded against the safe nothingness of Clarity. Clarity was starting to lose the battle.
“I am a bit unstable, beautiful.” His voice, low and intimate, started a strange, electric hum deep in her body. “I’d love a bed, your body, and then a nice long sleep.”
“Instead, you’re going to get another slap to the groin before you’re pushed over the gap. We do not have time for this, Ryker!”
“That’s probably the right way to play it. I’m two seconds away from passing out. You need to make a move.”
No more encouragement needed. She slapped his bulge, waited until he bent in that natural flinch, and then geared up to shove him.
“Now,” he grunted.
She pushed with everything she had as he weakly jumped. He crashed into Mr. McAllister within the pirate craft. The two went down to the ground, the larger Ryker trapping Mr. McAllister on the dirty floor.
Millicent took a hurried look around her, found nothing more she needed to grab, and then hopped over as Mr. McAllister wheezed in pain.
“Sorry, bub. I needed someone to break my fall.”
“Can you get off?”
“Was that a rhetorical or a genuine question?”
“Will it make a difference in the answer?”
“Nope. Same answer. Although, I might’ve thrown you a different tone.”
Millicent worked the console next to the door, frowning at the error code—or lack of an error code, actually. Like on the other ship, the door thought it was closed.
Strange.
No time to dig deeper. With Mr. Hunt’s determined face flashing through her memory, she turned to her daughter, who was curled over her stuffed animal. There were dark circles under her eyes. Millicent’s heart twisted as she said, “Marie, sweetie, can you close the door?”
“Yes, Mama.” The door slid shut. Nothing obvious about the code changed.
“Thank you, baby.”
“Need a little help here, love,” Ryker slurred. “This guy is bony.”
Millicent didn’t care. There was no time to lose.
She jogged to the front and then slipped into the cockpit. After glancing over the controls, she took a deep breath and flicked the switch to take it out of stationary mode. The vessel rocked before dropping a few meters. Heart lurching along with her stomach, Millicent entered the directive to descend rapidly. The vessel, not nearly as decrepit as its crashed counterpart, rapidly complied.
Too rapidly.
The craft tore through the sky, diving toward one of the larger freighters. Her pulse pounded as the nose of her craft barely missed the rear wing of the larger vessel. She dropped below it, wiggling the steering column and working the thruster to keep them from ending up in the freighter’s exhaust. Barely breathing, she steadied them in the protective shadow of the mammoth moving above.
A deep rumble sounded from the rear. Ryker had said something unintelligible. She didn’t have time to find out what.
Accessing the console and the net, she once again tracked the security vessel. And sighed. It was probably just coming into visibility above. They would see her craft soon, and then they’d search the area. If she could keep them on their current path, she’d buy them some time. Though how much was anyone’s guess. She doubted Mr. Hunt was fooled by much. Not if he was as good as Ryker.
Chapter 16
The craft jumped and then dipped. “Huh.” Millicent hit the button, labeled in a language she didn’t understand, and experienced the same jump and dip. “Defensive maneuvering, maybe?”
She hit the button next to it. The vessel’s right side dipped, careening. She directed them back to the mostly unused upper travel way, far enough ahead of the security craft to risk leaving the freighter’s shadow. “The buttons are programmed for preplanned defensive maneuverings . . .”
“Handy.”
Millicent jumped at the deep tone and glanced back to see Ryker entering the cockpit. His hair was loose and messy. He took the copilot’s seat and looked over the controls. “How long was I out?”
Millicent glanced at her wrist and then clicked a button that made the craft function as close to a system-guided vessel as possible. She stretched. “Three hours.”
Ryker frowned and looked straight ahead. In the distance, a thick line interrupted the sparse nothingness. Black fog condensed, hovering over what had to be Los Angeles.
“We’re almost there,” she said, refusing to acknowledge the flurry of activity in her stomach closely resembling fear. Fear wouldn’t help. She needed to stay focused. Determined.
“Did the security vessel give you any problems?”
“No. I stuck close to the freighter until I was sure our pursuers were left behind. They won’t stay back there forever, though. All we’ve gained is time.”
“Hopefully that’s all we need.”
His tone was flat, which meant he was thinking the same thing she was—doubtful.
“How’s your arm?” Millicent asked, steering the craft back into the travel way. It had a habit of drifting left.
“You learn quickly.” Ryker glanced down at his injured shoulder. The top half of his suit still hung from his hips. “The skin is still fusing together, but it’s better.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“Like hell, yeah. But tolerable.” He settled back. “You should get some sleep.”
“I took an upper. I’m sufficiently wired for what comes next. Speaking of . . . What comes next?”
&
nbsp; He ran his fingers through his hair. “We need to find the location where we’re supposed to meet Roe.”
“Yes, I realized that much. But how do we go about doing that? We’ll have to find parking for this vessel, probably get tags for it to make it look legit . . . or we have to dump it. But if we dump it, how will we get around? Just you and I would stand out, but with Marie . . . people are going to notice us, and someone is going to ask questions.”
“How many uppers did you take?” His gaze fixed on her face.
She frowned. “One. Why?”
He analyzed her for a moment longer before minutely shaking his head and directing his focus straight ahead again. “Step one, we get into the city somehow. Step two, we figure it out. Relax. I’ve got this all under control.”
“Yeah. I can tell.” Millicent guided them back to the route. “The others?”
“The baby is sleeping, and Trent is muttering to himself. His eyes are closed, though, so probably nightmares.”
“That guy didn’t sign up for this. He’s way beyond his limit.”
“I don’t care.”
Millicent shrugged. She glanced at his hair, which was dusting the top of his muscular shoulders. “What’s up with the loose locks? Why not cut them if you’re going to leave them messy?”
“I don’t like the conglomerate thinking they’re fully in charge of me. Sure, they control most of my life. But not all of it. It’s a distinction I’ve tried hard to make.”
“And they let you?” She rolled her eyes at herself. “I mean, of course they did. I’m just surprised is all.”
“I’ve learned where and how hard to push. I know what I can get away with—and how to hide what I can’t. It’s helped me learn my value.”
“You’re one of the more valuable staffers. Your position should tell you that.”
He leaned against the armrest. “My position tells me plenty, yes, but there are levels within the director’s role.”
“How do you mean?”
“For example, we are both directors, with roughly the same departmental importance, but my apartment is three-fourths the size of yours. You have the same size apartment as my superior—as yours, too, actually—but your dwelling is much more luxurious than either of theirs. Your craft is new and well kept. Your food is richer, more flavorful. You are living way above my station.”
She could feel her mouth turn downward in confusion as that sank in. “But that can’t be. I’m flagged. I can’t get a promotion. I’m as high as I’ll ever go. Or . . . you know . . . could go if I’d stayed. How could I be living at a standard above your superior’s?”
His electric-blue eyes studied her. “It surprised me as well. I’ve never met someone in your situation. So I looked into it. They don’t want you advancing because that would put you solely in a decision-making and leadership role. You churn out genius as a worker drone. Your ideas and execution are exemplary. You can’t go any higher because you’re more useful right where you are. Be that as it may, you are extremely valuable to the conglomerate. More so than me. If you wanted to, you, too, could . . .” He reached over and tugged at her hair. Before she could duck away, her tie gave and her hair tumbled down. It fell to her midback in a wave of gold. “On second thought, it’s probably better you always pull it tight.”
“Why’s that?” She put out her hand for the tie. Then frowned when he looped it over his wrist next to his.
“Because you’d turn too many heads if you kept it down, and I’d be forced to kill people.”
She scoffed. “A little irrational, don’t you think? Give it back.”
“Haven’t you heard? That’s part of my breeding. I protect what’s mine.” He pointed through the windshield. “Steer the craft.”
A light touch had them back on course. “All day long.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll slap you in the dick all day long. Keep it up.” She massaged her scalp and then ran her fingers through her hair. “It does feel good to let it loose, though.”
“See?” He blew out a long slow breath. “Any chance you brought a change of clothes for me?”
“Hardly.”
He nodded like he figured that’d be the answer. “Any extra material I could use? Mine is not only ripped, it’s bloody. We don’t need any more reasons for people to take interest.”
“I brought a couple extra suits. You can cut up the pink one.”
“A couple extra? Of the quality you have on?”
If she kept frowning, her face would freeze. “Obviously. Why would I bring substandard suits on a trip like this?”
“And here we go again. A wardrobe fit for royalty. Where is it?”
“In one of the bags Mr. McAllister packed up.” She adjusted the steering. When Ryker returned, it was with a sewing laser. He got to work cutting off the arm of his suit and trying to piece enough material together to form another one. It seemed he wanted to use the least amount of that vivid pink as possible. She didn’t blame him.
“Why did you learn to make clothing?” she asked, watching in mild fascination as he worked.
“I was trained for it. For situations like this. Or for stitching a body back together. We use one as often as we use the other.”
Silence drifted over them for a while as the sprawling city ahead increased in size. The fluttering in her stomach was spreading into her chest now, increasing her heart rate and perspiration output.
“Unlike you and Trent, we’re on a first-name basis, huh?” Ryker asked in a tone colored with humor.
“You are the father of my child. That is first-name-basis territory. Plus, you’ve saved my life a couple times.”
“Hmm.” He ran the laser over a seam. “But not Trent?”
“Mr. McAllister wants to go back to the conglomerate, with my child, and resume his work. He’s still the enemy. He needs to be kept at an arm’s length.”
“Hmm.” Ryker held up the sleeve before glancing out the windshield. “Probably half an hour, I think. I better hurry.”
It wasn’t half an hour. It was only twenty-three minutes and sixteen seconds. The wall loomed large, reaching into the sky, topping San Francisco’s Wall in height and thickness. The stacked travel ways collapsed into one manageable stream of traffic leading toward twenty gaping entrances. Above were the city’s exits, streaming vehicles out quickly.
“Let me take over, princess.” Ryker pushed his hair on top of his head and wrapped a tie around it. After handing her tie back, he flicked something on the dash and then took hold of the controls in front of him. “You might want to get to the console and . . . fix shit.”
“There’s one right here.” She did up her own hair, tight as always, before picking up a flimsy screen off the dash and placing it on her lap, out of direct sight of someone at window height. The hologram flickered to life. She braced herself. “What am I fixing?”
“We’ll know in just a minute. Hang tight.” He leaned back and somewhat angled his head to yell, “Trent, you up?”
They heard a weak “Yes . . .”
“Stick with Marie. The windows are heavily tinted. I’ll let you know if I’ll need to make them translucent.”
“And then I should . . . hide, yes?”
“Probably. We’ll see what happens.”
“As I said,” Millicent scoffed at him, “you are extremely on top of it. Your planning is really shining through.” She shook her head while bringing up the city map and going over their route for the millionth time. Unfortunately, that wasn’t helping her dissipate the raging panic coursing through her system.
“I’m good in a bind, cupcake. You wait and see. I’ll blow your mind.” As the large freighter in front of them steered over to its lane, lines shivered green in front of them, leading straight for a short time before curving to the left. “Here we go.”
They followed the green pathway to the lane in the last stall. The craft slowed as they approached a large computer. Its screen whirled, flashing pattern
s of colors.
“What’s it doing?” Ryker asked as the craft slowed to a stop.
“Trying to identify us. It can’t, though. This vessel is registered in a way I couldn’t identify. I didn’t want to mess with it. Should I . . .” Millicent glanced up as green light shone down on them. A barrier cleared out of the way, allowing them to progress until the light beaming through the windshield turned to red. They came to a stop next to a guard facility with a dark doorway.
Ryker reached down and picked a gun off the floor. Never looking away from the guard station, he slowly slipped the weapon under his right leg. “It’d be a really bad day if I shot my nuts off,” he muttered.
A short, squat figure filled the doorway. His wrist glowed green before dulling, indicating he’d just used his implant for something. Expression hard, he glanced at the vessel before staring through the window at Ryker. His gaze hit Millicent next, but no emotion or thought registered in his expression. His finger made a circle in the air before he pointed downward.
“What does that mean?” Millicent whispered, her throat constricted by the customary tightness she’d come to expect in these situations. She wasn’t much better than Mr. McAllister—it was clear she wasn’t cut out for a life of crime.
“Dock.” Ryker hit a few buttons before making the vehicle drift close enough to be caught and then anchored.
“How is it you know how to work a pirate ship?” she asked as she found the uplinks in this security area.
“I’ve taken a few ships joyriding. Unlike the haircut, apparently that is a hard no with the conglomerate. And now I know.” Ryker let his finger hover over a square button.
“What is that?” The words came out muffled. Speaking through a clenched jaw wasn’t the best way to communicate.
