Eep. I plunked myself on the nearest seat, placed Bender on my lap, and examined the wound. Small neat hole, penetration about a half inch. It was actually a nicely tuned weapon. Internal systems were already breaking down the flechette and starting repairs.
There were no windows in the tube train, the view of the tube not being particularly inspiring, but it meant I wasn't able to see my pursuers as I pulled away from the station. I imagine they'd call a train as well, but could they follow this one? Could they ask the train attendant to let them off of the same platform?
“Train voice, can I specify a destination to be the same as the train in front of us.”
“There is no train in front of us.”
I examine the ceiling briefly.
“Can occupants of the train behind us asked to be let off at the same station as us, without specifying it by name?”
“Yes.”
“Shit.”
“I do not understand that command.”
“Never mind. Thank you. How far behind us will the next train arrive?”
“It will arrive at the same location. Not behind us.”
Grr.
“How many seconds after our arrival will the next train arrive?”
“There is a mandated interval of 112 seconds between train departures and the next arrival.”
Oh, much better. “Thank you, no more questions.”
So I had just a shade under two minutes, that being the human translation of the Quinlan time unit vec, to get out of Dodge or implement whatever strategy I came up with.
I’d asked to go to Helep's Ending in a panic, but really I wanted to go to Garrick's Spine. But if I asked to go there, would they have a welcoming committee waiting? We’d already seen more than enough evidence that the Resistance’s communications were efficient and far-reaching. Could I pull a fast one?
“Train voice, can I change my destination choice before we arrive?”
“Yes, but it may still be necessary to stop at the original destination first, depending on traffic.”
“Can we leave without opening the doors?”
“Not if passengers are waiting.”
“Are passengers waiting?”
“Yes.”
Uh-oh. Those would either be Resistance, or less likely, Crew. Neither group was likely to welcome me with open arms. Well, yes, they would, but not for hugs. I was going to have to put on some serious speed, which meant that Bender would have to go in the backpack. I just hoped that a) the matrix would fit, and b) I could tighten it down enough to prevent damage from jostling.
A frantic minute of fooling with the backpack resulted in a partial success. I was able to fit Bender in and tighten the straps, but I had to abandon most of the contents to make space and to prevent them banging around. So goodbye flechette gun, extra knives, money…
In a moment of inspiration, I swallowed some coins. My artificial stomach could be turned, off preserving the coins intact, but I didn't want to swallow too many and end up jingling when I moved.
The train began deceleration phase and I looked around frantically.
“Train voice, which door will be closest to one or the other edge of the platform?”
“The door 3 to your left, or the door 6 to your right.”
I dashed to my left, dropped to all fours, and went into a sprinters crouch. I had hope I could clear the vestibule before they could get everyone over to my end. The train pulled smoothly to a stop, and the door swooshed open. I immediately gave it all that gas I could, frame-jacking just enough to be able to evaluate the situation. I immediately evaluated that there were four Quinlan standing right in front of the door, holding a net.
I changed direction slightly and barreled into one of the net holders, knocking him over backward. I launched off his forehead and galloped down the hallway. A quick glance backward rolling my eyes instead of turning my head revealed that there were enough Quinlans to cover all 10 doors. That was a lot of personnel to bring to bear on very little notice. Where did they come from?
That was a question for another time. A much calmer time filled with cups of coffee and purring cats. For now, I needed to amscray. I hit the emergency staircase door and began nearly flying up the stairs. I had to hope they wouldn't be cover-
Two flechettes hit me before I could react. Dammit. The gun-toting Quinlan stood in front of me, their eyes slowly getting wider as they realized that I was approaching way too fast and I wasn't slowing down. By this point, I'd pretty much perfect of the run-them-down maneuver, and I didn't even break stride. I noticed on the way past that the second one had a security card dangling from an attachment point on his backpack. I gave it a quick tug, and with my already considerable momentum, it came off cleanly. Chances were he’d notice and report the card, but it was just a distraction. I still had Natasha's card, and they probably hadn't yet associated it with me.
At the top of the stairs, I stopped and changed my features to that of the cardholder, or at least as close as I could manage in a few seconds and without a selfie. Then I pushed open the emergency door. Three Quinlan stood on guard, pistols in hand.
One said to me, “Rick? What's up?”
I bent over, put my hands on my thighs, and faked deep heaving breaths and tried to gasp a lot.
“Got him!” Pant, pant. “Need help,” gasp pant, “too strong,” and I waved in the direction of the stairs while keeping my head down so they couldn't see my face clearly.
Apparently my acting chops were pretty good, as the trio headed for the stairs, barely glancing at me. As soon as they were out of sight, I went out the maintenance door and made for the wilderness.
The good news was that I was free of my pursuers. The bad news was that I was stuck in
