Nixon passes under the sign then stops and presses himself against the concrete wall. A shot from the blaster follows him in. The shot somehow misses hitting anything and drives a hole into the wall at the back of the spaceport.
Nixon looks back out the opening and fires a pair of shots at the gunmen who’ve been chasing him. They both miss, but these are moving targets. Still, they give him a moment. He starts running toward the ships and pulls out the card from Mira.
He’s looking for slip 1112. A sign points him in the right direction, and he starts to run harder and faster, the possibility of imminent escape putting extra energy into his steps, an extra beat into his heart. A blaster shot comes from the entrance. It hits the ship in front of him, and Nixon changes course. He wants to put whatever he can between his back and these gunmen.
As big as these ships looked on the way here, they are ten times that large when running between them.
Slip 1108.
Slip 1109.
The air crackles with blaster energy, and a fat hauler absorbs a shot from the blaster. It leaves a scorched and jagged hole in the side of the ship.
Slip 1110.
Another shot. This one hits the bubbled pilot cover on the speeder and cracks it into a million spiderwebbed pieces.
Slip 1111.
Slip 1112.
There it is. Shaine’s ship. The cruiser.
It’s bigger than it looked from the street. Shaine didn’t waste any credits on this ship. She’s not a pretty bird, but she doesn’t need to look pretty as long as she flies fast.
Nixon has been keeping something, anything, between him and the gunmen, and it’s worked mostly. But now, he’s going to have to step out into a clearing and expose himself.
Nixon counts down then sprints into the open.
Thunk.
Another thick and heavy blast from the big gun. It crushes the side of the speeder.
Nixon slips behind the side of the cruiser, and there’s a ramp lowered to the ground. Nixon steps across and into the ship. It’s all overwhelming—so many buttons and screens and switches. He looks at the card again. There are codes there that will get this cruiser started.
Thunk. And an instant later the sound of metal tearing, and the whole ship rocks to one side. Nixon hurries to the exit, and there’s the gunman at the end of this row of ships. The blaster is up to his shoulder with the cruiser sited.
Another thunk, and the ship rocks again. This time alarms sound when it settles. An indicator on the board in front of the pilot’s seat flashes. Nixon takes a seat, the card still out and in his hand.
The light says that one of the three engines is out. She should still fly if Nixon can get her started.
Nixon holds the card in front of him and starts punching the code written there into the keypad on the panel in front of him.
He enters the first few numbers and the ramp that had been open begins to close.
There’s another thunk, and the ship rocks again—opposite direction this time. Another engine absorbing another shot.
Nixon continues with the code once he settles. He has to get it entered before the gunman fires again. He hits that second engine one more time and Nixon’s not going anywhere.
He’s staring at a series of three codes, each progressively longer. The first started the ramp closing.
He starts entering the second code and things inside the ship begins to ping and pop. Something liquid is moving behind these metal walls. Fuel, Nixon assumes.
He enters the last number on the card and the ship jostles. He can hear the fire in the engines waiting to be told that it’s time to go.
Then there’s a voice from outside. Barely audible but there.
“We know who you are, Mr. Nixon.”
He keeps punching the final code, the longest of the three and the most complicated. While he’s doing this he’s waiting. Waiting for whoever is outside to continue their speech. Waiting on the gunman to …
THUNK
The ramp that had just closed crushes in on the ship, but the seal holds. Then there’s more talking from outside the ship.
“We’ll hit you again, Mr. Nixon. Maybe not here, but we’ll find you. We’re everywhere. You won’t be able to outrun us no matter where you go.”
THUNK
The gunman hits the door again as Nixon enters the last bits of the code. The ship shakes and Nixon is pushed back into his seat as the craft jumps from the surface and rushes into space.
The flight is uneven, off balance. It’s the missing engine. The cruiser isn’t sprinting out to space on a straight trajectory. It’s going at an angle. Nixon is fighting to keep her from arching over and crashing into the ground somewhere outside of Exte. It’s keeping him from thinking about the gunman. It’s keeping him from thinking about whoever was shouting at him from outside the ship. It’s keeping him from thinking about anything.
He fights the controls until the sky fades to black and the gravity has stopped trying to drag him back down into the dirt. He watches the screens to his left. He’s expecting to see the indicator of another ship there, someone blasting away from the starport and giving chase, but he doesn’t. The screens are empty except for ships and rocks and debris that was already out here.
With the screens clear, he settles into the pilot’s seat. He lets his body sink into the cushions. He lets himself really exhale for the first time in two days. He knows he’s not out of the woods. This is all just starting, especially if the warning that was being
