Grimspace Read Free Page A

artificial lights never alter. Station life would drive me crazy. I need a natural cycle, which is why I often linger planetside after Kai and I—flinch away from that thought, as I follow March at a dead run. God, I hope that’s not a prophetic thought.
    The Psychs don’t realize the reason I’m not completely nuts, since I’ve been running a lot longer than most, is that my early life granted me the ability to compartmentalize. Just shut stuff off, lock it away. In a room inside my head part of me may, in fact, already be gibbering mad, but I don’t let that one out to howl. Just like part of me mourns Kai, curled up in a corner, sobbing like a child. And the rest of me functions.
    Just like now. Can’t help wondering what I’ve gotten myself into, but then I’ve never been one to wait around. And just what in the hell does he want with me—if this isn’t a Corp trap? I have a bad feeling and a stitch in my side, but March isn’t breaking stride, and damned if I’ll let him outrun me.
    Right before the first checkpoint, a pair of Corp security drones stumbles on us, and he never slows, diving between their blue laser fire like this is all part of the job, coming up beneath in their blind spot. Brute force—he crushes them together, smashing their sensors, so their feed to the security station goes black, then he slams them again in a spray of sparks. I hear the low whir of their tiny thrusters slowing, then they drop, heavy, inert. Maybe two corridors over I hear more booted feet. They’re coming to investigate the outage of the two drones.
    â€œMove,” he tells me fiercely as the second set of alarms kick in.
    Orange alert? Holy shit .
    That means they don’t care if they take us alive.
    Up till now, I had always thought of the Corp as a friendly Big Brother, hand out to help, interested in exploration, in science and discovery. And sure, they had a military arm, but that was for defense and protection, not for assault. Now I’m wondering just what I don’t know about the Corp, what else they do, quiet and smiling, while yokels lap up their adorable ad campaigns about little boys pointing at the heavens in awe as a shooting star carries the Corp logo overhead.
    â€œIf they’ve gone into lockdown, we won’t be able to use the doors,” I pant, as he makes for the security station at a brisk walk, not unlike the pace one would use if a bit pressed for time for a moderately important business meeting. “Are you crazy ? We’re going to have to fight our way through half the Corp—”
    He ignores me and lays out the first guard with a hard hook before the poor bastard hardly registers we’re there. Even with alarms sounding, you just don’t expect a man in a suit to fight like a gladiator; you expect him to stride up, and say politely, “I’m sorry, I’m quite turned about. Do you know where the lift is to the hydroponics gardens?” The second man, March takes by the throat and stares into his eyes. I don’t know what the frag that was about, but the man just crumples, lying up against the wall as if he’s about to piss himself. And once more, March keys the door open, and he’s hauling for the next point without looking back.
    We pass two more security doors exactly like that while Klaxons blare and more teams deploy. One hand on my cramping side, I can’t help but think this is the crappiest rescue I’ve ever seen and I want answers , not that I’m a hundred percent sure I needed rescuing. Maybe that was lack of sleep and paranoia and the general creepiness of Psych Officer Newel. I may have just fragged up and made things way worse for myself, ruined my career and put my fate in the hands of a maniac.
    As we hit the freighter bays, a gray squad opens fire. They aren’t telling us to halt or to surrender. Mother Mary of Anabolic Grace, they really want to fry us. I dive