Page 45 of Enslak

"Service corridors," Binwee said. "They run parallel to the main passages. Maintenance and cargo transport. At this hour, they should be empty."

"Should be?" George asked.

"Will be," Binwee corrected. "I've checked the schedules. We have a thirty-minute window. That's it."

"Then let's not waste time," I said.

Moving Enslak was harder than I'd anticipated. Even sedated, he was massive—easily three hundred pounds of solid muscle. George produced a hover-gurney that took most of the weight, but we still had to guide it, and every bump and turn sent my heart racing with the fear we'd be discovered.

The service corridors were exactly as Binwee had described—narrow, dimly lit, lined with pipes and conduits. Our footsteps echoed in the confined space, each sound impossibly loud.

At the first junction, I froze.

Voices drifted from somewhere ahead—muffled, indistinct, but definitely there. My hand shot out, gripping George's arm hard enough to bruise.

We stood there, the hover-gurney humming softly between us, while my heart tried to hammer its way out of my chest. The voices grew louder. Closer. I could make out words now—something about shift rotations and someone named Uust who was always late.

Then they faded, moving away down a parallel corridor.

"Clear," Binwee whispered, and we moved forward again.

Every twenty feet brought fresh terror. A sudden hiss from the overhead pipes made me jump so hard I nearly knocked the gurney into the wall. A distant clang of metal on metal had me convinced someone was following us. When we passed a maintenance access panel, I was certain I saw movement in the shadows beyond it—but when I looked again, there was nothing.

At the second junction, a light flickered on somewhere behind us.

"Go," George urged, his voice tight. "Don't stop."

We picked up the pace, the hover-gurney wobbling as we rushed around the corner. My breath came in short, sharp gasps. Any second now, someone would round that corner. Any second, alarms would blare. Any second, we'd be caught and Enslak would be dragged back to certain death.

At the third junction, footsteps echoed from somewhere above us—the main corridor, probably, separated from us by only a thin layer of deck plating. I could hear them clearly: the heavy tread of boots, multiple sets, moving with purpose.

Security patrol.

We pressed ourselves against the wall, barely breathing, as they passed overhead. The hover-gurney's hum seemed deafening in the silence. Surely they could hear it. Surely they'd investigate.

But they kept walking, their footsteps fading into the distance.

"Two more turns," Binwee whispered.

Two more chances to be discovered. Two more opportunities for everything to fall apart.

A door opened somewhere nearby—the screech of metal on metal making me flinch. Someone laughed, the sound carrying through the corridors in a way that made it impossible to tell how close they were. Ten feet? Fifty? Right around the next corner?

My hands shook so badly I could barely grip the gurney's handle.

When a sudden burst of steam erupted from a pipe junction ahead, I nearly screamed.

"Just the environmental systems," Binwee said, though her voice was tight. She was nervous too. We all were.

One more turn. One more corridor.

By the time we reached the docking bay where Binwee's ship waited, my nerves were completely shot.

The ship was small—barely large enough for two people—but sleek and well-maintained. When Binwee opened the hatch, I saw she'd already packed everything we might need.

Food. Water. Medical supplies. Weapons. Blankets. A month's worth of survival gear compressed into a space the size of a studio apartment.

"Help me get him aboard," George said, and together we maneuvered the hover-gurney up the ramp.