Their Fractured Light (Starbound #3)(33)
I get to work, shoving gear and protein gel packets into the bag. Abruptly there’s a scream from outside the door, audible even through the layers of steel, and when my gaze flies up to the security screens, one of the fuzzy figures is lying on the ground.
“Defense measures won’t hold them forever,” Gideon says tightly. “Gas should release in a minute, but if they’re smart they’ll have masks.” He grabs for a handheld device that, once he clicks it on, emits a drone so high-pitched it’s nearly silent, while at the same time making my jaw ache. He starts swiping it up and down the banks of drives—the screen showing the security feed flickers, striated by white and black lines, then goes blank. A paper clip lying on one of the drives zips over and clings to the device—an electromagnet. He’s erasing his tracks.
“These here,” he commands, gesturing at a cabinet, and I dutifully empty a box of thumb drives into my pack. Then Gideon’s pressing tiny bricks of what looks like thick clay against the interior of the computer drive cabinet. I’m moving to add a bigger, heavier external drive to the others in my bag when he jerks to his feet and takes it from me. “No—that goes in here.” He slips the drive into his own bag, giving it an affectionate pat. “This one’s aluminized, keeps it from being wiped. That drive’s too important to risk.” As he speaks, he’s moving—a few steps and he’s at my side, stooping to grab at the edge of the faded rug on the floor and fling it aside.
“Oh, for the love of—” For a moment I forget the people trying to break into our sanctuary, staring at the trapdoor that the rug had been hiding. “You’re like a villain out of an old movie. I should’ve known the only homey touch here was to hide your getaway.”
“Can’t go wrong with the classics,” Gideon replies, and though the joke sounds like him, his voice doesn’t. It’s still tight with distress, and I can see panic starting to seep into his gaze, despite what must be a well-rehearsed contingency plan.
He’s not used to people finding him, I realize. He hasn’t lived the life I have over the past year, always only a step or two ahead of the Knave, always waiting for him to find me and drive me to move on again.
“Let’s go,” I say, and he stops staring at the trapdoor and instead hauls it open. I start down the ladder it reveals, then pause. “We need to get the rug back over the trapdoor somehow, or they’ll just figure out where we went.”
“They’ll have other things on their minds,” Gideon says grimly. “Hurry.”
The ladder leads down into what must be an old, forgotten sewer from when the undercity of Corinth was the only city. Now it’s dry and empty and, when Gideon slams the trapdoor closed above us, utterly pitch-black. I freeze, trying to remember if I shoved a flashlight into the pack of gear on my back, but before I can start to look, a soft reddish glow illuminates the tunnel.
I glance back to see Gideon clipping an LED lamp to his collar and tossing a second one to me. Smart—the red light is the part of the spectrum least likely to ruin our night vision. If we have to shut off the lamps and hide, we’ll still be able to see as well as anything else down here.
“We have to keep moving,” says Gideon, his voice still strained, making my heart ache. I did this to him.
“Gideon, I’m so sorry. I never meant—”
“It’s not your fault,” he interrupts, before lifting his gaze to meet mine. The red light drains his face of any other color, leaching the sandy brown from his hair, the hazel from his eyes. He takes a breath, and when he speaks again, he sounds a little more like himself. “I can start over. We’re in this together.”
I swallow, and while I wish I could think of something to say, there’s no time for that. Despite Gideon’s promise, I’m expecting those goons to pull open the trapdoor at any moment. I take off down the tunnel again, Gideon’s footsteps right behind me.
I can hear him counting under his breath as we move, but not at the right pace to be keeping time—he’s counting out our steps. I’m about to ask why, when he reaches one hundred and pauses. I turn to see him holding something, about the size of a thumb drive or a gambling chip. He sucks in a breath and glances at me. “Brace yourself.”
I don’t have time to ask for more details, because he’s pressing a button on the object and then a sound blasts down the tunnel, making me cry out in spite of myself and clap my hands over my ears. A shower of dust and cobwebs and other things I don’t want to know about patters down onto my hair and shoulders, and I have to fight the impulse to throw myself to the ground. I know that sound. I know it so well it echoes in my nightmares, makes my shoulder throb with remembered pain.
An explosion.
The echoes of it through the tunnel die away, leaving me gasping, shaking, staring at Gideon, who slips the device back into his pocket. “What the—you said—”
He shakes his head, speaking softly. “The echoes make it sound bigger than it was. The charges were just to destroy anything left on my drives. Even if they were already inside, the worst they’d get would be some ringing ears and maybe some bruises if the force knocked them back.”
My mouth tastes bitter, and though I’m trying to make myself move again, my muscles are tense and shaking. Through the dim red light of the LEDs I can almost see the first responders at the base on Avon running toward the flames, can almost smell the acrid smoke and chemicals, can almost hear the shouts and screams of wounded soldiers beginning to fill the air.