Free Rebels and Lovers by Linnea Sinclair Page B

Guthrie’s too—somewhere. If not, there was always the main GGS office comm code. She could leave a message—
    A loud thud, then another, then a hard grunt slowed her steps. A fight in a cross corridor just before the stairwell, or another of Orvis’s henchmen doing his job? She palmed her L7, flicking it to low stun as more grunts and thuds echoed. She’d make a dash for the stairwell doorway but at least be able to counter anything that might come her way—without incurring a fine if she had to defend herself. Stripers let you off with a warning if you zapped someone with low stun. Full stun meant fines and jailtime.
    If that’s Orvis, it might almost be worth it
.
    She bolted through the intersection, skittering to a halt at the last moment—heart leaping to her throat—because she saw Trip Guthrie and he saw her. Just as he delivered one hell of a good punch to some bearded guy’s face.
    Fuzz-face staggered back, slamming against the bulkhead. But Fuzz-face had a friend—big and bald—who even now reached for Trip’s shoulder.
    She fired the L7.
    “Trippy!” she called, as the guy next to him hit the decking like a bucket of bricks in max-G. Even low stun put you flat out, though not for long.
    “Captain?” Trip’s blue eyes were wide in surprise. A thin trail of blood leaked from his nose. He swayed slightly.
    She lunged the three steps it took to reach him, grabbed his wrist, and tugged. “This way!” Fuzz-face was straightening, shaking his head, reaching for a pistol holstered to his thigh. … But there was another sound coming closer. Boot steps. Stripers or backup, she didn’t know. Either was big trouble, and with a dazed, bleeding kid by her side, she didn’t want to wait around to find out.
    “Now!” she yelled, jerking harder on his arm. That got him moving as the boot steps pounded louder.
    The whine of high-powered laser fire hummed through the air just as she yanked him through the stairwell entrance. Why was it only the good guys who set their weapons to low stun per station regs? She shoved Trip ahead of her. “Down!” She had to lose their pursuers before heading for her ship.
    But judging from the clatter of boots, their pursuers liked
down
too. So she pushed Trip through the stairwell doorway at the next landing and out into the corridor again. They needed someplace busy, a crowd toblend into—a crowd that knew her and would defend her. And she could think of no place busier—and more craving a good bar fight—than Trouble’s Brewing.
    If they could get there without the kid passing out on her. Or their being shot in the back. Whichever came first.

Kaidee never liked Yellow Level on Dock Five. Years ago, someone had spray-painted
Welcome to Pisstown
on a bulkhead near the main lifts, and though the paint had faded, it was still legible. She didn’t need to see the words. The sharp odor from the freighter bay waste-recycling system one deck below engulfed her as she and Trippy Guthrie barreled out of the stairwell and into the corridor.
    Trip was coughing as they stepped quickly sideways, almost knocking over a trio of dockworkers.
    “Hey!”
    “Sorry,” she called.
Keep moving. Keep moving
.
    Trip coughed again, then dragged his sleeve under his nose, blood staining the tan fabric of his jacket.
    “We’ll fix that in a minute,” she told him. She still had her fingers locked around his wrist, though he was trotting pretty well now, darting through the crowds and around the occasional wobbling servobot as easily as she did. She wanted to move quickly without running. Running attracted all kinds of attention. They needed to blend in, then disappear.
    “Keep your head down,” she added. His height wasn’t an advantage at the moment—not unless she could insert them both into a trio of Takas. But with Frinks’s friend on the loose, that held trouble too. A group of Stolorths, maybe …
    “This way!” She dragged him abruptly into a side corridor, took the first