Free Nemecene: The Epoch of Redress by Kaz Lefave Page B

dozen or so surges, her slender fingertips freeze, tenuously curled around the slit on the southernmost floor, with the point of her boots barely clinging to what little friction her weight can produce. There are murmurs at the cusp of the next curve, blocking her ascent.
    Considering that it is not possible to invade the upcoming section without forcing the stored sunlight in the tunnel through the slot she will need, her choice is evident. An inoperative flume will raise an alert, and the second line protectors will flush from the walls. It is not her intent to entice them to stir at this juncture, so she widens the gap where she stopped, slips silently into the sombre space beyond and realigns the frequencies. She braces for the wrath of the awakening sentinel.
    As Nathruyu performs her evasive dance with the disgruntled beast scowling down at her, she keeps a mindful ear to the shuffling of feet above. Timing her steps to the rhythm of the creature's dives, she humors it long enough for the talking to taper, and then, confusing her attacker, hastily reenables the lift, reestablishes her course, and collapses the hole after her. An instant's reprieve, and up the bend she soars, guiding her body to the frigid cell, devoid of light, hairy defenders, or any other apparent signs of security. As she trespasses further in the cold vault, her temperature steadily drops. She is reminded of the perils inherent in lingering and quickens her pace towards a diminutive figure left supine and inanimate on the elevated platform.
    Dusk has only just acquiesced to the moon as it funnels the solar reflection through the semitransparent architecture and bathes the shape of a person in an amethyst glow. She reaches for the tools, artfully concealed between the layers of her clothing, and tempers her breathing to stabilize the explosion of conflict inside. Brushing the soggy bangs from the girl's forehead, she finds evidence of their tampering and plunges her into a deeper phase of suspension. Her brain already prepped for the impending modifications, she firmly cups the back of the girl's neck, locates the void at the base of her skull, and burrows into it. Nathruyu nods in approval, then systematically rolls the flaccid youngster to an appropriate angle, frees her hair from the site, and leans over her as she slices, catching a red spray with her chest. As she feverishly bores her thumb into the wound, she searches the cavity, sharply aware of the gravity of her actions, and confirms her suspicions.
    The distant sound of the matter generator, forming some virtachairs, echoes from the shaft behind her as the familiar tone of his voice draws dangerously near. Driven to forsake her unwitting donor, she creates a temporary rift to the outdoors, glides her lean frame through it, and steps gingerly onto the flat top of the adjoining pod. There she waits, anticipating a code three lockdown once they discover the growing crimson river she has released, draining from the slab and pouring into a viscous pool around their feet. The surprise interruption has betrayed the desecration and has thwarted its completion, putting the child unnecessarily at risk and compromising her plotted exit strategy. She kneels and lays an inquisitive hand on the cool translucent quartz, anxiously trusting that their attention will stay drawn to the patient while they strive to dam the flow of blood. As she labors to abate the crescendo of tremors overtaking her nerves in order to avoid transmitting them via the ceiling, she redirects her focus to the vibrations emanating from their agitated dialog.
    As per instructions, a state of emergency seizes the building, and GMU operatives stealthily assemble and fortify the boundaries of the university property. Nathruyu's options are scant. She shrinks her stature and holds fast to her coat, as she pastes her ribs to her thighs, bringing another palm and one ear to the conversation below. He is reprimanding their carelessness and