What Price the Stars? Part 12

Michael ran. He ran to escape Alexi. He ran to escape Li. He ran to escape the foundry, the ghosts of the Grig, and the hundred eyes of the Watchman. He ran until his sides hurt and his teeth ached. The soles of his shoes cracked open, but he ran on. Once, he tripped and fell headlong on the translucent floor. He might have rested there, but the inhuman faces that peered up from the depths below goaded him back into motion, and he ran on.

Perhaps it was the spots before his eyes, or one of the many glances over his shoulder, but for whatever reason, Michael was taken completely by surprise when he ran out of floor. He screamed the last of his wind as he flew out into space. But the giant hand of the gravity lift caught him, and he sank slowly toward the rostrum far below.

Safe in the lift, Michael rested. As his head cleared, he was clobbered by a rush of guilt. Hull sealing foam filled cavities instantly, and hardened in seconds. If Alexi hadn’t managed to clear her airway, she was already dead. The thought made him sick to his stomach. Yes, Alexi had betrayed him, and yes, she’d slept with Jørgen. She was ambitious to a fault, and always had been. But she was a friend, and sometimes more than a friend. The twist of fate that pitted them against each other wasn’t fair. After the adrenaline wore off, he was going to hurt like he’d never hurt before.

There was a swish of moving air overhead. Michael blinked away his tears and looked up. A figure hung in midair high above him, naked and pale in the wan light. Alexi.

Michael’s heart caught in his mouth, fulminating with relief and fear admixed. “Alechka!!” he shouted hopefully.

She didn’t reply.

“Alechka! Are you okay?”

It was then that Michael noticed her hands and feet were black with blood. Hope died inside of him. She was still under Li’s control. She’d ripped her bare feet chasing him across the empty kilometers of the hall. But why were her hands bloody? Who else had she killed, and how many? At least she hadn’t died by his hand. It was cold comfort.

She couldn't gain on Michael as long as they were entrained in the lift. He took the opportunity to search for a hiding place below. To his horror, there was none. The flotilla of massive cargo ships he’d seen earlier were gone, flown away to parts unknown. The conveyor lines were empty, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. The foundry had no night shift. The only thing near the foot of the cliff was a cluster of idle antigravity sleds. There was nowhere to hide from the huntress.

But there was another option, one that Michael hardly dared to think of.

A memory surfaced, and a desperate plan formed around it. He hated the plan, and hated himself even more for imagining it, but it was the only way to survive.

The instant he touched the floor he was off and running. He sprinted to the nearest sled, a brute of a machine bearing a tokomak auxiliary power unit. With his eyes on Alexi–who was descending from above like a destroying angel, no more than fifty meters up–Michael gave the sled a mighty shove toward the lift. It moved easily. Straining with all his might, he got the sled moving at a fast clip. A final shove sent it fishtailing into the lift.

The sled shot straight up like a rocket.

Just as Jørgen had warned, Alexi dropped the last ten meters like a rock. She landed hard on her feet. Her ankles snapped, her legs folded, and she pitched forward onto her face.

The shivering crash of the huge tokomak falling to the floor couldn’t drown out Michael’s wail of anguish.

Throwing caution to the winds, he rushed to Alexi’s side. Her blonde hair was matted with patch foam, and the back of her jacket was blood-soaked from a flechette wound in her shoulder. She’d been in a battle.

Michael reached out with trembling hands to find her pulse. It was an unfortunate decision. In a flash, Alexi lashed out with her razor-sharp talons. Michael squirmed back in the nick of time. Her slash missed his windpipe by millimeters, but it raked across his left hand, taking three of his fingers with it. Screaming in agony, Michael curled around his mutilated hand.

Alexi haltingly arose. Even gripped in Li’s thrall, she squealed from the pain of standing on her ruined feet. “I’m sorry, Mishka, please forgive me,” she sobbed, even as she took a menacing step toward him. Her smashed ankles couldn’t support her, and she collapsed. But she kept coming, crawling on all fours.

Michael scooted away, leaving a slick trail of blood. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he gasped through his pain. “This is Li’s doing. I don’t blame you.”

“No, when I still had control,” she groaned, before taking another swipe that just missed his foot. “I stunned you, Mishka. I hurt you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Fight back!”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve got no control over my body, Mishka. I’m just a passenger trapped in here.”

“There must be a way. You couldn’t talk before,” Michael insisted.

“Don’t you understand?” she wailed. “He’s letting me talk! He’s toying with us. He’ll let me beg for forgiveness while he makes me rip out your heart! Get away, Mishka! Run while you still can–ulp!” Her mouth snapped shut. She’d said too much.

But Michael was already on his feet and running for his life. Again.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12