Page 23 of Downfall

She couldn’t afford to waste time wondering why Tristan, a guard pilot, was even there to interrogate Stag, because surely that was what these three coming down to the brig were. They moved at the same time, and Tez lashed out with the prod in her hand, now activated, catching one of them on the arm. Stag jumped to action, finding some strength to start throwing haphazard punches. At least they’d had the element of surprise. Tez zeroed in on Tristan, herding him against the wall with the tip of the prod. If he listened, Stag might not have to hurt him. She heard the sickening crack of heads being bashed together to her right.

The interrogators had the power when he was caged like an animal, but out here in the wild, Stag had a physical advantage—or he would have if he hadn’t been on the verge of collapse.

“What the fuck, Tez?” Tristan ground through gritted teeth, pressed back at the threat of electricity.

It took a few minutes to drag the unconscious bodies into the holding area and shepherd Tristan into the cell next to Peron. He cooperated, thankfully, throwing his comms bracelet between the bars as instructed.

“I knew there was something off when I first saw you two down on Arvex,” Tristan spat, looking between her and Stag as they prepared to leave. “I fucking knew it.”

“Tessa, let’s go.” The urgency in Stag’s voice behind her was reassuring—he sounded confident, no longer hesitant about the plan she’d unilaterally put into action. He wasn’t stupid; he knew the only way now was forward. She turned around and pulled them both into the elevator.

* * *

The ride up to the docking bay was endless and awkward until Tez realized she needed to procure a Raptor. She rattled off instructions into her comms bracelet, doing her best to sound like the calm and authoritative Level III she was instead of the panting, panicked traitor.

“Prep a Raptor for me, stat. I’m going out,” she said, glancing over at Stag.

It was lucky that the voice coming from the other end seemed to be foreign—a new docksman just arrived for renewed mining activity, not the one she knew well enough to question her.

“Mission ID?”

“Informal, Level III auth, going to do an unscheduled patrol. Last hurrah before shipping off,” she added with a forced chuckle.

There was a moment of silence in which she and Stag exchanged worried glances, and she grew increasingly sure that the instruction would be denied. They’d be found out. One of the guys down at the brig could have broken out and raised the alarm, or her auth hadn’t cleared yet, or something.

“Good to go. Got a Raptor fueled up on standby, slot A3. You got her for twenty mins.”

“Thanks, man. Up in a minute.”

“So how were you intending on getting me across the bay and into a Raptor unnoticed, you little rebel?” Stag was leaning against the wall, holding his ribs, but she didn’t miss the undercurrent of pride in his voice.

The elevator doors hissed open then, and Tez ducked her head out to make sure it was all clear. It was late, and the only activity in the dock would be the docksman on duty and scheduled patrols. She wasn’t expecting much else at this hour.

Tez motioned for him to follow her out. The elevator was in a small enclave not exposed to the blinding lights of the main floor, providing a volatile hiding spot.

“Wait here. A3’s on the left, airlock’s right across. I’ll take a different path to guide it out past here. I’ll leave the lower hatch open, but you’ll have to duck under and pull yourself up there. Ramp’ll drag too loudly.”

Stag nodded, which was enough acknowledgment for her. She handed him the baton and turned around, preparing to stride across the dock through her spot. She was stopped short by a hand on her arm, dragging her back. His mouth was on her in a hard, clumsy kiss that was over in less than a second.

The taste of him was still on her lips as she smoothed down her hair, straightened her back, and went out there.

* * *

The Raptor was already keyed to the auth chip embedded in the back of her hand when she got there. Walking across the bay was the hardest part—she was ultra-fixated on her every move, trying to look natural. She was stiff as a board, fighting to keep her strides calm and unhurried as she made her way to A3. Were her hips too rigid? Her steps too short? Too long? Was she swinging her arms too much?

Tez climbed up the side of the Raptor into the cockpit entry and suited up. Once she sank into the pilot’s seat and pulled the helmet over her head, plugging in the emergency ox valve, her body finally went into autopilot. She knew this, every motion imprinted into her joints and muscles like second nature. She glanced at the controls that whirred to life at the flicks of her fingers and flipped the switch to open the lower cargo hatch.

“Raptor Aspen 9 on standby, pending exit clearance,” she spoke into the mic to the docksman.

“Roger that, Aspen 9. Hold.”

She held, all right—both the Raptor and her breath. Her thumbs stroked the smooth, curved surface of the yoke as she waited. Five seconds passed, then ten, twenty, and it was taking too long. There was no one in the queue to go out, and she knew no one was coming in for a shift change, so what was taking so long? Sweat beaded her brow as she prepared for Plan B. Her hand hovered over the weapons-arm switch.

“Aspen 9, clear to go.”

The stale air she’d been holding rushed out of her lungs, relief flooding her head.

“Roger.”

---