Gaia's Brood

Chapter 17

With my mind churning, I flee through the narrow maze of shady alleys; stumble down steps, trip on uneven paving boards, dodge lines of washing stretching between the shabby tenements of the underdeck; I pray I don't accidentally choose a blind alley and scan frantically for anything that might help me.

When fleeing a pursuer, grab anything that presents itself as a weapon. Whatever you do, don't slow down. Or even worse, fall over.

I try to clear my mind and focus on the task at hand. "Run to survive, run to survive, run to survive," I chant silently in time with my breathing. I slow my pace a bit so I can plan where I'm going and place my feet firmly to avoid tripping. Gradually, my head clears, my focus sharpens, and my confidence rises. "I am the wind, sure and fast; I'm fleet of foot and clear of mind." Thankfully, I enter the 'zone,' where running and breathing become automatic, and my mind is free to think about survival tactics.

I snatch a garment from a washing line as I race by it and start unthreading the belt, which can make a useful weapon, especially one with a metal buckle; extending your reach by another arm's length.

Junction. I turn rim-ward into a wider street with market stalls along either side, and a clear space for carts down the center. I trust that all main streets lead to the docks, like on New Frisco.

The lead assassin is nearly on me. The belt finally comes free and I throw the garment behind me without looking.

Crash. "Oi."

I chance a glance over my shoulder and grin with delight to see an assassin's legs flailing about in a tumble of fruit. A crowd is already gathering round him, and a young lady is beating him with a broom. The assassin scrambles up hastily to continue the pursuit, only for the broom wielder to expertly hook his feet out from under him, then whack him to the ground. I grin broadly: one assassin hand-bagged.

With quick glances over my shoulder, I reassess the situation: only one assassin still pursuing, but not too close—almost free of both assassins, but where are the others? Maybe I have lost them. But my gut tells me I have not. They know this area much better than I do; I increase my speed—I need to find steps leading down to level fourteen.

Random thoughts pop into my mind: Borker is leading the hunt to solve Felix's murder which he wants to pin on me; Felix was killed by a Krys-knife, probably at the hand of an assassin. Borker is an assassin. What does all this mean?

Maybe I should just give up now so they let my friends go free. Perhaps I can bargain with them—my life for my crew's freedom. But that's not me—I never give up, not when there are still options. Concentrate on staying alive, Nina, just concentrate on staying alive. I push the jumbled thoughts out of my mind and run on. I'm back in the zone.

Suddenly, right in front of me, someone breaks out of a side alley to my left. Another assassin. Instinctively I duck right, down another narrow alley, toppling a stack of boxes as I pass; another few seconds gained, maybe.

"Stop, thief!"

I loop the leather flight jacket I've just snatched out of an aviator's hand around my left wrist. If I have to stop and fight it might dampen a few blows—it's worth a try anyway. If nothing else I can flick the dangling sleeve in someone's face to distract them.

Another assassin; heading straight for me. Borker.

I turn left. Steps. Going up instead of down, but I have no option. I take the steps two at a time—I can feel my leg muscles starting to cramp, I don't have much time left at this speed. The assassins are herding me: away from the Shonti Bloom.

At the top of the steps I double back towards the docks again. More steps ahead. Leading to the lower deck this time—thank goodness. I reach the head of the steps at the same time as an assassin coming up.