Escape the Federation, Ch1
17 Oct 2022MdN
They were being hunted, there was no doubt. What had this girl got them into, wondered Morgan. A drug mule years ago she'd said, do the Feds really hold a grudge that long?They kept to the crowded parts of the Coriolis, Morgan dragging them from place to place. Always moving. Tracy took darting looks over her shoulder every few seconds with a look of desperation on her face. Her two friends sheepishly looked for a bolt hole, whispering conspiratorially between themselves; the Feds didn't want them after all. Morgan considered cutting them loose, let them fend for themselves while he rescued the girl.
This used to be his bread and butter. Once upon a time, evading Federal law enforcement on their own turf would have been fun and exhilarating. He was older now. He knew the risks. It was also exhausting.
"Quick, in here," he dragged Tracy into a crowded bar he vaguely recognised from previous visits, a long time ago. The two boys followed. Pulling Tracy by the arm, he led the sorry gang through the dancing throng towards the rear. The music was loud, the lights were dim, no way would they find them here. The door to the back office was exactly where he remembered. Had it really been a decade since his last trip here?
"Forbidden, no entry!" said the sign in big red letters on a white circle.
He reached for the handle anyway. The lights in the club came on in a sudden blinding glare. There were moans and groans throughout the bar, and a few jeers from the dancers as the music cut out.
"This is a security check, please remain where you are while we process you," the tannoy announced. Panic ensued as those with illicit substances looked around for somewhere to stash them. One or two ran for the exit - a stupid, ill conceived decision they realised as Federal Security floored them with body checks.
'Damn they were quick,' thought Morgan, 'they must have been nearly on us.'
The door with the forbidden sign opened with no resistance and he pushed Tracy through and closed it behind them. Her friends were left outside, distracted by the commotion - they would only slow them down now, and giving the Feds someone to process might hold them up a while. Besides, he had no desire to share his secret escape route with that pair of junkies. He locked the door to prevent them following and heard shouts and a scuffle from the other side.
He could feel his heart pounding, adrenaline flooding his body. That never used to happen; he'd got lazy, lost his edge over the last decade.
"That door," he pointed to the far wall as he let go of Tracy's hand. She scrambled around the desks in the office, weaving in the direction he'd given her. Morgan turned over a table to prop against the door they'd arrived through. A filing cabinet was pushed against it too. That would have to do. Then he ran after her as she held the door open for him.
"You'd better still be there Lucy, don't let me down now girl!" he said as they emerged into the passageway beyond.
He pointed Tracy towards the industrial heart of the station that the club's rear door had opened up to. They ran towards it. Small industrial units advertised engineering services of different kinds, but Morgan kept running, and Tracy did her best to keep up. They were near the hangars now, he knew, above them was the docking bay. Most of these units were workshops related to ship repair or maintenance. It was around here somewhere, he remembered, had it really been that long.
"Yes, you beauty!"
He'd found the one he wanted and sprinted over to it. Tracy, lagging behind, couldn't keep pace. It was a large unit, or so it looked from outside. The noise from inside was deafening as they approached. Engines revved and the floor shook. Deep, throbbing, powerful ship engines which made the floor vibrate beneath them. The unit was on the outer ring of hangars with direct access to the landing bay.
Tracy mouthed something at Morgan, but the noise drowned her out.
There was a walk-in door beside the large garage door which was adorned with three big letters: LNR. Surrounding those letters was an almost complete golden circle of stars, each representing a championship win with the year printed inside it. The letters themselves were super-imposed over a fast looking ship that Tracy had never seen before. Sponsor logos ran down one side of the garage door, among them De Nigh Mining. Morgan held open the walk-in door for her and beckoned her through.
The receptionist examined them briefly and went back to whatever it was she was doing, pointless attempting a conversation in this din. After a few seconds the noise died down and the receptionist looked up again with an enquiring smile.
"Hi, is Lucy around today?" Morgan asked.
The look on the receptionist's face suggested this scenario had played out many times before. "I'm sorry, Ms Newcombe doesn't meet anyone without an appointment." "If you'd like to fill out this ...," she shoved a contact form at him across the reception desk. Morgan was as certain as the receptionist that Lucy Newcombe would not respond to that contact form. Neither said so.
"She'll see me," Morgan cut her off, "she has my ship in storage." He hoped she had, at least, but that was best left unsaid.
The forced smile on the receptionist's face changed to confusion. At that moment the door to the workshop opened and a greasy oil covered pair of overalls walked through.
"We, err, don't do ship storage," the receptionist said to Morgan while handing the lady in overalls a clipboard.
"Yes you do," he said firmly, "my name's Morgan."
The mechanic slowly looked up from the clipboard and found Morgan's eyes staring straight at her.
"Ohhh," was all the mechanic could manage. The receptionist cast an enquiring glance towards her boss, then back towards Morgan, but she couldn't break their locked gaze. A silence that felt like eternity was eventually broken.
"Hi Lucy, I'm hoping you still have something of mine."
"Oh good God, I thought I'd seen the last of you."
"Well that's not very nice," he chuckled breaking the ice.
"Marie," Lucy addressed the receptionist without averting her gaze, "would you fetch me the keys to hangar 53 please."
"Hangar 53?" her state of confusion visibly increased but she rummaged through the key draw anyway, "I didn't know we ..."
"We need to leave this station," Morgan told her referring to Tracy who she noticed for the first time. "Urgently!"
The floor began to vibrate once more, but from a different direction. A new engine could be heard warming up. This one was a deeper, almost menacing growl. There was almost, Morgan thought, an element of excitement in its tone.
"Don't worry, Marie," her boss replied, still looking straight at Morgan, "I don't think we'll be needing keys." Then, smiling for the first time, "Hangar 53 is that way," she pointed. "I'm sure Minerva will have opened the door by the time you get there, in some fashion," she winked.
Out into the workshop they went, past half a dozen mechanics stripping down racing skiffs that shared the same Lucy Newcombe Racing livery as the door they'd passed through earlier. Then further along the line of engineering workshops that ran parallel to hangars which serviced the landing bay above.
"49, 50, 51, ..." Morgan read the numbers on the hangar entrances.
It took a few minutes. A couple of the hangars before 53 were set to accommodate the huge Type 9 heavy transporter. Those seemed to stretch on forever. Most of the hangars showed signs of recent activity, but not 53. As he approached Morgan could see boxes piled up against it, and old parts discarded around the door. It looked like no one had used it for months, or maybe even longer.
The engine they'd heard starting earlier was coming from here. Morgan recognised the hollow sounding bass notes of his old ship. It had always brought a smile to his face.
When they were almost at the door it disappeared in a flash of light and a minor explosion. It sent a couple of boxes flying across the roadway from where they were piled up and others toppled over. Engine steam escaped through the door way into the workshop area accompanying the smoke from the blasted door.
Morgan stopped at the door way to wait for Tracy to catch up. As he looked back in the direction they'd come he shouted out: "How's the race team doing?"
"Very well," Lucy replied, signing OK with her fingers. He was too far away to see the smile, "thanks for asking."
"Team sponsors must be delighted then," he waved and disappeared through the hole in the wall that once held a door.
He didn't see her as he disappeared into the hangar. A tear of loss in her eye. But was that for the man, or the machine?