Wham! Out of the Grey Veil, like a shot out of a cannon, down an alleyway, and then another two and we hit the main thoroughfare at a fair lick, trying to blend in with the late-night station hubbub, but at the same time get a wriggle on and put some distance between us and Shasta’s crowd. And it wasn’t just Shasta’s people we had to worry about, by now Krenz and his goons would have either left while they were undocked or made it back to the station, which meant we had, probably, at least two groups who would dearly love to see us stuffed in a cargo crate and turned into chicken food.

Florence, seemed pretty focussed. She kept her head down, walking just ahead of me, and I matched her pace. After a few minutes of what could best be described as going nowhere in particular, but with a purpose, I grabbed hold of her arm and eased her off to the side of the thoroughfare.

“Hey,” I said, “I think we need to get to the admin levels, to the Archives, I reckon Jake Firby could help us off this station before things get any worse?”

She stood stock still, looking at me. And then sighed and let her shoulders drop a bit. “OK,” she said, “but can we trust him? That whole thing with Shasta was, well, unnecessary and now we’ve got two groups of nut-jobs on our tail.”

“True,” I said, and you’re right, I should have used my loaf a bit more, rather than follow the advice of some spotty-faced engine mechanic I hardly know. I just wanted us to be out of sight with time to catch our breath and I thought it would be the best way. I was wrong. Obviously. But Jake Firby is a different sort of bloke. He got me here, after all and I do trust him. How about we try and get to him? He might not be able to help us, but I’m pretty sure he wont hurt us.”

She shrugged. Honestly, she looked completely exhausted. I just wanted to hug her, but my ‘Oh-er,’ sense of ‘101 things I should probably not do right now’ was holding me back. “OK,” she said, quietly.

“OK,” I said.

So we set off. It all went well for about five minutes and then, as we cut through a narrow alley between two rows of stalls selling weird bits of ship parts, Florence glanced over her shoulder. “You see them?”

I hadn’t, so I shook my head, but I knew if Florence had seen someone, they were definitely there. I reckoned Shasta’s heavies might be moderately subtle, at least at first. Krenz though? I reckoned not so much.

As if summoned by thought alone, a broad-shouldered man in a long but battered coat stepped into our path about fifteen metres ahead of us. Another one was over to our the right, a similar distance away.

Florence didn’t break stride. “Left,” she muttered.

We turned sharply into what turned out to be a service corridor, pushing past a couple of service drones. I heard a scuffle behind us as our pursuers tried to follow but were slowed by the service drones who, suddenly awake to the influx of humans, were blocking they way and broadcasting in every language imaginable “This is a service passage, authorised service personnel only. Please return to the main thoroughfare. Security has been notified of your presence in this passage.” We moved fast, heading, it seemed, towards some lower transport levels normally used only by Station infrastructure teams. From there, I guessed, Florence was hoping we could cut through maintenance tunnels and avoid the main passages where trouble might be waiting for us.

A siren whooped briefly, then cut off. An announcement in three different languages crackled overhead about unauthorised movement in restricted zones.

“Oh, that’s probably for us,” I muttered.

“Yes, probably, but never mind. Keep moving,” Florence said.

It was all really interesting in a ‘tour of the factory’ sort of way. and if I’d had more time and a less pressing desire to ‘RUN AWAY’, I’d have enjoyed the tour. We passed through a decontamination bay, the automated system giving an excitingly pungent soaking of some sort of anti-microbial spray as we forced our way through. Everywhere the lights flickered overhead, and a hum filled the air. This felt very much like a backstage area populated only by servitors and security. Nevertheless, we could both hear the two goons we’d dodged hammering along behind us. They’d obviously got past the service drones. It was like a maze back here anti was hard to figure out which way to go. I was pretty sure at one point that we were retracing steps we’d already taken, but the only real option was to press on. I was pretty much disorientated, and I wasn’t at all sure that Florence knew where we were going either. We were just getting away from bad people.

Florence turned sharply and yanked me into a side compartment. The door hissed shut behind us, plunging us into darkness. We crouched low, trying not to breath. Outside, heavy boots pounded past.

I exhaled slowly. “Back the way we came?”

“I don’t know. I can’t say I’m sure of our directions at all. Let’s try it.”

We left the alcove, heading back the way we’d just come but everywhere looked the same. I was well and truly lost. and then took a quick turn through a short corridor off to our left. We crept through the side corridor, and emerged into an old storage bay stacked high with unclaimed freight. The automated systems had long since shut down, leaving the place in dim emergency lighting.

Florence stopped suddenly, pressing a hand against my chest. I opened my mouth to question her, but she pointed.

A figure moved between the crates, slow, deliberate. Another stepped into view, they were sweeping the storage bay, looking for us.

“Mr Intimidating,” Florence whispered. Krenz’s goons.

I glanced around for another exit. “Ideas?”

Florence pointed upward. A maintenance ladder led to a narrow gantry above the crates.