*Wyl*

Wyl couldn't stand to be there a moment longer. He threw off his harness, shot up out of the seat, and walked as fast as he could manage to the back of the ship, where a tight little storage closet held extra equipment. Wyl opened it, got inside, and shut the door behind him. It was dark, but he needed the dark right now.

She'll kill me. As soon as she finds out. He knew it like he knew his love for Robbie. The easiest thing would be to give in to Mike, but he couldn't. I can hide, somewhere. Soon as we land, I'll run. God, I hope Robbie works fast.

The trip back seemed interminable. Wyl sat in the closet for most of the trip. There were a few things in there he figured he could use, as well as one of his old rucksacks to put the equipment in. Things that would help if he had to hole up. The flashlight was a good start...

He didn't bother strapping in for the landing, and Mike didn't call to him. His blood thrummed through his veins, and his heightened senses felt the change in pressure on the ship, the temperature shift, the slow lowering of the ship smoothly into the docking bay. As soon as the Wreck touched down he was into the hallway and opening the pressure door. He didn't even bother to lower the ramp, just hopped down onto the floor. Danica was there, and she didn't look happy.

"That took way too long—"

"Talk to Mike, he can tell you everything." Wyl evaded her and walked quickly towards the door, ignoring her shrill protest. He had to be gone before Mike told her about Robbie.

Where to go, where to go...a few more tools wouldn't go amiss. Maybe he had the time to grab some. He had to go through the mess hall to get to the shop, it was the central location in the base. He entered it at a run and turned to the left—

"Ouch!" Wyl bounced off the brick wall that was Taylor Paulsen. He fell back on his ass, the weight of the rucksack dragging him down.

"Jeez, Wyl, slow down." Taylor reached out a hand and helped Wyl up. "What's the rush, man?"

"T, I have to go, I have to hide, now," he said frantically.

"What the fuck happened?"

"Mike found out about Robbie, and he's telling Danica right now,.I can't stay and explain, T, I have to go—"

"Robbie is the guy?"

There was no time for Wyl to answer. A scream split the air, a piercing cry of insane fury that went on and on and on, like Hell's star soprano. "Fuck," Wyl breathed, "she knows."

"Get into the warehouse," Taylor ordered, hustling him in that direction. "There's years’ worth of equipment in there, and if you can jam the door, she won't be able—move!" He shoved Wyl to the side suddenly as the cracking shot of a gun rang out in the air. A bullet—an actual bullet, not a tranq dart or a mercy blast—slammed into the wall next to him. Danica had entered the mess hall, and she had a gun. It wavered in her hand, and her face was distorted with rage.

"Whore!" she shrieked, bringing the gun to bear again. Another crack and another bullet was discharged, again and again, following them in a line to the warehouse door. Taylor covered Wyl's body with his own as he pushed him through, then followed.

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Crack. A final shot made it to them just as Taylor hauled the door shut.

"Find something to block it with!" he shouted. Wyl threw his backpack off and pulled out the welding torch he had grabbed on the ship. He hastily jammed a new fuel cell on and, bringing it close and averting his eyes, torched the lock. Electronics hissed and burned and the edges of the metal door slagged to the wall. After a few moments he stopped.

"That should hold it for a bit," he gasped, "until she gets one of the mechanics to help her break through, and she looked pretty far gone to me, so who knows what's happening out there...T?" Taylor was still leaning against the door, but now it seemed to be supporting him, and his eyes were half-closed. "T...oh shit!" Wyl moved forward to catch him as the big man suddenly slumped to the ground. It wasn't until Wyl was next to him that he finally saw the blood. "She shot you?"

"Got me with the last one," Taylor muttered. "Last bloody shot. Never would have happened five years ago. Shot by some crazy, drugged-out asshole..." He started muttering under his breath.

"Where did she hit you?" Wyl asked.

"Somewhere in the gut. No big arteries, missed the spine, but...something's mad at me, for sure."

Even through the heavy door Wyl could hear Danica, still screaming, still firing rounds. "How the hell did she get a gun so fast? We have to move away from here."

"Won't be able to go far," Taylor said softly. He started shivering.

"Oh, fuck, the cold." Wyl had forgotten the freezing temperatures in the heat of the escape. Now he was suddenly aware of it again, that bone-biting chill that caught hold as soon as you entered. The cold season was at its height up above, and the air in the warehouse was grey with ice particles. "Here." He pulled his shirt off and wrapped it around Taylor's shoulders. "T, we have to get away from the door. You have to help me move you."

"Bloody bossy thing, aren't you." He managed to push himself to his feet, and Wyl immediately got under an arm. He looped through the strap of his discarded backpack with his foot and held the torch in his free hand. The two of them managed to limp perhaps a hundred yards deeper into the warehouse, losing sight of the door in the icy mist, finally coming to rest on the other side of the number two grinder. Taylor about lost consciousness then, and it was all Wyl could do to get him down on the ground as gently as possible. He spilled out the contents of the rucksack, then used the sack itself as a pad for Taylor's head. He crouched down and gingerly pulled back the bloody shirt.

"Well?" Taylor rasped. "What's it look like?"

"It's, umm, it's bleeding a lot, T."

"Tie something onto it, stop the flow..."

Wyl tore off the fabric of his pants from the calves down. One he used as a pad on Taylor's abdomen, pressing until his friend winced with pain, then tied it down with the other one. Blood seeped into the bandage but not all the way through it.

It was too cold. They'd die without heat, and soon. Wyl picked up the torch and aimed its fire at the metal side of the grinder. The metal slowly heated up under the assault, finally glowing a dull red as Wyl ran out of fuel. Grunting, he was able to move Taylor close enough to benefit a little from the heat. Suddenly exhausted, he slumped down next to his friend, pulled the sack gently out from under his head and replaced it with his own legs. He covered Taylor's chest with the rucksack, watching bleakly as the corner closest to the wound became bloody.

"I'm sorry, T. I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault," he said weakly. "Woman's mad. Leesie'll help."

"T, what can Leesie do?"

"She's...marshal."

"What?" Wyl blinked in astonishment. "Leesie is a marshal?"

"Yep."

"You aren't bonders?"

"Nah..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Wyl exclaimed.

He could just barely make out the faint smile on Taylor's face. "You never asked." He coughed harshly, once. "Damn. Long time since I've been shot."

"What are you guys doing here?"

"'vestigating Danica. Leesie's been building a case for a year...meant to report before Danica caused too many problems for you, but you kinda took that out of her hands."

He had, in a big way. "So Leesie's a marshal. Are you one too?"

"Nah." Taylor coughed again. "I'm a cook. Used to be a marine. Wish I'd gotten to keep my damn combat mods." Taylor's eyes closed, and his head fell back against Wyl. He looked completely exhausted. The heat was slowly fading from behind them.

Wyl carefully checked the contents of the sack, trying not to jostle Taylor. There were three more fuel cells. How much heat would that give them? How long could he make it last? And most importantly, would it be enough? He hoped it would be enough.