The shot that had killed Gordo vaguely echoed and then faded. The hallway was silent. Then the hurried footsteps from before started again, slower than before.

They’re cautious.

Soon I can notice them through the walls as they approach the corner, the phones, personal devices, and weapons they carry cause interference, making their numbers and other details unclear but their pretense and location evident.

“Nine to fifteen people would be my estimate, all armed. They’ll reach the corner in twenty seconds at that speed.”

“Alright, listen: Follow me to the corner, grab unto the seem there and stay behind it until the fight´s done. Once I tell you to you can turn grav on, not before. Clear?”

“Clear.”

We move up.

They are getting closer so I pull out the burner phone. Mars looks to me with a questioning look

I raise my hand, five fingers.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One. I click the touch button on the call screen.

The vast majority of the human population inhabits a planet or moon and the majority of those who don’t, live most of their lives under attractor-created artificial gravity. This means that most humans only have a rudimental knowledge of zero gravity movement and maneuvering.

I’ve been living and working in zero-G for my entire life, my body is specially enhanced to resist the disorienting and damaging effects such an environment has on the body of an animal that evolved under one G of constant pressure.

I cannot maneuver as Mars does.

The instant grav goes out, leverage and balance shift. I need to take a moment to right and orient myself.

Mars is around the corner, floating horizontally to reduce the area she presents to her opponents.

The deafening noise of my homemade railgun echoes. Once, twice, thrice. Mars uses the repulsors under her suit to compensate for recoil, move from wall to wall to wall, and push-off, slowly advancing further into the hallway, away from my sight.

Through the wall, I can see floating bodies moved back by violent and invisible strikes as the kinetic impactors crush through them.

The railgun has limited ammo and no secondary magazine. You would actually have to completely disassemble the gun to reload, design concessions you had to make when considering the tools and improvised materials you had had available.

Six shots were all it had and Mars seemed to be conserving the last two by reaching the first assailant and taking their weapon, some sort of caseless ammo submachinegun as standard for onboard close-quarters combat.

Her victims finally began to react, trading shots even as more of them were hit, killed, and pushed back by the kinetic transference of a bullet.

Before long, the gunfire peters out.

“Turn grav back on.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I do.

Bodies hit the ground with a dull thump, bullets and guns do the same with high and sharp clatters. I land on my feet and turn the corner.

Carved and charred flesh, visible bones, contorted anatomy, fluid spilled over the ground, and floor, and roof. It smells of shit and blood.

And of vomit, now.

Mars comes over and kneels in front of me.

“It's fine now, Alba. It’s hard but you need to breathe and shake it off. There’s time for everything later, just follow the plan and we´ll get home.”

I wipe the spittle from my mouth, breathe and stand.

“I can have dinner again, goodie.”

“Ha! That’s the spirit! Come on, let’s get going.”

“It was good food though, buen sazón, a shame to just throw it up.”

“Humor is better than horror. Think you can help me grab a gun and some ammo for yourself?”

“You asking if I’m good to scavenge? Who do you think I am?”

All of it is filthy but I grab the gun and ammo carrier that seems cleanest.

We begin moving down the hallway before long, retracing our steps from earlier. Soon we leave the cramped steel of the service corridors and exit back into the obscenely luxurious wide-open spaces of the resort.

Strict solar cycles of day and night might be absent from a station such as this but the rhythm of urban life still settles into regular cycles. We arrived late in the workday, by now the vast majority of people are asleep and the public areas are dark and deserted.

Even still, civilians on their way home, on late-night shifts, or just out and about spot us, double-take, and hide as we make our way towards the docks.

We´ve no doubt been reported to our enemies by now.

Port authority or police won’t make an appearance, they know better, but there’s no world in which we won’t face opposition from Gordos associates and allies. Considering our trajectory it's obvious we're heading to a ship, we will likely be intercepted at or just before the port, best to approach carefully.

Humans depend on a series of chemical processes to maintain homeostasis; these reactions cause our bodies to emit thermal radiation in quantities much higher than our surroundings. Without the dense steel walls of the underneath passages, I can very clearly make out the silhouettes of a large group waiting in the distance.

“Over there, behind the glass. Fifteen easily.”

“What about the other side of the path? The building with the blue roof.”

“Mm, nothing on thermals but an abnormal number of electronic and radio signals. A lot of electronics for such a small building, nothing like the signatures in the rest of town.”

…

“Alright, that’s the trap. Can you grab insurance two from the back compartment? I can’t really reach back there.”

“Disadvantages of too much muscle, huh?”

“Shut up and grab it.”

I do so and place the plastic brick into her open hand.

“How are we even going to use it? I certainly can’t throw that far.”

“I can. Almost. That’s where you come in.”

She hands the railgun to me.

“No.”

“Yes. We practiced together; you know you can. Use those eyes of yours and breathe.”

“No other way?”

“No better way. Slowly count to fifty then shoot at the group behind the window.”

She moves away, slowly crawling downhill, and I start counting.

50.

Planning is important for success. Timing is important for planning.

Mars and I have planned and schemed endlessly to pull off this heist. Get the data and then get out in style. Sounds easy; it’s not.

40.

Part of that is practicing skills and protocols, how to count, how to move, how to shoot, how to hijack a ship.

Another part is creating Mars´s suit and our two insurance policies, weapons that could be smuggled into the station and give us strong advantages in combat.

30.

The railgun was a balance of high-quality materials and the limits of improvised weaponry; a weapon suitable for short to extreme ranges that could end any six threats that faced us and no more.

The second was simpler, a way to distract the enemy and deal a large blow at the same time, create chaos we could take advantage of.

20.

But to enable the seconds use I would have to prove my worth with the first, two bullets, and fifteen targets.

10.

Pick the two best dressed and armed, the potential leaders.

See the shot in your mind.

Breath in.

Breath out.

0.

The first shot penetrates through a shoulder and into another man’s chest.

The second into a helmet, and its head, and then the wall.

All the other fighters behind the window shake off their shock and hide behind cover, retreating further into the building. No movement from the other side of the path, they don't know I'm out of ammo and will be cautious of a sniper.

Off to the side and half-hidden by terrain Mars launches into a run and launches the bomb in a spinning discus throw. She hits the side of the blue-roofed building slightly over a hundred meters away.

Even with my eyes closed the flash stings my organic eyes. The feedback of my synthetic set grows saturated. Soon the shockwave reaches me and rings harshly in the ears.

Open my eyes.

The building is gone.