Kreb and the others were on the very edge of Freel’s sideways vision, and he kept them there. He focused forward, ready for any hint of heat.

Come on, come on, come on.

They were halfway to the platform that held the tanks. Then two-thirds. Then, as they were about to arrive, he saw it.

“There!” he shouted, and fired, even though the guy was a bit out of easy pistol range.

The plasma bolt pierced right through a tank, which spewed out some chemical or another. Everyone focused that way, and the other three started firing.

“Go go go!” Freel shouted at his two temporary companions, and started moving faster.

Adrenaline, and a no-doubt desperate desire to have this over with, got the two losers running. Freel stopped, and they obliviously overtook him. They fired as they went, and a moment later one of them took a double-tap to the chest.

The man went down, and Freel fired towards the muzzle flash he’d seen. He hit real close, maybe even singed, but he didn’t think it was a killshot. The tiny bit of heat dropped out of sight, behind some thick, sturdy machinery that hid it from view. Freel kept on firing through the metal, estimating the guy’s position and hoping for a stroke of luck. Meanwhile, the boys were closing in, adding their own plasma fire.

Something flew up from behind the cover of tanks and pipes, going high up into the air, in an arc headed towards Kreb, Yules and Dunton.

“Grenade!” Yules shouted, and the three of them scattered for cover.

Freel saw the stranger leap down from the platform, and his remaining companion, the drug-face, saw it too. They both fired, but the man was only in view for a moment.

“Let’s get him!” Freel shouted, and the crewmember actually didn’t need any more encouragement. He climbed over the railing, and Freel wasn’t even behind him on purpose this time.

The floor grating they dropped down on shook, and Freel lost his balance for a moment. He caught a glimpse of the stranger as he went around a corner. Drug-face was the quicker to go after him, and went around the corner.

There was no gunshot. The man just suddenly fell backwards. As he spastically rolled over, Freel saw a knife handle protrude from his throat. He went around the corner, ready to blast away, but found no one. The knife had been thrown. Freel picked the man’s carbine off the floor and hooked it awkwardly to his belt.

The space before him was a bit of a mess of meeting walkways, beams, pillars, and general infrastructure for the operation. He advanced cautiously, took a simple intercom mic off a wall-panel, opened it, and pinned it to his lapel.

“So, what is all this, tough guy?” he asked. His voice boomed through all the nearby speakers, disguising his actual location. “Proactive drug treatment? Got tired of wiping sweaty junkie bottoms?”

“I won’t deny this is more interesting,” the stranger answered.

Freel didn’t have an exact bead on his voice, but got a general direction to head into.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course, ‘interesting’ is a vague word. Tell me, are you excited?”

He scanned around, seeking a telltale bit of heat by some hiding place or other. The smoke was truly awful, but at least it forced his voice into a deep octave. That was something.

“Come on!” he said after a brief silence. “Be honest with me! One doesn’t get good at violence without having an appreciation for it!”

“And what would you know about being good at violence?”

“Ha ha!” Freel snarled, and needed a moment to recover his false cheer. “Come on, don’t be shy! No judgement from me!”

He darted around a corner, ready to fire.

“You’re seasoned! Bloody-handed! Don’t act like you’re a good man!”

“I’m good at what I do. Better than you are.”

“Oh, you caught me off-guard last time,” Freel said. “Let’s see who is left standing at the end.”

“I hate to break this to you, but I don’t care if you live or die,” the stranger said.

“Well, there’s my advantage, then,” Freel said. “Because I care a lot about how this all goes.”

Freel saw him. A support pillar was slightly warmed through, at about chest height. As if someone were resting their back against it.

“I’m going to kill you, tough guy,” he said, lowering his voice a bit. “What do you say about that?”

“You couldn’t kill me if you tried for the rest of your life.”

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That was it. The voice was coming from behind the pillar. Freel aimed straight at that warm spot.

“Yeah, you’re good at big talk,” he said. “But you’re out of ammo, aren’t you?”

He fired. The bolt passed right through the pillar, with a shower of sparks. He darted around it, and fired off two more shots.

On the other side of the pillar he found a crummy old electrical box, the sort that radiated heat. And sat on top of it was a comm with an open channel.

“I am, actually,” the stranger said behind him.

Freel turned. His shot went wide as the stranger grabbed the barrel and forced it wide. Next he jabbed Freel in the throat, then kicked him in the chest. Freel flew backwards, and into a railing. Momentum wasn’t done with him, however, and everything spun as he went over it.

He landed on his back. The air went out of him, and so did his wits for a moment. As they returned they brought with them three facts: He’d landed on a shri tank, the plasma gun had stayed behind in the stranger’s hand, and the stranger was now leaning over the railing.

Freel propelled himself to the side. The shot came an instant later, and went into the top of the tank. The shri within burst into flames, and Freel landed screaming as a fireball erupted right behind him.

“DAMN IT!” Mayn shouted.

His body was made of pain. He couldn’t think, or reason. His body just drove him on, away from the roaring heat, and stumbled into a roll around a corner. His coat was on fire, and the next priority was to shake out of it

With it on the ground, more of his wits made a comeback. By some miracle he still had the carbine, shots were ringing out, and the stranger was on the move again. The footsteps were loud on some rickety walkways, moving fast as the others came after him.

Freel followed as best he could, somewhat hampered by the walkways not being identical between levels. The goggles had come off his head at some point so he had to rely entirely on his ears. They were ringing somewhat, or rather, his head was, but shoddy maintenance was on his side.

Ahead was a turn to the right, and if memory served then it marked the spot of a fine view of the walkway the stranger was using. Running was hard. Everything hurt, and his balance was off. But he could keep it long enough to put a bullet in that fucker.

Shots continued to ring out; not a hail, but clearly the others were keeping pressure on the guy.

Just drive him my way, Freel thought as he crossed the final metres to that corner. He aimed the carbine. Like hunters in the wilderness.

He reached the corner, and the stranger reached another corner that cut in the opposite direction. But he didn’t turn. As Freel squeezed the trigger, the man leapt over the railing. He landed feet-first on top of a shri tank that was moseying along the rail system. Freel shifted his aim, but the man jumped again. This time he stopped with his arms around a lower-hanging tank. Freel shifted again, and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the tank as the man let go and dropped straight down.

And with that, he was out of sight.

Freel ground his teeth and banged a singed fist on the railing. He stared down, hoping to catch a glimpse, and squeezed off a couple of rounds. The others came into view, on the level above.

“He’s at the bottom level!” he shouted, and pointed in case they didn’t quite hear him over the fires and the blaring alarm. “Bottom level!”

It turned out he could run a bit more. The nearest set of stairs was only seconds away, and he stumbled his way down. The steps were very steep, and his balance just refused to come back.

Still, he made it to the bottom without falling over. It had been an unglamorous area, even back when the vessel was a pleasure barge; just brute functionality meant for maintenance, and receiving cargo. It wasn’t quite as filled up as the rest of the levels, but there were still quite a lot of cargo pallets, arranged by full and empty.

Freel heard footsteps, he heard mechanism, and he chased the noises around the pallets. He found a cargo opening in the floor open, and some sort of cable was unspooling down into it. He ran over, with what felt like the last of his strength, and knelt by the edge.

The stranger was clinging to a cargo loading hook, and his weight was carrying it down, dangling him above the Great Gorge. Freel shouldered his weapon, but the ship’s movement was causing his target to sway around a fair bit. He squeezed off a round, then another, and then a car flew into view.

It was a sturdy, rust-brown civilian model, and the stranger landed on top of the roof. He seemed to signal to whoever was steering, and the vehicle stopped in mid-air. That of course meant the barge overtook them, and Freel only had time for one more gunshot before losing sight of them.

“GNAH!” he shouted.

It dawned on him that he still had the intercom mic, and that it was still open. He also took note of the aft cargo door.

“Stop the barge!” he shouted, and his words boomed through the speakers. “Mayn! Stop the barge and open the aft door! I can get him! Someone get Mayn to stop the barge!”

“Everything is on fire, Freel!” Mayn answered.

He hobbled to the aft door. With no immediate reaction to his demands, Freel fumbled around for a couple of seconds until he found a button to open it. The huge door split apart, and Freel shouldered the carbine again.

The stranger was still on top of the car, and he still held onto the cable. The car had drifted a bit to the side, and upwards, and as Freel drew his aim the stranger released the cable.

“Oh no.”

The cable swung into one of the stabilisers, and instantly wrapped up in it. The thing promptly tore itself apart.

“Oh no.”

The barge shuddered violently, and began listing.

“No no no.”

It turned out he could run a bit more after all. He went straight for the nearest set of stairs, and up. He ran into the boys and some crewmembers on the way, but ignored them in favour of running.

The barge listed more and more, and was clearly going into an ever-steeper swing. The air was full of smoke, and he absent-mindedly slipped his mask back on. There were sounds, and fire, and voices, but he ignored everything that didn’t involve making it back to the bay.

The Dragon was right where he’d left it, and the listing hadn’t flipped it over yet. He hopped inside, and Kreb, Yules and Dunton did as well as he fired up the engine. Then they shot right out of the blessedly still open door.

He flew upwards, and within seconds the Big Nest crashed. It erupted into a titanic fireball, and Freel couldn’t help but turn in his seat to take this nightmare in.

A few seconds passed in silence.

“Who wants to tell the boss?” Yules then asked.

Everyone turned to look at Freel.