Looking back into the darkness of the tunnel network, Andreas Moto made his decision. “I’m going back,” he told Fundazio flatly. They managed to easily elude any pursuers once they slipped underground. The fact that the Navenians went to great pains to label each intersection and every landmark above them expedited their escape. Unlike his colleagues, he would have quickly found himself lost without those labels. More than once he heard one of his friends grumble about his lack of tunnel sense.

  The underground was large enough for a sapien and three pygmaeus to walk down without jogging elbows and high enough that Andreas never once banged his head on an overhanging pipe. Somebody expended a great effort to mark out each smaller pipe as electricity or telephone while a larger, central one, long since oxidized green, presumably carried fresh water into the town. A number of bats made their homes hanging from these pipes. A few stirred as the four intruders passed beneath them.

  “Out of the question!” Fundazio, eyes burning like the proverbial forge snapped, his voice echoing down the hall loud enough to spook atls scurrying about on the walkway. The mouse-sized birds tripped over rats as they sought shelter from the thunderous voice. Fundazio stood head and shoulders shorter than Andreas yet managed to still look down his nose at the sapien. At one hundred eighty jahrs of age, Fundazio Mendia had nearly a century and a half on the sapien. The pudgy faced, trim beared dwarf started his employment in Golden Hammer Enterprises before Andreas’s parents, rest their bones, were even born.

  His clear seniority did not prevent Andreas from debating the point. He might lack the experience of Fundazio but he still had his own weight to throw around. While the two argued, the other dwarves stood guard near the exit. Bostria ‘Copper’ Kobre looked back at his two co-workers nervously. Of all the times to start arguing, right as they were at the edge of escaping was not it. Copper glanced continuously between them and the clear view of the Jaipur River beyond the tunnel’s exit.

  Copper was unique in more ways than one. Andreas rather liked him; he was a dwarf who actually had a sense of humor and was not afraid to show it. Nor did he hesitate to give his opinion, whether it was welcome or not. “We can argue once we’re safe and sound in the Peoples’ Pub.”

  Fundazio glared at the red-haired dwarf, silencing him in one glance. Unlike virtually all dwarves, copper-colored hair covered Copper’s head and face. There was a story running around the company, started long before Andreas appeared on the scene, that Copper had a sapien ancestor somewhere in the family tree. How else would he have such unique coloration? Of course nobody ever told that to his face. Sense of humor or not, he still have solid dwarven pride.

  The third pygmaeus in the group stayed silent, which was far more worrying than had he been shouting. Secretary Oldarkorra just stared silently out into the open air, his finger gently caressing the trigger guard of his Atlus submachine gun. None knew his birth name and nobody ever mistook him for a cleric. When provoked, he would fire off his ‘Loonberg Typist’ like a real secretary hammering away at the keys of a typewriter.

  How he managed to find himself in the employment of Golden Hammer Enterprises was beyond Andreas. To put it simply, Secretary was psychotic. He had little impulse control when it came to a fight and was not even that much of an earner. Sure, he had great prowess as an enforcer, provided those who commanded him could reign in his temper. It was only because of their dire need to slip underground that he did not mow down the teacher as she alerted everyone in a two hundred meter radius.

  Andreas clenched his fist, thinking about the trouble he caused a civilian today. “Chief, you know what the Knights will do to her.” Fundazio nodded. He knew quite well what these Knights of the Order did to those who lacked ideological purity. He knew and if Navenians wanted to kill their own, that was fine by him. It was not fine by Andreas, not by a long shot. “I’m the one who drug her into this and it’ll be on my hands if anything happens to her.”

  “After you free her, then what?” the dwarf knew more than he ever wanted about Navenia and its Verdensorder. Anyone who associated, even under duress, with non-sapiens would be black listed for life. It would be a mercy to simply let them kill her quickly and be done with it.

  For a second, he wondered if Andreas might use this proposed jail break as an opportunity to melt into the crowd. Unlike the pygmaeus present he did not exactly volunteer for a life long career in the underground. Andreas was not happy with his life, that much even the densest dwarf could tell. There were many aspects of life other sapiens took for granted that were forever cutoff from Andreas. That was fine for Fundazio and his fellow dwarves–after all they were literally born to work–but it left the sapien dissatisfied. Far more so ever since Gustavus died.

  Andreas shook his head. “I don’t know yet but she would not be in this mess if not for me, That makes her my responsibility now.” Had any other sapien been so adamant, Fundazio would have dismissed it as foolish lust. He remembered being Andreas’s age after all. The teacher might even be a fine looking woman by sapien standards, enough so that he might feel attraction. This was not just any sapien, this was Andreas. Even jahrs after Gustavus’s death, he still sought absolution for his failure. It was a shame the sapien did not realize that forgiveness would not come until he forgave himself. Honestly, the man could be as stubborn as a pygmaeus at times. Usually that was a good thing yet this was not a usual time.

  He knew the truth and Andreas knew that he knew. This was about never letting another innocent coming to harm through his own action, or inaction. “Fine! Go off and be boneheaded!” Fundazio dismissed him with a wave and a rude snort. “We ain’t waiting around for you. We have a contract to fulfill. By the time you free that troublesome woman, if you do, we will be clear across the border.”

  The dwarf hoped he was not making a mistake. The other two dwarves exchanged their own concern looks. Copper because he considered Andreas not only a friend of his but a genuine friend. Secretary because he thought Andreas was out of his mind. Both understood his motivation, even if they thought he was wrong. Unlike Fundazio, neither considered the likelihood of Andreas dodging his responsibilities. Getting killed, sure but never once did they think he would simply vanish.

  They also knew he would never turn on them. He would say nothing if captured, which in itself was a very big if. Working alongside dwarves for half his life, Andreas developed a similar depth of stubbornness and determination every pygmaeus knew from birth. Even so, Fundazio disliked leaving loose ends. If he did try to start anew somewhere on the continent, the company would have to hunt him down and silence him.

  Andreas nodded in reply. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you miss me.” Fundazio only grunted in response as he catapulted himself out of the manmade cave. He landed less than a meter below on the soft shores of the Jaipur. Two more dwarves followed in rapid succession, not bothering to look back as they left Andreas to his fool’s errand. As he watched, he wondered what would prove more challenging; breaking into the Knights’ local office or breaking out of the city. “One thing at a time,” he told himself as he began the arduous task of backtracking into Shownastadt’s sewers.

  Faint red light streamed through barred windows, granting little illumination on the future of Katrina Orkan. How fast life moved. This morning she was a teacher preparing lessons and by the afternoon she found herself sitting in a dim cell. She wondered for much of her time what had happened to her kids, to her students that is. What had they thought when she failed to appear? She knew another teacher would have substituted for her but what did administration tell the children? Anything? Perhaps they only thought she was unwell.

  In more ways than one, she was quiet unwell. She was starting to feel rather queasy. In the State, even suspicion of contact with non-sapiens was enough to blacklist somebody for life. If she was lucky, the Knights would release her and she could move to a new town. She clearly could not stay in Shownastadt. Nor was she likely able to keep the same friends and– she sighed at the thought one losing one person in particular. She finally found a decent man and the scum of the earth came along and turned her life upside down.

  Hopefully he would understand, would believe her. More importantly, find it in his heart to forgive her. After all, Sanders was not a vindictive man, not like the officials who would write ‘unreliable’ down next to her name in the public achieves. She prayed that mark would not follow her to a new home. Perhaps in jahrs long past, before wires and radio waves she might have managed. Now, there was no telling. It was a hope as dim as the setting sun.

  If she was unlucky she knew–or she suspected she knew enough about what occurred within the walls of political offices to worry. Anyone with a tenth-dinar’s worth of sense feared and avoided the Temple of Justice, as the Knights called their offices. Nobody save Knights ever came here willingly. Like everyone else in Shownastadt, her manners were refined enough to prohibit her from asking questions. The informant was a part of life nobody could avoid. After all, how would the State know where trouble was if nobody informed them? Katrina was starting to wish she kept her mouth shut when she informed those Knights.

  The Knights found their two dead comrades exactly where Katrina told them. They, however, found no trace of the dwarves. The only evidence of battle they discovered were several cases ejected from a submachine gun. The cases matched the bullets extracted from the fallen Knights, or so she assumed. The fact that she was in the company of the murderers did not bode well for her future. That Katrina was captive to the dwarves mattered little to the strict code of the Knighthood. Thus she found herself inside their offices, waiting their mercy.

  She tried not to think about the fact that few who entered a political office ever walked out again. Being innocent gave Katrina confidence that she could be one of the few. After that–her name was already tainted and her life in Shownastadt flaming wreckage. She doubted the academy would allow her to return or that many of her friends would speak with her. Again she thought about Sanders. Would he be among those who ostracized her?

  At least the Knights had not hung the label of sympathizer around her neck. Anyone with that could pretty much forget about living in the State, to say nothing of living at all. The State dealt harshly and quickly with traitors. In the early days of Verdensorder, traitors were everywhere. She did not remember much of what happened in those days. After all, she was but a little girl at the time and knew nothing of politics. She did remember her parents were always afraid though she never really understood why. They had nothing to do with non-sapiens and thus nothing to fear.

  “I just had to go in early today,” Katrina muttered into her hands. What was it all for? She just wanted to have a nice weekend without worrying about work. A weekend spent with someone special, a rare treat when her nation was geared for a war and men could find themselves conscripted at a moment’s notice. Even with the war, was there really any crime in finding a little happiness? She cradled her face in both hands, staring for minutes or days at the dark concrete floor. Curse those dwarves and their whole mafia. Those thugs took from here in minutes what she spent jahrs building. Now all she had to do with her time was wait. Perhaps she could repair the damage, though it would not be happening in Shownastadt.

  Katrina gave the Knights her testimony about what happened but that was not enough. They continued to question her for another three hours. For the most part, the asked the same question over and over to which Katrina naturally gave the same reply. After that they began to delve into personal information utterly irrelevant to the crime. She knew better than to point out the flaw in their investigation and reluctantly told them everything they wanted to know. Her answers satisfied them for the moment. She hoped they would not return and ask the same questions again. She loathed repeating herself—an ironic pet peeve for a teacher of young children.

  How many hours passed since then? Who could tell in this cell? All she had to go on was the sunlight filtering into her cell. She knew it was the same day. Katrina heard the gears of the daily clock tick away on the outside from the sound of autos passing to that of children playing. She invested the better part of a jahr educating the youth of Shownastadt. She had hoped to make an impact on their lives, but children’s’ minds were so malleable that they would forget about her in less than an astro.

  The rapping of footsteps down the hall peaked her attention. She recognized jack boots on concrete from a kilometer away. The Knights had returned. So much for not answering more questions. She almost sighed, but the air caught in her throat as she watched the Knights pass her cell. They were not here for questions, at least not from her. Between two bulky Knights marched a third person, one well groomed and very familiar to Katrina. It was Sanders, her sweetheart. She met him not long after settling in Shownastadt. His expression was dark as he passed. He blatantly ignored her, but she could see the disappointment in his eyes. What had the Knights told him?

  Katrina buried her face in her hands again. She tried to fight back the tears and spent much of the day winning the battle. The sight of them hauling Sanders down the hall away broke her resolve. Sobs racked each breath she took. The thugs took even him away from her. What was left for Katrina now? She could think of nothing. Maybe the Knights would let her go soon, or maybe they would ship her out to one of the prison camps. Either way her life was all but ruined. Why did it have to end like this?

  Katrina cursed her luck with each step she took. What a fine way to start off the day. The only reason she came in early was that she could have a pleasant weekend completely free from thoughts of work. Instead that so-called messenger handily derailed her attempts to get ahead. He was too well groomed to be a simple messenger. Given the secrecy in Doctor Hawk’s work, she could only assume he came from somewhere within the Order. So she took the messenger for his word. He had a trusting face and the same cold, cunning eyes she expected to see staring out of the head of a commissar. It was never wise to question their type.

  Instead of being a defender of the chosen people, he turned out to be from the supply end of crime. Because she took him for his word she was now hostage to what she could only assume to be the dwarven mafia. According to the now banned films, they fit the description; pin-striped suits and short, meticulously groomed beards. She would not venture to guess from what gang they came. There were so many of them that it was a miracle the law could keep track of them all.

  Perhaps they did not. How else could these few slip through the net? How indeed. The Verdensorder long ago expelled all pygmaeus from the land of the chosen. The Order declared all dwarves and gnomes to be little more than criminals. After all, they slunk around in the shadows and lived in the sewers. It was from there, they could surface at night like rats and raccoons to feed off the hard work of the chosen.

  Katrina thought briefly about bolting down the corridor and barricading herself past the first open door. She was not sure how much good that would do against determined gangsters, what with none of the doors having locks. They would just smash down the door and make short work of her–assuming the psychotic one did not simply cut her down as she ran. He had a twitch in his finger and his crazy look in the eye always on her that made Katrina believe he was looking for an excuse to pull the trigger. Dying was not on Katrina’s list of things to do.

  She had only the flimsy promise of the lone sapien in this gang, a traitor to his own species, that they would release her once clear of the city. Was this how the drowning man swept away by the river felt? Clinging to driftwood in the slim chance it would keep him afloat long enough to break free of the current? It struck her as a poor strategy since it was the current pushing the driftwood. Yet, it was the only strategy at the moment. A slim chance of living was better than none.

  There had to be a way out before then. She refused to chance their word once in the countryside. She could tell the gangsters were a bit lost once they reached the first floor. Their leader, the one with the graying beard, asked aloud which way to go now. None of his goons had any answers. Katrina could hardly believe her ears. Surely if these people were brazen enough to enter the State and clever enough to elude detection they would also have a means of escape.

  Perhaps it was for the best they said nothing about it. There was no way they would allow her to live if she learned too much. She glanced both ways down the hall, hoping no one stuck their heads out the door. The crazy, trigger-happy dwarf would surely shoot them. They were at least safe in not even knowing gangsters invaded the academy. As strange as it was for a teacher to think it, ignorance could truly be bliss.

  Once out under the pink sky, all of the gangsters tensed. Beneath the fist-sized red sun the stout figure of three dwarves stood out like flares in the night. Nobody would mistake them for short, fat sapiens. To start with, no pureblooded sapien could grow a beard. They kept near the brush and under the trees, their pet sapien dragging Katrina along for the ride. She did everything she could to slow their escape without getting killed.

  They came to a stop before stepping out into the parking lot. “Gray caps,” their leader said, pointing towards a pair of armed men in gray uniforms. It was a simple patrol, the type who supposedly kept undesirables out of the city. Katrina scowled at them, wondering who in their office fell asleep at the switch today. The gangsters waited patiently in the shadow for them to pass. She sensed this might be her best chance for escape. She glanced repeatedly at the crazy dwarf, the one she overheard named Secretary. He turned his angry stare at the patrolmen, apparently forgetting Katrina existed.

  Katrina was not about to be hauled off by these thugs. Andreas still held a tight grip on her arm. She knew she could not break the grip. Instead of pulling she decided on a thrusting attack. She picked up her foot and slammed the heel down on Andreas’s polished shoe. Andreas hissed at her but could do nothing. She quickly followed with an elbow to his face, knocking the crouching man off balance. Instead of dragging her down with him, he let go for a second to catch his balance. A second was all the teacher needed.

  She bolted from cover and out into the open. The racket she caused by leaping through a violet Towneform hedge caught the two Knights’ attention. “Dwarves!” the first called. Both ignored the fleeing woman and focused on the short figures. Both drew their weapons with a single smooth motion, matching the dwarves as both sides took aim. Katrina quickly veered to her left, seeking shelter among the shadows of the buildings and narrowly avoiding entrapment within a crossfire. She did not look back when gunshots shattered the quiet morning air.

  Katrina’s breaths came in gasps as she pumped her legs. They already burned from her abrupt workout. She felt no pain; adrenaline already flowed in her veins from her earlier ordeal. She would feel sore and tired later. For the moment she must insure later existed. Once clear of the fight she continued to run. So fast that she almost ran over an atl sitting in the middle of the sidewalk. They often reminded her of flightless sparrows, or perhaps feathered squirrels. Some called them feathered rats, but not her. Cute as they were, she did not slow down leaving the atl to hop furious to avoid trampling feet.

  Safety lay ahead as she rounded a corner. “Help!” she called out to a pair of Knights running in the direction she fled. Katrina skidded to a stop in front of them, her breath trying to catch up. “There—dwarves. Dwarves are over there,” she pointed back down her path. “They broke into the university—“ Katrina pieced together her story while the Knights listened.

  Both of the gray clad men looked at each other, equally suspicious of the teacher’s story. Anyone with contact with non-sapiens was suspect and their order had protocols to follow. The Knight on the right, the senior officer, picked up his radio and called for backup. He told them to check out the utility shed next to the loading dock.

  “Very well, now if you’ll come with us,” the leader gestured back towards the way he came.

  Katrina hesitated, deepening the Knights’ suspicion. “But those gangsters are over there! They’ll escape.”

  “I doubt that,” the officer replied dryly. “Now come with us. We have questions you must answer.” The second Knight flanked Katrina, cutting off any escape route. As if anyone could escape from the Knights of the Verdensorder. The situation gave her a bad feeling. She bowed meekly in submission. There was little point in arguing with them. All she could hope for was they would apprehend those criminals. If she could help, she would. However if she were doing the right thing, then why did it feel like she leapt from one captivity into another?

  Andreas flashed an electric torch from sign to sign. Not only did the Navenians deeply love symmetry and carefully labeled each intersection, they were also considerate enough to provide maintenance lockers full of tools at various intervals. As with so many other things in Shownastadt they were not locked. He helped himself to a torch and a few batteries. The dwarves would have loved living here, though no friend of his would ever admit Navenians produced a single good idea. They appreciated order as much as the Verdensorder but without the obsessive compulsion to micro-manage every aspect of life. Well, of everyone else’s life. Pygmaeus were quite obsessed with order within their own individual spheres of influence.

  As he splashed through small puddles of runoff water, he tried conjuring up images of Shownastadt’s map from memory. According to the map, the local political offices were somewhere on Sixth Street. He could not recall the exact intersection. Baxret Avenue sounded about right. He flashed his torch at an overhead gas pipe. Revilo Street—he still had a little ways to go. He never should have left his map in the glove compartment.

  He pressed further into the dark depths, following the rumbling of water. The constant stream of waste water flowed through the sewer like a fresh mountain stream. It might almost be a pleasant babbling sound if not for the noxious fumes accompanying it. It reminded him a bit of Tropadiso City’s waterfront. Did the Navenians bother treating their waste or did they just dump it mindlessly into the river? Seeing how they corralled their undesirables into slums along the Jaipur, Andreas would bet on the latter. Not content to dispossess the original inhabitants and reduce them to remedial laborers, Navenia’s Verdensorder decided to rub their collective noses in the new reality.

  His walk in the semi-dark was also less tranquil than walking along a stream in the mountains. The babbling of the toxic brook was one thing but the relentless chirping of atls was starting to grate on his nerves. Outside those birds were fine. Inside these manmade caverns he found their previous sing-song voices distorted into shrill screams. There was no way of knowing how many of them lived in here, not with all their voices overlapping. Ten or ten thousand of them might surround him at that very moment.

  When he arrived at an intersection clearly marked as the Temple of Justice, Andreas almost laughed. If one word could describe the Order it would be arrogant. It was enough to make him look forward to wiping the smug look of their collective faces. These people were so confident in their security as to label their location in the sewer. It must never have crossed their minds that anyone would be foolish enough to trudge around underground seeking them.

  It also gave him pause. Perhaps they have some secret security system that allows them to act arrogant while never being in any real danger. Considering these tunnels emptied into the slums, allowing those partitioned off from their former homes a chance to slip beneath the net, entry could not be as simple as climbing the ladder and pushing the hatch open.

  He checked his ‘957 before ascending the ladder. It still held ten rounds, all ready to fire at a moment’s notice. He always carried a few extra clips within concealed coat pockets in case ten was not enough. As the wise gnome once said, it was better to have and not need than the other way around. He only hoped his excessive preparations were enough to escape the place. Without a doubt he would be running low by the time he and the teacher extracted themselves from the joint.

  He took a final look around the underground, wondering if he would be coming back this way. If not– he hoped they kept an auto running in their garage to assure his escape. Push button or key ignition, it mattered little to him. Even without a key, it only took connecting the right wires to start an engine. Deciding to worry about the details in a few minutes, he climbed up to the porthole above and gave the iron weight a cautious push. Andreas rolled his eyes as it gave way. Like everything else in this town it remained unlocked.

  Pushing the hatch open as quietly as possible, Andreas poked his head into a dimly lit basement. Archives, piled box upon box, some reaching from floor to ceiling. It was no dungeon, not unless poor chump sentenced here was a perfectionist. So much for the Verdensorder being the pinnacle of organization. Mixed among the cardboard boxes of files sat half-empty crates and bookshelves with more open space than books.

  Emerging from the dank pit, Andreas gave his limbs a good stretch. If getting into the basement was any indication, this jailbreak would be the easiest that any Golden Hammer ever pulled. It was almost disappointing. Again his thoughts returned to a sophisticated, advanced alarm system. The visible lack of security did not leave Andreas with a secure feeling. Navenia was supposed to be home to some advance espionage equipment. Perhaps they lined their basement walls with sensitive microphones. If so, they knew he was here. He drew his weapon and began slinking through the basement, trying not to topple any column of boxes. If they did not know he was here by now, they would in a few minutes.

  Katrina sat bolt upright, her light doze shattered by sharp cracks down the hall. Gun shots. The realization drove her heart to pound in fear. Who did the Knights shoot? A prisoner? She heard no ruckus, no crashes of resistance or attempts at escape. The fear within blossomed quickly into panic. Where they shooting prisoners in their cells? Was Sanders one of the dead? Would she be next? This could not be happening. No, this had to be a bad dream and she would wake up any second now.

  She could not believe this was happening to her. She refused to believe it. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Even if she could escape confinement, then what? The Knights would find her. They always found their quarry. They were the reason crime ceased to exist within the State. Because of their diligence, the chosen people were safe to walk the streets at night and never had to worry about locking their doors.

  Two more gunshots rang out, each different from the other. Two gunmen. She had no hope even against one–no, she must not allow her fear to completely consumer her. If she was to die today, she determined to meet her end with some dignity. After all, one expected nothing less of the Chosen. Only scared rabbits, frightened atls and criminals fled at the sound of the inevitable.

  She straightened herself up on her cot. She closed her eyes and drew in deep breaths. Sometimes just breathing helped her relax. She often did that while she attended academy as a student. Failure of any key exams would mean the end of her dreams. She was scared then and fought to keep calm. She won the battles then and would now. As she breathed, she listened to the world around her. The sound of footsteps replaced that of shots. Yes, they were close now. They–she found it odd to hear only one pair of feet. Finally, as the owner of the feet drew up before her cell the sound of stepping ceased.

  Then–then nothing. No loud bang or explosive pain. After a few seconds, Katrina cautiously opened her eyes. She remained rigid, refusing to allow her body a chance to shake. Instead of a Knight, Katrina saw a very different brand of hunter. A man dressed in a finely tailored pin-stripe suit, a smoking pistol in one hand. Obviously that was one of the weapons she heard. In the other hand, a key on its ring, completing loops as he twirled it around a free finger. Looking up, she saw the same brown hair and hard blue eyes. They were serious eyes, eyes that had no time for nonsense.

  Unfortunately the same could not be said about the rest of him. His stance was far from dignified. In fact, she found it downright cocky. “Well, are you going to sit there all night?”

  “You!” she hissed, instantly recognizing the so-called messenger from this morning. She had a much harder time recognizing the voice that snapped at her. Was that her voice? It sounds raspy and dry, like it came from a throat desiccated from sitting in a cell all day with no food or water.

  The gangster inclined his head with faux nobility. “Great to see you too.”

  In an instant, Katrina went from terrified to fuming with rage. “You!” She repeated, this time as loud as a whip. “It’s you who should be in here, not me. It’s your fault that I’m here!” So strong was her rage that she quickly forgot about previous fears. “How dare you barge into my life and tear down all I have worked for. You have ruined my life. Thanks to you and those filthy dwarves, I have nothing!”

  “Right,” He said flatly. Katrina had the distinct feeling he nodded more to humor her rage than admit any guilt. While listening to Katrina’s hisses, he stopped swirling the ring of keys and sought out the cell’s key. The guard he appropriated it from was not likely to ever need it again. With the flick of a wrist, he unlocked the cell and swung the door open. “If you’re done complaining.”

  Katrina looked at the open portal and back to the gangster. She hesitated, not certain what she should do. If she left then she was admitting guilt that she never had. The gangster stood there, tapping his foot impatiently, not wishing to waste a single second more than necessary. For a moment, she wondered if he she could stall him long enough for more Knights to arrive. The same thought clearly crossed his mind. “I might have ruined your life but if you don’t move it the Knights will surely put an end to it.”

  She eyed him with deep mistrust. First he used her for his nefarious schemes and now he was rescuing her. Just what was his motivation? What game did he play with her life? “I suppose you expect me to show you gratitude. Perhaps you wait for me to through myself into the arms of my savior.”

  When he snorted, he sounded very much like the dwarves he served. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  Katrina gasped in indignation. “First you land me in prison and now you insult me.” Perhaps that was his angle; to torment her further. What foul deed had she committed in her life to earn such a punishment?

  The gangster sighed, his tolerance for melodramatic nonsense very low. “Look lady, I came back because I felt responsible about what happened. Now if you prefer to sit in the cell and wait on the mercy of your Knights, fine. I wouldn’t count on them being in a very merciful mood, not after they find three of their own dead. In fact, it think if I had to describe their mood in a single word it would be vengeful. Now if you wish to see another sunrise, come with me.” He winced at the sound of his own words. Katrina made a sour face at a line straight out of a corny action film.

  She clenched fist and teeth at his words as well. Her situation reeked worse than the slums. It sounded as if he granted her a choice even when in reality she had none. The way her luck ran today, the Knights would lay the blame for all that happened at her feet. Even if she left, there was no promise this gangster would not kill her. After all, was it not the way of the criminal element to silence witnesses? Her gut told her that was not his intent. If this thug wanted her dead–he held the pistol in his hand and she was cornered like a rat.

  In the end, the will to live made the choice for her. “Very well,” she said with an air of resignation. She had no future in Shownastadt, not once word of her imprisonment spread. Friends and family would turn their back on her. She already knew Sanders had. Of everything she suffered today, that cut the deepest. She doubted that wound would ever heal, not if she lived to be eighty–a prospect that looked very unlikely at the moment.

  “Then shake a leg,” Andreas said, gesturing out of the cell and down the hall.

  She followed him down the hall, feeling a shudder of revulsion creep across her as she stood witness to the struggle that awoke her. She tried not to look down as she stepped over the bodies of two fallen Knights even as their blood clang to the soles of her shoes. She walked very gingerly through the puddles, not daring to splash any blood, water or other fluids on her green-and-white skirt. After a day spent in a cell, her clothes were now far from their freshest. It was a bit too late to worry about that now. She knew returning to her apartment was out of the question. Even if this thug would drive her past so she could pick up a few things, it would be the first place the Knights searched for her. No doubt they already searched the place thoroughly by now.

  Fortunately she had little in the way of private possessions; nothing more than clothing, some books and a few other essentials. What little money she made teaching remained safely locked away in a bank. It was not just any bank either but the State’s national bank. No branches existed outside of the State or its colonies. So even if the Knights had not seized her assets, she would be unable to access them outside of the country. What little she had was now lost. There was no other way of describing her day than a total disaster. I am going to wake up any time now.

  The Knight’s garage looked as dim and gloomy as her cell. Only a few vehicles sat in the garage. With war raging on so many different fronts, benzene was at a premium. Privately owned vehicles were no longer that common thanks to the fuel shortages. Katrina did not have one. Not only had she never owned one but she also lacked even a licence authorizing her to drive. The wheel turned the auto, the left peddle accelerated and the right stopped it–that summed up her extensive automotive knowledge. She wondered what the gangster saw as he examined each of the vehicles.

  There was little to ponder. Andreas walked up to the nearest auto–an ugly, blocky model ‘998. A design only two jahrs old, the Axis Motor Company already managed to produce over a million of them. The six passenger vehicle was a paragon of the cold efficiency of mass production. In order to roll so many autos off the assembly line AMC was forced to strictly standardize their creations. The running joke with AMC was that one could have any color auto they wanted just as long as it was black.

  Her would-be savior looked through the window at the spartan interior and smiled sadly. “This will do,” he said as he began straightening out a coat hanger he plucked from– Katrina had no idea where he found it. Had her situation not been so dire she might have laughed at the absurd sight of this gangster producing a wire hanger from nowhere.

  The auto had its window partially rolled down, just enough to allow air to circulate and prevent the interior from growing stagnant. He slid his makeshift hook into the gap and fished for the lock. Unlike civilian models, the autos used by Navenian functionaries came with locks. It was nothing complicated, just the type one pressed down with a thumb to lock. It took a minimal investment of effort to reward him with an audible pop as the lock released.

  He flung open the door and gestured with a flourish to the freed teacher. “After you.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  She paused just long enough to glare at him before she crawled into the auto. She had not stopped glaring at him since she met the man. If not for him she could have gone on with life as normal. Now, because of him and his dwarven friends, her future filled with gloomy uncertainty. The most overcast, stormy day was now brighter than what she saw in her future. She slid as far away from the driver’s seat as was possible while remaining inside the auto. As soon as she tucked herself in, the driver followed.

  “Halt!” a voice boomed from across the garage. Katrina looked back in time to spot several Knights spilling out of their office. The gangster did not bother to look back. He jumped in, slammed the door behind him and jammed his finger into the AMC’s push-button ignition. As soon as the engine roared to life, he threw it into gear and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. Rubber burned as the auto leapt into action, throwing his passenger back into her seat. The auto jumped up the ramp and out of the garage, followed closely by a hail of bullets.

  “Catch that auto!” Captain Enzio Planck, commander of the Knights in Shownastadt, barked at his immediate inferior. A slender man, trimmed neatly in his gray uniform, stepped forward with two of his squires. “Yes sir!” Lieutenant Krill was not about to let these criminals escape. He never lost a target and today was not the day he would start. He would catch that auto no matter the cost.

  What really bothered him was just how that gangster managed to break into the Shownastadt office. Everyone wanted to break out of prison; who in their right mind wanted to break into one? He was a crazy. No, worse than that. He was a crazy with a great deal of skill. Krill had to acknowledge that much; the gangster slipped in and killed three of his fellow Knights before anyone reacted. If the murders were not troublesome enough, the sheer gall of the gangster burned Krill. As mad as he felt, he refused to let it show. To show ones’ feeling so openly was a clear sign of weakness.

  A flaw his superior often flaunted. How such an openly emotional man attained the rank of captain was beyond Krill. Somehow Planck managed. He was visibly livid, a very undignified position from which a Knight should command. Krill did not want to imagine what Planck had in store for those two when there were drug back into the office. He doubted it would be anything as efficient as a bullet to the back of the head.

  “You two, come with me,” Krill ordered his squires. Both saluted and followed without complaint or comment. Krill preferred to simply eliminate the escapees but Planck was adamant about catching the auto. He would not waste any time trying to change his superior’s mind. The woman would be no problem to bring back. The man was another story. Somebody bold enough to invade the Knighthood’s space was not about to surrender on command.

  Krill picked the nearest auto, another AMC virtually identical to the one stolen. It had the same strengths and same faults. Krill knew the model well enough to reinforce his confidence of success. It would give him an edge. It was no roadster and likely would not top out at ninety kilometers an hour downhill, not even with a straight stretch. There was no chance of topping forty in the city. No matter how fast the gangster drove he would have to slow for corners, granting Krill plenty of time to catch him. Perhaps another auto should aid in the pursuit. It was a good idea but in a foul mood, his commander was not likely to listen to any good ideas.

  As soon as his assistants followed him into the auto, Krill punched out after the escapees. His auto hit the ramp, leaping out of the garage. It landed hard, tires squealing, sending a jolt through its occupants. Krill gripped the wheel with one hand and flipped on the siren with his free hand. The shrill scream of the Knight’s siren was more than enough to vacate the streets of any other autos and pedestrians. The Order conditioned the chosen people well; when the Knights were out on patrol it was always best to keep quiet and scamper out of their way.

  Andreas let out a low growl that rose from his throat like molten rock. He glanced in the door mirror, spying an auto identical trailing him, save that its lights flashed and its siren emitted a sound that could peel paint. Andreas wondered which of the switches above him activated the siren in his borrowed auto. He never drove a law enforcement auto before and it might make for an interesting distraction. It would be very useful if anyone pulled out in front of him.

  He was hardly surprised to see pursuers, not after he terminated their comrades. Stories about the Knights labeled them as relentless as a pack of wolves running down a deer. With a grim smile, Andreas decided to determine just how bad they wanted him. They might do well against deer but how would they fair against a badger? He bided his time, waiting until they closed in on him before making his move.

  With the other auto ten meters behind him, Andreas grabbed the wheel and spun it as hard as possible. The car leaned precariously and its tires burned as it turned sharply to the left. He heard his passenger let out a yelp as her head smacked into the passenger-side window. He used enough force in his turn to roll that ungainly Mule he drove into the town. The AMC stayed upright and continued down its new path, a quiet residential street, one that headed into the commercial heart of town.

  Behind him, all attempts at dislodging his pursuer failed. Shaken perhaps, as they did skid into a stop sign while trying to stay on his tail, but not lost. He almost laughed as he watched them in his mirror toppling that monument to traffic law and order. He could only imagine the dent left in the trailing auto. To do anything more than imagine would require letting the auto pull up alongside him, which was not really an option. For now, he could only imagine while trying to reach the denser commercial district. He hoped he could lose them in the more built up area.

  Sitting next to him, slightly dazed, his passenger held on for dear life. One hand clenched the cheap cloth seat while the other clutched a leather hold above the door. Both of her knuckles were white and her eyes as wide as five dinar coins. She braced herself as Andreas cut into another sharp turn, gritting her teeth at the sound of peeling tires. If he turned any sharper he would role the vehicle. She glanced over at the drive, horrified by what she saw. She wanted nothing more than to curse the man; he was actually enjoying this death-defying drive.

  He took another corner, this time right down Fourth Street. It was close to downtown and many warehouses lined the south side of the street. Andreas eyed those warehouses. An alley appeared to be behind them. “What’s down that alley?”

  The teacher took a second to realize he spoke to her. She glanced over seeing the warehouses speeding past. “More warehouses, a few vacant lots and past that Third.”

  “That should do,” Andreas replied, a plan fermenting rapidly in his mind. Third Street had some parking garages along with apartments. Beyond that was not Second but rather Main. Close to the river and railroad, it was home to many businesses. Beyond that were many single family homes, in which Andreas had no interest. Or perhaps not. In a colony like this, single housing remained limited, only the well-to-do could afford housing. They might also afford some decent set of wheels.

  Andreas turned sharply once again, still hoping to force the Knights to wipe out. This time he grimaced as his borrowed auto went from smooth pavement onto a dilapidated, single-lane road. With little choice in the matter, Andreas only hoped nobody was headed at him. If so, his choice would make for a very disappointing escape. Assuming his plan survived this road. The AMC bounced hard against each pothole, hard enough to rattle Andreas’s teeth. His passenger hissed and snapped at each bump.

  Andreas glanced again in his mirror. He spotted the Knights overshooting but not crashing. It would take them not long at all to get back on his trail–or rather the auto’s trail. His eyes glanced around the interior. What he needed was a good bar but he would settle for a long baton. It looked like something the Knights used to beat an undesirable into submission. Andreas took the baton off the floor and locked one end into the steering wheel. The other end he pressed down on the accelerator. This auto must go straight and fast.

  The now agitated passenger took notice at his unusual actions. “What on Towne are you doing?” Driving fast down a narrow alley was neither the time nor the place to be messing about.

  “Making this auto go straight and true,” he replied. He gave the wheel a good jerk. Satisfied, he kicked open the driver-side door. The other occupant gasped in surprise as he kicked open the door and again when he gestured for her to move close. “Come on, this is our stop.”

  “What!” she shouted.

  “We’re going to jump at that vacant lot,” Andreas quickly explained, pointing at a ruined warehouse. Two of its walls remained upright while black and violet towneform weeds choked its floor.

  “What!” She asked again. “You’re insane, you know that? Stupid gangster, you are going to get us killed.”

  Andreas glared back at her. “Fine! Stay here, but I’m leaving. And the name is Andreas, not stupid gangster.”

  His passenger threw her arms up in disgust. Not so much that he was bailing but the fact she had no choice but to follow. She unfastened her harness and crawled over to him. “This is crazy—“ Her words trailed off in a surprised yelp.

  Andreas threw his right arm around her waist and gave a mighty pull. He pushed off the seat with one leg and pulled their combined mass outwards with his free arm. The two flew through the air, arching straight into the deserted lot. Katrina lacked enough time to register their flight. One moment she was sitting down and the next the ground rushed up to meet her. She slammed into the black bed of mossy shrubs, knocking the air from her lungs.

  Most surprising of all was that nothing felt broken. She could still wiggle her toes; that was always a good sign. As soon as she caught her breath her first reflect was to rise and brush off the dust. She tried but a strong arm still clutched her waist. “Stay down!” Andreas said in a soft, yet unmistakably authoritarian voice. She remained motionless. She wondered if Andreas was hurt for he muttered something about being too old for jumping out of autos. Was there ever a proper age for leaping from moving vehicles? Surely he would rather not waste any time in escaping this lot.

  “Why—“ she tried to ask, only to have her voice cut off again. This time it was by the sound of arnyék-like sirens and roaring engine of a passing auto. The Knight’s vehicle finally caught its bearings and was hot on the trail once again. Hot on the other auto’s trail anyway. Only after the sound began to fade did Andreas let up on his grip. “You know, they’re going to notice the door’s open and no occupants pretty quickly.”

  Andreas pushed her off him and sat up. He rubbed his shoulder, the one that took the brunt of the impact. Pain shot through it but he could still rotate his arm. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Andreas managed to work himself back to his feet. Dust covered his custom tailored suit. The dry-cleaning bill would look as ugly as his jacket did now. He looked down at Katrina, offering her his hand.

  She glared at him and batted it away. She was more than capable of standing on her own. Bad enough he rescued her from prison but there was no way she would give him the satisfaction of seeing need from her. She looked down at her clothing, all of it filthy yet intact. She brushed off as much dust and bits of plat as possible. “You lunatic! What do you think jumping accomplishes?”

  Andreas met her mean look with a smile, which only served to fuel her rage. “We can only hope their orders were to follow the auto. The thing about you Chosen is that you’re obedient boys and girls. If those Knights had strict order to ‘follow that auto’ they will.”

  She fumed, now feeling a fool. “I should have just stayed put,” she muttered. Running was the worst possible action any suspect could take. All it would do was imply, if not solidly prove her guilt. She knew she was innocent, but her peers would never believe her.

  Andreas just shrugged and turned his back to her. “You want to go back, then be my guest.”

  She turned to see him walking away. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Andreas glanced back at her with a patronizing smile. “The moment that auto goes off-road they are going to realize that we–or rather that I gave them the slip and then they’ll start backtracking. I don’t know about you but I plan on being long gone by then.” He continued onward, not bothered to cast a backwards glance.

  She kicked the nearest pebble, sending it flying out into the pot-hole infested alley. “I should have called in sick today.” Innocent of this gangster’s crimes or not, she was now in this mess way over her head. The authorities were out to get her and her neighbors were very likely to inform on her the moment she came into sight. The only realistic chance she had of escaping this rotten day alive was to follow the man who landed her there in the first place. She picked up her feet and hurried after him, cursing each step she took.

  Andreas heard her hisses and decided to take a look back. “Couldn’t resist my charm, could you?” he asked dryly.

  Katrina picked up her pace, overtaking him before blocking his path. She thrust a finger into his chest like the barrel of a pistol. “Let’s get one thing perfectly straight; you got me into this mess and now you’re getting me out of it. And my name is Katrina, though you may address me as Miss Orkan.”

  “Right,” Andreas frowned reproachfully as he glanced down as her deadly finger. Golden Hammers were quite unaccustomed to this level of disrespect, even if one actually earned it. “Listen lady, the only getting I’m getting is out of this country. If you have a problem with that then we’ll just part ways here and now.”

  “Leave the State?” she asked, appalled by the only option laid out before her. “Then what?”

  “As I said, I am heading home,” Andreas reminded her in a cold, flat tone as he gently, yet firmly pushed aside her hand. He knew he deserved her scorn, anger and whatever else she decided to throw at him. After all, she was correct. He did land her in hot water. Just because he neither expected nor wanted thanks from her did not mean he tolerated any abuse. His guilt traveled only so far. “As for you,” he shrugged. “Pick a stop and I’ll let you off. After that you are on your own.”

  Katrina clenched her fist and shook it in his face. It might sound like a choice but he really gave her none. She was learning this gangster was quite good at that. It must be a skill acquired after jahrs of extortion. Lacking any real choice in the matter burned away at her more than the lone option. If she stayed in Shownastadt she would end up back in a cell quickly and likely a labor camp after that. If she went with him– Katrina let out an angry sigh. There was only one thing clear at the moment; if she stayed she was certainly doomed. Accompanying him across the border and into the life of a refugee might doom her. When it came to drawing the next breath a maybe was better than a certainly not. “Very well,” she marveled at just how fast she grew accustomed to resignation. That by no means meant she would give into his ways. “But don’t expect any gratitude from me.”

  Andreas rolled his eyes before smirking. “Don’t worry. All I expect out of you is backtalk.”

  Katrina tried to snap back but before the retort could even form in her mind, Andreas was already walking away. With the fast day of Towne quickly coming to an end, she knew it was more important to keep pace. Uncertainty filled her future but one thing was sure; she did not want to stay in the shadows of any alley once night fell.

  Krill kicked the spinning tire for a third time. “Turn that thing off!” he snapped at his nearest squire. His quarry, a stout auto, lay sideways in a ditch not far from the Jaipur. Had it not hit the gutter, it might have sped right off into the water. If that happened the Knighthood would be out an auto. It lay dented, scratched up and nearly upside-down now but soon enough it would function again.

  After the wheels ceased their spinning, his subordinate returned, holding a baton in one hand. “Sir, I found this locked on the steering wheel and acceleration peddle.”

  Krill sighed as he looked at the club, a rare display of emotion. He rubbed at the tension starting to gather behind the bridge of his nose. The gangster managed to lock direction and speed while obviously jumping somewhere behind them. If he had more daylight, Krill would simply backtrack his drive. Ten hours of daylight was too little to complete the job. Nothing unusual about that. No matter how many might try, he could never quite pack an entire day’s worth of activities into twenty hours.

  His second squire returned from his extensive scouting of the vicinity. He looked a little worse for wear, with mud splattering his uniform and completely caking his jackboots. “No sign of either fugitive, sir. Not even as much as a footprint.”

  Krill scowled, more at himself than any displeasure at his squire. The young underling stepped back, misjudging his superior’s frustration. Krill had to radio home now and report his failure. Failure–he paused for a second mulling over the word. Was it truly a failed mission? “Our mission is complete; we have captured the auto.” He managed a thin, barely noticeable smile as he spoke. How could it be a failure when he completed the task assigned him to the letter? “Very well, let’s report in and await further orders.”

  Katrina moved cautiously, trying to avoid coming into sight of anyone who might be out for an evening stroll. She kept to the shadows, peering cautiously around corners before moving forward. She was starting to feel like the main character in one of those cheesy spy movies, the type she watched back when she was still in school. She and her friends would watch them despite their implausibility, or rather mostly because of the smooth talking special agent. Those were fun days from her youth. She probably would still be watching the silly films had the State not banned all foreign media. Say what you want about Unustriaus domestic policies but their Camera City sure knew production value.

  “You look absurd,” Andreas told her as he strolled past, making no pretense to hide.

  Katrina gawked at him from her shadow in astonishment. He walked past her and right onto Main Street, stopping on a corner bathed in the light of a lamp post. She stayed between two buildings, a small parking garage and a closed hardware store, peering around the corner again. They were still on the edge of downtown and there were bound to be people out.

  “They are going to see you,” she called out, warning him in a loud whisper.

  Andreas chuckled, actually laughing at her concern. “That’s the general idea,” he said, his voice no quieter than since the moment she first met him.

  He was not just crazy; he was arrogant beyond all rational belief. Dragons had a greater sense of humility than this man. Katrina could not fathom just how he managed to stay alive in the underworld for so long with that attitude. “Don’t you think a little caution is prudent?”

  Andreas leaned up against the lamp post and flashed her a cocky smile. “If you idea of caution is slinking around like some would-be secret agent, then no.” Katrina straightened up from her sneaky pose and clamped both hands firmly upon her hips. She shot him another cold stare. “Lady, if you look suspicious then you are going to draw the attention of law enforcement, even one as choked in mysticism as your own Knighthood.”

  She frowned at his scornful tone. “I suppose this is your field of expertise. After all, only a professional criminal would know this.”

  Andreas shrugged. “It’s just basic psychology. The same applies against all the informants Navenia breeds. Try to walk casually. Just stroll up and down the street with confidence and everything will be cool,” he spread out his hands, miming the smoothness of his logic.

  Katrina failed to fault his warped logic. The easiest way to know when her students were up to mischief was by one of them wearing a mask of guilt. She forced herself to stay upright, trying her best to walk casually. “Suitable?”

  “It’ll do,” Andreas watched her approach, hiding his smile. She had a nice sway to her step even if her attitude was cold enough to freeze the ocean.

  She stopped next to him, forcing herself to remain calm even as every fiber in her being told her to scream. “Well? Do you plan to just walk across the border?”

  Andreas shook his head. “No. I’m sure some wheels will present themselves in good time.”

  Katrina sighed sharply. She should have known he was planning on stealing another auto. He was a good-for-nothing hoodlum, a thug and worst of all–her only hope of escape. “Auto-jacking? Oh, that’s real casual,” she laid on the sarcasm thicker than syrup as she spoke. “Why don’t you just rob a bank next?”

  Andreas shot her a warning glance, one dangerous enough to silence her. “Keep it down. If we start fighting then somebody is bound to notice.” He turned his attention away from her toward the houses further down the street. While most of their driveways remained empty he was sooner or later one would have an auto. He hoped it was not another AMC. Though it would consume an astro’s worth of luck, he hoped to find an alternative to those slow and clunky autos. A smooth Tropadisan convertible would be nice, though he supposed he would settle even for a shoe box shaped Mark Two. “And no, I don’t plan to take one off the road. Why should I when I can borrow a parked one?” He walked across the largely deserted Main Street toward the nearest row of houses.

  Katrina’s shoulders slumped as her frown deepened. This was not happening. Any time now she would wake up and realize today was nothing more than a horrible nightmare. Then she would call in late for work, just to make certain she did not bump into any mobsters. If she did not awaken–then the Knights would charge her with sympathizing with the enemy, escaping custody and now aiding and abetting an auto thief. This was by far the worst day of her life.

  Andreas kept his eyes open, examining each driveway as he walked past a house. They still lacked any sense of originality. A long row of bread-box houses spanned the road in either direction, identical right down to their paint and manicured lawns. He still marveled that anyone could find their way home. Perhaps the numbers pained on the sidewalk and hanging near the front door aided them. It was the only difference he could spot.

  For the most part, those that held autos held the same dull AMCs. Even these were indicative of differences in wealth. One or two of the autos looked slightly different, a bit more luxurious than their neighbors. Andreas considered these differences cosmetic only. The same engine sat beneath the bonnet. He sought something with a little more kick from its horses. Despite his outward cool, anxiety nipped at his heels. He did not like the fact the Knights currently remained out of his sight. After all, it was the one he did not see that would ultimately get him.

  Andreas continued his search until his eyes fell upon a pleasing design. He halted before the vehicle and could not help but break out in a delightful smile. The vehicle sat well enough away from the house as to not draw the owners attention to his presence at once. Anyone with a tenth-dinar’s worth of sense would be suspicious of strangers snooping around their motorcycles. Especially when they were almost out in the open, just begging for him to hop on and ride. “Perfect,” he silently clapped his hands together as he approached his target.

  Katrina followed his gaze and immediately scowled. She should have known he would pick a Steelhorse. These thugs were all alike. She looked at the chrome steel motorized bicycle–or motorcycle as the rest of the world called it–and heard it scream ‘outlaw’. Whomever owned it took good care of it, polishing it on a regular basis. Given the cost of the vehicle and that the Steelhorse Company operated in a foreign country, she was certain it belonged to a high ranking member of the Verdensorder.

  Just why one of the Order would own such a decadent contraption was beyond her. Normally the State would never allow the existence such a symbol within its borders. Perhaps the official was also a veteran and the vehicle was little more than a trophy of war. Trophy or not, she failed to see any appeal to chrome and leather, especially considering the rarity of the former.

  “Yes, this will work just fine,” Andreas ran his hand along the motorcycle’s chrome frame. He stroked it the way one would pet down a horse. Katrina shook her head, dumbfounded that anyone could show such fondness for a machine. She supposed it was indeed a wild horse, albeit one made from steel instead of flesh. “This baby can do a hundred forty easily and let me run circles around any auto while I’m doing it.”

  Katrina nodded in humor. “Right and how exactly do you plan on taking it?” she asked while pointing at the key slot. Unlike so many autos, motorcycles required keys in order to operate. Even Katrina could see the logic there. A push-button starter would allow anyone to hop on and drive away with it.

  Andreas shrugged, not the least concerned about the oversight. “Not a problem.” He reached into his pocket, fishing past a wallet, loose change and tagging a trusty tool. He pulled out his utility knife and flashed Katrina a grin.

  She had seen pocket knives before; so what? A blade could not do much for starting a motorcycle. “Do you plan on holding the Steelhorse at knife point until it starts for you?”

  Andreas ignored her. Unlike switch blades, utility knives did more than slash. He ran his finger past the file, a small wrench and paused on the screwdriver. With the flat-head screwdriver in hand, he pried open the ignition cap. Without looking, he let the cap fall to the ground. Without looking, he could sense Katrina standing there, wide-mouth as she watched him commit and obvious crime.

  “I was right; you are nothing more than a thief.” The sum of her life’s experience screamed at her to report him, to turn this thief into the proper authorities. The instinct for self-preservation stayed her hand. The same authorities were after her. In her soul she knew she should do the right thing but it lacked to power to overcome the body’s will to live to see another day.

  Andreas continued ignoring her stares as he switched tools. No point in listening to somebody speak when all they emit is negativity. He had plenty of that in his own heart without anyone else adding to it. Instead he took his blade and severed some of the wires from the ignition. The electric ignition was a wonderful invention; all turning the key did was complete a circuit. Once electricity reached the engine, the Steelhorse purred to life. Andreas, satisfied at his handy work, hopped on the saddle and kicked free the stand. He easily pushed the motorcycle backwards, out on to the street.

  “Hop on,” Andreas told her, revving the engine with a flick of the wrist.

  Katrina winced at the loud engine. Not only did it grate on her ears but surely its proper owner heard it. She had reservations about accepting the gangster’s invitation, reservations that vanished the moment the dark window of the home flared to life. She knew to delay would hurt their chances of escape. Or rather, it would hurt her chances. The driver would likely take off if it was the only way to save his own worthless hide.

  She cautiously approached the motorcycle, uncertain how to sit upon it in a skirt. She carefully threw a leg over the motorcycle, sitting herself behind the gangster. She disliked being this close to the man, almost as much as she disliked sitting in a cell. Almost.

  Andreas looked over his shoulder, a sly glimmer in his eye. “You best hold on tight.”

  She scowled at him again, trying to wipe the smirk off his face with her own thoughts. She failed in that regard. He quickly looked forward again, not waiting for her to speak. She never road a motorcycle before but hanging on did seem the obvious choice. She slowly extended her arms around his torso, locking her hands in front of him while remaining mindful of where she rested them.

  “Mind you hands now,” he said with a laugh.

  Katrina withdrew one hand behind his back long enough to punch him in the kidney “If we’re going to leave, then just shut up and drive!”

  Andreas laughed again as he cranked the accelerator. The Steelhorse roared off into the night, leaving behind one very angry owner who stormed quickly out of his house. Andreas expected nothing more than curses from the owner. He supposed there was one benefit for the State instituting heavily enforced arms control among its civilian populace; the motorcycle’s owner could not very well shoot him in the back as Andreas unilaterally borrowed his wheels.

  Krill stood at attention, enduring Planck’s ranting while rigid as an I-beam. His superior said nothing new or unexpected, a true Party man to the core. He laid the blame of escape solely at Krill’s feet, cursing his ineptitude every other sentence. The fact that Krill followed his orders to the letter only further infuriated Planck. It meant there could be no punishment for failure, at least not legally.

  Following the word of the orders but not the spirit– it was the way of too many subordinates when it came to covering failure. It was an excuse Krill preferred not to use. To do so felt more like he was making excuses for his own failings than pointing out to his commander the exact wording of his orders. It reminded him a lawyer, the type that existed so openly before Verdensorder came to power. Krill disliked the idea of anyone putting personal glory ahead of the pursuit of justice.

  Planck ceased his abuse long enough to draw in a deep breath. This whole episode was a disaster, an embarrassing mark that would never leave his commander’s record. Krill knew Planck was about to do something drastic. After all, to let one raid his office while going unpunished; he would be the laughing stock of the entire Knighthood. If that man escaped, how was Planck supposed to look in the mirror again. Why exactly he would want to look in the first place was beyond Krill, especially with a permanent scowl on his face.

  “Lieutenant,” Planck continued after a moment’s pause. His demeanor calmed after he vented so much steam. “I’m going to give you a simple order. One so simple that no one could ever botch it. You are going to be in command of the office until I return.”

  “Sir?” Krill replied, raising a brow. It sounded more like a declaration than an order. Even so, it was not like him to up and leave.

  “You heard me!” he said sternly, his eyes as dangerous as tempered steel. “I am going out there to clean up this mess. I will find those two and drag them back here. Until I return, you are in command. Do you understand?”

  Krill saluted, ignoring the almost patronizing tone in his commander’s voice. “Yes sir!” Without Planck jumping on everyone’s back, the office will certainly be less stressful. It might even run more efficiently. Planck never seemed to grasp the concept that perhaps micromanaging was counterproductive.

  “One more thing,” Planck added, licking his lips in anticipation of the chase. “Get my personal auto ready. I would like to catch that gangster before he crosses the border if at all possible.” If Planck failed in that regard, he would continue the pursuit across the border and try not to get caught himself. It would be a challenge hunting down these fugitives, one ripe with danger. If the border patrol caught him driving an auto while wearing a Knight’s uniform, it would raise many uncomfortable questions. The last thing The State needed was to antagonize Marasuania, at least not until it was ready to fight it.

  “Good luck,” Krill said, unsure how much of it he actually meant. If they captured Planck crossing the border, Krill would likely inherit permanent command in Shownastadt. He would start his climb up the ladder of rank over the failure of a loud-mouthed, abusive commander. No matter the outcome, it sounded like a win to Krill.

  Andreas breathed easily for the first time all day. With the night darkening he now took mental bets on which arrives first; midnight or the border. The first stretch in the race from Shownastadt was the easiest. Once past the eastern fringe of the city, housing dropped to almost nothing. Instead, vast tracks of farmland greeted him on either side of the road. As large as it appeared, it was nothing more than a drop in the bucket to what Navenia needed to feed its war machine. He wondered how much the farmers managed to keep. Or the laborers for that matter. His thoughts again went back to the train of undesirables filing out of the slums early in the morning for their remedial jobs and he decided it was not enough.

  Ahead of him, the road so far remained straight and devoid of light. He had yet to spot a single headlamp headed toward town. He shook his head at the thought. He never would see any traffic crossing the border, at least not this way. Refugees were keen on escaping Navenian-occupied territory, not entering it. No traffic flowed away from the city either, not even as much as a crossed Knight seeking his quarry.

  He sincerely hoped the Knights had less luck catching them than the bats had clearing the road. Shortly after sunset, insects of twenty varieties appeared and all were hopelessly in love with the motorcycle’s headlamp. They flew into his path in great clouds, forcing him to slow at time to prevent them from splattering against him. Not against the motorcycle; he could clean that easily. Against him personally. It would be most unbecoming of a Golden Hammer to arrive anywhere in a suit stained by the entrails of moths.

  His passenger nearly broke into hysteria when they passed through the first cloud. After a few near misses, she quickly burrowed into Andreas in search of protection. As annoyed as he was for being a human shield, he had to admit the feel of her body pressed into his back was far from the least pleasant sensation he experienced all day. He thought that up to the point when she started screaming at him to avoid the bugs.

  “How?” he asked, taking one hand off the handle to gesture ahead of them. “There has to be thousands of them. It’s not exactly possible to maneuver between them.”

  A small swarm of bats swooping ahead of them answered the how. The first bat nearly made him swerve right off the road. Katrina cursed him for that too, up until the point she looked up to see bats larger than her head. “What are those? Get rid of them!”

  Andreas sighed, biting back several stinging replies. Not so much for concern over hurting her feelings as that he was not sure which one to use. “First you want the bugs gone and now you want those who are eating the bugs gone. Lady, you can’t have it both ways.”

  That was a couple of hours ago. The bug storms thinned out and his passenger calmed down. So much so that he wondered if she fell asleep. That would be something to write home about; somebody actually falling asleep on the back of a Steelhorse and not falling off. Andreas wished he could pull off such a feat. After two days with little sleep, he was feeling the claws of fatigue digging into him.

  He stifled a yawn, resisting the urge to close his eyes. It would not be the first time he was on the run for this long. In his line of work, he was on call twenty hours a day, ten days a week. It was one of a hundred reasons why he was sick of his life. How difficult would it be to melt into the background once across the border? Perhaps not that difficult, if he did not mind a sharp decrease in the quality of life.

  Behind him, Katrina struggled to stay awake. With getting to work early, spending all day in a cell and most of the night on the run, she was simply exhausted. She had no energy left yet she had to stay awake. There was no telling what this thug would do if she fell asleep. If she was lucky, he would just let her fall off. If not– she heard plenty of stories about the perversions of the criminal mind. Her imagination reminded her of them every other minutes.

  The logical part of her, the part slowly shutting down from fatigue, reminded her that he could have simply left her to rot. True, gangsters did not like witnesses but with them leaving the country, what difference did it make? It was not as if they would be standing before a judge to answer for their crimes. Not unless the State invaded their home and burned them out like a nest of pirates.

  No, she would rest as soon as she reached some place safe. After that–she still hoped she would wake up in her bed and barely remember anything of this nightmare. She was too sore and worn out to believe any longer this was a dream. Too bad; she really would have liked her life back. She yawned, despite repeated warning to her body not to do so. She also firmly told it no sleep until they were safe. She kept on saying so until her last conscious thought was that she would not fall asleep.