The Escape by C.A. Hartman

Author:C.A. Hartman [Hartman, C.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 5280 Press

* * *

Eshel sat in the shuttle, eyeing his small bag filled with his few necessities. It was all he had now. His sense of excitement had faded, replaced by a watchful eye, a mind rehearsing what needed doing, and a discomfort he wasn’t sure how to describe.

Fear of some kind. But one he didn’t understand, hadn’t felt before. Perhaps the fear the others had displayed in the shuttle had finally settled upon him.

Only one of his fellow escapees—the older Moshal man—remained in the shuttle, the rest having been escorted to the bay from which they would escape. Eshel felt the older man’s occasional stare, and wanted to know what had possessed him to take such a risk. But he said nothing. They would have plenty of time for such talk on the long journey to Suna. Soon, Mosel came for the older man, leaving Eshel alone.

When she returned, Eshel stood, his belongings tucked underneath his robe.

“It is time,” Mosel said. “Where is it?”

Eshel patted his pocket, where he’d stowed the newly-made bioweapon.

“Once we deploy it, how long will we have?”

“Less than a minute.”

Mosel hesitated. “It will not harm them permanently, correct?”

“It will not. It will merely disable them for an hour or so before the effect wears off.”

Mosel eyed him for a moment, as if part of her didn’t want to believe him. He understood. Nobody trusted a Shereb. Not after the reputation they had earned.

“If it does otherwise, you will share their fate,” she said coldly.

“It won’t,” Eshel said, hiding his irritation. To not trust him was one thing; to doubt his abilities, quite another.

He followed Mosel out of the shuttle bay and into a hallway. He held the tablet she’d given him, pretending to read as he kept his head down, all the while hyperaware of every detail.

The white hallway. The black-robed Guardsman passing. The feel of his belongings strapped to his body under his robe. And the weird mix of feelings that gripped him, fear and determination, the latter taking precedence.

When they drew closer to a door, Mosel glanced at it, indicating it was the door, behind which the others waited. They passed it by, and as they neared the room where they could gain access to the station’s ventilation system, a Guardsman approached.

Eshel continued “reading,” but sensed the Guardsman slow. Then stop.

He didn’t want to look up. But he knew if he didn’t, it would look suspicious. He glanced up briefly before returning to his tablet.

“What is it?” Mosel said to the Guardsman.

“Who are you?”

Eshel looked up again, knowing the question was aimed at him. “I am Rasar. From Station Twenty.” The lie was out his mouth before he could doubt himself.

“I did not authorize any visit from Station Twenty,” she said.

“I did,” Mosel said. “We’ve had problems with our communicators and this is Rasar’s specialty.”

The woman hesitated a moment. Eshel stared at her, ignoring his overactive inner alert systems. She suspected him. Partly because she didn’t know his face, but also because he didn’t have the darker hair of the Moshal.

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