The noise sounded as though it had come from ahead and a little to the left of them. Which would put it in…

“The rec room!” she gasped. “Saul!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Three more shots echoed around her. Maren began moving again, ignoring her weary, aching muscles as she pushed herself through the vents as quickly as the cramped confines would let her. If Saul’s using his gun, that means they’ve gotten to him. Instead of hunting us, they’ve gone directly to our destination, broken through the doors, somehow, and he can’t even run—

Terror lent her strength. She rounded the final corner and saw the slivers of light belonging to the recreation room’s vent ahead of her. As she drew close to it, she wormed one hand behind her, pulled the gun out of her belt’s holster, and clamped it between her teeth. Then she kicked the vent open and threw herself into the room below feet first.

Saul was sitting propped upright in the lounge, the blankets Maren had placed over him discarded to the floor. He had his gun clasped in both hands, and his eyes narrowed as he aimed. Even from her position across the room, Maren could see the harsh lines of concentration crinkling his brow.

On the opposite side of the room, advancing on him with slow, careful paces that reminded Maren of a stalking panther, was Suriya. The knife swung idly by her side as she slunk closer to Saul, and the crazed delight on her face set Maren’s blood to ice.

Of course, she opened the rec room’s door. She’s the only person in the station with a higher permission than the defence technician.

Saul fired another two rounds. He wasn’t shooting to kill, or even to injure, but was aiming at the floor just in front of Suriya’s feet. The first shot made her hesitate, and the second caused her to take a half step backwards, but then she stepped around the smouldering black holes the bullets had left in the carpet and moved even closer.

“Suriya!” Maren yelled, aiming her own gun at the older woman’s face. “Get back!”

“She’s past reason,” Saul said. He sounded resigned. “She won’t talk.”

Suriya opened her mouth in a twisted grimace and laughed until her body convulsed from the effort. She let the knife swing like a pendulum, the light shining off its long, tapered blade. Her face seemed to have transformed in the time since Maren had last seen her; deranged intent had replaced the normal cool restraint.

Maren knew Saul was right, but she couldn’t stop herself from trying. “Suriya, relax. We can get off the station. A ship’s coming to pick us up. Just put the knife down, and we can talk about it.”

Maren thought their leader was contemplating the idea, but then Suriya lunged forward, knife aimed at Maren’s face. Her finger was poised over the trigger. She knew she had to pull it—the blade was a second away from slicing into her, but she hesitated. It’s still Suriya. Damaged, deranged, but still the same person inside. Can I live with myself if I kill her?