by T C Archer
She stepped onto the Dasinger and glanced over her shoulder to see Mr. Slick Dick had stopped and was in conversation with the other man and a dock worker. His chrome stare looked through the man he spoke with. Those damned eyes had fooled her. He hadn’t seen her after all. Maybe one of the gods of fortune had taken pity on her after all.
Inside, the entryway split left and right. Both hallways would meet at the ship’s bridge up front. She headed right. A door came into view ahead on the right. Coming abreast of the door, she glanced both ways down the hall. Then, right hand on the holstered Omegatron, she pressed the button on the right side of the door.
The door slid open and the light switched on as Sasha stepped inside. Pieces of equipment including boarding hooks, two spacesuits, a toolbox, magnetic grapples, compressed-air canisters, and a spark arrester hung on the walls or sat on a workbench lining the back wall. An equipment locker stood where the repair shop had been on the M-type she’d been on.
Sasha peered out the door, glanced left, then right, and headed back down the hallway to a second door. She stopped in front of what she figured was another storage room, then grasped the butt of the Omegatron and jabbed the button on the wall. The doors swooshed open in unison with the light flaring to life. She ducked inside. Lining the room from floor to ceiling were more cabinets and sealed, marked containers that held coffee, sugar, spices, dried meat, instant drinks, napkins, mixes, PFRT—whatever that was—and various other dry goods.
She hesitated. No one was likely to enter this room until after takeoff. If she hid here until the ship was underway, she could guarantee getting off Centor. With any luck, the ship would take off soon. Once out of Centor’s system, she would find out what she was up against.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Sasha rose from the metal container she’d been sitting on and headed for the door. Too much time had passed with no sense of movement. If Centor had stopped all departures, they might start searching ships. Though more likely, the ship’s owners would enter the storeroom to inventory the goods.
She pulled the Omegatron from its holster and pushed the button to open the door. Silence reigned from the other side. She leaned forward and scanned the hallway. Empty. She hurried from the room. Another door came into view up ahead on the left. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Things were too quiet. She reached the door and pressed the button.
As expected, the door opened into a stateroom. Sasha ducked inside. The room contained a double bed with covers tucked so tight and sharp, the mattress looked like it had never been slept on. Beside the door sat a built-in dresser and mirror. She opened the drawers and found them empty.
A small storage closet sat in the far left corner beside a compact bathroom with a zero-G shower, sink, and toilet. In one corner of the bathroom was a fold-up desk and computer terminal, which she manually powered down so it couldn’t be activated remotely. She found no clothes, toiletry items, hair, scales, or feathers, and no hidden cameras. By all indications, the room had never been used.
Distant mechanical and metal-on-metal sounds jerked her attention toward the door. She stared for a long moment, the sudden pounding of her heart the only thing she heard, then blew out a breath. About time. With any luck, the ship would be leaving soon or was already underway. She glanced around the room. What could be more perfect than to stowaway in an unused stateroom? This beat sitting on that hard crate in the storage room.
Sasha locked the door, then stripped off the coveralls and drew the zipper of her bodysuit down to her navel. The skintight suit’s millipore fabric made it breathe like skin, allowed perfect freedom of movement, and made her look damn good, but it had no pockets and constricted her breasts. She stepped into the bathroom, stopped in front of the mirror, and ran her fingers through her short hair, fluffing up what she could, given the weighty coating of dried perspiration. Maybe she would keep the shade of mahogany once the mission was over. The highlights went well with the opal, almost colorless sheen of the suit. The dark red in her hair even complemented the little pink rose that hid the catch between bra cups.
A low vibration, like a subsonic hum she didn’t recognize, began. Sasha paused and concentrated on the sound. Feedback between two different types of engines, maybe? She left the bathroom, crossed to the door, and checked the lockout code. Still sealed. A plane of force, like a plate of glass with green swirling lights, emerged from the wall by the door.
She jumped back, then took several more paces back as the wall of green inched toward her. What the hell was the thing? A disintegrator field to kill rats and other vermin? Maybe a sterilizer against alien microbes and bugs? Either one would kill stowaways. Her pulse spiked. The damn thing was between her and the only exit.
She backed away as the death wall inched forward. It extended from floor to ceiling and both walls, effortlessly formed itself around obstructions, then snapped back into place. Her calves contacted with the bed. The plane of force penetrated into every nook and cranny.
Sasha darted a glance at the door on the other side of the green wall. Sweat broke out across her forehead. Maybe she could short it out or open a hole. She drew the Omegatron and fired at the wall’s glowing center. The pulse hit, then vanished. No sparks, no sound. The green swirls remained unchanged. Her heart pounded. What kind of force field could do that to Omega radiation?
Fighting panic, she sidled around the bed and backed up until her shoulder blades met the wall. The thing advanced, swept through the bed, closer…closer. Blood roared in her ears as she pressed against the wall. The force field couldn’t be deadly, could it? No warning or alarm had been given before the scan began. That was a law, wasn’t it? An alarm always had to sound when a deadly field was triggered?
The force field closed in.
Sasha turned her head to the side, cheek pressed to the wall. She choked back tears. Centor’s secret of warp-field technology would die with her. Dad.
The green field made contact.
Now available at your favorite distributor.
Other Titles from T. C. Archer
Full Throttle
For His Eyes Only
Chain Reaction: Phenom League
Sasha’s Calling
The Pickle My Little Friend
The Kirsoval Scourge Series
Winter in Paradise
Yeoman’s Curse
Coming Soon
In the Company of Kate
Phenom League series
Behind Enemy Lines
Desert Fox
Sin Series
Sin Revisited
Sin Reborn
About the Author
T. C. Archer is comprised of award winning authors Evan Trevane and Shawn M. Casey. They live in the Northeast. Evan has a Ph.D. in electrical engineering, and Shawn is a small business owner. Their collaboration began on a lark with the post WWII film noir story The Pickle My Little Friend, and has evolved into nearly a dozen works, which includes their new series The Phenom League, and the Daphne Du Maurier winner, romantic thriller For His Eyes Only.
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