Of them all, the Kalan Raiders were the worst. Some, like the Downsiders and FungusCroppers, were good and worth trading with, while others, like the RustDrinkers, were best avoided. Her parents had taught her it was a “station” or “facility” built in times older than old, and that their Kintribe was one of many that had come to live here. As the shouts and curses of the clunky armored raiders faded behind her, she reveled in the moment. She suppressed a giggle as she raced along the spaces and flaws that only a body as small as hers could fit through. Her Kintribe would need to know how dangerous space was today.īut for now, L’haan Seeker allowed herself a moment to be proud.
The rhyming guaranteed that there would be no mistakes in the ship count. The lone footprints on the sticky, rubbery floor assured her that no one else had discovered her pathway, and she quietly hummed her recon mnemonic to herself. The friction of her palms and feet pressing against the metal eventually brought her safely to a stop in a dimly lit cavernous room. She calmly counted to three, then kicked back against the rough wall she knew would be there and ricocheted into the smooth conduit that angled down and away from the search team. Jagged metal and dead cables whipped by her face, but she ignored them, waiting instead for the first hair-raising touch of the inertial field that haunted this section. Kalan Raider patrols had gotten more numerous, but as she fell through the dark, picking up speed, L’haan assured herself that the slavers were going to be disappointed today.
“Thirteen, Fourteen, don’t be seen! All free girls go in-between!” L’haan stayed frozen for an extra two seconds, assuring herself that the launch vibrations had ceased before leaping to her feet and throwing herself into a crack along the wall Unfortunately, no amount of smart can keep bad luck away indefinitely.
L’haan whispered a word her parents said she wasn’t old enough for. In the distance came the sudden thud of booted feet, and a woman’s harsh voice shouted, “I’ve got a heat trail! This way!”
“ Nine, ten, eleven…twelve?! Mother yells, ‘Dusty Hells’!”
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