“What am I supposed to do with this?” he said, fear creeping into his voice.

“There might be a pilot standing by. Just press the button on the handle and poke him with the round ball at the end.” Jax stared at the stick in bewilderment. “Go, now, goddammit!” Runstom shouted, and the look of intensity and violence in the officer’s eyes made Jax want to go down the tube and face someone less terrorizing. Like maybe a bloodthirsty gangbanger.

Runstom stuck his gun back out the breach-end of the tube and with a battle cry, continued blasting. Jax could hear Halsey join in, and for that brief moment he imagined the ModPol officers were a two-man army, fighting off a wave of invaders. He spun around and headed down the tube.

The tube itself was barely large enough in diameter for a grown person to stand. Being B-fourean, Jax was taller than many other humans and had to crouch as he picked his way through the flexing tube. There were handles dotting the length of it, and he quickly discovered their intended use. Once he was off the barge, the failing artificial gravity was no longer a factor, because there was no gravity at all. The tube was some kind of segmented metal. It was not transparent, and for this, he was thankful. It didn’t seem like a good time to be confronted with the vast emptiness of space.

After a minute or two and some distance Jax couldn’t judge, he reached the end. He could still hear Runstom shouting and blasting, and he was pretty sure he could make out the clapping of Halsey’s rifle even at this distance. The hatchway at this end was open. That seemed like a terribly dangerous thing to do, and Jax had to imagine it violated all kinds of safety regulations. So, yeah, he thought as he slowly pulled himself through the hatchway. Add that to their list of atrocities.

The ratio of ducking to returning fire for Runstom and Halsey was steadily growing in favor of ducking. There was a palpable increase in pressure coming from the center of the barge as the gangbangers reassembled their forces and returned to their only escape route. It seemed like a good plan, but now Runstom was having his doubts about getting between a legion of Space Wasters and their ships.

“George,” he said in between blasts of his laser pistol. “George!”

Halsey stopped shooting and leaned back into the tube he occupied on the opposite side of the corridor. He struggled with an extra ammo clip that was affixed to the side of the heavily modified rifle. “My last clip,” he yelled. “We need to get out of here.”

The gangbangers didn’t waste time taking advantage of the short pause. Runstom and Halsey were both forced to lean back into their tubes as the hallway crackled with machinegun fire. Runstom panted as his heart threatened to climb out of his throat. He and his fellow officers had combat training, but it didn’t come close to preparing him for something like this mess. He looked down at the cellpack in the laser pistol. It was down to about a ten-percent charge. He had no idea how many shots that translated into.

The continuous rain of bullets smoothed into a series of rhythmic bursts, and for a brief moment he thought that maybe it meant the gangbangers were running low on ammo as well and were attempting to conserve it. This thought gave him a flicker of hope until he remembered all the blades attached to the guns. Maybe he was better off getting shot before it came to that.

A new sound caught his attention, a strange metal-bouncing-on-metal sound. He and Halsey both looked into the corridor from their opposite-sided shelters. A cylindrical object bounded along and continued all the way to the supply hold they’d come from only minutes before.

“Shit.” Runstom wanted to yell to Halsey that it was a grenade, but the explosion beat him to it. The heat of it blew up the hall and into his tube, but there was nothing more than that. He ventured a peek back down toward the hold and saw the burned scarring just inside the open doors.

He realized in that second that whoever had thrown the grenade hadn’t accounted for the low gravity. The next one came with an adjusted aim, rolling to a spot directly between them where it stopped and spun idly like a bottle in a party game.

Halsey took two steps into the corridor that was still being peppered by cover fire and swung his rifle like a club, smacking the cylinder with one of the blades at the end of the barrel. The grenade flew back down the hall and Halsey cried out as a spray of red burst from his forearm. The rifle clattered to the floor and he dropped back on his ass and kicked at the floor with his feet, pushing himself back into the tube.

“George!” Runstom reflexively stepped toward his partner, but the spray of bullets drove him back.

The returned grenade blew and the cover fire was momentarily interrupted. Runstom didn’t have time to wonder if it actually took anyone out, he just used the space of a breath to dive across the hall and into the other tube. He grabbed Halsey by his good arm and hoisted him to his feet, but the other officer cried out as he stood.

He pulled away the bloody arm to reveal thicker, darker blood coming from his abdomen. “Stan,” he gasped, reflexively holding his wound once again. “You gotta go.”

“No.” Runstom tugged roughly at Halsey’s arm. “Come on, George. We’re both going.”

Halsey groaned but didn’t protest further. Runstom tried to think but he had no time. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and it was clear the rest of the barge had fared even worse. Space Waste had won. He looked down the nearby tube. No doubt there was a ship at the other end, but he’d already sent Jax down the tube opposite. More than ever, Runstom thought their only chance at escape was to stick together.

In the several seconds that had passed, the gunfire had not returned. “Come on, George,” he said with a tug. “Now or never.”

They limped across the width of the spacious hallway. A burst of gunfire sent them diving for the tube. Runstom felt the bite of one shot in his thigh and the ripping sting of another across his midsection before he hit the inside of the tube. He spun around to see Halsey twisting in the corridor, spitting curses and clutching his leg.

“George!”

Another cylinder bounced along the floor, thumping Halsey in the chest. He grabbed at it, bobbling it until he spun it around and found the safety clip. He clutched at it and looked at Runstom. “Go, Stan!”

“George, what are you doing? Throw it back!”

“Go!” He started belly crawling toward the tube. Sporadic bursts lit up the air. “Go before I blow us both up!”

Then it clicked. He was going to blow the tube loose so that no one could follow.

“Damn you,” Runstom said and turned away from his only ally.

He flung himself as deep into the tube as he could, then scrambled to yank himself along by the handholds when the gravity disappeared altogether.

Still coping with the weightlessness, Jax pulled himself through the small ship slowly and carefully. He was in what appeared to be a passenger-seating and load-out room. There were twelve or so “seats” on the walls which were angled in a way that, if there were any gravity, one could walk up to them and strap in securely without actually sitting. They were similar to the mount that was in his cell, only made for voluntary use. On the other side of the room was a series of racks that contained a few spare guns and what looked like suits of armor.

On the opposite wall from the hatchway was another door. This one was closed, and apparently locked, according to the lit sign on the front of it. There were a few flimsy-looking spacesuits hanging haphazardly on either side of it. Jax realized that this was probably the cockpit door. It was a small ship indeed; a personnel carrier, probably hijacked from a military outfit at one time. Just enough to get a boarding party from one big ship to another. They’d be lucky if it could even do Warp.