losing a chance with Delly. Or stay and play wrestle-mania with the red-haired woman’s muscle who didn’t look like they wanted to just chat - and risk losing Delly.
When would I ever get a freaking even break on a choice?
‘Sure,’ I said. I called up my luggage drone. ‘Where to?’
‘Our transport is on the helipad.’
I headed at an indecent pace for the express lift, dragging Derek with me.
In the whoosh-time it took to get to the hundred and thirtieth floor, I remembered how much I disliked flying and how much I liked my feet on the ground - the absolutely best place for them. The last time I’d been in the air had been a mad-brained escape from M’Grey Island. Someone had chopped the damn thing’s rotors off the ’copter I was flying and dumped me in the moat in a cheesecloth skirt.
Very inconsiderate.
Outside, the Hi-Tel roof was divided into large helipads by the square outlines of the control booth, the lift hutch and some portable, blinking-light barricades.
Monk’s transport sat on one of them. I knew it was his because his initials lit the tail like sequins on a cheap bustier.
Other than two air-traffic staff there was no one else around.
Derek opened the door. ‘Please get in.’
I shook my head. ‘Tell Mr Monk I appreciate his offer. I’ll call him later.’
His hand locked onto my elbow, crushing the joint. ‘I have no wish to use force, Ms Belliere, but I have instructions to do so if necessary. Please get in.’
I jerked away but couldn’t shake him. My elbow went numb.
He pulled me around and opened the palm of his other hand to reveal a derm big enough to knock a nightclub full of speed-freaks on their collective arse.
‘Please get in or I shall be forced to sedate you.’
Stunned by his change of tactics, I let him push me into a seat.
He climbed in next to me and began take-off protocol straight away as if he was expecting trouble.
Indecision gripped me. What to do?
I glanced around the cabin, desperate, and spotted emergency flares stacked alongside my seat. I whacked Derek with my best backhander, hoping to disrupt a sensor or two. The skin casing ruptured on one side of his face but he ignored me and the ’copter began to lift.
Across the tarmac the express lift opened. Delly walked out and around behind the control room to the helipad on the other side.
Two sensations coincided. Relief - that it wasn’t the redhead’s muscle. Panic - my chance to snare Delly was about to slip away.
Adrenalin took over. I grabbed two flares, popped the door and jumped the few metres down onto the tarmac, rolling about as neatly as an overripe melon dropped from a Hi-Tel penthouse.
I dropped the flares as every bone in my body jarred. I tried to get up and crawl after them. At least, my mind told my body to do it but my body refused.
Lie still and recover , it ordered. Take a sauna. Get a life.
Then I heard the distinctive whine of gun turrets aligning. Over the ’copter’s shoulder I saw a broad-backed Troop Float rising from a channel alongside the building. This one was unmarked and utterly businesslike, front-mounted .50-cal machine guns cooking and ready to fire.
Whenever I got close to death - which was getting too damn frequent to be thrilling - it was never how I wanted it.
Never the right way to die.
Suddenly my mind and body were in complete agreement again.
Move.
I rolled towards the scattered flares as the ’copter nosed forward, altering the angle of its landing struts to try and scoop me up.
It pummelled into me and somehow snagged the strap of my chic little top. For a second I became airborne - until my weight tore the fabric and I dropped to the tarmac again.
I kept rolling this time despite the pain.
The ’copter corrected its lurch and came for me again.
The Troop Float sent a warning spray of fire along the tarmac. I wasn’t sure if it was aimed at me or at Monk’s ’copter but I wasn’t going to raise my hand to ask.
Instead, I
When would I ever get a freaking even break on a choice?
‘Sure,’ I said. I called up my luggage drone. ‘Where to?’
‘Our transport is on the helipad.’
I headed at an indecent pace for the express lift, dragging Derek with me.
In the whoosh-time it took to get to the hundred and thirtieth floor, I remembered how much I disliked flying and how much I liked my feet on the ground - the absolutely best place for them. The last time I’d been in the air had been a mad-brained escape from M’Grey Island. Someone had chopped the damn thing’s rotors off the ’copter I was flying and dumped me in the moat in a cheesecloth skirt.
Very inconsiderate.
Outside, the Hi-Tel roof was divided into large helipads by the square outlines of the control booth, the lift hutch and some portable, blinking-light barricades.
Monk’s transport sat on one of them. I knew it was his because his initials lit the tail like sequins on a cheap bustier.
Other than two air-traffic staff there was no one else around.
Derek opened the door. ‘Please get in.’
I shook my head. ‘Tell Mr Monk I appreciate his offer. I’ll call him later.’
His hand locked onto my elbow, crushing the joint. ‘I have no wish to use force, Ms Belliere, but I have instructions to do so if necessary. Please get in.’
I jerked away but couldn’t shake him. My elbow went numb.
He pulled me around and opened the palm of his other hand to reveal a derm big enough to knock a nightclub full of speed-freaks on their collective arse.
‘Please get in or I shall be forced to sedate you.’
Stunned by his change of tactics, I let him push me into a seat.
He climbed in next to me and began take-off protocol straight away as if he was expecting trouble.
Indecision gripped me. What to do?
I glanced around the cabin, desperate, and spotted emergency flares stacked alongside my seat. I whacked Derek with my best backhander, hoping to disrupt a sensor or two. The skin casing ruptured on one side of his face but he ignored me and the ’copter began to lift.
Across the tarmac the express lift opened. Delly walked out and around behind the control room to the helipad on the other side.
Two sensations coincided. Relief - that it wasn’t the redhead’s muscle. Panic - my chance to snare Delly was about to slip away.
Adrenalin took over. I grabbed two flares, popped the door and jumped the few metres down onto the tarmac, rolling about as neatly as an overripe melon dropped from a Hi-Tel penthouse.
I dropped the flares as every bone in my body jarred. I tried to get up and crawl after them. At least, my mind told my body to do it but my body refused.
Lie still and recover , it ordered. Take a sauna. Get a life.
Then I heard the distinctive whine of gun turrets aligning. Over the ’copter’s shoulder I saw a broad-backed Troop Float rising from a channel alongside the building. This one was unmarked and utterly businesslike, front-mounted .50-cal machine guns cooking and ready to fire.
Whenever I got close to death - which was getting too damn frequent to be thrilling - it was never how I wanted it.
Never the right way to die.
Suddenly my mind and body were in complete agreement again.
Move.
I rolled towards the scattered flares as the ’copter nosed forward, altering the angle of its landing struts to try and scoop me up.
It pummelled into me and somehow snagged the strap of my chic little top. For a second I became airborne - until my weight tore the fabric and I dropped to the tarmac again.
I kept rolling this time despite the pain.
The ’copter corrected its lurch and came for me again.
The Troop Float sent a warning spray of fire along the tarmac. I wasn’t sure if it was aimed at me or at Monk’s ’copter but I wasn’t going to raise my hand to ask.
Instead, I
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