I turn away from the window, observing the lobby of this hovercar station. I realize this part of the ship is quickly becoming a ghost town. Several other holographic images of soap opera actors are calling forth hover vehicles for Skye personnel, evacuating them from this area.
I startle as I glance to my side and find the hologram has joined me at the window. “I’m sorry,” the actor-hologram says, “all general transportation has been suspended due to Code Amber. Would you like me to contact a security detail to assist you?”
“No!” I state, holding up both my hands. “That won’t be necessary. I will locate another means of transport.” Dropping my hands, I back away from his smiling visage.
“Okay.” He gives me a sultry look. “Don’t forget to check in with Violet Shadows, airing tonight at nineteen parts.”
“Will do,” I say, before turning and moving toward the outside doors.
I keep my face down while the last few technicians from the dishery move to their hover vehicles and merge onto the highway. I wave my hand in front of a panel and open the doors to the Beezway. I walk through and stand at the railing. Several fast-moving hovercars zip past, creating a slipstream that nearly blows the hood of my overcoat back from my head.
There’s nothing left for me to do but to climb over the railing and onto the glowing lavender roadway. I press to the side abruptly as a bullet-shaped hover vehicle fires down the tunneling passage; it’s carrying troops dressed in Cavar uniforms. After taking a deep breath, I turn and follow in the direction they’re going. More shiny silver hovercars with Cavars inside go by. The hopelessness of locating Trey crushes me, squeezing my heart.
In desperation, I sprint down the center of the express track. A hover vehicle rounds the bend in front of me; this one is black and built for speed. I stop and put my hands up, waving at it frantically. The driver cuts the air jets; the vehicle loses buoyancy, hitting the ground. As the car bounces, it sends out sparks, screeching as it grinds across the lane. Stopping right in front of me, the driver’s eyes widen in surprise, and then narrow in anger. The door of the vehicle opens, sliding in an arc over the ceiling.
He flicks his hands at me. “Are you demented?” he asks as he approaches me. “I almost flattened you!” He’s at least a foot and a half taller than me and he’s all brawn with short, military-style hair. His Cavar uniform is that of an officer. The tribal tattoos on his neck are a comforting sight. “Who are you? What are you doing in the middle of the Beezway?”
Blood is roaring in my veins. He comes and stands right in front of me. From my pocket, I pull out the harbinger. As I point the weapon at him, I’m surprised that my hand isn’t trembling. “Take me to the detention area,” I order him. “Now!”
He glances at the harbinger in my hand for a second, and then he meets my gaze. Before I can react, his hand closes over my heavy weapon, pulling it out of my grasp. His other enormous hand wraps around my neck. He twists me around so that my back slams hard against the front of his black hovercar. Holding the harbinger he confiscated from me to my forehead, he says through clenched teeth, “Give me a reason not to kill you.”
I wheeze and cough, all the air inside me knocked out. “Baw-da-baw,” I manage to say as he squeezes my throat so hard that tears come to my eyes. Immediately, his grip on my throat eases. I cough more and gasp for air.
Thump. I turn my head as an Alameeda missile hits the Ship of Skye in the distance, sending out a rolling wave of fireworks. The shock of the blast causes the tunnel in front of us to shudder and then collapse. Rock dust spews outward, shadowing the destruction. It cuts off the flow of traffic, making it impossible to move in the direction the hovercars were traveling. Had the hovercar I stopped kept going, everyone inside would be dead now, crushed beneath the weight of the tunnel ceiling. A fast-moving vehicle behind us isn’t able to stop in time. It crashes into the caved-in debris and explodes into an inferno. More hovercars follow it into death.
“It’s the Alameeda,” I say, when the soldier with his hand to my neck looks down at me, “they’re attacking.”
With a grim expression, the Cavar tightens his grip once more. “Really? I hadn’t noticed the triple nitronium fritzwinter sonicdrites hitting the ship! ” he growls. “Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter. Cavars are trapped in the detention center—Trey Allairis, Jax Roule, Wayra Waters—they’re locked in cells, guarded by Brigadets. If we don’t get them out, they’re dead.”