Planatae

Stranded

Ricardia's sidelong blow had hit the hacker so hard that his head twisted away. He turned back to look at her, gaping like a fish. From the corner of his eye hung a feed-contact she'd dislodged, sitting there like a tear.

RIcardia, the man's sidekick, the rest of the street - there was a collective hush, as though no one was sure how to react. Although she couldn't see them, it was the passerby that sprung into action first, hurrying away as past as possible. Then the tension truly shattered, and the hacker let out a snarl of rage and indignation.

"Caedem help me," Ricardia muttered, then pivoted and ran full tilt down the street.

She'd maybe gotten a two, three-second head start before the two men gave chase. Around her, inexplicably, she could hear scattered cheering.

"Good luck, girlie!" An old man saluted her as she flew break-neck past his shop, but one made a move to block her pursuer's path. People love an underdog, but Caedem forbid if anyone stepped in to help a lone woman, apparently. The thought helped fuel the flames, pushing Ricardia forward, and she turned a corner, heading down another street at full speed. She didn't need to look back to know where her pursuers were - she could hear the heavy breathing of the two men close behind.

A boulevard meant light and local authority, but Ricardia didn't know if she had it in her to make it that far. She was athletic - the reason these men hadn't caught her yet - but she was running out of time.

For several long, horrible seconds, the three of them ran in silence, only interrupted by the rush of wind, the thrum of pounding heartbeats. The universe had been reduced to one directive, and Rcardia was determined to keep moving for as long as she could. But then, underneath the adrenaline, a plan was beginning to form. These men may be bigger, and faster, but they were from Onyx. They didn't have a Factor.

It was then that she saw it: further down the street, a gap in the buildings. A service entrance maybe, or just a quirk of architecture. But right now, within her half-baked plan, it was her salvation. She dragged everything she had left up to the surface, pushing through those last few moments to the alley. She turned the corner; there, spotted a dilapidated recycler against the wall, threw herself behind it. Then Ricardia began to strip, tearing off her full-length sweater.

The two men burst into the alleyway, came to a stop. From behind her hiding place, she could hear them: the scuff of their feet, their exhalations. She imagined them pointing, silently communicating to conspire against her, to flush her out. But now she was ready. Ricardia waited. One moment. Then another. She heard the pounding rush of feet then, and threw herself out into the open, pushing her Factor as hard as she could.

Standing in the alley, the hacker knew that the dead-head tourist was hiding behind the recycler. The alleyway was stub-like and empty otherwise.

He was furious. What should have been an easy bypass-hack on the woman had left him humiliated. He wanted revenge, to see her beaten-down for her disrespect. They edged closer, came to a stop. Finally, he eyed his partner, jerking his head. There was no hesitation as they charged in together.

Then there was a flash, solar-bright, and the hacker went reeling, his retinas frazzled. Against the dimness of Onyx, the bursts of electric-white and red were an overwhelming shift in vision. The men cried out, yelling. A phantom - an anti-silhouette - loomed out of the aurora of light, and the men shrinked away. The blinding rays seemed to follow it, emanate from it, and they scrambled to cover their vision.

It took some time for the sunbursts of light to fade from the back of their eyelids. Blinking, adjusting to the gloom, the men gaped at each other. The partner lumbered to the recycler, looked around. He turned back to the hacker. "The girl's not here anymore," he mumbled.