James Axler – Exile to Hell

“Damn it, Grant”

“What the fuck are you doing?” he whispered fiercely into the mike.

“Don’t worry. This is a closed frequency, remember, not like the trans-comms. Listen, I’ve got something to tell you”

“I’ve got something to tell you . I just heard from Salvo. He suspended me.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds of your statement,” Grant hissed furiously.

The receiver button accurately transmitted Kane’s half sighed “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit is right. He almost accused me of handing the blasters over to Teague. Said they were stolen from the armory.”

Kane’s response was terse, tense. “There’s no way he could have known that unless he was the one who stole them.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Listen to me. You’ve got to get out of there.”

“You listen to me,” Grant growled. “For some reason, Salvo wants my ass on a platter”

“Shut up! Shut up and listen!” Kane’s tone was tight with fear, with worry. “Is someone coming around to collect your equipment?”

“Yeah, that’s standard after a suspension.”

“Get out of there, Grant! I can’t explain further, but I’ve learned some things.”

“What kind of things?”

“The kind of things that are getting people I’ve been in contact with chilled. So stop asking me questions and go.”

Grant scowled at the mike. “Go where?”

“Tartarus. Remember that route we found down into the Pits a few years ago?”

Ransacking his memory, Grant replied, “Yeah, but it’s probably blocked off by now.”

“It’s your only chance to get out of the Enclaves undetected.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Kane’s voice became more urgent, escalating in intensity. “Don’t you get it? Salvo’s sending a chill squad after you! You’re on suspension, you’re suspected of corruption, you decided to go out in a blaze of glory. That’s how the report will read!”

After a stunned moment, Grant asked, “Have you found another bottle of wine or what? Why would he do that? And how would you know that?”

“You stubborn bastard! It’s too complicated to explain.

I’m asking you, Grant. I’m begging youtrust my instincts again and get the hell out of there. Hit the Pits, grab Guana and squeeze him.”

“And then what am I supposed to do?”

Kane exhaled a long breath. Wearily he said, “I’m working on it. Now, will you please get your shit together and get?”

“All right!” Grant snapped. “I’m gettin’.”

“Good. I don’t want to risk calling you again. I’ll meet you at Guana’s place as soon as I can.”

“You’d fucking well better,” Grant snarled, but the circuit was closed.

Grant stared at the pin mike for a moment, then released it, allowing it to zip back to its place in the coat’s lapel. Mentally he replayed the conversations of Salvo and Kane. Then he got up, strapped on his Sin Eater, shrugged into his coat and left his flat. His quarters were on the same level as Kane’s, but located considerably farther down on the central promenade.

He walked quickly, in the opposite direction from the entrance gate. There was no doubt at all about the way to Tartarus Kane had mentioned. The only problem was how to reach it swiftly without attracting attention. There was nothing he could do to avoid the spy-eye fixtures on the ceiling except to brazen it out. If what Kane said possessed even a gram of truth, leaving his quarters against orders wouldn’t be much of an infraction.

The double-facing row of flats ended after a hundred yards, right against a blank wall. Ferns and shrubbery were planted in a wide strip along the width of the wall to give it the illusion of a garden vista. Several years before, he and Kane had discovered that one section of the wall was a false facade, imitation rockcrete covering a service shaft. A maintenance tech on the premises explained that the opening extended down to a ventilation shaft, which then connected to the inner shell of the Administrative Monolith. For the hell of it, Grant and Kane had explored the shaft and discovered it reached far more than a ventilation shaft.

Grant pushed through the shrubbery, inspecting the rear wall. He found the panel easily enough, and the inch-thick, four-foot square of textured duraplast swung outward on hidden hinges. Staggered tie bars were just within reach. He put his feet on the first one, pulled the panel shut and fished his flashlight out of a pocket. He carefully climbed hand over hand, down to a square opening covered by a thick wire grille. That hadn’t been there the first time. Placing the flashlight between his teeth, wrapping his left arm around a tie bar, Grant crooked his fingers into the grille and tugged experimentally, then with all his strength. The mesh ripped loose from the metal frame, and he yanked and folded it to one side, letting it dangle by an upper corner. It required a few painful contortions to step from the tie bars into the square ventilation shaft. It wasn’t much wider than his shoulders, and he had to lie on his stomach and pull himself along the polished metal.