“Stop right there!” the first guard yelled. Beside him, two of the other masks turned to each other
as the first guard held out his other hand. “You’re not assigned to Refueling. Show me your pass.”
Billie pursed her lips, and glanced down, slowly reaching with both hands toward one of the
pouches on her belt.
Then she launched forward, knocking the guard’s gun hand away, sending the weapon flying
across the chamber, where it clattered against the rock wall and fell into one of the slave’s full
baskets. The slave didn’t notice.
Before the others could react, Billie drove her fist into the guard’s middle—with the big metal
masks, their heads were well protected and, for the moment, off-target. The thick rubberized apron
absorbed a lot of the blow, but Billie put her bodyweight behind it. The guard doubled over with a
surprised “Oof,” then fell backward.