Then he’d have to be antisocial again and hack a terminal.
Up beyond the doors, someone said, “Do not move.”
Chevy froze.
A moment later, a light far brighter than his shone down from the open doorway and spotlighted him. “Gunfire. Come up here, and don’t make a fuss. We don’t want to tase you.”
Yep. Chevy was now officially antisocial.
19The elevator door opened onto the Suit Repair lab. Big enough for a half-court basketball game and filled with massive racks supporting half-assembled pressure suits like hard-used mannequins. A table by each offered meticulously racked tools and fittings for welding gas and water. Bins along the far wall contained enough spare parts to build a couple dozen suits from scratch.
And now it held five people threatening me with stunners.
People I knew.
