âThis information was not present in network files. Updating probability algorithms.â
The force that held her in place had, by some accident of circumstance or possibly skill, been positioned so as to pin Darcia while allowing for the absolute least movement, and so though the force itself was not more than she could handle, getting the proper leverage was proving to be difficult. In the end, she was simply required to discharge a small concussionâa drain on her reserves but necessary to put herself back in the situation. The forcefield collapsed, bursting apart and shattering, not unlike the window was about to, if the trajectory the marks were taking was any indication. Not bothering to pick up her second baton, Darcia leaped after them, reaching the window not more than a second after it was broken.
The shattering glass reflecting the outdoor lights made seeing difficult even for eyes like hers, and she reached forward half-blindly, her hand snatching some fabric, her other braced against the ledge. Whatever it was was tightly-enough attached that keeping her grip actually pulled her out the window, though she tightened her grip on the ledge, preventing her own fall. Unfortunately, the fabric gave under the force of gravity on one end and her own strength on the other, and she was left dangling from the window-ledge, broken glass cutting into the synthetic flesh of her palm, causing a small leakage of her purplish-red âbloodâ to trickle onto the steel of her handhold. She did not even notice.
What was left in her hand was a scarf, the one Stella had been wearing. The fabric of it was a dark grey-green, and it fluttered in the wind that was inevitable this high up. Darciaâs lips pursed into a very human grimace, and for a moment, she considered launching herself after them, trying to catch them as they fell. But⊠seventy-three stories up was a long way, even for something made as strongly as she was. Her body, she knew, could be repaired, but if she landed wrong from this height, she threatened to destroy her internal programming beyond recovery, and her protocols were such that not even the pursuit of a high-priority target warranted taking that risk. Only a few things were, given that she would be impossible to replicate without her creator.
So she pulled herself back up into the building with her free hand, swinging lightly up onto the ledge. âPrimary target has exhibited qualities not included in mission files,â she summarized. âWhile under ordinary parameters, death would be certain from this height, this one is⊠unsure. Results verification recommended.â
Perhaps nearly eight hundred feet off the ground was not the place to be doubting oneself, but then, sheâd never been forced to use her abilities so urgently, or so often, as she had on this particular day, and the one this situation called for was the one she was less sure of, besides. The barriers had always come easier to her than the gravatic control, and it wasnât the sort of thing you could just practice anywhere you pleased. Still, their lives sort of depended on it right now, which meant it was quite literally do-or-die.
At the top of the arc of Violetâs jump, a bullet had come whizzing out of apparently nowhere and struck Stella in the shoulder, dangerously close to her neck, so now she was in a lot of pain, not to mention bleeding rather profusely, which was making it significantly more difficult than usual to concentrate. She bit down on a scream, refusing to let it leave her throat, and forced her breaths through gritted teeth. They were plummeting awfully quickly, and she suspected theyâd probably reach terminal velocity before they hit the ground, though she couldnât be sure at the moment. What was terminal velocity for two people, anyway?
Not important, Stella, get your head in the game here. If you donât figure this out, youâre going to die. Right. Clenching her jaw tighter against the uncomfortable throbbing in her shoulder, timed with her frenetic heartbeat, she closed her eyes, and tried to remember how it felt every other time sheâd managed to do this successfully. Like the time sheâd floated that book down from a high shelf in the shop without once dropping it. They were an awful lot heavier than that, but it was the same principle at the very least.
Come on, come on! They were swiftly running out of time, and she shut out anything, any sensation or perception that had no relevance, even the rushing of the wind and the agony of the bullet wound. There!
She felt the shift as everything clicked into place, the gravity around them canceling, at least mostly, when they were about three floors from the ground. It was a lot harder to maintain than floating the book around, but she managed to keep it steady until about five feet off the pavement, at which point, gravity abruptly returned to normal. She winced as they hit the ground, more from the slight jolt to her shoulder than any lack of grace on Violetâs part. Her nose, she noticed, was also bleeding, probably from the repeated exertion. She was a little too tired to care, at any rate, and her head listed slightly sideways, until it made contact with his shoulder, at which point, she jolted back upright.
âIâve never floated a whole person before,â she confessed blearily, her otherwise-guarded tongue loosened by fatigue, residual traces of the drugs, and the general adrenaline response to almost dying. She was dimly aware that the really couldnât just stay here, or else the scary android-girl and whomever had shot her would find them, but it was getting really hard to focus.
The shattering glass reflecting the outdoor lights made seeing difficult even for eyes like hers, and she reached forward half-blindly, her hand snatching some fabric, her other braced against the ledge. Whatever it was was tightly-enough attached that keeping her grip actually pulled her out the window, though she tightened her grip on the ledge, preventing her own fall. Unfortunately, the fabric gave under the force of gravity on one end and her own strength on the other, and she was left dangling from the window-ledge, broken glass cutting into the synthetic flesh of her palm, causing a small leakage of her purplish-red âbloodâ to trickle onto the steel of her handhold. She did not even notice.
What was left in her hand was a scarf, the one Stella had been wearing. The fabric of it was a dark grey-green, and it fluttered in the wind that was inevitable this high up. Darciaâs lips pursed into a very human grimace, and for a moment, she considered launching herself after them, trying to catch them as they fell. But⊠seventy-three stories up was a long way, even for something made as strongly as she was. Her body, she knew, could be repaired, but if she landed wrong from this height, she threatened to destroy her internal programming beyond recovery, and her protocols were such that not even the pursuit of a high-priority target warranted taking that risk. Only a few things were, given that she would be impossible to replicate without her creator.
So she pulled herself back up into the building with her free hand, swinging lightly up onto the ledge. âPrimary target has exhibited qualities not included in mission files,â she summarized. âWhile under ordinary parameters, death would be certain from this height, this one is⊠unsure. Results verification recommended.â
âRight. I can do this. âŠI think.â
Perhaps nearly eight hundred feet off the ground was not the place to be doubting oneself, but then, sheâd never been forced to use her abilities so urgently, or so often, as she had on this particular day, and the one this situation called for was the one she was less sure of, besides. The barriers had always come easier to her than the gravatic control, and it wasnât the sort of thing you could just practice anywhere you pleased. Still, their lives sort of depended on it right now, which meant it was quite literally do-or-die.
At the top of the arc of Violetâs jump, a bullet had come whizzing out of apparently nowhere and struck Stella in the shoulder, dangerously close to her neck, so now she was in a lot of pain, not to mention bleeding rather profusely, which was making it significantly more difficult than usual to concentrate. She bit down on a scream, refusing to let it leave her throat, and forced her breaths through gritted teeth. They were plummeting awfully quickly, and she suspected theyâd probably reach terminal velocity before they hit the ground, though she couldnât be sure at the moment. What was terminal velocity for two people, anyway?
Not important, Stella, get your head in the game here. If you donât figure this out, youâre going to die. Right. Clenching her jaw tighter against the uncomfortable throbbing in her shoulder, timed with her frenetic heartbeat, she closed her eyes, and tried to remember how it felt every other time sheâd managed to do this successfully. Like the time sheâd floated that book down from a high shelf in the shop without once dropping it. They were an awful lot heavier than that, but it was the same principle at the very least.
Come on, come on! They were swiftly running out of time, and she shut out anything, any sensation or perception that had no relevance, even the rushing of the wind and the agony of the bullet wound. There!
She felt the shift as everything clicked into place, the gravity around them canceling, at least mostly, when they were about three floors from the ground. It was a lot harder to maintain than floating the book around, but she managed to keep it steady until about five feet off the pavement, at which point, gravity abruptly returned to normal. She winced as they hit the ground, more from the slight jolt to her shoulder than any lack of grace on Violetâs part. Her nose, she noticed, was also bleeding, probably from the repeated exertion. She was a little too tired to care, at any rate, and her head listed slightly sideways, until it made contact with his shoulder, at which point, she jolted back upright.
âIâve never floated a whole person before,â she confessed blearily, her otherwise-guarded tongue loosened by fatigue, residual traces of the drugs, and the general adrenaline response to almost dying. She was dimly aware that the really couldnât just stay here, or else the scary android-girl and whomever had shot her would find them, but it was getting really hard to focus.