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and Slade in a layer of cement, gravel, and sand. The Kelhoon, on the other hand, were already up and in action and jumping over the gap the same way Guvka did and quickly moved onto the next landing.

“We can’t do that,” said Craig.

Slade stood at the edge of the gap, studying the stairs he was on and the length it would take to get to the stairs across the way. “Here we go.” He intertwined his fingers together and crouched, hanging his hands between his legs. “Run and place your foot here. I’ll launch you up to the next step over and up.”

Craig slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so, Slade.”

“What are you going to do? Wait for them to kill you?”

Craig looked behind him, craning his neck to look around the twisted support beam. “I guess we have no choice.” He took several hefty steps toward Slade and went into a quick run. He jumped, landing his foot on Slade’s hands. Slade extended his knees and threw up his hands and arms, catapulting Craig over the gap and onto the steps.

Craig wiped the sweat off his brow. “That was easier than I thought.”

“Don’t ever doubt me.”

The doors crashed open and Slade drew his weapon. “You come around the corner and you’re dead,” he warned.

“We’ll overrun you, Slade.” It was Fleet Admiral Lon Vernadore, aka the Wolf. “We know what you did to Craig’s wife. You won’t survive this today.”

Craig moved up the steps, his clown mask jostling back and forth at every step.

“Is Craig with you?” asked Slade. “I’d love to take my first kill shot on the asshole of all presidential assholes.”

“We wouldn’t put the president in harm’s way, Colonel.”

That was good. Lon still thought Craig was on his side. Probably thought Craig was in his presidential suite, grieving over his wife.

Slade pulled the trigger, his gun recoiling. The slug slammed against the wall—a warning shot. He holstered his gun and jumped, landing his foot against the wall, and shoved off. He reached for the stairs, his arms and torso hurling against the steps, his head hitting the concrete, nearly knocking him out.

A gun fired, slicing through his shoe’s heel. He let out a quick breath and swung his leg up and over the step, pulling himself onto the stairs. He grabbed his pistol and twirled around, sending several shots at an empty wall across from him, hitting true, creating a black, coal-like mess that dripped from the wall.

He ran up the stairs. The Kelhoon were waiting for him. He motioned for them to burst through the next door—Deck 5. “You have free reign. Enjoy your hunting.” He gave them a thumbs-up and winked.

They burst through the door, shooting every Space Marine in sight.

Slade and Craig bolted up the steps and onto Deck 4’s landing, hearing the explosions and screams on the deck below.

Slade holstered his gun and reached for Craig’s mask. “Give it to me.”

Craig swiped Slade’s hands away. “Bad idea.”

Slade put his hand on his holstered gun’s grip. “Do it. We don’t have much time. They won’t shoot you. They think you’re on their team. They’ll shoot me on sight and I’m not risking that. Give me your mask.”

Craig sighed, pulling off his mask and handing it to Slade. “That was my way off this ship, incognito.”

Slade handed Craig his gun. “Put this next to my temple when we walk through Deck 4’s doors. A person in a clown mask, walking next to you isn’t going to fly too well in the eyes of politicians.” Slade took a few steps up the stairs.

“Wait,” said Craig. “When someone sees me with a gun to a clown’s head, I just tell them to have a good day?”

Slade thought for a moment, a smile slowly appearing on his face. “Exactly.” Slade hurried up the stairs.

Craig followed. “That isn’t going to work.”

“You’re the damn President of the United States. Whatever you say, they’ll go with. Trust me.” Slade put the clown mask on and leaned back against Craig. “Put your arm around me and the gun against my temple.”

Craig complied and pressed forward, using Slade’s body to open the doors.

“Mr. President?” said Gloria Avanoe, the Representative from Nevada. “What in God’s name are you doing?” Several people were walking in another direction, toward the launch bay.

“Have a nice day, Gloria.” Craig side stepped her, flashing his shiniest smile, and ducked into a public restroom.

“Alright, good job. Now let me go,” Slade said.

Craig let go and Slade kicked open a stall. There was nothing there but a toilet. He kicked open the next stall. “There it is.” A black duffel bag.

He grabbed the bag, unzipped it, and dug through, pulling out a Space Marine jumpsuit, a pilot’s helmet, and a pilot’s vest. He undressed and slapped his new clothes on quickly. He pulled the helmet over his head and shoved it on, pulling down the visor to hide the majority of his face.

“Sir,” said a man’s voice. “Are you in danger?”

Slade poked his head out of the bathroom stall.

A Marine stood next to Craig, concern in his eyes.

“Calm down there, soldier,” said Craig. “I’m fine. Is something going on?”

“Yes, Mr. President. We have a situation a few floors down. Please get to your room for safety. I’ll escort you up there.”

Slade walked out of the stall. “No need, Lieutenant. We’re getting the president off this bird.”

The Marine shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable with this new information. “I’ve not been notified. I should—”

“Marine, you’re taking up my valuable time,” said Craig. He put his hand out and the Marine took it. “Thank you for your service. What’s your name?”

“Lieutenant Buffington...Jared Buffington.”

“Well, Jared. I’m going to let your superiors know about your good deed today. I’ll make sure they look at you in a different light. I’m sorry if you weren’t informed, but I’m leaving on account of my and my children’s safety. I assure you, where I’m going will be safe.”

“Where are you going, Sir? I’ll notify the Fleet

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