“Consortia, remember – size isn’t everything,” she told him, turned back to the stairs, listened, felt for vibrations along the walls.

The material construction of the hall was a composite, not hard or dense, likely an insulator. The conductor stream would slip right through it, losing little power. She should be able to deal with them without even being seen.

She pressed a palm against it. The surface was cool and rough. Althea felt a moment of dizziness, leaned against the wall. She felt herself being shaken.

“Are you all right,” Kyso asked, hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head, then nodded. She had to focus, could not fall back asleep here, now.

They are approaching the stairs.

“Get ready to move,” she concentrated on sound, calculated the firing angle.

“I’ll show you,” she told them lightly, turned back to the dark staircase, whispered to Dorian.

The beats stretched long before the time was right. She felt a touch on her shoulder shook it off, held her hand up– arm outstretched.

A six, from the base of the stairs, two fives, a five.

Her ears strained to hear the creaking of the stairs, the fainter footsteps, rustling of clothes as the intruders began to climb. One, two, three.

Althea held her breath, then pointed the projector at the wall, angling down – pressing the firing pin – redirected, pressed – redirected, pressed.

The sound of tumbling bodies, clatter of weapons came from below. Althea smiled a tight smile; the fine stream of the molecules had done their work, not even making a visible mark in the wall.

“Was that it?” Kyso whispered from right behind her ear, so close she felt the warm breath. She turned back, nodding.

“They’re down,” she told him, and then started down the steps. She moved quietly, swiftly. The other two moved noisily behind her. It didn’t matter. As she’d expected, three men were collapsed in a pile at the landing, weapons scattered on the floor.

She checked for signs of life, consciousness. Found the former, not the latter. Dorian confirmed the fourth was just over two sixes away, inside the side entrance, likely a guard for the three across the street.

Stepped over the bodies, she aimed – fired – turned back to Traejan and Kyso, who were already picking up the short-barreled guns from the floor.

“Get out of here,” she told them. “As fast as you can. I’ll follow.”

Kyso looked up alarmed, a pistol in each hand.

“We’re not going to leave you here,” his voice rose above a whisper. She raised the projector.

“I’ll be fine,” she told them. “This thing can shoot through walls – in case you didn’t notice. You need the head start – and I need to confirm there will be no one else following us.”

She patted her pocket.

“My scanner can pick up their heat,” she told him, then added firmly, “please – go now!”

Kyso was reluctant, Traejan pulled at his arm.

“I’ll be fine,” she told him. “Trust me. I took down Goshram single handedly, didn’t I? You need to ensure the lifter is ready for travel. In this cold, that will take time. Someone has to watch your backs.”

He stood there with a pained look on his face, then reluctantly nodded, headed off with Traejan, took one look back. She smiled at him; turned to the rest of the job. A few beats later, the figures across the street fell, one, two, three.

Dorian confirmed there were no others active.

“Have you detected an implant?”

Outside.

That figured. She dragged the heavily bundled body back into the hall. He looked familiar – maybe from the hall crowd, she guessed.

“Signals?”

Still none. She closed the outside door, panting from her efforts, and the pain from breathing the icy air.

Althea removed the man’s head covering, releasing his greasy black hair over the floor. There would be plenty of blood, a horrific wound – but she wasn’t planning a return to Panak. Sparing a glance around, she gathered the tools from her pack, fingers fumbling over them, connecting the pieces together, readied herself for the operation.

She knelt over the body, the still breathing man, fingers feeling over his head for the proper spot, the transmission point. Confirming, she held the projector over his ear, ready to burn a circular hole in his skull. She looked down on his heavy, dark unkempt beard – hesitated – glanced over his closed eyes, slack ruddy skin, took in the astringent smell of him. Heart pounding, she tightened her grip on projector.

It’s not difficult. Just a simple cut through the skin, the skull.

Althea pressed it into his flesh, held her thumb over the pin – pictured the path of the cut. She felt the sweat slick between her clenched fingers – she struggled to press down. Couldn’t–

She collapsed on the wet floor beside the man, gasping, dropped the projector. It clattered quietly, bouncing on the floor away from her. Althea stared at him, the thug, the unconscious man. The chance to prove her theory, to leave no doubt, had been handed to her. She couldn’t do it. He was a human being. He was helpless.

She could not kill him.