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direction.
    Are they cops?
I asked.
A military rescue team?
    Something deep-seated and primal told me that
no, they are neither of those things
. I recoiled, back the way that we had come, toward Blake’s. Without even thinking, I jammed myself against the man or woman behind me. Where before Sheldon had been dragging me along, now I tugged at his arm. I grabbed for Nate with my other hand and started pulling him back too.
    “It’s okay!” Sheldon said. “They’re soldiers! They’re here to help…”
    Were Nate and Sheldon seeing what I was? Maybe it was the press of people, the horror of the day.
    “They aren’t!” I implored.
    The nearest soldier took a step into the District’s concourse, his weapon still up. He looked down the scope or whatever that thing on the top of the gun was.
    “Get back!” I shouted to anyone who would listen. “Get away!”
    Then Sheldon stumbled with me. He had finally seen what I’d seen.
    The soldiers had insignia and icons all over their armour. The largest was also the most chilling: the moon and sword formation of the Asiatic Directorate.
    I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a cliff; like this shit was about to get hysterical. The crowd began to reverse from the door. Slowly at first, but quickly accelerating, repelled by the trio of Directorate soldiers like an adverse magnetic reaction.
Where are the Alliance troops?
I wondered.
This is a military station! Where are the police?
For probably the first time in my life, I would’ve been grateful for a genuine law enforcement agent. There had to be at least one good guy in this sector. I scanned the bodies around me – desperate to find some symbol of authority.
    With a detached calmness, the lead Directorate soldier raised his weapon.
    The gunfire was loud and lethal. I’d never heard a kinetic weapon being fired before. On the domes, we don’t have kinetics: they are outlawed on pain of life imprisonment. For good reason – pressurised environments and sharp projectiles are incompatible. That’s not to say that the citizens of the burgs haven’t found other ways of killing each other that are just as deadly, but that seeing a real gun fire – hearing that harsh bark as it spat rounds – was completely alien to me.
    Hysteria broke out.
    I immediately dropped to the ground and kept low, scrambling through bodies. Someone exploded not far from me, caught by a bullet to the head. Sheldon went down too, although I was pretty sure that he wasn’t injured. Nate braced himself behind a woman – I saw her catching a chestful of bullets – then slugged another man to get a better position on the floor. Something wet and hot sprayed across my face. I hoped that it wasn’t my blood but couldn’t tell; just now, my entire body was a numb, trembling mess.
    My mind was back in the Penitentiary. I remembered how to keep my head down, to stay out of trouble and under the guards’ radar. I let my body do the work without any conscious thought.
    It felt like the Directorate were firing for an age, but it was probably only a couple of seconds. In that space of time, the lucky had retreated into the bars and clubs. The unlucky were in piles around me, dead or bleeding out. I just lay there. Played dead. What more could I do? I wasn’t a soldier.
    Sheldon held my hand tight. There was genuine worry in his eyes, which were fixed on mine. “It’s going to be okay, girly. It’s going to be okay.”
    He was right next to me but I could barely hear him. My ears still rang with the gunfire. I nodded mutely.
    The Directorate troops stalked onwards. Boots crunching debris and bodies underfoot, panning the ground with their guns. The nearest trooper was talking into his face-mask, maybe relaying something. Even if I didn’t understand the words – he was, I was certain, speaking in Chino – I recognised the intent. They were searching for something or someone.
    Nate lay next to me. He seemed strangely unperturbed. For some