Take an alternate route

They bolted through a collapsing service corridor, the walls sweating lubricant as the station groaned around them. Something massive and multi-jointed scuttled across the ceiling ahead—a maintenance drone the size of a hovercar, its pincers snapping at the air. Susan didn't slow down. She vaulted onto a shuddering conveyor belt, Adam right behind her, and they rode the buckling metal straight toward the thing. At the last second, she yanked Adam sideways into a ventilation shaft. The drone overshot, crashing into a support beam with a sound like a piano falling down stairs.

The shaft was tight, hot, and smelled like burned hair. Adam wriggled forward, his elbow knocking loose a panel that clattered into the darkness below. "Remind me why we're crawling through the station's intestines again?" Susan's voice echoed back, "Because the front door had a 'do not enter' sign. And you know how I feel about those."

A gust of stale air hit them as they spilled into a wider junction—some kind of command hub, hexagonal screens flickering with emergency feeds. One showed the exterior of the station, where entire sections were peeling away like rotten fruit. Another displayed a map, flashing red along their exact route. Susan jabbed a finger at it. "They're herding us." Adam squinted. "Into what, a gift shop?" The screen zoomed in on a hangar bay, where a sleek, angular shuttle hummed under guard. Susan's grin was all teeth. "Better. A present."