Tina Chan - imperfect

“Two,” Troop said.

“This way.”

The waitress led them to a booth and flicked on the smart-glass imbedded into the table, displaying the menu.

“The shop will be closing in about forty-five minutes, alright?”

“We’ll be quick,” Kristi promised, then slid into the booth across from Troop.

The waitress wandered off to finish her conversation, leaving them to decide what they wanted to eat.

An old couple sat a few tables away from Troop and Kristi. Across from the couple was a single, middle-aged man who seemed pretty engrossed with his sandwich and soup; the couple was talking to each other animatedly, so Troop and Kristi basically had the whole restaurant to themselves.

The waitress came back to them a few minutes later once her friend left. “Have you decided what you would like?”

Kristi motioned for Troop to order first.

“Can I have the hummus sandwich with a side of tomato soup?”

The waitress noted his order and turned to Kristi. She still hadn’t made up her mind about what to order, so she said, “I’ll have the same.”

“Be back in a few minutes.” The waitress turned off the smart-glass and marched into the kitchen.

“Any ideas on how to enter the building?” Kristi asked, wording her question carefully so not to give away what they were planning on doing in case any snooping ears were around.

Troop’s face took on a concentrated look. He answered slowly, as if measuring each word out carefully, “Sometimes the best way to hide is in plain sight. Covers. We could use covers.”

“That’s definitely an idea we can work off,” Kristi said. “So my next question is: when and how will we get our covers?”

“Send an instafication to Hanson. He said he has plenty of connections and chances are he will be able to get us some covers. Also—”

“Here are your sandwiches and soup,” the waitress interrupted Troop’s sentence.

Kristi bit back a word of annoyance.

The waitress set down the food and went to attend the couple that had finished their meal. The couple, well into their sixties or even seventies, floated out the sandwich shop with a light spring in their steps; arthritis and osteoporosis were symptoms of the past.

Troop picked up where he left off, “Also, our host may be able to help us with the security problems. The cameras may be problematic.”

“I’ll send a message to Chelsa asking if she knows anyone who can help solve our security problems.” Kristi unlocked her electro-slate with her fingerprint while Troop munched on his sandwich. After selecting Chelsa’s contact, she wrote her a quick note:

Hey Chelsa,

Can you ask Jane and Nick if they can penetrate New Gene Lab’s security system with their hacking skills?

Chelsa responded within a few minutes:

They said probably yes, provided you can provide them with the necessary information. Exactly what type of hacking do they need to do?

Kristi replied:

I know there are definitely cameras and ID scanners.

Chelsa answered:

Jane wants you send her the footage you got with the contact-cams. If you use your electro-slate and “search for nearby devices” with it, the contact-cam will appear on the list of connected devices to the slate. To access the film from the camera, type in the password 6h8*_aH. Then send me the video and I’ll show it to Jane and Nick.

Kristi did as Chelsa instructed. After pulling up the files from the contact-cam onto her electro-slate, she selected the correct time frame of the clips and sent them to Chelsa. She glanced up from her slate in time to see the middle-aged man leave the restaurant.

The waitress noticed him leaving without paying for his meal and called out, “Sir! You have to pay for your dinner before you leave.”

The man ignored her and strode outside without giving a glance back. The waitress let out a huff and started after the unpaid customer.

“Do you think we should help the waitress?” Kristi asked.

“I don’t know. My conscience is telling me to go help her, but we should avoid attracting attention at all cost.”

The chef from the kitchen came out to the dining area and said, “We’ll be closing up soon.” He looked around the room, searching for someone. “Where did Tallia go?”

Kristi presumed that Tallia was the waitress. “She went to chase down a customer who left without paying.”

The chef let out a snort of disgust. “What has society come to these—”

Ka-BOOM!

Something exploded in the restaurant.

Kristi instinctively covered her head and curled up into the fetal position. Debris rained down around her and the sound of the explosion rang in her ear. Once the ringing had stopped vibrating her eardrums, she peeked at her surrounding through her fingers. Dust swirled in the air, raised by the ceiling collapsing inwards.

She was trapped beneath the booth. Part of the wall separating the kitchen from the dining area had collapsed on top of the table where Troop and she had been sitting at.

“Troop! Can you hear me?” Kristi yelled.

She broke off, coughing violently. The dust coated her lungs like a swarm of fire ants.

As the dust grew thicker, Kristi realized she wasn’t breathing in dust; she was breathing in smoke. The building was on fire.

“Kristi!” She heard Troop call her name. “I can’t find you! Are you still at the table we were sitting at?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “I couldn’t get out of the booth fast enough before the wall crumpled over it.”

The air around her grew thicker and hotter. Desperately, she searched for some passage out of her confinements. There was a tiny gap near the ground; at most, it was only a foot wide.

Kristi pressed the back of her hands against the wall; it was hot, signaling the fire was very close by.

“Can you get out of the restaurant?” Kristi asked Troop, who was on the other side of the wall.

“I think so.” His voice sounded dry and croaky from the smoke. “There’s a path to the door, but the fire’s going to burn through the path soon.”

“Get out of the building now. And call the fire crew if they haven’t already been called.”

“Are you able to get out?” Troop asked.

Kristi’s eyes watered from the smoke; her nose burned from the acrid smell of things on fire. Sweat dripped down her back and glistened on her forehead; the temperature rose intensely. She went into panic mode. I’m going to die! I don’t want to be burned to death. Or maybe I’ll suffocate in this blanket of smoke. I don’t want to die—I’m only sixteen.

“Kristi, are you all right?” Troop’s voice brought her back to reality.

“Yeah.” The tone of her voice said otherwise.

Something thumped on the wall barricading her from the rest of the restaurant. The walls shook a bit and plaster pieces sprinkled down.

“Troop, get yourself out of here,” Kristi said in her most authoritative voice. “You’re not much good dead.”

She wiped a bead of sweat off her brows and sucked in some air through pursed lips, trying not to inhale too much smoke. Then she kicked at the gap near the floor, hoping to widen it somehow.

“Kristi, try to break down the wall from the inside and I’ll work on it from the outside,” Troop said.

“I thought I told you to get out!”

“Shut up and listen to me. If we don’t work together, neither of us will get out alive. Do you see any weak spots in the wall?”

“There’s a small opening near the ground and—” A coughing fit overcame her.

“Alright,” Troop said.

Both of them worked simultaneously at chipping away the plaster wall around Kristi’s only escape route. She kicked, pounded and clawed at the wall. No matter how fast or hard they tore at the wall, it seemed like the gap was only widening a few millimeters at a time.