Short Story Fiction Contest May 2014 | Page 173

enough to let me yank it off the inside of the wall. After some of the spaces I’d just traveled through, shinnying through the vent wasn’t an issue. Once in the room, it was almost an ecstasy of sorts to stand up and stretch. I also took a moment to straighten my clothes and retrieve my staff, collapsed to the length of a small baton, from under my jacket.

That wasn’t so bad, was it? Page needled.

“I’d say that’s the last time I let you talk me into something like that, but let’s face it, we both know better.” I took a swipe at some powdery substance caked on my pants. “I think a dust bunny tried to hump my leg.”

Be glad for the action. And make a little more noise while you’re at it.

“Right,” I whispered, “cause you’re not already running noise cancellation.”

I did proceed with a little more stealth as I made my way from room to room, looking for a good vantage point from which to observe the exchange. Paige’s ability to broadcast opposing sound waves to cancel out whatever noise I made wasn’t perfect. A sensitive ear could sometimes pick up the difference between silence and the cancelled sounds.

As I moved, I tuned the sensitivity of my own ears, listening for the faint sounds of voices. The composite material the walls and floor were made of, however, were part of the ship’s overall soundproofing. Without it and other measures, large ships would thrum and resonate with the sounds of engines, people, and machines—a background cacophony that could be damaging over the long term to both hearing and sensitive equipment. In this case, though, it meant I wasn’t likely to hear echoing voices despite the emptiness of the space. Not until I got clo—.