* * *
Dorinda slipped out of the stairwell and into the fourteenth floor hallway. She was huffing and puffing, but based on the heavy breathing filtering up the stairwell, she was pretty sure that her pursuer was in worse shape. After all, she was fourteen years old, and he was ancient, maybe even over thirty.
The hallway was deserted. At the end was a polished wooden door that looked like it was made of real oak. The transport costs of bringing something like that from Earth (back when Earth still had things like oak trees) was more than the sawmill’s entire gross income for a year. Now, of course, the door was irreplaceable. On it was a bronzed name plaque which read, “Joseph Wainwright, IV, CEO.” As she sprinted down the hallway, she heard footsteps on the landing behind her. She managed to knock three times before a security guard in a rust-red uniform caught her, pinning both elbows behind her back. She tried to kick him where it would hurt the most, but he sidestepped, cursing.
“Dammit, girl! Behave yourself! I don’t want to hurt you!”
“Let me go! I just want to talk to him!” she cried, and stomped as hard as she could on his instep. Her rubber soled shoes didn’t faze him.
“Let her go, Hudson,” said an authoritative voice. Dorinda looked up and into an open door. A muscle-bound bodyguard dressed in a tight black suit held the door knob. Another one had a gun out and was pointing it at her and her captor. That really caught Dorinda’s attention. No one had ever pointed a gun at her before.
Standing behind the fellow with the gun was a man even older than her father. It was the same guy she’d seen getting on the elevator. He motioned to his bodyguard to stand down. The man obeyed without hesitation. The building security officer took one look at the old man’s expression, dropped Dorinda’s elbows, and stepped back.
“Sorry for the disturbance, sir,” he apologized with an embarrassed grimace. “She got past us and ran up the stairs—”
“Did she, now?” The old man smirked like the idea tickled him to no end. “I’d say that entitles her to have her say.”
“But, sir…” protested the security officer. The old man gave him an exasperated look and then gave Dorinda a head to toe inspection.
“What’s your name, girl?” he asked.
“Dorinda, sir. Dorinda Klump,” she managed, sounding a little squeaky to her own ears.
“Klump’s the name of the guy Sheriff Whitecloud’s holding for sabotage, sir,” warned Hudson.
“I know that,” Wainwright told him impatiently. “Sam Whitecloud knows his business. He called me a couple of hours ago to tell me he didn’t think the guy was dangerous.”
“But sir, what if she’s…”
“Just look at her, son,” he interrupted. “Does she look like a terrorist to you?” The security guard’s face turned red. He didn’t answer, but he also didn’t object when Wainwright ushered Dorinda into his office and shut the door.