A taste of Justine, my femme fatale

Here is Justine from Free Clinic in one of her better moods.
This is very late in the story, so let me fill in a bit.
Justine has already killed her psychotic husband, a ruthless warmonger with an hallucinated assistant that he called Bingo. He was also a scourge to our heros and heroines throughout the story. She has by now fled to presumed sanctuary at the central HQ of the scientific "resistance" that is trying to save the planet. She is in a foul state of mind, after having broken too many nails during her escape from the FED HQ and having had a prank played on her by our first person heroine, an "immune" named Sammy.
Read and enjoy. I am sorry if the justifications and indents and such are flukey, but translating from word is tricksy in this venue.
M.

Earlier, same day. . .
JUSTINE’S EVACUATION PLAN
After that little wild-eyed genetic freak and her cutesy girlfriend had played out their prank by giving her a red jumper instead of the requested dress, Justine was beyond incensed. She had gone to her provided quarters and paced around in it, fuming. She was particularly frizzed about her most recent conversation with the so called “Doc” Saul and his dark skinned friend, Amanda.
The substance of the conversation had been brief but oh-so-scathing, in her mind. They had actually all but out rightly thanked her for offing her husband but didn’t mince words about the fact that the FED was now probably going to hunt her down and kill her with all due haste. Her options were limited, they said.
She did not like limited options. Not one bit. She had larger plans and none of them included her being snappered into smoke by a FED steelskin with a hard-on for a higher posting. No, she thought; she had to make a break for it.
When the idea came into her mind, she stopped pacing. It was simple, elegant, befitting of her craftiness. She would take a valuable hostage and leave this dirty warren! It made absolute sense.
Now all she had to do was figure out who and how.
“Damn, I’m good!” she said out loud, when it all came together.
She touched the com console on her pitiful cubicle’s deskport and hailed Amanda Naysmith. It took a surprisingly few nanos before Amanda’s Creolefrench tainted voice acknowledged her.
“Yes, ma petite?”
“Could I speak with you in my quarters for just a moment?” she asked, putting on the silkiest, saddest voice she could muster.
“Are you okay, child?”
“Just fine, ma’am, but I’m a little scared. I was hoping you could just drop in for a few nanos.”
“You mean minutes, dear. But oui, yes, I will come down.”
“Thank you,” Justine added, lilting her voice as if she were about to cry.
The trap was now set. All she needed was a weapon.
Well, that’s easy, she thought. She palmed her way out of her quarters and found the guard that was posted just down the corridor. He wasn’t a steelskin, just a regular guy with a whizzer at his hip, looking important. When she got up to him, he turned and smiled.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Silly boy, she thought. Then she kicked him directly where it counted. He fell hard to the deck, moaning and squirming, and she deftly rid him of his weapon. She unloaded a half cart of ‘schettes into his chest and dragged him a meter or two away from the kill zone, trying to keep him out of line of sight. She decided to wait near his post for her prey to arrive.
As if on cue, Amanda Naysmith walked through the palm door just in front of the now deceased guard’s station. She was dressed in a simple jumper, not unlike the one Justine now wore, except that it was yellow. Her simple elegance only inflamed Justine’s anger and firmed up her mission goals.
She wasted no time with niceties then. She pounced on Amanda and grabbed her firmly by her dark, tightly knotted braids, jerking her almost to her knees. She put the whizzer to her head and said, “Pipe up and you’re dead!”
“What do you..?”
“I said quiet, old woman!”
Justine’s mind was now on full throttle and she needed to find a way out of the warren, quicktime.
“Lead me to the hangars,” she snapped.
Amanda was understandably scared but she was also very calm inside of herself. She had been through many more tense situations than this. She knew what to do.
“We have to go back out through the way I came in, child,” she whispered.
Justine wasn’t in a hearing kind of mood.
“Sure, back to the hub where I’ll be executed. No go, b****. There’s got to be another way.”
“It’s the only way I knows. I haven’t been here much longer than you.”
“S***!” She stamped her foot and said, “Allright, into the ‘vator!”
She drag-walked Amanda to the palm door to the lift and put Amanda’s hand on the pad; the door opened. Once inside of the box she noticed that there were a series of numbered and lettered wall tabs on a pad to the right, one of which stood out to her. It was simply marked with the Roman numeral “I”, which she thought might be indicative of ground level.
“You know this level?” she asked Amanda.
Amanda didn’t, truly. But she wasn’t in a giving kind of mood herself, just then.
“That’s the steelskins’ places, me’ thinks.”
Unfortunately, Justine saw through her act. She punched the number and the lift accelerated upward, or so it seemed. When the door opened, the fumes of petro and hydro that infused the box were dizzying. The sounds that poured in afterwards were absolutely deafening.
Bingo, thought Justine ironically.
“We’re gonna take a little trip, me and you,” she said, nearly laughing out loud. She saw the whirly that would take her to freedom, not twenty five meters away, props spinning, waiting to take her and Amanda far away from this doomed place.
She checked her recently acquired whizzer for ammo, found it good. Time to move, she thought.
It was just then that the alarms started going off. All of Falthwell’s Hell was breaking loose, it seemed.

From here, the story moves back to our hero Sky's point of view and his and Sammy's escape escapades.
They are heading toward an SSTO, called Salvation, in the California desert, upon which they will be transported into low Earth orbit, to a space station called Miracle, where they will hopefully fulfill their purpose in the grand scheme of things.

If there is interest, I will post some of the many first person action sequences as well as provide some of the various historical footnotes that are sprinkled throughout the manuscript.
My Best,
M.