As Pita skidded around the corner of the counter that separated the front of the store from its stock room, one of the clerks hit a PANICBUTTON near the credstick scanner. A shrill siren filled the air. Pita bolted through the stock room toward its back door. It was held open with a wedge of plastic. Through the crack, Pita could see a store clerk, cigarette in hand. He was just reaching for the door, a puzzled expression on his face.