The Master Key

by T. K. Toppin

  “We came and found them already here.” Captain Sandvik had a careful, calm way of speaking. He reminded me of John, but a more brutal and wilder version. And, much like John, he had a tone in his voice that suggested he was accustomed to people following his orders.

  “We’ve tried contacting the Yard, but there’s no answer,” Sandvik continued.

  “Did you hail the gunship?” John asked, not looking at the captain.

  Sandvik shook his head. “No reply.”

  “Can we get inside the Scrap Yard without them tagging us?” John scrutinized the controls before him. His eyes flicked from the wide observation window to the consoles, to the faces of the deck personnel, taking everything in detail.

  Sandvik regarded him. Sensing eyes on him, John did a sort of inward scowl and, with a calming breath, turned to return the stare. They stood at eye-level and appeared to be evenly matched in body weight and strength. But at that moment, I feared that, despite Sandvik’s imposing array of weaponry and distractingly attractive uniform, he didn’t stand a chance against the all-consuming authority that was John Lancaster. And I knew how fast John could move. The air seemed charged, as if two bull elephants were about to clash heads and wrangle tusks. Around us, even the crew sensed the tension and remained subdued.

  I began to dislike Sandvik as quickly as I’d been taken in by his appearance. He seemed to be struggling with the fact that we were civilians, ignorant of war and tactics, intent on hampering his authority. Perhaps his ego had got rubbed the wrong way. I longed to see John swat him over the head like an annoying fly. I would’ve helped.

  By all appearances, Sandvik seemed unmoved and unfazed, and continued to stare at John. But I saw some inner struggle flash across his features. A rapid blinking of his eyes, a subtle roll of his tongue within his mouth as if he’d tasted something bitter.

  “I cannot risk you going in,” Sandvik said, no doubt guessing John’s intention.

  “The risk is not yours to take,” John replied. “Captain.”

  Sandvik held his stare a moment longer. “They’re looking straight at us. It would be difficult to slip away unnoticed. Your shuttle is too big to pass as space junk.”

  “Then we must make our intentions clear.” John turned away to look out the massive window. “Tell the Renwick to ready their guns.”

  The Renwick was the sister ship to the one we were currently aboard, and she flanked the gunship from the other side.

  “The gunship carries shield-penetrating missiles. I cannot risk—”

  “Then maximize our shields and target those missiles first.” John turned to face Sandvik again. “If you have a problem, tell me now. If not, prepare to engage. We have hundreds of civilians on board the Yard—including some of my Elites. The objective is to save as many as we can and stop Michael Ho at whatever cost—as soon as possible. This is a warship. And there are two of us to their one.”

  If Sandvik was upset, he didn’t show it. Instead, he inclined his head with a curt nod and signaled a woman beside him.

  “The Yard is still under the control of the mercenaries and they’ve blocked all comms. We’ve no way of assessing the situation. May I ask how you plan on getting past them once you have cleared the eyes of the gunship?” Sandvik asked.

  “We have a special surprise for a certain individual on board.”

  Sandvik flicked his icy blue stare at me, then back to John. “You intend to take your wife with you?”

  “I do.” John circled the confines of the observation deck, his eyes still darting everywhere.

  “It is impractical to risk both your lives. You are already two civilians more than I care to be responsible for.”

  “My wife is not a civilian and neither am I.” John turned his head to give me a veiled look. “And she is not your responsibility. She is quite capable.”

  “I cannot allow it, regardless. You are the president of—”

  “My wife’s place is by my side.” The tone suggested no one should argue with that. I wasn’t about to. “And I am Commander in Chief of the Space Militia. As you well know, I did not acquire that title by name and position alone. Prepare your guns, Captain. My shuttle is ready and waiting.”

  We left Sandvik to mutter his orders to his subordinates. John wore a grim expression.

  “You don’t have a plan, do you?” I asked airily as we walked on, passing military personnel who sidestepped out of our way, snapping into salutes.

  “Brute force.” A small curl tweaked John’s mouth up. “Sometimes, that’s the best way.”

  “So how does very dead sound?”

  “I don’t plan on dying today and neither do you.” He half-turned his head and gave me a sly wink.

  We entered a sort of hospitality room filled with some more members of the Elites including a few I remembered seeing in Iceland. I’d heard how Aline had patched me up on the spot and seeing those Elites again made my face redden a bit. The Elites had followed us in another shuttle, which had docked with The Sloop a short while ago.

  Waiting among them was Margeaux. Her expression matched John’s.

  I hadn’t had a chance to speak with her since the last time I saw her. Her eyes flicked across my entire body with curiosity. On her wrists, were two—not one—security bracelets, gleaming bright and shiny as if daring her to run. I felt a certain gleeful smugness seeing them, remembering the time I had to wear one.

  “I thought you were injured. Badly.” She spoke with that clear, high-pitched voice of hers.

  The Elites, sensing a family reunion of sorts, parted and shuffled over to another section of the room. I heard John behind me, muttering his orders among them.

  “I was.” I chose to sound pleasant. “Want to see it?”

  She tossed her hair and made a small pout. “Why am I here?” This time she pitched her voice to sound bored.

  “To attend your father’s funeral. Were you not told?”

  Standing before her, I was glad to be armed to the teeth, trussed up with a body-shield and weapons secreted away about my person. Dressed to kill. It was a poor excuse, but it somehow made me feel safer around her, and buffered from any hurt she could inflict upon me. I was protected.

  “I don’t believe you. You are not good at lying.” Her quick eyes darted to John. “Does this mean Father is not dead, as he says? You tricked me. Congratulations. Touché.” Her voice was sour and clipped as she vented her hatred at me.

  “Your father’s been dead for a long time,” I replied. “His body is about to catch up.”

  “I knew it. You cannot kill him. He is too smart for you. And I’ll get you back for tricking me. You’ll not get away with it. You plan to trade me, correct?”

  She took a small, purposeful step forward, daring me to react, to move. Behind me, the Elites quieted. The silence was deafening. I sensed several pairs of eyes watching my back. If their eyes were laser sights, Margeaux’s body would be lit up like a Christmas tree. And John, I sensed him close to me. Strength radiated from him, the heat of it pervading my senses. Yes…protected. She wouldn’t dare make a move on me here.

  I gave her a long, thorough inspection, up and down her body. Studied her with clinical disinterest as if she was a specimen of a strange new species. I no longer had anything for her but pity. If I’d cared before, it had been shoved aside the moment I laid eyes on her again. It was an odd sensation. Despite the blood-link, the ingrained notion of keeping your family first, all I saw now was a complete stranger.

  Essentially, she was a by-product of all the madness. Her role, however key it might’ve been, had only been distraction. Her intentions and her mind, those were of Ho’s. Brainwashed from birth into believing everything he said to her, taught her. He was just like Fern, using his own child to mold to his own purposes.

  Yes, I only had pity. I wanted to help her, but at the same time I wanted to erase her image from my mind, from my presence. Was she dangerous? Extremely. Could I, if I had to, stop her? I’d consulted myself
many times on that, trying in vain to look inside me to see if I could raise a hand and stop her. I didn’t have an answer just yet. But I kept reminding myself that her youth and her so-called innocence shouldn’t distract me. Danger came in all shapes and sizes, and in all manner of beauty and innocence. And even now, in this surreal future, it was like my own time. Children were used to fight wars side by side with their adult counterparts. They hefted arms to wreak destruction and death just as easily—and willingly. It wasn’t that they were brainwashed or forced. It was just a way of life, like falling in step to keep up. To survive.

  Margeaux’s excellent command of childishly subtle persuasion aside, I didn’t know what else she was capable of. Danger signals flashed all over her like a minefield. In the state I was in, empty and hollowed out by a sick betrayal, I could do just about anything. So it didn’t surprise me when I opened my mouth to answer her.

  “I’m only dishing out what you’ve already done to me. Tricks. Isn’t that what this has all been about? And,” I seethed with venom, “I plan on doing whatever I want with you.”

  Anger boiled inside me like a pressure cooker. The insult of being tricked—fooled—and the ugly sting from the hurt she’d caused spilled over. The very sight of her smug face stoked my rage. I saw her draw back a fraction, surprise widening her eyes; some measure of respect.

  “You want to kill me, don’t you?” She used a mocking tone, curling her lips into a sneer, a nasty gleam in her eyes. “You don’t have it in you. And I know how to fight back.”

  With a speed and reaction that startled even me, I whipped out my hand and grabbed her small neck. A full head taller than she was, I used it to my advantage like a schoolyard bully. With my body, I pushed, slamming her against the wall and pinning her there. My left hand had already made a quick flex, drawing out the krima stick, which I then shoved under her ribcage. One flick of the thumb and the laser would engage, burning into her liver.

  The temptation was ever so great. It was wrong, it sickened me, and I had to restrain myself with effort.

  “Think again,” I whispered close to her ear, surprising myself that my heart rate remained level, “you little fucking shit. You and your father, you may be connected to me by a few random genes—but that’s all. Trust me, it’s not enough to keep you alive. If you only knew the half of it…” I sucked in a sharp breath to control my emotions. “I saw your father after he found out the real truth. He was sick, and so he should be. I thought he was going to lose his mind. Oh, wait—it’s already lost. The whole lot of you are mad as fuck.”

  The pulse at her neck pounded under my hand. She didn’t seem frightened, just angry. Her small face went white with rage and pinched up in a snarl, exposing her small even teeth. Those glassy eyes were riveted to mine. Whatever evil thoughts passed through them were plain enough to see. She meant me harm and nothing more. She despised me, hated me with a menacing and dangerous passion. I saw it written all over her face. I disgusted her just as she disgusted me. Maybe it was too late to help her after all.

  I released her with a final shove, knocking her sideways to her knees. She flung her head up, a vicious snap that sent her hair mussing all over her face.

  “I will kill you,” she hissed.

  “I’ll be waiting.” I turned away from her and met John’s dark eyes. They held me with a steady, cautious stare. We stood a moment, regarding each other. I half expected him to berate me for being so impulsive. Instead, he nodded with a tiny twitch of his mouth and took my arm, pulling me away from Margeaux.

  “You never cease to amaze me.” He kept his tone low, directing me through the Elites and out the door. “Remind me, when we have children, I’ll be the good parent. You do bad so well. It’s sexy.”

  I glared at him, my anger still not quite under control. “Children?”

  “Yes, dear. But not just, yet. We’re at war.”

  I narrowed my eyes, seeing him smirk.

  “Or would you rather Sandvik father your children?”

  “What?”

  John could pick the strangest moments to vent his jealousy. If I weren’t in such a vile mood, I would’ve laughed out loud at his question.

  “You seemed quite taken with him,” he replied, shooting up an eyebrow.

  “That egocentric, trussed-up piglet of a man?”

  John grinned like a young boy up to no good.

  “You guys have a history together, I take it.” I remembered the tension between them earlier.

  “Mmm, ancient history.” In a flash, he sounded remote. The smile was gone.

  “Do tell.”

  He clicked his tongue. “When we were in the Academy…it involved his younger sister.”

  “You and her had a thing going on?” I asked with a raised brow.

  He frowned in thought but gave me a reassuring squeeze on my arm. “No. But I cared for her. She was only ten. Mentally challenged. I simply reminded Sandvik he had responsibilities that needed fulfilling. He ignored me and told me to mind my business. She followed him everywhere. Their parents were both dead and he was the sole caregiver. But she was always smart enough to slip away from her minders. One day, she followed him onto a training field…I couldn’t stop her in time.”

  “Oh, shit.” I gave John a supportive nudge as we walked on. Shock and horror punched me. Another mental picture of Sandvik formed. I saw him in a different light—a different and decidedly ugly light. “I’m so sorry. What an asshole.”

  “Let’s just say we exchanged words, among other things. This is the third time I’ve seen him since that day.” John shrugged, to shake the memories off.

  “How old were you?”

  “We were both nineteen. He’d been jealous of me and my family all his life. Always out to prove he’s better. As you can see.”

  “And you just love to prove him otherwise.”

  “Life’s small little luxuries.” He smirked, but it wasn’t from the heart. “She wouldn’t have died that day if he’d allowed her to live at the Citadel like I’d suggested. It was a waste of life. Nothing about her was evil. She was pure and good.”

  “You’ve been a knight in shining armor since the day you were born, haven’t you? Don’t know why people think you’re a tyrant.” I rolled my eyes dramatically.

  My mood had changed somewhat. John’s story reminded me that life was full of uncertainties. A good person could die for no reason at all, while an evil one could wreak havoc with abandon, and live, seemingly, forever.

  I thought of Margeaux, and again wondered what I’d do to stop her. I wanted to help her, not kill her. But I knew that if she left me with no choice, I might not be able to stop myself. I knew it was my repulsion for her that drove me to think this way. It shamed me, and I tried hard to muster up some compassion. It was difficult, considering.

  John spoke, distracting my thoughts. “So, does two sound appropriate? Three is ideal, coming from a three-sibling family myself,” he grinned from the corner of his mouth. Memories, it seemed, were pushed far away into that private, secret corner of his mind I sometimes coveted to find and unlock.

  I stared back at him. He was enjoying himself. War did agree with him. I remembered him being light-hearted like this during the siege. He was frighteningly calm.

  “Two will do fine,” I replied with care. I’m pretty sure my eyebrows had flown off my face. “Any more than that, and my ass will spread like a balloon.”

  He flashed his teeth at me, an evil glint in his eyes. He looked deliriously happy. “I like big bottoms.”

  “Fuck off, John,” I hissed back and elbowed him. “We’re at war!”

  * * *

  Agnes sensed her life slipping away. The entire lower half of her body had gone numb. Even her fingers had started to tingle with pins and needles and she worried that, when the time came to start shooting again, they wouldn’t cooperate.

  She hadn’t been able to move, save a few twitches from her legs, for almost an hour. The last few hours had been dull, w
aiting, listening, and waiting some more. Her heart strained, pumping an ever-lowering supply of blood through her body. Waves of dizziness washed over her. Even her lungs felt smaller, tighter.

  The three small vials of adrenalin from the emergency first aid kit were gone, and the last of their effect was ebbing away from her. So much for the rush, she thought. Agnes shook her head to clear it, wondering in erratic flashes if she’d said it out loud or just thought it. She wasn’t sure. Again, she shook her hands to fling off the pins and needles.

  Simon had said the metal shard in her thigh would keep the blood from spilling out. What he didn’t know, what she hadn’t told him, was that the shard had pierced clean through to the other side. She now sat in a puddle of blood. The smell of it made her sick. She’d known it was bad the moment it happened. She wasn’t stupid; she knew the risks. But they were her risks and her own choices. Simon, he didn’t have to know.

  The fact that no one had come to relieve her also meant the situation hadn’t improved. Either Ho’s men had taken over or Simon was unable to send support because he was either captured or dead. It didn’t matter anyway. She knew her remaining time was limited.

  Agnes had no regrets dying. She never put too much thought into it. In her line of work, the dedication to protect, death was expected. But she was still human, and at the brink of oncoming death, she struggled with the idea. The will to live took over in urgent shockwaves. Panic set in. She even started to hear noises; real or imagined, she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t remember if the Junkies she’d sent to man the elevators were still there or not. So did she just imagine all that? Surely not. Or had it happened already and it was all over? So why were people not coming to help her? No, that wasn’t right.

  She kept hearing noises, so again she shook her head to clear it. The world swam before clearing a bit, then clouded over again in a fevered haze. Icy sweat peppered the back of her neck. The edges of her awareness dulled.