The Master Key

by T. K. Toppin

  “She lives. I hit her again.” He shrugged, grinning like a cat as he read my thoughts with ease. “The first time to save her life, the second to save mine.”

  “I don’t understand. Why are you helping?” I snarled. Even now, at such a critical time, when danger and death seemed imminent and all around us, he didn’t hesitate in dragging his gaze about my body. Lingering at my chest, my crotch…

  He shrugged again, seeing my hostility. “I do this for Griet.”

  “For… What?”

  A loud crack punched the room. John was on the ground with pieces of the control console scattered around him—and blood on his face.

  “No!” Forgetting James, I dived straight for Ho.

  I caught him in his mid-section, surprise on his face and a grunt leaving him as we crashed to the floor. The impact jarred my senses momentarily. Ho wriggled under me as I sank my fingers into his neck, my other hand fumbling to re-engage my krima. He bucked, dipped his hands under mine and pushed me off as if I were nothing but a fly.

  I landed on my backside, the krima almost dropping from my hand. Ho was on his feet, a little winded and staggering like a drunk. John clambering up from the floor behind me, made an angry noise. I vaguely heard him curse Ho.

  To make way for John, I vaulted up and shifted sideways without taking my eyes off Ho.

  “One of you will have to die,” Ho said, grinning from a bleeding mouth. “Which one is it? Ah, James. Good of you to join us. I take it you’ve remembered which side your loyalties lie, after all?”

  If John did a double take, I only registered it by the jerking motion he made. But I sensed him bristling with rage.

  With some caution, James approached, eyeing John, his body tense but submissive. “Actually, I’ve no side. But technically, I am still under contract by you, Mr. Ho. Speaking of which, there is a question of payment?”

  “Stand back,” John warned as James came within range of us.

  Again, James turned his body away to indicate he didn’t intend to threaten to us.

  “You dare ask for payment after you failed me? Don’t be ridiculous,” Ho spat. “Just kill one of them and we’ll talk financials later.”

  James shrugged. “It was worth asking.” He glanced sideways at John. The two resembled wild, sparring animals. “Do not fight me. I mean you no harm. I’ve come for the girl.”

  John frowned, as I did.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “He means that I’ve charged him to protect her, not so?” Ho swiped a hand across his sore mouth. “I always knew you were soft on her.”

  James made a non-committal shrug.

  John twisted his mouth into a snarl. “Then either take the girl and leave or stand aside. Which is it? Or did you mean to help us?”

  As they debated the point, I inched forward. My krima was engaged—ready. Ho, distracted, shifted his attention from James to John. He’d lost his pulse gun and seemed to forget he had a krima at his hip.

  “Technically I cannot help, while still under contract.” James turned down the corners of his mouth in a crude moue of apology. It reminded me of those theatrical masks.

  “Then stand aside,” John hissed.

  Ho let out a wicked laugh; I inched forward yet again. Then, I ducked low—fast—feigning an attack. Ho’s eyes flew to mine. He braced himself, about to jump backward, his arms low to counter the blow he thought I was about to give him.

  Instead, I snapped out my leg, brought it up and around in a spinning move, and kicked him squarely in his unprotected face. I heard a dull crunch as his nose broke. He let out a high yell as he flipped away. He landed a few feet to my left, eyes watering, face bright red. And livid with fury.

  Not hesitating for a moment, I was on him again. Twirling, I brought my other leg low this time, catching him on the side of his knee. He buckled sideways, his eyes wide with surprise as well as with the insult that he’d been caught unawares twice. He dropped low. I sprang up into the air, straight as an arrow with arms outstretched, and did a backward flip.

  I’d been practicing that move for a while, but had never mastered it as I did just then. When I landed, my breath labored a little and the sudden pain in my injured shoulder punched sharp and crippling. I pulled out my Snare Gun 3 from the holster at my chest. Left-handed as it was and awkward, I managed to put him in my sights. And fired.

  Ho was no longer where he’d been standing. My wasted explosive barb-shots embedded into the wall behind the empty space and popped like firecrackers. He ducked around the navigation consoles and John slid over them to reach him. James was nowhere near, and I couldn’t spare the time to look.

  “Two against one, Ho!” I shouted. “You can’t win. Give it up.”

  “You don’t understand!” he shouted back. His voice slurred with a mouth full of blood.

  Another crash rocked the shuttle. John’s foot connected with Ho’s back, sending him flying across and into the cockpit area. A curse, a yell, and two bodies locked together in the small area. Then John catapulted backward, back toward me. He landed heavily on the navigational equipment with a painful groan, and toppled over to one side.

  I rushed forward to check on him. His face contorted in pain, his hand clutching his left hip. He’d landed on his old injury and the pain was crippling him.

  I sensed movement behind me. Whirling around, I found Ho bearing down on me with his krima, now fully engaged and burning evil like his eyes.

  If I moved, John would be hit. If I stayed, we’d both be hit.

  I froze for a split second before I re-engaged my krima—my Snare Gun was lost somewhere.

  I’d have to meet him head on.

  Rearing up, I braced for attack, keeping my center of gravity low in the event I had to throw him off me. I knew I’d be seriously injured from the angle of Ho’s advance, high, almost airborne, but I had to do it. I had to do something—anything—to keep him away from John.

  An object flew between us, knocking me sideways as it slammed into my left arm. It was a square emergency medical kit, large enough to service the entire escape chamber’s passengers, and heavy enough to explode onto the floor and belch out its contents. It hit Ho’s side with a reassuring crack, knocking his krima out of his hand and sending him crashing to the floor.

  On my belly, I jerked my head around and saw James just straightening from a spin. He’d either kicked or thrown the kit at us. Margeaux stood rooted next to him, her mouth gaping. My arm starting singing with pain.

  Ho screamed in anger and stood shakily to his feet, holding his side. Blood poured out from a gash on his right temple.

  John rolled to his side, reached out to me. My left arm had gone numb with agony, but we were still alive. He grabbed my leg and jerked me to him, away from Ho.

  What happened next was like a dream, where the events were real enough but watched as if from somewhere above. Ho pulled out a dagger and for a moment I wondered when he’d retrieved the one he put into my shoulder. He lurched forward with it poised over his head. He held it by the blade as it gleamed at me, wicked and cold. One flick and the knife would sink right back into me. Again.

  John yanked me to him. I slid backward as I stared mutely at Ho. Then a loud, terrifying crack almost popped my ears. My sight blurred from pressure. Every blood vessel inside me was being assaulted, tugged out of my body. And then the air exploded with confusion, a rush of stinging wind and biting cold. The sound of a million wailing cats deafened me until it hurt to my very core.

  Ho stood rigid, his body bending backward, and then he was in the air. With a look of complete shock and surprise, he sailed across the room and out through a gaping black hole.

  John and I shot forward along the floor as the black hole pulled at us. I screamed though my lungs burned, grabbing at anything I could sink my hands into to keep from being sucked out. I even stabbed my krima into the floor, hoping it would slow our progress. Instead, it sent showers of blinding sparks every which way.


  Margeaux torpedoed over us, her hair spread out around her as she spun head over heels. Her arms were crossed neatly across her chest, and in the briefest of moments, I caught sight of her face. It was an expression of absolute smugness. And sheer, uncensored anger as her eyes scorched into mine.

  And then the blackness swallowed her whole.

  Before I could even dwell on the fact that something horrible had eaten her, a wall slammed down before it and silenced the screaming cats.

  My ears rang in the silence, my face—my entire body—stung with pins and needles like I’d been defrosted rapidly. I was glued to the floor, barely noticing the vice-like grip of John’s fingers as they dug into my ankle. He lay on his side holding onto part of the railing that circled the room, staring at me with relief. He slumped onto his back and expelled a long sigh, closing his eyes.

  Looking up, James was peeling himself off the wall on the far side of the shuttle. His hair was mussed; face grim. He straightened up and ran a hand through his hair, giving me a wink.

  “What the fuck just happened?” I asked in a shaky voice, still on the floor, my stomach raw from being dragged along it.

  “I couldn’t stop her.” James put a hand behind his neck. Rubbing it, he shrugged. “I am sorry.”

  “What do you mean?” I fumbled to sit up. “You mean…” I had to swallow. “You mean she opened that door?”

  John, on all fours now, crawled with effort toward me. He curled a hand around my arm and helped me to my feet. We both groaned as we stood.

  James shook his head. “I did, to stop Ho. She hit me, not hard, but enough to distract me. Then…she just…jumped into the air…” He seemed to be thinking of something as he gazed at the point where we’d last seen Margeaux, before she was sucked out into space. “…let herself go.”

  “What—why would she do that?”

  “To be with Ho,” John said softly and rubbed his hip. “Her father.”

  John, still favoring his left leg, put a hand to my cheek and brushed it gently. It stung, and I touched it with a wince. How I’d cut it, I couldn’t say.

  “Why would she do that?” Remembering the hate on her face, I swallowed again.

  James shrugged. “Why do we do anything?”

  Chapter 34

  “What did you mean earlier when you said you came for Griet?” I asked, even though every bone in my body ached and begged for me to sink to the floor so I could just curl up and hope a coma would take hold. My injured shoulder throbbed with nauseating pain. By everything logical and sane, I should’ve been tucked away in my bed, recuperating with a pile of painkillers and lots of chocolate covered pastries. Instead, here I was, amid grit, blood, and absolute chaos, like how most family reunions end.

  John turned to stare at me, then to James.

  “Yes.” James shrugged again, making me think it was an unconscious habit of his, regardless of his mood or answer. He glanced to John and nodded. “That Griet. Your mother.”

  “I don’t understand.” John narrowed his eyes and regarded the Rogue with suspicion. “Speak with care.”

  “Your mother taught me everything there is to know about being a Rogue. It is true.” James grinned, flashing brilliant white teeth. “Surprised?”

  “Your mother teaches Rogues?” I gaped at John.

  John clamped his mouth into a thin line before speaking. “I did not know.”

  “Well, it is not like she advertises it,” James continued. “I was her first. She took me in off the streets of Brazil. I was about seven, a bit old to train, but…it was either that or be killed by the men I stole from. I had to eat. I was hungry. So I stole…among other things. Your mother came across me quite by accident. It was around the time she had been exiled. You see, I was always odd. Even from very young, I was a certified sociopath of sorts. I hurt others without a care. I wanted to, and I liked it. I also diagnosed with narcissistic tendencies and was clinically confirmed with a delusional disorder. That’s why my mother abandoned me. You could say…I had problems. Your mother knew, but she saw potential. A way to channel my disorder into order, she said. She asked for no payment, only that once my training was complete, that I develop a conscience. You see, each of us was given a goal to aim for, like a lesson we needed to master. Mine was a conscience.

  “She taught me how to think past my sick little box. Developed me, so to speak. She instilled in me empathy or awareness that I seemed to lack or had ignored all my life. Of course she knew I would never be a saint. I knew that too. She knew my path in life would be that of a Rogue. We Rogues do not require hindrances like a conscience. So, she taught me to be one, and she taught me well. But she kept reminding me that regardless of my profession, I should always use my talents for good. She did not beg it of me, but she made sure I did not forget. I guess, somewhere along the line, I lost it—forgot. But it came back when I realized how close to home this was. Forgive me,” he turned to John, “but I consider your mother as my mother. She is, after all, the only one who has ever treated me like a son.”

  James paced the chamber, an idle saunter. “She contacted me—oh, she knows just about everything that goes on. Told me to fetch the girl and bring her straight to her. Margeaux was too old, I said. Too unstable, too far gone. But Griet insisted. She could help her and hone her skills. Mend her.” He faced us, shrugging. “She’s helped many others by breaking them first before she fixes them. Reconditioning them, so to speak. It’s not easy or pretty, it can be very cruel and brutal, but it usually works. Some end up as Rogues like me, and some…well, they do something else. And believe me, some were far worse than Margeaux and me.”

  As John listened his face contorted, trying to understand. I curled my hand into his, squeezing it with reassurance.

  “She’s never once mentioned any of this.” John erupted in sudden laughter. “Why would she? She always does exactly as she pleases. My mother,” he shook his head. “A Rogue Master.”

  “Among other things,” James added helpfully.

  “Is that why you helped us?” I asked, still holding John’s hand; he gripped mine like a vice despite his bemused face. “Because of Griet?”

  “Yes and no,” James shrugged. “The connection to Griet, of course. But, I like you. I won’t apologize for staring. I mentioned before I had…have a delusional disorder. In my case, certain words, looks or situations, all trigger me to think that you…like me and, well, it affects me. It used to unnerve my real mother. She thought I was trying to seduce her, even though I was still very young. But I swear to you, I wasn’t. I just adored her. Worshipped her…her body, her shape, her scent, everything…until she left me. Then I wanted to kill her. Do horrible, mutilating things to her. Well, anyway, some habits are very hard to break. I’m not a pervert nor a rapist…just, hmm, obsessive.” He flashed another brilliant smile. “It appears I am not cured.”

  John gave him a warning glower. I swallowed. Hard.

  “But, yes. I do like you. Honestly, I do. And truthfully, it is more from admiration. Also, because I’ve kept making mistakes since the day I met you. I took it as a sign.”

  “Mistakes?” I frowned, still trying to get past his terrible history.

  “Oh, yes. Failures. Unfulfilled contracts, missed deadlines…very embarrassing for a Rogue. My conscience kept returning just when I had conveniently forgotten about it. And with it, those painful memories of the lessons Griet taught me. I felt…ashamed.”

  “You’re a very strange man. Look, I really don’t like you, but, thanks for saving my life.” I made a small move to shake his hand, but John reined me back with a firm grip.

  The Rogue saw the intended gesture and pursed his lips. “I only helped. I did not save your life.”

  “Well what do you call that business with the medicine chest and opening the emergency exit? How about not fighting with Ho. And, if you go a little further back, you conveniently left my krima in that overcoat pocket.”

  “Oh, that,” he shrugged again. He actually flush
ed, making me narrow my eyes at him.

  “I think what my wife means to say is, thanks for helping to save her life. Our lives.” John wouldn’t offer his hand but inclined his head with a courteous dip. “I agree with my wife, of course. I don’t like you and I can’t say I ever will. But it’s clear my mother saw something in you that is moderately good. And she is never wrong. So, I thank you.”

  James watched us with a tentative purse to his lips. The two men eyeballed one another a moment longer. A small smirk touched the Rogue’s lips, like a cat pleased with the outcome of the day as he basked lazily in the sun.

  “Fine, then.” James tucked his hands behind his back. “I shall be leaving. No need to see me off, I know the way.”

  “Before you go,” John raised his hand to his chin. “I need a little assurance.”

  “Hmm?” the Rogue cocked a brow, his yellow eyes turning beguilingly innocent.

  “What you have learnt here, about my wife…”

  “Oh, what’s one more wild rumor about her going to do?” James smiled. It was, for the first time, warm and genuine. “Do not worry. We Rogues have terrible memories. And I won’t insult Griet by exposing you.”

  “You know,” I smirked, “that sounds a lot like a conscience talking there.”

  With a wink, James made a small bow, turned, and left.

  * * *

  “He’s still a perv,” I said.

  “I agree. I don’t like how he looks at you.”

  “Jealous?”

  “If I were jealous, there’d be no men left to roam free in this world,” he replied with an airy tone.

  “Well they do seem to be dropping dead around us quite quickly.” I smiled wide, feeling smug. “You’re jealous.”

  “Very.”

  “Even of a delusional pervert?”

  “They are the worst kind.”

  Our pace was brisk as we headed toward the Lab. John, eager to see about his friend, forgot all else, even ignoring a summons from both captains Sandvik and Grosjean.