by T. K. Toppin
I had to admit that, after the events in the escape chamber, everything paled beyond Simon’s welfare. And from where I stood, the imminent threat was gone—flying breathlessly out into space like flotsam and jetsam.
At the thought of Margeaux, a sharp pang of guilt shot through me, racked with sadness. I couldn’t even comprehend, yet, how she’d sacrificed herself—willingly—to spite us. She’d hated me so much, I couldn’t blame her after the way I’d treated her. A hot sting of shame dashed through me as her angered expression was scored indelibly into my mind. Her hard, cold face said she’d won. She’d chosen to die with her father rather than face the consequences, and didn’t care about her own life.
A small, hopeful part of me thought that maybe she’d finally seen the truth, seen things clearly. Maybe it was guilt, and remorse. Or maybe, like the Rogue, her conscience wracked her. I doubted it, and now I’d never know. I felt myself tipping closer to the rim of emptiness, a sensation much like the weight I’d been carrying ever since waking up from my long sleep. Yet another thing left unfulfilled, unresolved. Hollow but burdensome. So many questions and not enough answers.
John, sensing my mood had dipped, laced his fingers through mine as we continued to walk, hand in hand.
Simon had gone through his surgery as well as anyone could, considering the circumstances. It was by far better than any field surgeon could’ve done or asked for. The Prosthetics Labs were, after all, fully equipped and designed for the remote surgeries they performed, though usually it was the other way around, with the patient on Terra Firma.
Simon was still inside the remote surgery chamber, a large, vacuous room riddled with a dozen surgery tables. I was surprised to find him awake, though a little sluggish and out of sorts, but alert enough to give us his trademark smirk. He was hooked up to various bags of clear liquid and blood, and other medical paraphernalia beeped and flashed around him. Stuck along his arm was a colorful array of medical patches, from blue pain stickers to the somber beige antibiotic ones, and a gradated temperature gauge.
Mechanical arms moved across his mid-section, putting the final touches to a dressing. Beside him was McLinney, suited up in a blazing white smock that covered him from head to toe. Even his pulse gun had a plastic covering over it, which he’d slung over his arms. Nearby stood another man, dressed similarly sans gun; he was speaking to Aline as he assisted her. A holographic image of Aline danced overhead as she peered down at her work, her mouth drawn into a thin straight line, making her to look so much like John.
I noticed a series of micro-thin needles dotted around Simon’s stomach and at various locations about his body. Acupuncture needles. Aline had a fondness for using them as a method of anesthesia and pain inhibition. Having been the recipient of these needles myself on numerous occasions, I realized that they accounted for Simon’s general alertness and lack of pain.
“All is well, then?” Simon asked, a little hoarse. He still looked like death.
John nodded. Relief that his friend was still among the living had him grinning like a fool. “You could say so. Aline,” he nodded to his sister.
“When you’re done being space cadet, John,” she muttered, not even bothering to look at him, “don’t forget us down here and your duties as president. But then, Loeb is doing such a fantastic job that no one seems to realize you’re not even here. But our vice president is about to have an apoplectic fit and is demanding advice about Iceland and how best to contain the situation. She said other things, but none were pleasant.”
A terrified patient was at the far end of the room, all bound up in bandages and strapped in with what looked to be his new legs. Though he’d been partitioned away by clear tempered glass, I could see him straining to hear the latest news of the Scrap Yard.
Aline fussed with the dressing some more, then accosted Simon with a stern tone. “Right! Bed rest for you. There will be absolutely no gallivanting around and chasing mercenaries for at least two solid weeks. Understood? You are the luckiest man on earth! How you’re not dead is beyond me. I suspect your sheer ill temper is what kept you alive. Bloody hell! A hole in your stomach, front and back.” She shook her head with weariness. “What do I tell Mrs. Trudesson? She’ll have a conniption when she finds out.”
“About that, ahh…if you could hold off on tell—” Simon made a sheepish grin.
“I’m not finished,” Aline snapped. “If I even hear you’ve been out of bed to do god-knows-whatever misadventure you boys gets up to, so help me, I will tell on you. You are not made of metal, Simon, so stop acting as if you are! To even think I actually could have married you at one point. It would have been me worrying my head off like Trudesson is now.”
I gaped, goggling at the pair. John chuckled, already dragging a chair nearby to sit beside his friend.
“You and…Aline?” I continued to gape.
“It was years ago,” John said helpfully. “Simon had a fascination with older women—and an interest in medicine.”
Aline snorted loud. “Interest in medicine, he says. Is that what it’s called now?” She flashed a look at the assistant. “Go find something to do elsewhere.”
The man dropped everything on the side table and bolted out, leaving McLinney to meander to another part of the room. A kaleidoscopic picture display seemed to attract his attention as he cocked his head and stared at it with absolute fascination.
“Josie,” Aline looked at me. “I’ve a message from Mrs. Patel.”
“Mrs. Patel! Shit a brick, I keep forgetting her!”
“Right. Anyway…she had to leave. The Rogue, that James character, returned her husband. I saw no point in keeping her detained any longer than was necessary. Heavens, she talks a lot. She’s back at the estate in Britain, being watched, of course.” She flicked a quick glance at John in response to his sharp intake of breath. The look suggested she was still a Lancaster and knew how to handle things. It also said John ought not to question her judgment.
Aline continued. “She left you a message that the estate is now yours. Apparently Lorcan Wellesley, before the siege, made arrangements and transferred ownership of the estate to you. She remains caretaker, if you so please her to be. Oh, and he’s apparently left you all his remaining assets and monies. How is your shoulder? You don’t look so good.”
The blood drained from my face, making my head swim. Had I even heard right?
“Why…why would he do that?” I managed to mutter. “Why would Lorcan do that? It should’ve all gone to his son, Max. He didn’t know then what Max was, so, why me?”
“You forget,” John said, “that by then, Max was made to disappear. To transfer his property to him would have drawn attention to the fact that Max was somewhere close. Remember, Lorcan thought Max’s life in danger. He would not have done something to threaten him any further. He knew at the time that you would benefit more if you had money and a place to live. And I suppose he cared enough about you to make sure you had someplace to go. To call home.” John nodded with appreciation. “He was a good man.”
“Yeah, he was,” I mumbled.
“Mrs. Patel also said she tried a few times to contact you,” Aline continued. “After your arrest, she was also arrested by an ill-faced Inspector Narayan. Ah, you’ve heard of him, then?” Aline nodded once as I snorted. “Well, her connection to Wellesley got her detained indefinitely by the London police. After we took you away from them, Narayan thought she knew things, but she wasn’t saying anything to harm her boy. It was weeks later before she was released. Wellesley’s attorneys worked hard to have her released and her name cleared. I believe it was around that time that Wellesley transferred everything over to you. By then, you were here and impossible to contact, as you were a prisoner of sorts yourself. Then, a few months later, the siege, and soon afterward, you were married, and any appointment with you was impossible to obtain. So she waited and hoped you would check your messages. She’s left several, it seems, over the past months.”
“She di
d?” I turned to John, to Simon. They both shrugged. “Why haven’t I gotten any of them?”
Aline quirked up a brow. “Josie, you’re the president’s wife. You are not expected to respond to every single message that’s addressed to you. That is why you have aides.”
“I do?” I frowned. “Well, remind me to fire them. I should’ve gotten those messages. How do you ignore stuff like that? Didn’t my so-called aides think to inform me of any of these?”
“Well, that is your problem, not mine. I’ve delivered my message. Now, Simon,” Aline returned her attention to her patient. “Your hunch was right. Moorjani says that Ho had two, maybe three, other individuals helping him. For an operation the size and magnitude as the one he’s staging now…” she slid her eyes to John, who nodded. “Correction, the operation he has staged, he would have needed considerable resources and money. He may have been wealthy enough on his own, but he would have needed more. Moorjani has two confirmed names linked directly to him. There are being apprehended as we speak. One is a cosmetics conglomerate with five directors—all involved, and all have come clean to save their skins, claiming it was Ho’s idea and he was blackmailing them. The other is a wealthy private individual; he’s been tracked down in Sydney. The possible third, well, on several occasions, the searches have led back to Adam…” Aline trailed off and scowled.
“What did you say?” John leaned forward in his chair, then glared at Simon. “You suspected this?”
Simon gave an anemic nod, beginning to tire. “It was just too much of a coincidence. It kept bothering me. It all started with Adam, so to speak, and Ho. How did he know Adam was still alive? He practically insisted on it, remember? And why even mention Adam in the first place if it wasn’t for the fact that he could be involved? Which he was, to a certain extent, or so we were being led to believe. Distractions, illusions. It was nagging me to no end. I started seeing things more clearly when I thought I was dying.”
“But Adam knew nothing of this.” I jumped in to defend John’s brother. “And how could he contact Ho? There’s just no way!” I shook my head. “There’s just no way Adam is involved. He’s lost the will to fight. He’s given up. For fuck’s sakes, the man talks to imaginary people!”
“Did Moorjani say how old these connections to Adam were?” John asked Aline through gritted teeth, his face in turmoil. “Were any…recent?”
“She didn’t say. It’s all a little sketchy and vague as it is. To be sure, she’s done a thorough sweep of his quarters and surrounding areas. Nothing out of the ordinary. No electronic signals, nothing. Adam once owned about three companies that connected him to Ho. To the best of our knowledge, he’s relinquished or sold ownership of all his businesses. We saw to that, remember? He’s clean. I have to agree with Josie. I don’t see how he could have done it. His heart is just not in it anymore.”
“A leopard doesn’t change his spots,” Simon warned.
“Nor do they like being in a cage.” John sounded far away. A tight frown knitted his brows and his lips pursed.
“You don’t seriously think he’s involved, do you?” A little fear nudged me as I thought of the man I’d spent many hours in conversation with. The man I’d made a point of getting to know, to understand. “He used to work with Ho. We knew that. That’s where the connection comes from, obviously. How the hell can he still be working with him? Moorjani said there’s nothing to indicate he could communicate with the outside world. Yes, Adam loves money—craves it, almost. He was right about Ho’s motives being only for money and power. But Adam, he…he just isn’t Adam anymore.” I looked helplessly to John, to Simon, and then Aline.
“I don’t doubt you, Josie,” John replied. “I’ve always trusted your judgment and I agree with you that Adam has lost the fight. I’ve seen it in his eyes. The fire is no longer there. The hunger is gone. But if, by some slim chance, he is still manipulating us—deceiving us—then I will find out and make him pay.”
“I don’t doubt you will,” I snapped at him, and he narrowed his eyes at me.
I was angry, yes. But a small niggling doubt nibbled at me. Could Adam be so cunning and deceptive? Anything is possible, he’d said to me when we’d discussed how Ho could’ve known he was still alive. We’d suggested Ho had tapped into the security droid’s memory banks, but that possibility was too far-fetched. Or was it? Maybe Ho did have help—from the inside. Maybe Adam wasn’t really talking to himself, but talking to Ho. But how? Anything is possible… Adam had, after all, killed his own father. And if a chance to live forever was to present itself, without ills and a deteriorating body—why just stop at killing your own father?
“What are you thinking?” John asked. He’d been studying me ever since I snapped at him.
“Nothing.” I needed to sit. My head began to swim and my eyes went out of focus. “Only,” I took a breath. “Only that, out of all the people, Adam had the most to gain should Ho have succeeded.”
John had already pulled me into a chair. “How so?”
Aline answered. “He wants to live forever.”
Chapter 35
After we left Simon, John disappeared to speak with Sandvik and Grosjean. I envisioned another few hours before I saw him again, so decided, against my better judgment, to help with the injured. Though tiredness stalked me like death and my shoulder lanced me with agony and my head swam in dizzying circles, I helped.
A part of me needed to, rather than find a quiet corner in which to cower and hide. I wanted to see the destruction and the bloody mess which, inadvertently, I’d helped to cause. I wasn’t completely blameless.
Though it sickened me, I joined Renna and Minnows and helped to retrieve the fallen and injured soldiers throughout the Scrap Yard. The sights were hideous and will stay with me for the rest of my life, but in a weird way it eased the tightness, guilt, and shame that had been building up in me since this whole thing started.
Like the morbid curiosity that drives people to watch a horrific accident unfold, I heaped the dead and injured onto makeshift gurneys and couldn’t stop staring at their faces. Their expressions fascinated me, whether frozen in the moment of death or twisted with pain. The wet, oily ooze of their blood soaked my hands and clothes as I carted them away, but I no longer flinched from it. The wails from the injured, the final sighs of the dying, and the sickening grate of broken bones beneath bruised skins played like background music. I slipped and skidded in trails of blood and gore, felt the crunch of bone fragments under my shoes and the unbearably earthen smells of death.
When it was over, I looked worse than the dead themselves. I showered and changed with the rest of them, then borrowed a Junkies spare uniform to wear. Renna stayed close by, protective, but it seemed more like she wanted to have someone to talk to as we cleaned ourselves up.
Her expression was vacant, hollow. I guessed I looked no better than she did. She seemed distant and remote, closed off. But like people who’ve been through the worst, we grinned like idiots and made light of things, exchanging jokes and silly stories that had nothing to do with what had transpired on the Yard.
Before five hours were up, the Prosthetics Lab and adjoining clinic were filled with the injured. For the dead, we used a docking bay, laying out their shrouded bodies. Ho’s men were also laid there. Later they would be DNA-tagged for identification and, most likely, their names if they went by any would be scratched off some special mercenary list I knew John kept handy somewhere.
It would be hours yet before we could leave the Scrap Yard; a rigid lockdown was in effect. The last of the last of the mercenaries were hunted down or killed, whichever was preferable. Many escaped in the final confusion as the battle to take control of the Scrap Yard came to an end, fleeing in the tiny escape pods that lined the lower decks to take their chances in the vast void of space.
Sandvik and Grosjean’s militia were everywhere, restoring order. A rumor flew around at rapid speed that Grosjean had single-handedly brought down a particularly aggressive grou
p of unfriendlies. She’d begun by firing on them with her weapons, then abandoned those to fight with her fists. Exaggerated or not, the story went on to say she was found by her surprised lieutenants atop a three-deep pile of prone mercenaries. With one hand she was wiping her bloody mouth while the fingers of her other hand were wedged up a man’s nostrils like she was about to go bowling with his head. The story made me chuckle and I wished I had the chance to meet this infamous Captain Grosjean. But Renna’s adamant headshaking and insistence that Grosjean was a loose cannon had me reconsidering.
With nowhere else left to go without getting in the way as normal activity slowly resumed, I wandered back in the Lab and sat next to Simon. He was apparently sound asleep; unaware I was there. But with Simon, I could never be sure.
John found me there almost falling out of my chair, my head nodding with exhaustion. His warm hands brushed the hair off my face as he leaned in to plant a kiss on my forehead.
“You look half dead,” he murmured so as not to wake Simon.
“So do you.”
“We’ve another ten hours or so before a transport shuttle comes. The governor has given us a small hospitality room to rest in. Can you stand, or shall I carry you?”
“I can stand.” I got up, wobbling, mortified by the thought of John carrying me helplessly through the Yard for all to see. But knowing his tactics to get me on my feet, I smiled back. He looked dead tired himself, and relieved he didn’t have to carry me.
“You smell clean.”
“I washed,” I replied. “I needed it.” I glanced at him. He was covered in blood and suspicious bits of glob but seemed unperturbed. “You need one too.”
“Mmm,” was all he said.
It was slow going heading to the hospitality quarters two floors above us. We encountered many along the way, busy with repairs to sections of walls and rooms that were destroyed. Most were service droids that ignored us altogether.
“I’m glad it’s done. Too many have been killed or injured, but it’s done.” He sounded pained. “Surrey is dead. He rigged the gunship to destroy it. I must tell his mother when we get back.”