Junkyard Heroes

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “I will,” she said. “I’ll walk you to your apartment, first.”

  He shook his head. “That’s really not a good idea.”

  “You keep saying that. There’s no one out there, Haydn. It’s three in the morning. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Now I’ll see you back home.” She turned, as if she intended to head into the Aventine.

  Haydn stayed where he was. “They think if they apply enough pressure, they can get to my father through me.”

  Noa turned back to look at him, spinning on her feet. “Why would they do that? If they really think he killed a man, why don’t they just arrest him?”

  “They don’t know that he did it personally.” Haydn pushed his hand through his hair, the roil of anger and frustration building up all over again. He had hung onto the anger the entire time they had been questioning him, battering him with demands and threats, laying out consequences if he didn’t cooperate…he had heard it all before, yet they had never been as relentless as they had been this time. One of theirs had died and now they were tasting a few consequences of their own and finding it not to their liking. What a surprise.

  Even a year ago, after a questioning session, he would have hung on to the anger, letting it drive him and helping him stay on his feet and dodge what usually came afterwards, but not this time. This time it had been easier to let it all go.

  Now it was building up again, because Noa had been dragged into it and that was making his heart work and his belly cramp sickly. How could he get her out of this? He had to find a way to get her to leave voluntarily and as quickly as possible. He wouldn’t be able to trick her into leaving. He could pick her up and carry her, only it wouldn’t fix things.

  Noa gripped his sleeve with her tiny hand. “Come on. You look like you’ve gone a week without sleep.” The warmth, the concern in her voice, made his resolve weaken. It was so tempting to just give in and let her take control.

  He shook off her hand instead. He saw the hurt in her eyes, instantly wiped away. “I don’t need you, Doria,” he said, as harshly as he could.

  “You don’t need anyone, right?” She tilted her head. “Why do they think questioning you will help them deal with your father, if you’re such a loner?”

  The answer spilled out of him, ruining his effort to make her think he was an asshole. “They used to believe I still feel some sort of loyalty toward him and they could use that to make me give him up. Bring him in for his own good.”

  “But not now?”

  He shook his head. He had listened to them for hours. They had a dozen different ways of laying it out, all very logical and neat, yet it all came back to one train of thought. “He’s untouchable. Too many people think he is a god, showing them the light of truth in the darkness. If they move against him and they’re wrong, it will give him too much political clout.”

  “They want you to find out if he really killed Mateo?” Noa’s voice rose in disbelief. “Don’t they know anything about you?”

  Warmth glowed in his chest. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t given an opportunity to explain it to them.”

  “Or did you just go deep and silent?” she asked, looking up at him with a quirk at the corner of her mouth that he suddenly wanted to kiss.

  He pushed the thought away quickly. “No one knows what happened for sure in the middle of the riot. There was smoke and too many people so the cameras didn’t get it. All they know is Mateo was found with his belly torn up and he had been tasked with keeping a close eye on my father.”

  She shook her head. “You could never get close to your father to find out. He would be instantly suspicious.”

  Haydn sighed. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said gently.

  Noa recoiled. She took a step back. “You…talk to your father?” Horror made her eyes huge.

  Disgust stirred his belly. He had put that look on her face. Once, he wouldn’t have cared. Now, he did care. A lot. Yet his common sense was screaming at him to push her away now. This was the chink, the leverage that would get her to leave. If she reviled him enough, she would go.

  Yet he craved her good opinion and it made him say, instead; “You want the truth, Noa?”

  She nodded. She was very pale and her throat was working, yet her back was straight and her chin was still up.

  “Then you’d better come with me.” He took her sleeve, this time, turning her so she would walk beside him. He cut his stride down so she could keep pace and headed for the Aventine.

  The bulk of the arena rose up before them, a sharp black silhouette. To the left was the parking area for transports and just beyond, the Artery began. There was a narrow path that led to the train station, where a train would be sitting in power-down mode, waiting for someone to start it up.

  To the right, the markets and greenery of the Aventine public spaces spread out, as dark and empty as he had suspected they would be. For a moment he was tempted to go that way. Walking back to the Capitol would do him good and it would avoid the coming confrontation. Yet it would only put the moment off. His father was relentless.

  So he steered them both along the pretty footpath that led to the train station, hugging the outer curve of the arena. A minty waft of air rose from the little plants lining the edges of the path.

  He said what had to be said. Time was running out. “If it turns dangerous, when it turns dangerous, promise me you’ll run. As fast as you can, back through the Aventine. Don’t go home. Go and stay with Cai or Ségolène for the night.”

  Noa looked up at him. Her eyes were still huge. She said nothing.

  “Promise me,” he insisted.

  It took her a dozen steps to speak. “I promise,” she said stiffly.

  Haydn knew she was lying. She was going to make up her own mind about what to do. She was that stubborn. That strong. She just didn’t understand what she was now in the middle of.

  She would, though.

  * * * * *

  Noa had once thrown up because she had spoken directly to the Captain’s Chief of Staff. That fear had been nothing compared to the huge beast rampaging through her as they walked along the path toward the train station. Haydn’s hints, the implications that lay behind what he had said and had refused to say, built up a formless threat in her mind.

  She had always understood that Haydn didn’t respect his father and wanted nothing to do with him. That was easy to understand. Until this moment, she hadn’t understood the fear driving it.

  Yet he was walking toward whatever lay ahead of them, anyway. He could have cut and run, worked his way back to the Wall through the alleys and markets, only he didn’t.

  The low platform of the train station was just ahead. It was a block of plasteel, lit by two lamps, one on each corner. The train, with a single carriage, sat next to the platform with the doors closed and a single pilot light illuminating the inside of it.

  They stepped up onto the platform.

  At the same time, another man moved around the front of the train and stepped onto the platform, too. He was as tall as Haydn, dressed in dark clothing. The lamp at the end of the platform made the white of his hair and full beard almost glow.

  Noa had seen pictures and footage of Farnell Acardi before. This was the first time she had ever seen him in person. Before he spoke, even from the other end of the platform, she could feel his presence. His eyes were an electrifying blue, that dazzled and mesmerized. He seemed to take up more room than just the size of his body.

  He spread his hands. “They kept you a while, this time.”

  Haydn’s hand halted her. Then he deliberately stepped in front of her and moved toward Acardi, meeting him in the middle of the platform, leaving her at the far end. “Yeah, well, you kill a man, it tends to upset people,” Haydn said.

  Acardi looked over Haydn’s shoulder at her. She could almost feel his gaze flicker over her, measuring her. “A friend?” he asked Haydn. There was a smooth pleasantness in his voice. It made it sound as if he was being sociable and g
enuinely interested.

  Yet Noa shivered. She resisted the need to pull her jacket fronts together for warmth.

  “No idea who she is,” Haydn said dismissively. “We just walked from the Gate to here, that’s all. Some mechanic.” He shrugged.

  Acardi considered him. Then he smiled. “If you say so.” His voice was even. Friendly.

  Noa swallowed.

  Haydn looked over his shoulder at her. His black eyes, so unlike his fathers, were neutral, showing nothing. “I’m holding you up. I could be a while here. Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll use the next train, instead.”

  Noa understood he was trying one more time to get her out of the way. The vast number of unknowns swirling about the platform, the air of danger that seemed to have no source—except that it had emanated as soon as Farnell Acardi had appeared—pushed Noa into taking a step toward the train carriage. The door slid open for her and a wash of warm air from the interior swept over her, making her realize just how cold and afraid she was.

  That stopped her.

  She kept a hand on the door frame, which would keep the door open and turned back to watch the two of them.

  “She isn’t leaving,” Acardi said.

  Haydn shrugged again. “Not my problem.”

  Acardi smiled. “Very well. You know why I’m here.”

  “I said nothing,” Haydn said, his voice flat. “As usual.” It was a bitter qualification.

  Acardi put his hand on Haydn’s shoulder. His fingers were long and bit into Haydn’s jacket. The back of his hands showed thick veins and age spots, which made Noa wonder how old he was. His face was, perhaps, deceptively young. He seemed to beam with energy.

  “Now, son,” Acardi said, “you know I am only trying to protect you.”

  “Protect me?” Haydn said. He made a choking sound. “You killed a man. How in the great vastness of space do you think you could possibly protect me from that?”

  “I didn’t kill the guard.”

  “You might as well have! You know what you’re doing. After all these years, you know exactly how to work a crowd, to make them do what you want. You might not have held the knife, but you had your hand on the back of the man who did.”

  Acardi seemed suddenly sad. “After all this time, you still have no faith in me.”

  Haydn snapped his fingers under his father’s nose. “You finally got it.”

  Acardi looked to one side, toward the front of the train. Four men moved into the light, stepping up on to the platform.

  Haydn’s shoulders slumped. “Really?” he said, sounding very, very tired.

  Two of the big men grabbed Haydn by the arms, holding him between them with his arms wrenched back so he was forced to bend backward to take the tension off them. He had to strain to look at his father.

  Noa stepped back into the carriage as the other two men came toward her, letting the doors close.

  One of them got his hand in between them and they bounced open again. He pushed through the widening gap with a grin and gripped her arm. He hauled her out of the carriage, almost lifting her off her feet. The second grabbed her arm and they hustled her over to stand right next to the two tall men and held her there.

  Haydn’s gaze flickered toward her. He swore. “She’s nobody,” he said heavily, his chest working hard. “Leave her out of it.”

  “I might have believed you if only you had stopped at ‘she’s a stranger’,” Acardi said softly. “I know when you’re lying. You do it so often, after all.”

  “You could always get the fuck out of my life,” Haydn said. “Then I wouldn’t piss you off so much.”

  Acardi caught Haydn’s face in his hand. He looked into his eyes. “I am your father. You do not get to walk away from me. Ever.”

  “Because that would send the wrong message to your followers, wouldn’t it?” Haydn’s words were blurred from the pressure his father was putting on his jaw.

  Acardi let go and patted his jaw. “I hear you’ve been working on the Bridge, with those misguided fools who think the stars are out to destroy us all.”

  “Was working on the Bridge,” Haydn said. “Thanks to you, they’re never going to let me back in.”

  Noa drew in a deep breath. She hadn’t thought of that. The project needed him!

  Acardi smiled, as if this was genuinely good news. “You persist in these notions that can only harm you. They have blinded you to the truth. Yet you are my son. I can still bring you to the light, if only you would open your eyes and see.”

  “I ain’t going to see shit while you spout all that hocus-pocus crap,” Haydn said, speaking slowly and clearly.

  Acardi’s face tightened. For a moment the glow and energy around him seemed to fade. He didn’t telegraph his move. He just stood there. Then his fist shot out and rammed itself deep into Haydn’s stomach.

  Haydn doubled over, despite the men anchoring his shoulders. He groaned and coughed.

  Acardi swung his arm up, in a fast sweep. His knuckles connected with Haydn’s face, throwing him backward and making him cry out.

  Noa sucked in a shuddering breath. She wanted to protest, to say anything to make it stop, only she had no idea what she could possibly stay to halt it. Tears stung her eyes.

  Haydn coughed again. This time, blood appeared on his lips. He breathed heavily through his mouth.

  Acardi came closer. “You want plain language. Fine. I will use plain language. I will do anything it takes to expose the conspiracy that has held five thousand people in thrall for centuries. I will find freedom for all us, even the unbelievers like you.”

  “Hey! What the hell!” The call came from a few yards away.

  There was a group of four men standing there. They looked as though they had been making a night of it. Their eyes were blood-shot, but they were alert and looking for trouble.

  “Hey, that’s the fucker!” one of them said. Noa thought he may have been trying to whisper, only it was almost perfectly silent at this end of the Aventine and his voice carried. “That’s him!”

  Acardi put his hand around the back of Haydn’s neck and smiled broadly at the four men. “Just a little family business,” he said jovially. “Nothing to worry about, gentlemen.”

  They didn’t move.

  Acardi squeezed Haydn’s neck. Noa could see his knuckles whiten. “Tell them, son,” he said loudly.

  Haydn looked at him and shook his head. It was a tiny movement, because Acardi had such a tight grip on his neck. “Go to hell,” Haydn whispered.

  Acardi’s smile didn’t slip at all. He leaned even closer. “Tell them, or I’ll have Silvestri pull your friend’s arms out of their sockets.”

  Haydn swallowed hard.

  Noa’s trembling intensified. The man on her left tightened his grip on her arm, as if he was anticipating the fun of dislocating her shoulder.

  Haydn turned his head toward the four drunks, or perhaps his father turned his head for him. He moved slowly, as though he loathed doing it. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice thick. “Family stuff.”

  “Tell them who you are,” Acardi said softly.

  Haydn didn’t speak.

  “Tell them,” Acardi repeated, his voice rising.

  Haydn drew in a breath. “He’s my father,” he said.

  Noa wanted to moan.

  Acardi let go of Haydn’s neck and smiled at the four, showing white teeth. “Go home, gentlemen. It’s very late.”

  One of them whispered. This time it was a whisper, the sibilants hissing across the space between them. Then the four of them eased back into the shadows, carefully keeping their backs turned.

  Acardi watched them go, his smile fading. There was a light in his eyes, still. Noa wondered if she was seeing the madness that must surely drive a man to do what he did, to believe so truly what others thought was a joke.

  Acardi studied Haydn. “One day you will understand,” he said softly. “One day you will see the truth for yourself and be unable to deny it.”

&nb
sp; “Yeah, I will,” Haydn said. Noa knew he was thinking about going outside and seeing the stars, the truth, for himself. This was why he had pushed so hard to be part of it.

  “I am glad you understand, son.” Acardi turned to the train carriage.

  “Let Noa use the train,” Haydn said quickly. “I’ll walk.”

  Acardi paused in the doorway, just as Noa had done. He appeared to consider Haydn’s hasty request. Then, “No, I don’t think so,” he said, with a sunny smile. He stepped inside.

  “Bastard,” Haydn muttered.

  The four men let them go, working in creepy unison. They stepped into the train behind Acardi.

  Noa worked her shoulders, appreciating being able to move them at all, as she watched Acardi hit the wake-up button. The train pulled away silently, picked up speed swiftly.

  Noa reached up to wipe the blood from the corner of Haydn’s mouth. He grabbed her hand and shook his head. “No time,” he said urgently. “This is the dangerous part, now. Come on. We have to move fast.”

  He jumped off the platform, pulling her with him.

  “You mean, all that, just then…that wasn’t the dangerous part?” she cried.

  “Shh!” He shook her hand for emphasis and ran.

  Noa kept up with him as much as she could. Even at a jog, he easily outpaced her. Their linked hands pulled her forward, as he ducked into the narrow alley between apartment blocks and started changing directions quickly and randomly, tracking through the residential area at the back of the Aventine.

  Haydn appeared to be listening, even as he was running.

  Noa’s heart was hurting. It was working overtime, far harder than simple running demanded. She didn’t understand what was happening, which made it worse.

  There was an intersection of the narrow access ways just ahead. As Haydn ran through it, something whizzed through the dark and slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. Noa’s hand was pulled from Haydn’s.

  A man stepped into the intersection, holding the length of construction plasteel he had used to take out Haydn. Noa couldn’t stop in time. She rammed into him, her shoulder creaking with the blow. He staggered sideways and slammed into the wall, dropping the plasteel. He folded over.