by Chele Cooke
“You said you know who has Lachlan,” Hadley said.
She was still near the doorway. From the look in her eyes, it was clear that she wouldn’t be coming any closer to him. He didn’t even know if she would believe him if he told her. He had to take that chance.
“I think my boss, Hatliffe, has him.”
“Why? Because he’s coalition?”
Jack shook his head. He rubbed his hands over his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes.
“No, I think he took Lachlan to get to you.”
“Me?”
She barely whispered it but Jack heard it as clearly as if she’d screamed. When he looked up she was chewing on her nail, still keeping her distance.
“Lachlan’s a soldier. He’s of no use to them except to stop a raid. You said it yourself, he wouldn’t do that to keep himself safe,” he explained. “The only reason to take him would be in order to draw you out.”
Hadley placed the litcom carefully on the sideboard. She stared for it at a moment and nodded. Pausing for a moment, her expression unnervingly blank, she nodded again.
“Fine,” she said finally. “Fine.”
She strode across the living room. Jack jumped to his feet and turned to see her going towards one of the other doors.
“What are you doing?”
Hadley spun on his heel. Bracing herself against the doorframe, she stared at him.
“I’m going to get my brother.”
Rounding the couch, Jack stopped a few feet from her. He didn’t want to risk getting too close. No matter how much he wanted to reach out and touch her, perhaps even comfort her, he knew he couldn’t. Not now.
“No,” he said.
“No?”
“You shouldn’t go.”
“I should leave my brother?” she asked. “Just forget it?”
“No, no that’s not what I meant.”
Hadley’s hands smacked into his chest, forcing him backwards. He caught himself against the back of the couch as she came closer.
“Maybe that alert was right,” she spat. “You’re a deserter, only looking out for yourself! What would you know about protecting someone you love?”
“Hadley, please…”
“No! You killed someone, didn’t you? Was that so you could run?”
Jack shrank away from her. She was much shorter than he was and yet, in her anger, she seemed to tower over him. Her cheeks burned and her nostrils flared.
“I saw him die, Jack, do you understand that? I saw someone shoot him! I’m not going to let it happen!”
“And I don’t expect you to,” he cried. “Please, Hadley, just listen to me.”
She glared at him with such ferocity that for a minute he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He couldn’t pull himself from the vicious anger in her hazel eyes. She looked both beautiful and terrifying. Jack gulped and straightened up.
“I am a deserter,” he said slowly. “And yes, I was convicted of all the things they said of me, but it’s not what you think. If you let me explain, I’ll tell you…”
“No,” she spat. “I don’t want your explanations, Jack. You help me get Lachlan back and maybe then I’ll listen to you, but if you try to stop me—”
“I’m not trying to stop you!” Jack cried, grabbing her arms. “You just need to wait, please. Just wait a little longer.”
Hadley shook him off and moved out of his reach. She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot impatiently.
“Why should I?”
“The cirque will be opening in an hour. We can go back with the crowds. I’ll get you through unseen and we’ll find Lachlan.”
Drawing her lip between her teeth, Hadley watched him. He could see her working through the decision in her head. Little by little, she unwound. Her shoulders dropped and she uncrossed her arms, rubbing her palms down her legs. Finally, she nodded, staring past him.
“Fine, we’ll go when the cirque opens,” she agreed.
Jack sat down on the back of the couch and let out a heavy breath.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “I promise, Hadley, I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back for you.”
Hadley barely nodded as she turned and disappeared through the doorway into her bedroom.
It hadn’t taken much to move the captain up to his quarters. Once they’d gotten Lachlan Tack back onto his feet, all that had been needed was to lead him along. He came perfectly willingly and didn’t even fight when his hand was handcuffed to the pipe. The fact they’d used the soldier’s own handcuffs to subdue him would probably be a sore subject, but it wasn’t as if Cole cared about that.
He paced back and forth, scratching his chin. Kenneth had sent the message to the Coalition and with only an hour before they opened the gates, they had yet to hear anything. It was too late to strike before the citizens of Corapolvo began arriving. They could simply unhitch and set off if things got desperate, but leaving the midway tents and stalls was a cost he could not afford.
Cole turned once he reached the door and took another look down at the young captain. He was slumped against the wall, his arm stretched up above his head where it was secured to the pipe. A placid smile flittered over his face and he stared into space, mouthing something Cole could not make out.
“What are you showing him?” he asked.
Marcus leaned forwards on the couch. He waved his hand in a low sweeping gesture as he glanced up from his captive audience. He gave a knowing grin and was about to open his mouth when the door was wrenched outwards and Kenneth Clarke stood on the other side. He gave two pointless knocks on the inside of the door as he stepped in.
“We’ve had a response from the Coalition,” Kenneth said.
“Yes?” Cole asked. “And what is their reply?”
Kenneth looked unnerved as he glanced down at Lachlan Tack. He rounded the back of Marcus’s chair. Kenneth had never been all too comfortable with the talents on board their ship and avoided them as best he could. Cole was sure that the pilot didn’t know the first thing about how they worked or why, which was probably how he liked it best. The man was a pilot, a grounded man. He didn’t need to know the rest as long as the ship kept working.
“They agree to the terms that the cirque will remain untouched and allowed to leave peacefully as long as we ensure the delivery of Western and Tack.”
“That was their message?” Cole asked. “All of it?”
“Well, they did put in a clause about the captain remaining unharmed,” he said with an anxious wave at Lachlan.
“You call this unharmed?” Marcus laughed, leaning back in his seat. He too indicated to Lachlan, who was smiling and gazing at nothing. “You took one of their finest young captains and you’re returning a junky. He’ll go through withdrawal, pretty seriously from the amount you’ve given him. He’ll be done.”
“Shut up, Marcus!” Cole snapped.
Marcus didn’t look at all perturbed by the dismissal. He swept his long auburn ponytail over his shoulder and fingered the ends, smirking up at them.
“Sir?” Kenneth asked. “What shall I tell them?”
Cole perched on the edge of his desk and pressed his palms together in front of his lips. A tiny spit of a planet in the back end of nowhere couldn’t make such a deal, he knew. They would need approval from their command and there was no way they would have been able to receive that on such short notice. The Coalition were not efficient enough to make such a deal so quickly, not when every decision needed three or four idiots to approve it.
“They wouldn’t agree to our terms,” he said. “We knew that.”
“Then why suggest them?”
“To see their response. They say that they won’t attack, from which we can only assume they want to minimise risk on their end. They will wait until their citizens leave, until we have handed over Western and Tack, and then they will attempt to take us in.”
“So, what do we do?” Kenneth asked anxiously. “We can’t strike the show w
ith civilians here.”
Cole smoothed out his shirt and straightened up. There was only one thing for it.
“We’ll cut the show short. Midnight.”
Cutting the show short was the only option that made sense. By leaving it a little longer before they struck and moved on, they would be able to earn the money they needed for their jump. It would also placate the soldiers into thinking they had until dawn before they organised their attack. Even if a few soldiers came to the cirque, they wouldn’t be able to move up a strike in such a short time.
“Spread the word. Gates lock at midnight, and we’re struck by one.”
“An hour?” Marcus laughed in disbelief. “You’ll never get them done that fast.”
Cole glanced at him and gritted his teeth. While Marcus could be an arrogant annoyance at times, he was right.
“We can’t load the midway in that time,” Kenneth agreed.
“Fine, fine,” Cole growled. “One-thirty.”
Kenneth still looked sceptical. He turned his litcom over his hands and stared down at the soldier, avoiding Cole’s eye.
“All acts from segs four and six are to be sent out onto the midway,” he said. “I want all the backyard crates loaded into those sections. We’ll do a flash strike and load everything into the ring and loading docks. Once we’re out of the atmosphere, we’ll do a proper clean up. Let everyone know.”
Kenneth nodded and turned back towards the door. He once again rounded the back of Marcus’s chair instead of passing between him and Lachlan. Throwing one last glance at the soldier, he looked back.
“And him?” he asked.
“Let me deal with Mr. Tack, Ken,” Cole said. “Everything will be fine. I’ll announce the early closure at the gate, and in six hours we’re back in space, just like you like it.”
The door closed with a squeak behind Kenneth and even with everything else on his mind, Cole made a note to get one of the junkers to oil the hinges.
“What do you plan on doing with him?” Marcus asked.
There was a sick amusement on Marcus’s face and when Cole looked down at Lachlan, it was to see that his eyes had widened in horror. He curled his free arm over his face, balling himself up tighter against the wall.
“I said happy images, Marcus,” Cole droned, rounding his desk and taking a seat. “I don’t need him screaming the place down.”
Marcus rolled his eyes and within seconds, the soldier looked calm and happy again.
“So am I staying up here to look after your little pet?”
Cole shook his head. Opening a drawer, he pulled an ornately carved wooden box out, setting it on the desk. He drew out a litcom from underneath and swept the other items to the side.
“No, but I don’t want you in the ring early, either. I have a job for you. Your set will be moved to nearer the end of the show.”
Getting to his feet, Marcus approached the desk and grasped the edge, leaning over.
“And what exactly is this job?”
Cole barely looked up from the litcom as he tapped through the screens.
“Just gather some trusted men,” he told the illusionist. “You’ll need some help if we’re going to leave this planet with everything we came for.”
When Hadley returned from her brother’s bedroom, Jack was still sat in the exact position he’d been in when she left him. He hunched over his knees at one end of the couch, his face buried in his hands. It was only his even breathing that told her he hadn’t dissolved into tears at everything that had happened. Jack hadn’t told her how long he’d been with the cirque, and despite her curiosity over his crimes, she hadn’t asked him. She’d been right before, now wasn’t the time for it. Now she had to worry about Lachlan, perhaps even herself, though that definitely came second.
“These should fit you,” she said, holding out the collection of clothes she’d gathered from Lachlan’s closet. “The trousers might be a little short, you’re taller than Lachlan.”
Jack sat up. There were no tears to be seen on his face, but his eyes were red in the corners and he still looked pale. Hadley swallowed her concern and pushed the clothes towards him. He took them with a solemn nod and placed them beside him on the couch.
“You should change too,” he said.
Hadley looked down at her clothes and frowned.
“Why?”
“Everyone dresses up for the cirque, even here.”
He was right. She’d worn one of her nicer shirts the night before and everyone they’d seen had been in clean clothes though some didn’t fit as well. She rounded the couch to return to her bedroom as Jack got up.
Jack disregarded his shirt without care, catching Hadley off guard. He faced away from her and from the doorway she got a full view of his back. Muscles stretched beneath the surface as he moved, bending down to take off his shoes. His shoulders were broader than they looked in his loose shirt, his waist sloping down to his belt, slung low on his hips. Hadley gulped back a lump in her throat as she followed the bumps of his spine down. A long thin scar ran across the curve of his left shoulder blade, but apart from that his skin was smooth and flawless.
She shouldn’t be looking. She knew that she should douse any feelings with freezing water. He was a deserter, possibly even a killer. She needed his help in getting Lachlan, but that was it. Once Lachlan was safe, she could try to forget Jack Western ever existed, that she’d ever blushed at the thought of how the handsome man had looked at her.
Turning away, Hadley was almost into her room when she gave in, glancing over her shoulder again. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to turn around or not. If he did, the heat rising up her neck would be nothing to the flush of embarrassment if he caught her staring. She glanced down, only then noticing that his skin wasn’t quite as clear as she’d thought. Half hidden by his jeans, a tattoo was marked on his right hip. She took a step back out of the doorway, closer to him.
It was a man, little more than a doodle against his skin. It stood, arms crossed over its chest, its leg out at such an angle that she might have been able to imagine it tapping its miniscule foot. The ink ran through his skin in blue and grey. Hadley drew her lip between her teeth.
“Where did you get your tattoo?” she asked.
Jack’s shoulders jerked in surprise and he turned to face her. He was clutching Lachlan’s shirt in front of him but it didn’t cover nearly enough to stop her gaze from wandering.
“My tattoo?” he asked. Hadley lifted her gaze back to his face, and sure enough, the heat in her neck burned a path to her cheeks.
She nodded.
He reached back and touched the mark. For a moment, she thought he might mock her for staring, but he smiled almost fondly.
“A while,” he said. “Most people don’t see it,”
“Well, of course. Mostly you have a shirt on,” Hadley giggled nervously.
Jack shook his head. Regret pulled at the corners of his smile.
“No, I mean, they can’t.”
He came around the sofa and took her hand in his. Hadley’s stomach clenched and her chest tightened as he stepped closer, leading her hand around his hip to the place where the mark lay. Her fingers danced over the mark, feeling the ridges where the ink had been set into the skin. Gulping, she looked down.
Hadley yelped and jerked her hand away from him.
The little man was staring up at her, one hand propped on his hip. A grin identical to Jack’s beamed up at her, and his eyes, unlike the smoky grey rest of him, were hazelnut brown.
Jack chuckled at her.
“As I said, most people can’t see it.”
She pointed.
“He moved.”
Jack nodded. Gathering up the shirt, he opened out the bottom and tugged it down over his head, sliding in his arms and drawing it down over his body, finally hiding the little tattooed man from view. Hadley stared at the spot he’d just covered, her mouth open. Jack laughed again. For the briefest moment, he looked happy, but that mom
ent broke, and his smile crumpled, his jaw clenched, and he turned away from her.
“Weren’t you going to get changed?” he asked.
Hadley nodded numbly, and with a last look up at him, turned and disappeared into her room before she discovered anything else about him.
It was easy to melt into the crowd. While everyone around them chatted happily about the things they wanted to see again and the performances they’d missed the night before, Jack and Hadley walked in silence. He wanted to reassure her about what was to come, to tell her that everything would be alright but he didn’t want to lie to her. Instead, he said nothing.
Jack tugged the hat she’d loaned him lower over his brow before shoving his hands back into his pockets. Lachlan’s jeans were a little short in the leg, but he hoped it wouldn’t be too noticeable. Perhaps they would even assume that they, like most of the clothes people were wearing, were handed down from an older family member.
“I don’t recognise any soldiers here,” Hadley murmured out of the corner of her mouth.
Glancing over his shoulder, taking in as many of the faces around them as he could, Jack curled his hands into fists inside his pockets.
Hadley’s brother was a captain and she’d already told him that she’d spent a lot of time around the south-east quadrant station. She knew most of the soldiers and they knew her. If she didn’t recognise them, did that mean that they weren’t here, or that she’d simply not seen any of them? His face had been sent to every litcom in Corapolvo. If soldiers were amongst the crowd, the likelihood of them not recognising him was slim. However, their absence could be just as worrying. Maybe they’d even need the soldiers there if things went south with Hatliffe.
The crowd spilled from the thin tracks through the crops. They spread out into the space before the tall black gates. Jack slid his arm around Hadley’s shoulders, keeping her back from the front. She jerked away from him, looking up at him in shock.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“We’re meant to look like everyone else, remember,” he said quietly in her ear, slipping his arm back around her.