by Chele Cooke
“What are you saying?”
“That maybe Hatliffe hasn’t thought this through. He’s worried the captain knows something and so he’s keeping him. Really, in my opinion we should be cutting him loose. It’s an excitement for a little speck of a planet like this one, but the rest of the coalition won’t give a shit. But if we keep the guy we’ll be on the run far more than usual.”
Drumming his fingers on the control panel as he stared out of the window, Kenneth leaned back in his chair and let out a huff. Jack was getting through to him, he could feel it. Kenneth glanced up at him and looked away again.
“I can’t get the captain out, even if I wanted to. I’d never survive the next jump and we both know it.”
Jack let out a bitter laugh.
“I’m not surviving the next jump already, Ken,” he said. “Nothing to let you know your job has an expiry date like having all your dirty secrets spilled to the coalition.”
“What’s your point?”
“Let me take the captain. That’s what you told the coalition, isn’t it? That I took him like I…” Jack cut himself off and fixed his smile in place. “They’ll stop looking for you if they have me.”
He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a flicker of sadness on Kenneth’s face as he turned towards him.
“You’d do that?”
Nodding, he got to his feet.
“Better some prison than being thrown out between planets,” he said slowly. “We both know what’s coming for me, Ken. Let me do this.”
Kenneth ran both hands over his head.
“He’s in Mr. Hatliffe’s quarters, handcuffed. You’ll need something to get him out. Marcus took the key.”
Jack wasn’t sure whether or not he felt bad for lying to Kenneth. The pilot had been a friend, but at the same time he was perfectly willing for him to take a one-way trip as long as it got them off planet without the coalition on their tails. He strode across the bridge back to the door and only then did Kenneth call him back.
“Jack?” he said. “Take care, won’t you?”
He didn’t turn to look back at the pilot. He waved a hand over his head and descended the steps back into the bowels of the ship.
The higher levels of the ship were quiet during the show. Every man and woman was on the ground or in the lower levels entertaining. Even the roustabouts would be on their usual duties, though they rarely had quarters this high. Jack sprinted along every corridor and wasn’t stopped once. He bounced off the walls as he turned corners and listened to the thudding of his own footsteps against the metal. Everyone would be ensuring the show went as planned. He’d have a clear run.
Jack skidded to a stop at the end of the corridor that housed the ringmaster’s quarters. Even from the end of the corridor, he could see that the door was open. He crept closer, hugging the wall and grimacing at every squeak.
“I’ll sort your fucking performance,” Hatliffe snapped viciously from just inside the quarters.
“This wasn’t my fault.” The other voice came quieter and as he strained to listen, Jack was sure he knew who it was. Hatliffe had already used Marcus to control Hadley, it made sense that he’d keep this as quiet as possible. There was no reason to panic everyone and the fewer people who knew, the easier they would be to control.
“I don’t care who’s fault it is, Marcus,” Hatliffe continued. “If Captain Tack gets back to the city we’re done for.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open and he turned, hurrying back along the corridor as quietly as he could. Lachlan had escaped. He’d solved one problem for him. Now, if he could just get Hadley back to the city, maybe he’d be able to get out of this mess altogether.
Malak’s dark eyes stared without seeing. Blood had crusted around his lips and he was long gone by the time they found him. Cole crouched next to him and gently closed his eyes. He let out a breath before he drew the sheet up over his face.
There would be no time to bury Malak before they left Corapolvo, which left them with two choices. They could either dump Malak’s body for the coalition to find, or they could keep him on the ship during the jump. Cole wasn’t particularly fond of either choice. Malak had been a friend, one of his closest friends, and leaving his body like trash disconcerted him. However, he knew that the rest of the crew wouldn’t appreciate the man being stored in the freezers until they could perform a proper burial.
“How far could he really have gone?” Marcus asked as he paced next to the door. He leaned out into the corridor and peered in each direction as if the captain would be standing in the hallway wondering which way to go.
“Malak was dead before we got here and a shot to the stomach is not the quickest way to die.”
He tucked the sheet in around Malak’s head and shoulders. The blood was soaking through at the stomach already. His quarters would have the smell for a month.
“But still, the man was drugged to the eyeballs.” Marcus gave a snort of derision. “He’ll probably be wandering around and around the same tent, wondering when he’ll get to the end.”
“If you’d done as I asked and made sure he wouldn’t be a problem instead of taunting him with tricks, we would not have this problem,” Cole spat, pushing himself to his feet.
“If you wanted a coalition babysitter, maybe you should have asked someone else. I was taken onto this ship as an illusionist, not to delve into the repression of orphans.”
Marcus fell silent at the look of loathing Cole threw him as he picked up the wooden box. The inside was empty and Cole bit his tongue. The corner was smeared with dried blood. He placed it on the edge of the desk, the bloody corner extended over the edge. It had been a weapon of opportunity, he hoped. It had not been his own foolishness that had killed his friend. Malak usually carried a weapon with him and he’d certainly had one earlier that day when we went to grab the young captain.
The handcuffs were still hanging from the pipe, bloodied and fixed in place. Cole reached up and pressed his hand against the breast of his jacket. Turning around, he scanned the desk.
“Tack is injured and I believe you may be right about your earlier assessment,” he said thoughtfully.
“Which one?” Marcus asked.
“That the coalition would not be getting their captain back completely unaltered.”
Marcus stepped carefully over Malak and moved further into the office. He glanced at the handcuffs and patted his pocket. A quiet metal clink against his fingers told him he still had the keys. That, at least, had not been his mistake.
Cole pointed to his desk.
“I put the flask I used on Tack on the desk, should you need more,” he said. “Now, unless someone came in here and took it…”
Marcus shrugged and went to the pipe. He touched the connection between the handcuffs.
“And he’s injured. He could still be on the grounds. We should alert people.”
“No,” Cole argued. “Not everyone.”
He held up a hand to stall the conversation as he went to the wall and flipped over a small panel. The intercom glowed white as he dialed in the bridge. The connection was confirmed before the first ring had finished buzzing in their ears.
“Mr. Hatliffe.” Kenneth’s voice vibrated over the intercom.
“Mr. Clarke, we have a situation.”
There was a pause, far too long for Cole’s liking. He heard a shuffle of movement from the bridge crackling over the device before Kenneth spoke again.
“What is it, sir?”
“Our captain seems to have escaped. I need you to keep a watch over the grounds. Marcus will have my litcom, you will contact him if you see anything suspicious.”
Again, a long pause followed his words. He could imagine the pilot looking out through his windows, could hear a deep nervous breath.
“Mr. Clarke, did you understand me?”
“Sir, I…”
“What?” Cole snapped.
Marcus moved closer to the intercom, watching the device as if he could see
the pilot’s face as he struggled to form his words.
“Western was here, Sir,” Kenneth said finally. “He wanted to know where you were keeping the captain. I…”
“You what?” Cole’s voice was cold as death and he leaned closer to the intercom. If he could, he would have reached through it and grabbed the man by the neck, pulling him headfirst through the wiring just to get his answers.
“He said he would take the fall.” Kenneth let it all out in a single breath as if hearing the news quickly would lessen the blow. “He knew you wouldn’t keep him on the ship and he… I told him where Tack was.”
“Shit!”
“I’m sorry!” the crackly voice practically cried. “I thought it would rid us of the—”
“He killed Malak,” Cole shouted down the microphone.
Silence replied.
Cole smacked his fist against the wall. He swore again and rubbed his hand over his face.
“Get me everything you can find on Lachlan and Hadley Tack,” he ordered. “Send it to the litcom. You see any of them, you tell me immediately or I will find someone else to fly this ship whilst you fly dead behind us.”
Cole smacked the intercom and it buzzed off before Kenneth had the chance to say anything more. He swung the panel around and turned away. Snatching up his litcom, he stepped over Malak’s body and waved Marcus onwards.
“With me,” he ordered.
Marcus followed and waited while Cole locked his quarters. It had been stupid to leave this to anyone else. He should have drugged Western the moment he saw him. He’d assumed that the man’s presence would calm the girl and keep her from running off on some stupid desire to save her brother. Instead, the man who was supposed to work for him had turned out to be the biggest problem. He would pay for killing Malak.
“What are we going to do?” Marcus asked as they strode down the corridor.
“First, we’re going to see if my suspicions are right and then we’ll see.”
Jack Western’s quarters were much lower in the ship. The hierarchy within the ship was clear in order to make sure everyone knew their place. The lower on the rungs someone stood, the lower their quarters. Of course, Western had been mostly sharing with Annalise for the last year or so. The boy had forgotten himself since he’d managed to score himself a performer girlfriend. His nights sleeping higher on the ship had given him ideas above his station. His ingratitude would be paid in kind.
They took the side corridors through the ship, staying as far as they could from the ruckus of the ongoing show. There was little more than an hour to go before midnight and things would be crazy. He didn’t want to have to spend his time shoving through people. Even with the added passages, it didn’t take them long to reach Jack Western’s quarters.
The door was flung open and Cole knew with a single look that they were gone. He rounded on Marcus. Shoving the litcom at the illusionist, he reached into the back of his jacket and pulled out a pistol. Marcus took them both tentatively, though there was a certain sick amusement to be found in the way he smiled.
“Mr. Clarke will give you all the information you need,” he said, straightening his jacket. “Find them. Do whatever it takes to deal with this problem or Western won’t be the only one to find himself on the wrong side of an airlock.”
Marcus stared at him, the smile gone from his lips. He glanced down at the gun and turned it over in his hands.
“You want Western back here then?” he asked quietly.
“I want all of them back here.”
Cole turned on his heel and marched down the corridor away from Marcus. He wanted this whole mess dealt with. For the first time in a long time, he wanted nothing more than to be on a jump where nothing mattered outside of the ship.
He usually loved being on the ground. The excitement of the citizens who came to see the show was infectious. It was enough to live off, to keep his gift from taking from him instead of others. Western was right, he probably wouldn’t see the end of the next jump, but if he could get the man back, at least he could salvage the gift. He could pass it on to someone. Maybe, if they could keep Western contained, he would be able to keep him until the next stop where he could select the perfect new addition instead of scrounging through the crew for someone half-way suitable.
Just before Cole rounded the corner, he turned back. Marcus was still stood outside the door staring down at the gun. He looked up as Cole called back to him.
“The girl and Western are the priority. Any problems… shoot the brother.”
Lachlan cradled his hand against his stomach as he shouldered his way through the door and into the house. Every inch of his body screamed in pain, begging for him to open the little flask again. He hadn’t stopped running since he’d hit the midway, pushing his way past people and ignoring their shouts of annoyance and murmurs of concern. He was a mess, he knew. A large blood stain was drying on his jacket, his hand bloody and useless.
“Hadley?” he shouted. “Hadley!”
The house was dark and quiet. The entire south-east quadrant had been quiet, the gate left open for the citizens to attend the cirque. Lachlan didn’t care. He’d never cared about the rules less since he’d been sworn into the ranks of the coalition.
He smacked the light switch with his good hand, blinking against the sudden brightness. Shielding his eyes, Lachlan made his way through the kitchen and into the small living room. He hit the light there too.
“Hadley?”
As his eyes adjusted to the light, Lachlan dropped his hand back against his stomach and looked around. He strode to Hadley’s room and pushed the door open. Even through the dark gloom, he could see that her bed was empty. Swearing under his breath, he checked his own room, though there was little point. Hadley only went into his room for one reason, to see the pictures in the box in the closet. She didn’t know he knew, that he’d always known. He could have moved the box, hidden it away or even destroyed it, but he’d never been able to bring himself to do it. She deserved the box. She didn’t have proper memories of their parents of her own.
Turning back into the living room, Lachlan paused. He walked to the couch and bent over it, picking up the jeans that were hung over the arm. There was a shirt too. Scruffy boots stood in front of the leg.
His litcom lay dark on the cushion next to the shirt, the alert light blinking rapidly. Lachlan picked it up and rested it on his arm, lighting it up. It didn’t take him long to swipe through the alerts, his face falling with each word. Hadley had mentioned someone from the cirque. James or Jack something. Lachlan swore and returned to his bedroom.
His spare pistol was in the place he always kept it. Hadley, at least, had not been desperate enough to take that. He grabbed the weapon and the small box of bullets, dumping them on the bed. Next, he dug out a proper bandage from the small emergency medical kit in the bathroom and went back to his room. His hand seared in pain as he unwrapped the tie from around it, his thump jerking against his palm. He positioned the end of the bandage carefully in between his thumb and his palm until the end dangled down his wrist and, gritting his teeth, he began wrapping the clean linen around and around. He couldn’t bring himself to curl his fingers over his thumb to protect it, but at least it would hold his thumb still enough until he could get one of the doctors to look at it.
Getting the bullets into the gun was more difficult. He had to bite the end of the chamber in order to pull it out and he gripped the barrel of the gun between his knees as he loaded each bullet one by one. He wrestled himself from his jacket, leaving it dangling from his injured arm and undid his collar. He needed to steel himself before he pulled the tight cuff over his hand
“Lach?”
Lachlan jumped to his feet, just catching the gun before it hit the floor. He grasped the weapon tight behind his back as he went to the doorway.
Hadley stood in the living room. She was pale, her hair more messy than usual and for the first time in a long time, he loved her even more for it. He bare
ly tucked the gun into the back of his trousers before striding across the room. He shook his jacket from his arm and gritted his teeth when he had to yank it over his hand. Dropping it to the floor, he wrapped both arms around his sister and ignored the clatter of metal against the wood.
“Are you okay?” he murmured into her hair, holding her tighter against him.
“I’m fine,” she said, burying her face against his collar. “God, Lach, I was so scared.”
“I know.”
He spotted the man out of the corner of his eye. Lachlan swung Hadley around, shielding her as he drew his gun and pointed it at the stranger. He was holding the small silver flask, looking at it curiously.
“Lachlan, this is Jack, remember,” Hadley said quickly. “He’s been helping me.”
“He’s the one they’re looking for.”
Jack looked over at him. Up close he looked like a different man to the one in the picture. His hair was different and he’d filled out some. He didn’t have a gaunt, haunted look that he’d seen on the litcom but it was the same man.
“You don’t understand,” Jack said. “Look, I’m just trying to help Hadley, they’re—”
“No!” Lachlan spat. “You don’t help my sister. I knew your lot were dangerous.”
Hadley slipped past him and Lachlan snarled and gritted his teeth. He couldn’t pull her back without putting down the gun and he wasn’t about to leave this murderer, this deserter, without a weapon trained on him.
“You mean like this stuff is dangerous?” Jack asked, lifting the flask and using it to point at him. “How much have you had?”
Lachlan could see the way his sister’s gaze darted between him and the flask. If she’d been with this man she surely knew what was inside. He’d not seen the man when he’d been taken, but he’d probably been there and then come to get Hadley. He had told her lies to get her to go with him.
“Lachlan?” she asked. “Have you taken this?”
“It’s evidence!” he snapped. “I brought it here to take them down!”