by Adam Carter
With a yelp, Harman turned and fled.
“Hey,” Haskell shouted. “Get back here.”
Only Haskell’s inability to consider a slave might run away had saved his life and he knew it.
If there was one thing Harman’s long life of leaving lovely women had taught him it was how to plan an escape route. Consequently while he did not recall the way back to Arowana, his subconscious surely did because it did not give him a moment’s pause. He could hear Haskell not far behind him, although doubted Rosalita had been allowed to leave the slave area. A glance behind told him Haskell had drawn her whip and held it coiled and ready to use.
His increased fear only made him run faster.
He burst through the final door, his warning to Arowana dying on his lips. His subconscious may well have been incredibly active, but it seemed there had been someone far more important it had wanted to save than Arowana. Harman was not in the observation area where he had left his companion, but in the hangar.
There were only a couple of people working and they eyed him strangely but did not move to interfere. Harman’s brain worked furiously, fighting for a solution to this. He was not even sure he could remember his way back to Arowana now, subconscious be damned, and any moment now the alert would be raised and there would be no chance of either of them escaping.
Behind him he heard Haskell scream something about violence, death and lots of blood. His decision was made for him. Racing through the hangar, he yanked open the door of his unnamed craft and fell into the pilot’s seat. He watched as Haskell ran towards him, cracking her whip and shouting obscenities, but he was not about to stick around to find out precisely how she intended to make good on her threats. Hitting the reverse thrust, he held on tightly as his craft rocketed backwards. He watched as one of the people working in the hangar scrambled to open the door for him, which was something he had forgotten all about. If he crashed into the closed door it would likely cause a hull breach, which would kill them all; but opening the door would not vent everyone into space. Most large vessels these days were equipped with a thin lining of what was termed gossamer. Harman had no idea what it was, but it was transparent and allowed craft through without allowing the air to escape.
As he shot through the gossamer he watched Haskell’s fierce face grow smaller even as the blackness of the Obsidian’s hide grew larger. Settling himself into his chair, Harman at last felt his heart returning to a normal pulse.
He took one final look at the Obsidian and wished he could have brought Arowana with him, but one of them had to get away to warn the others, and of the two of them Harman would much rather it have been him. After all, he and torture did not go well together.
Turning the craft about he set to locating Jupiter’s Glory and with a deep breath began a first draft of what he might possibly tell Gordon Hawthorn.
CHAPTER SIX
Things were going very badly, but Cassiel did not want to tell everyone it was pretty much what they deserved. Wyatt Harman had returned to the Glory with a tall tale of fighting off two dozen guards, running through a wall of flame and swinging on a vine to rescue a fair maiden from a train track. He probably would have embellished his story but by that point Hawthorn had socked him in the jaw for leaving Arowana behind. Wraith had pulled him away, but his reluctance in doing so was clear. Cassiel herself had stayed out of the argument, for Hawthorn needed to vent and after a few minutes of calling Harman’s parentage into question he punched a wall and collapsed into a chair.
“Well,” Wraith said, “now that’s over with what say we figure out what we’re going to do?”
“Do?” Harman asked. “We have a Carpoan sword-ship. We go back to the Obsidian and start blasting.”
“We have my Carpoan sword-ship,” Wraith corrected. “As the only resident Carpoan, and the only member of its official crew, this ship is technically mine. And I don’t fancy taking it into a fight against a vessel which wouldn’t last two minutes against us.”
“All the better,” Harman said. “Who needs a fair fight?”
“Blowing apart the Obsidian won’t get Iris back.”
“No, but blowing apart some of the Obsidian will get them willing to negotiate.”
“And then they go home,” Wraith pointed out, “and they tell everyone they were attacked by a Carpoan sword-ship. Do you know how many Carpoan sword-ships there are outside of Carpo?”
“I’m guessing one.”
“So am I. If people start connecting our names and faces to this thing, Iris’s secret gets out and Securitarn come looking for her.”
“Then we fight them, too. Carpoan sword-ship, Wraith. We’re in a Carpoan sword-ship. That’s something not even Securitarn has.”
“No, but they have more than one attack vessel. And that’s something we don’t have.”
“Excuse me,” Cassiel said, raising a hand. She generally did not like to interrupt the men when they were arguing, but someone had to do something useful. “I have an idea.”
“Wonderful,” Wraith said. “The child Bible-basher has an idea. We’re all saved.”
“Wraith, enough,” Hawthorn said. Cassiel could see he was tired, and his voice was even wearier. “Hear her out.”
“Thanks, Gordy,” she said. Her heart was racing at the thought that he was willing to give her a chance and she smiled at him, which was of course something he could not see because she was completely concealed by her attire. She still remembered the day when Hawthorn had entered her life, when by his very presence he had shone as a beacon to brighten up her dreary existence. Stowing away on board the Glory may not have won her much love amongst its crew, but it was without doubt the best decision she had ever made in her life. Now all she had to do was prove to everyone that she could be as useful as any of the others.
“I think she’s frozen,” Wraith said. “Please someone tell me she’s not mooning over you, Gordon.”
Cassiel blushed and was thankful no one could see her reaction. “I was just thinking,” she said, knowing none of them believed her. “My plan is to sneak aboard the Obsidian and rescue Iris.”
Silence descended on the command deck.
“And?” Wraith asked.
“And? And what?”
“Cassiel, that’s not a plan, it’s an idea.”
“All plans are ideas until you implement them.”
“No, I mean you haven’t formulated a plan, you’re just stating the obvious.”
“Obvious?”
“That we need to rescue Iris. We need a plan and all you’re doing is telling us what the problem is. We all know what the problem is, thank you.”
“Oh.” Her face fell, which they would not have been able to see, but she could feel her entire body sag with it, which they no doubt could. “Sorry, I was just trying to be helpful.”
“At least you’re doing something positive,” Hawthorn said kindly. “Unlike someone who just left her behind.”
“Hey, what was I supposed to do?” Harman asked, nursing his injuries with a cold compress. “If I’d stayed behind you’d never have known something was wrong.”
“I think we would have figured it out eventually.”
“And I would have told them everything. I’m very bad with torture. I would have given them enough information to get Securitarn on the phone faster than you could have realised there was even a problem.”
“Then you stay here,” Cassiel said. “Wraith, this is your ship, as you said. Would you take the command deck and back us up if we need it?”
“Oh, I get it,” Wraith said. “This is where you suggest you and Gordon go over together, just the two of you. You want to get some quality time alone with him while Iris is out of the picture, maybe catch him when he’s vulnerable and suggest a little …”
“I’m sitting right here,” Hawthorn said. “And it’s a good plan. Harman’s not going anywhere near Iris, and Cass is right, Wraith: you should stay here with the ship. Beth won’t be of any use, even if she knew
what day it was, which means Cass and I have to go over together.”
Cassiel beamed. “See? I thought up a good plan after all.”
“It’s still not a plan,” Wraith said. “It’s still just a way of getting the both of you killed.”
“No one’s killing anyone,” Hawthorn said. “They’re slavers, not murderers. And, as people keep telling me, what they’re doing is perfectly legal. If they were transporting mangos to bat colonies we wouldn’t be talking about them killing us. This is no different.”
“So it’s decided,” Cassiel said. “We need a way to get over there. I guess if we took the same little ship Wyatt came back in they might realise.”
“I don’t think we have anything else,” Hawthorn said. “Let’s go see Beth.”
Cassiel lost some of her spark at that. “Beth?”
“Yeah. If there’s something else we could take, Beth would know.”
Cassiel winced at the idea but he was right.
“Whatever you do,” Wraith said, “be careful over there. We don’t want to lose any more of us.”
“Just keep that man out of my sight,” Hawthorn said, pointing at Harman, “and we’ll all be fine.”
Cassiel took Hawthorn by the arm and led him off the command deck. He shook himself free the moment the door was closed behind them, not because he didn’t want her holding him but because he was angry. All right, she had to admit he probably didn’t want her holding him either, but his mind was not focusing on things like that. It would have been nice if Cassiel’s conscience would allow her to take advantage of this situation, but the truth was she was worried about Arowana as well. She could be a cold, imperious cow, but Arowana was one of them and they could not abandon her.
Besides, thinking about Arowana was infinitely better than dealing with Bethany Hart. Cassiel had nothing against Hart per se, it was just that Cassiel’s people back on Themisto had arrested the girl on charges of piracy and had crucified her. Only Hawthorn’s dogged determination had saved her, for he had literally torn the nails from her wrists. Hart’s physical scars would remain with her forever, and she was such a mental basket case that Cassiel tended not to talk to her at all if she could help it. After all, Cassiel’s appearance was distinctly Themistonian and she did not want to get Hart angry at her, especially if she was wielding a hammer at the time.
Due to her attire, the workshop was hotter for Cassiel than Hawthorn, and she hung back as best she could while he spoke with the young ex-pirate. Hart had stripped to a plain white vest, which was wringing wet from her strenuous work. Cassiel would not have been surprised to find a coal fire burning and for Hart to be beating steel upon a forge. Hart tended to work without fancy tools, preferring her hammer to anything else, and, what with the heat coming from Hart’s workspace, Cassiel was not convinced that forge was not hiding somewhere.
“Iris has been taken by the slavers,” Hawthorn said.
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry: she sounded vacant.
“We need to sneak aboard their ship.”
Hart said nothing.
“The shuttle is too slow,” Hawthorn continued, “and the other craft would be recognised. Do you have anything else we could use?”
“No.”
Hawthorn digested this. He always gave Hart as much time as she needed, was always so patient with her, but with his lover’s life on the line the man had his limits. Cassiel was jealous of Arowana, there was no sense denying that, but she was not sure how she felt about Hart. The girl was twenty-one, a good three years older than Cassiel, but she had been kidnapped when she was nineteen so it would take her a long time to recover from that, even if she could recover at all. There was little chance she would be interested in Hawthorn, which meant there was little chance Hawthorn would be interested in her. Still, Cassiel did not like competition and the less time Hawthorn spent with Hart the better Cassiel would feel.
“What about this?” Cassiel asked as she tugged at a tarpaulin. She revealed a small, one-person craft which looked reasonably finished.
“It’s not done yet,” Hart said. “And it only takes one.”
“How do you know how many are going?” Cassiel wondered.
“I don’t. But if you’re going to bring Iris back with you, that means two for the return journey.”
Cassiel hated the fact that even with half a mind Hart could still talk logically.
“That craft looked quite impressive, though,” Hawthorn said. “Could I take a look?”
“No,” Hart said defensively. “It’s not finished.”
Hawthorn relented, retracting the hand he had reached out. “Anyway, that’s not the issue right now. Are there any other vehicles we could use?”
“No. But I could modify the one you have.”
“Give it a paint job so they won’t recognise it as we approach?”
“Something like that.”
Hawthorn considered this a moment. “You’re talking some sort of cloaking, aren’t you?”
“Cloak?” Cassiel asked. “You mean mask it from radar? I’m not sure they use radar.”
“Flak,” Hart said.
“Same to you.”
“Flak,” Hart said to Hawthorn. “I could install a missile which would put so much flak into local space it wouldn’t much matter what method of observation they use. Even if they’re looking out for you with their naked eyes, they’d have a hard time seeing you.”
“You have a flak missile ready to go?”
“Just the one. Which means you’ll have to improvise on the way back.”
Hart was not exactly becoming animated, but she was certainly saying more words than she usually did. It was unnerving to think that the one thing which got Hart excited was the thought of her shipmates being in mortal peril.
“We’ll take it,” Hawthorn said. “We’ll just have to have a think about what to do once we find Iris.”
“Iris will have an idea or two, I’m sure,” Hart said.
“Yeah, she probably will. She likely has a million escape plans filed away in her brain without even realising.”
Hart moved across the workshop and picked something up from a crate. It was a large bullet-shaped missile, about the length of her arm. She did not handle it with much care and dumped it into Hawthorn’s outstretched arms.
“Thanks, Beth,” he said. “I mean that. This could well mean the difference between Iris living and Iris dying.”
But Hart had already returned to work and had forgotten either of them was even there. Hawthorn went to say something to her, but Cassiel placed a hand upon his arm.
“We have to rescue Iris,” she said. “You can carry on rescuing Beth later. She’s not going anywhere.”
With a last longing look at Hart, Hawthorn left with Cassiel and the missile.
As they walked towards the Glory’s hangar, Cassiel felt she should say something to Hawthorn, to keep his spirits up. She had never been good at motivational speeches, however, and tried to think what Father Dumah might have said in this situation.
“We’ll get her back, Gordon,” she said. It was certainly not what Father Dumah might have said, mainly because it wasn’t overly preachy and didn’t insult women, but it was without doubt the most human thing to have said.
Hawthorn, for his part, did not even hear her, his mind ever on Iris Arowana. Cassiel had to admit she found this a little rude.
The missile was easy to install and Cassiel waited in the co-pilot’s seat for him. She had been taking flying lessons, not because she wanted to fly but because it gave her an excuse to be alone with Hawthorn, yet she was in no way ready to be taking the craft out herself. If Hawthorn got into trouble on the Obsidian she could not leave without him. Not that she would, because then she would have been as bad as Harman.
“You all right?” Hawthorn asked as he clambered into the pilot’s seat and flipped a few switches.
“Oh, sure. You have any weapons?”
“What do I need weapons fo
r?”
“To fight with. I have my sword.”
Hawthorn had not noticed the blade, which was strange because she had been carrying it around with her for a while. She had found it in the armoury some weeks earlier and had been thrilled at how well it suited her ninja-like attire.
“Are you trained to fight with a sword?” Hawthorn asked.
“Not as such.”
“Cass, you’re either trained or you’re not trained.”
“The sword was the weapon of choice on Themisto. Father Dumah carried a flaming sword, just like the archangels.”
“So you’re saying you’ve seen people with swords and that qualifies you to use one?”
“Well, I …”
“Just try not to kill me with it.”
The craft shot forward so quickly Cassiel yelped and buckled herself in. Before her the blackness of space was so enveloping she thought for a moment there was something wrong with her eyes. Hawthorn was not even slightly affected by the spectacular sight, nor did he pay any attention to the stars as more of them appeared the farther they went from the artificial lights of Jupiter’s Glory. Cassiel was about to mention it, but decided she would play it cool. Hawthorn would not be impressed by anyone who still found space to be awesome.
“How are we going to find them?” she asked.
“We know their course and we know they’re obsessed with keeping to schedule. That means they’ll be taking the most direct route. All we have to do is follow the same route and we’ll find them.”
Cassiel had not thought of that, but it made sense. “And what will we do once we get there?”
“You’re asking me? I thought this was your plan.”
“It is. But it’s a joint effort.”
“We’ll think of something. Maybe this Rosalita woman can be of some use. She wanted us to get her off the Obsidian, then she turns Wyatt in and ruins everything.”
“She probably didn’t mean to. No doubt she’s kicking herself about it now.”
“But why do it at all?”
“Maybe she loved him. Maybe she thought they had something special and Wyatt ran out in the middle of the night and didn’t come back. No woman’s going to see reason if that happens to her.”