by Adam Carter
Hart fell forward, her body shining with painful sweat, her breathing haggard, her eyes wild. Blood gushed from her wrist and Hawthorn could see white splinters of bone peering through at him, free now of the old iron. Taking up one of the pieces of his torn shirt, he wrapped it tightly about the injury, again and again, holding the wound together even though he knew he could not close it without Wraith. The shirt became instantly soaked with blood, but as he tied off the material he could only pray it would hold long enough.
Now he had to go through all of that again for the other nail.
Thankfully the rock upon which he was standing allowed Hawthorn to reach both nails, so he draped her bandaged arm over his shoulder as he concentrated on the final one. Hart was breathing in short, sharp gasps and Hawthorn could only imagine the pain she was going through. Intending to get it over with as quickly as possible, he once again placed a hand to her arm and used his other hand to pull free the nail. This one did not prove to be as stuck as the other and he felt it slide sickeningly out with little trouble. Hart hardly screamed this time, it was more of a whimper, but Hawthorn did not know whether to take this as a good sign. If Hart’s pain receptors were shutting down it might mean she was dying.
As he dropped the nail, Hart collapsed into him and Hawthorn hooked an arm beneath her legs so he could carry her. He was careful to keep both her arms before him in her lap, where he could keep his eye on them. Hart was still awake, but entirely unfocused, and as Hawthorn clambered down from the rock he only hoped Arowana had managed to free Wraith.
“All these years of torturing her,” a voice said, “and it turns out she was holding out on the proper screaming all this time.”
Sturgeon was standing before him, his arms crossed casually over his broad and naked chest. There was humour to his eyes and a bright smile to his face. It was clear he had been standing there for some time.
“Out of my way,” Hawthorn said. “You can go, I don’t care, but I’m getting Beth back to the Glory.”
“I can go? Oh, thank you very much for that. Tying me up and locking me away in your stolen sword-ship is all forgiven because you’ve given me permission to get out of your way.”
“Sturgeon, I don’t have time for this. Beth doesn’t have time for this. You’ve already tormented her through her life, are you really going to be responsible for her death?”
“I’m sorry, but it sounds like you’re trying to appeal to my sense of honour. You seem to forget, I’m a pirate. We don’t have any honour.”
Hawthorn glanced down to see blood had already flooded his torn-up shirt and was soaking his trousers. If Hart stood any chance at all of getting out alive she needed to get medical attention immediately. “All right, what do you want?”
“What do I want?”
“Yes, what do you want? You’re a pirate, you want something. Just tell me what it is.”
“The girl.”
“What?”
“She’s mine. Spoil of war. Give her to me and I’ll be the one giving you permission to go free.” He grinned. “Pirate’s honour.”
“You can go to Hell.”
“Such blasphemy on religious ground, Hawthorn. Put her down. I’ll fight you for her. Two half-naked men beating each other up in the middle of a war zone to win the girl. What more can a man ask for?”
“You’re insane. Seriously, you belong here, Sturgeon.”
“I’m going to fight you either way, Hawthorn, so putting down the girl would be a very good idea for you.”
Realising he had no choice, Hawthorn laid Hart on the rock. It had been blown away from a wall so was relatively flat. He was incredibly concerned at the speed her injuries were bleeding out, but there was no way he was going to be able to run past Sturgeon carrying her.
“All right, Sturgeon. Whenever you’re ready.”
The blow came quicker than he expected, and far more ferociously. Hawthorn staggered under the impact, spat blood and saw a few moments of blackness punctuated by pinpricks of light. The only sound he could hear was that of Sturgeon’s booming laughter.
Swinging a blow of his own, Hawthorn put everything he had into the attack, but Sturgeon moved as nimbly as a ballerina, moving his upper body out of the way while tripping Hawthorn with his foot. Hawthorn fell forward, his face smashing into the rock upon which Hart lay.
“You’re not a fighter, Hawthorn. Despite the muscular appearance, I’d wager you’ve never been in a proper fight your whole life.”
Getting painfully back to his feet, Hawthorn did not grace him with an answer. His mind was working too fearfully towards a way out and getting nowhere.
“You know,” Sturgeon said, “when I woke up this morning I didn’t quite envision the day going like this. I’m kind of thinking it’s a pleasant surprise, you know? Captain Danton makes history by directly attacking Themisto, I get to beat up some guy I don’t like, we get to sack a whole world for its religious treasures – and let me tell you, it’s the religious orders that preach poverty but stockpile gold. Best part of the day, though? I get to spend the rest of it holding my darling Beth Hart with her arms spread before me while I push my thumbs into her wrists and look into her eyes as her life flickers out of her body.”
“And you get pleasure from that?”
“Didn’t think I would, but yeah, I’m going to. Probably pick up another just like her and start all over again. It’s good ruining young women’s lives, don’t you think?”
With a cry of rage, Hawthorn threw himself at the pirate, but Sturgeon deflected the blow with his left hand while simultaneously pummelling him with his right. Hawthorn went down hard and Sturgeon hit him again and again, forcing him into the dirt every time he tried to rise. Hawthorn’s senses reeled but he knew he could not afford to black out.
“Still going?” Sturgeon asked. “Good, I was getting worried you were a lightweight or something.”
Hawthorn got back to his feet. Blood filled his mouth from a cut lip and he had to hang onto the rock behind him because his head was swimming, but he refused to collapse. He did not know how long he had been fighting, but if it lasted for even a few more minutes Hart was going to die.
“You punch like a dead truck,” Hawthorn said.
“Is that supposed to be intimidating?”
Hawthorn spat blood, wishing he could have thought clearly enough to say something which actually made sense. “Just come and get it, Sturgeon.”
With a shrug, the pirate ran at him. Hawthorn deflected his punch and landed one of his own, but it only caused Sturgeon more laughter and once again the pirate’s great fists were smacking him about the face with such venom that Hawthorn knew he could not win.
“Poor Mr Hawthorn,” Sturgeon mocked as he took a step away from him, his knuckles dripping with Hawthorn’s blood. “All you want to do is save a girl’s life and everyone’s conspiring against you. First the religious freaks nail her to a wooden cross and then a pirate beats you in a fair fight and claims her for his prize. What a bad day you’re having. And … you’re still getting back up?”
Hawthorn was not aware that he was getting back up, but since he was on his feet he supposed he must have been. His brain was not making much sense to him any more, yet he managed to raise his fists before him. “That girl’s suffered enough from you.”
“From me? Looks like even God abandoned her, Hawthorn.”
“Then that’s where God and I agree to differ.”
Sturgeon’s smile was still smug. Then his eyes widened and his body convulsed. He collapsed forward into the dirt and Hawthorn thought he had been struck by lightning or something. Then he saw Sister Ariel and Brother Temeluchus, struggling with some kind of large smoking gun which should have been mounted to a spacecraft.
“You shot him,” Hawthorn said.
“We did,” Ariel said. “Father Dumah seems to have vanished, so I authorised the use of the Lucifer cannon.”
“That’s a Lucifer cannon?”
Just then a m
assive jolt of electricity shot from one of the stone turrets. It blasted straight into the side of the Buccaneer, incinerating a good portion of the vessel. What remained burst into flame and careered to one side just as the electricity fired again. Hawthorn shielded his eyes and when he was able to look again there was no sign the pirate vessel had ever existed.
“No,” Ariel said, “that’s the Lucifer cannon. Our final line of defence. We’ve never used it before, but sometimes even the angels have to rely upon one of their number whom they don’t especially like.”
Hawthorn decided he did not have the strength to argue the weirdness of Themistonians.
“I’m getting Beth back the Glory,” he said. “I’m not arguing that.”
“Do you have the strength to carry her?”
“I’ll find it.”
Ariel nodded under her robes. “I don’t doubt you will. I won’t tell anyone you took her, Mr Hawthorn. And don’t worry about Temeluchus: he won’t say anything, either.”
Hawthorn did not thank her. Instead he gathered Hart in his arms and attempted to focus on the path ahead. If he hurried she could still survive, so it all depended on whether he had the stamina to get her back to the sword-ship.
“Mr Hawthorn,” Ariel said as he passed her, “I want you to know I think we were both right. We staked Miss Hart out to be judged by God and you released her. To reach her, cut her down, fight Sturgeon and still have the strength to get her to safety … it should not be possible. But you’re doing it. That tells me something, Mr Hawthorn. It tells me we staked her out for God to make His decision and that the decision has been made. You may not like this theory, but I think God sent you. I think today you’re just as much an agent of God as the rest of us.”
Hawthorn had paused to listen but now continued walking without replying. Anything he could have said in response to such a theory would only have caused offence. The truth was Hell would not have been large enough to contain all the egotism of the Church of Themisto.
He walked in silence. This was not over, for he still had a life to save.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A long time ago Iris Arowana had been a security guard in a firm which thought of themselves as soldiers. Her focus had always been on military thinking and she had regarded civilians as useful in their varied capacities but to be kept out of the way of the fighting. When she had first met Gordon Hawthorn she had used him just as she would have used anyone else. He was a mechanic and a pilot and she had needed him. Along the way Arowana had discovered something about herself, that she was not only a soldier but a woman as well, and her mind had begun to change.
It was not until she saw him carry the bleeding and unconscious form of Bethany Hart over the threshold of the Jupiter’s Glory, however, that she finally realised it did not matter a person’s station, for anyone could be a hero.
Arowana had taken the girl from him while Hawthorn collapsed, exhausted. Leaving her in the infirmary with Wraith, Arowana had hurried back to Hawthorn to tend to his own injuries. She found him in the control room, already unclamping the docking locks so they could raise ship.
“You should let me see to your cuts,” she said.
“I’m fine. How’s Beth?”
“I don’t know. She looks in a bad way.”
“They drove nails through her wrists. I don’t know how she’s still alive.”
Arowana could not think of anything to say to that. She had known Hawthorn for a while now and had never seen him so upset by anything. She wished he would allow it to show. Their silence continued even as the sword-ship rocked and the world outside tilted as the Glory rose through the heavens. Once within space it would fly horizontally, but until then it would waver without really having any true idea of which way up it was supposed to go. That was mainly because Hawthorn had only begun to pilot the thing a short while ago and had no experience at all with this type of craft. As they broke the atmosphere and re-entered the vast blackness of space, Arowana deemed them safe enough from the wrath of Themisto.
Taking up some bandages and a bottle of water, she said, “I’m cleaning your wounds.”
“I’m fine.”
“Then this won’t take long.”
For another moment Hawthorn continued to stare out the window; then he relented, his body sagging as he turned away. His bare chest was covered with blood, but as Arowana began to clean him up she found most of it belonged to Hart. His face was a mess where someone had been pummelling him, but he had said nothing of what had happened on Themisto so Arowana assumed he had fought his way out.
“You did good back there, Gordon,” she said, staunching the flow of blood from his lip where it had been split with a particularly brutal punch.
“She’s going to die.”
“Let’s just let the doctor decide that, shall we?”
“I was too late to save her.”
“You did save her.”
Hawthorn looked at her.
“She was never a pirate, Gordon, and she didn’t deserve to be killed as one. Whatever happens to her now, you saved her from that. You brought to an end her unjust execution, where she could die in the company of friends. Isn’t that what she deserves?”
“She deserves to live.”
“I know. But sometimes life is cruel. I’m sorry, but all you can do is your best.”
“I was thinking of praying.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“The Themistonians can’t be all wrong, Iris. They may be psychotic weirdoes, but their faith stems from stable material. They may be zealots, but they believe in the same God so many millions of other people believe in all across the solar system.”
“Just as other people believe in other gods.” She had never seen him so crestfallen and she wished there was something she could do for him.
“How about a little music?” someone asked.
Arowana had forgotten about the gypsy they had brought aboard. She had locked him away in a metal cabinet but when they returned to the sword-ship, Wraith had noticed the banging from the inside and had insisted on releasing him. With the commotion of Hawthorn’s return, Arowana had entirely forgotten to throw the man off the ship.
“How about not?” Arowana asked.
“Oh, come now,” Harman said, placing his flute to his lips. “Music has charms to sooth the savage breast.”
“Who said that?”
“Pardon?”
“If you quote someone, you should know who it is.” With an encyclopaedia for a brain, Arowana could likely have quoted him the entire poem, but knocking Harman down a peg or two was not going to accomplish anything.
“If you don’t like music,” Harman said, setting down the flute, “maybe I shouldn’t play for you.”
“You’re only here because that idiot Cassiel accidentally bundled up the wrong prisoner.”
“Ah, yes. Well, no.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“There was nothing accidental about it, I’m afraid. Sorry, I should have said something at the time, but I was sort of muffled, the way she wrapped me up so tightly.”
“Hold on,” Hawthorn said, “you’re saying she tricked us? Why?”
“Why? Why does any woman do anything? I’m sure I don’t know and don’t want to know. Women may be the loveliest creatures in this universe, but the thought of getting into the mind of one of them scares the hell out of me.”
“Joking aside,” Hawthorn said seriously, “what would Cassiel have done that for, Iris? To make sure we went back to the church? To slow us down in rescuing Beth?”
“I have no idea,” Arowana said. “But it doesn’t matter. She’s still on Themisto and I’m not going back down there to ask her.”
Hawthorn did not respond. He just stared at her. Arowana stared back.
“After we unmasked Harman,” Hawthorn said, “we opened the door and the pirates attacked. What happened to Cassiel?”
“She ran off,” Arowana said, her heart thumpi
ng. “She was lost in the crowd.”
“I didn’t see her.”
“No, she was lost in the crowd.”
“Neither of us saw her.”
Arowana closed her eyes. “That deceitful, conniving little cow.”
Something fell from the ceiling and Arowana saw it was a ventilation grate. “Sorry,” Cassiel said as she dropped into the room. “I just couldn’t stand it on that world any more. Getting Harman here seemed to be the only way to confuse you guys enough for me to stay on board when you … eep!”
Hawthorn grabbed her by the throat with both hands and probably would have choked her to death there and then had not Arowana and Harman pulled him off. “Beth is going to die because of you,” he raged. “If not for you, we could have both gone back for her, we could have saved her.”
“She was nailed up before you got there,” Arowana said, struggling to keep him restrained. “Gordon, all of us being there wouldn’t have saved her.”
Hawthorn resisted for a few more seconds, then his energy fled him and he collapsed to his knees. He did not cry, he was too exhausted to cry, but he was as broken a man as Arowana had ever seen.
She looked across to where Harman was helping Cassiel to her feet. The acolyte was wearing entirely different clothes than when they had last seen her, but her voice was unmistakeable. Where before she had been swathed in the same bandage-like robes of her order, she was now wearing a dark blue form-fitting suit, complete with belt, baldric and various pouches. The material hugged her skin so tightly that it revealed the curves of her hips and the tautness of her legs while accentuating other aspects of her female form. Arowana had no doubt Father Dumah would have considered the thing obscene.
“What are you wearing?”