by C. W Tickner
The man screamed, trying to shake off the guards as a third guard opened the inner one. They shoved him inside the empty white room and stopped the man from escaping by jabbing the end of a gun onto his chest.
Harl stared in shock.
‘Wait!’ he said. ‘He didn’t do it. Like I said, it was someone else in the crowd.’
Marlin shrugged as the guards slammed the door shut. ‘It was his fault the crowd gathered, and his fault they were inside in the first place. Do you think he won’t do this again?’
Harl thought it was a statement, but it became clear he was asking a serious question.
‘Who can say?’ Harl said, ‘but you don’t have to kill him.’
‘What would you do?’ Marlin asked.
‘I would keep him prisoner somewhere.’
‘There’s no space to lock people up,’ the guard captain cut in. ‘If another follows this man’s example, then there’ll be chaos. Don’t matter whether they have lived here all their life or came aboard with the newcomers, it’ll be trouble.
‘Exile him,’ Gorman said. ‘Send him away from the front of the ship. Make it publicly known and others will think twice before committing these acts.’
Marlin shrugged. ‘That would be too lenient, at least without more consideration. For the moment he can stay in there. I must call a meeting and decide how to tackle this problem.’
Harl didn’t know what to say. He was sickened by what had happened, but worried at the casual way Marlin had been willing to eject the man.
Just how safe were they?
‘Elo,’ Gorman said, gently rocking the baby as he sat in the temporary hospital room, sealed off from the bustle outside. ‘I like it.’
Harl stood beside Sonora as she lay on the wheeled bed, a worried look on her usually soft face.
‘And if you don’t figure out a way to fix the pipe?’ she said.
‘Those living there will be forced to move to worse parts of the ship or be without a home,’ he said stroking her hand.
‘Why do you feel obliged to help every single time, Harl Eriksson?’ She pulled her hand from his.
Harl sighed.
‘If we hadn’t opened the docks nothing would have happened,’ he said, taking her hand again. ‘It’s because of us it’s damaged and they’ve taken us in. The least we can do is repay them somehow.’
‘Fine,’ she said, ‘but only because I want us to have a place to live that doesn’t require masks to breathe in or is only ever going to be a temporary shelter.’
A groan came from the bed on the opposite side of the curtain and Harl walked around the divider to see Kane. Tess pushed open the door into the room and headed for them. Kane shook his groggy head as he looked up at her.
‘Am I dreaming?’ he asked, gazing up at the red-haired doctor. ‘Beautiful.’
‘No, you’re not dreaming,’ Tess said, raising an eyebrow, her face flushing to match her hair.
Kane must have realised his predicament and snatched the covers up to his neck as he apologized profusely.
‘I did not mean…’
‘No?’ Tess said.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘No. I don’t know.’ He looked around. ‘I’m confused. What happened? Where am I?’
‘Which question would you like me to answer first?’ Tess asked, unplugging the beeping machine now it was clear that Kane was very much alive.
‘Harl!’ he said, seeing a familiar face.
Harl smiled, ‘Glad you could join us.’
‘What happened? One moment we were in the ship about to dock, and the next…’
‘An accident. No one’s seriously hurt,’ Harl said, seeing the worry on Kane’s face, but not wanting to burden him with the news that some people had died. ‘You have a lot to thank Damen for.’
‘Damen?’ he groaned. ‘He’s not going to let me live this one down, is he?’
‘Never mind that,’ Harl said. ‘This is Doctor Tess. She’s been looking after you ever since-’
‘Doctor?’ Kane asked.
Tess nodded and ceased running her fingers through her hair.
Harl smiled. Something told him that the two science-loving doctors would keep each other in conversation for eternity given the chance. He stepped back around the curtain just as they began discussing the ships.
‘Harl?’ It was Screw. He was standing by the door, greasy as ever, hat light thankfully turned off. ‘Excuse me, lass,’ he said nodding to Sonora and removing the hard hat to revealing a newly shaven head. There was much less oil and grease covering the man since they last met and he smiled at Elo as Gorman handed her to Sonora. ‘Beautiful wee one you got there.’
Harl assumed he meant Elo, but the man’s gruff voice was a challenge to follow at times.
‘What can I do for you, Screw?’ Harl asked, wondering what had brought the mucky engineer to the sterile medical room.
‘We patched the pipeline and the ship is going back to normal shortly,’ he said. ‘Marlin told me to find a replacement for the pipe and I don’t want to let him down. He’s been good to us, you see, but I’ve looked high an’ low but found nowt.
‘How am I able to help?’ Harl asked.
‘I know where to find one,’ Screw said, ‘but I need a good man or two to help me...er... locate the pipe.’
‘Why me?’ Harl asked, wondering where this was leading.
‘Er,’ Screw mumbled. ‘Had a bit of a problem last time someone came with me to certain places...’
‘Problem?’ Harl asked.
‘They... er... didn’t come back,’ he said lowering his voice as Sonora cooed Elo to sleep. ‘Most don’t want to come with tensions high at the moment. I know you’re all alright and that Marlin has asked you to help out around the ship. This is a chance to prove it to the doubters.’
‘I’m not exactly expendable,’ Harl said, looking over at Gorman and Elo. ‘Even more so now.’
‘It’s not that dangerous,’ Screw said, ‘at least not for someone who has seen as much as you have. The truth is, I would take that fellow Damen, but he already refused me, saying he wouldn’t leave unless you come with us. Also, I brought you this.’ He stepped out the door and came back holding a melting sword. It was a near exact replica of the one Oscar had used to kill the Aylen. As Harl took the weapon, he knew it was the same as agreeing to join the engineer.
‘I heard you had one before and I thought it might be useful in the back of the ship.’
Harl listened as the engineer outlined his plan. It was daring and dangerous, so of course he would help. All he had to do was convince Sonora it was simple and safe.
Chapter 6
Something has happened. En-route to the science deck we found burn marks on the wall. They correlate to the fire spread of a plasma rifle. The rest of the crew are alive but those we passed are just as confused as us about what happened.
The doors slid open and a wave of smoke and heat washed over Harl. He raised his arm to shield his face from the heat, not quite sure what he was walking into. Screw had been very mysterious about where they were heading, obviously relishing the prospect, but he’d dropped ominous warnings with a twinkle in his eye, so Harl hadn’t taken them too seriously.
The open doors revealed a dirty hanger deck, gleaming with neon lights. The main corridor was far wider than anything he’d seen so far, forming a roadway that threaded along between the rooms on either side. But they were more than just rooms – each one had been converted into a shop – and as he walked along looking at them, Harl realised that the hanger was like a town crammed into the heart of Orbital. Huge rooms held seedy shops, bigger than anything from his old village in the Aylen’s tank. Corridors leading through the station became streets and alleyways to give the town a feeling of reality, and yet, as soon as he shifted his gaze up above them, he could see the steel girders and metal walkways that formed the ship’s substructure. There was even a roof overhead. It gave him a strange sense of nostalgia. This place felt more like home t
han Delta had. If it hadn’t been for the years of detritus that covered everything, he would have enjoyed the feel of the place.
‘He’s got his own deck?’ Damen asked, looking around at the flashing signs for traders, bars and escorts.
‘A double deck,’ Screw said, pointing at the high ceiling clogged with bracing wires and girders that ran in every direction.
Shop fronts lined both sides of the indoor street. A few shadowy characters appeared in doorways, leaning casually against rusted frames as they watched the strangers pass. Paint splattered the walls, bearing symbols or bright-coloured words scrawled in unreadable text.
‘Ya wants a pick me up?’ an unkempt man asked as he hobbled over to them and opened his patched coat to reveal rows of grubby metal cylinders. ‘Fresh filled. Just got ‘em meself from a farmer. Proper stuff. Trade me for ‘em?’
‘No,’ Damen said, fingering the rifle Screw had recovered for him.
The man tugged his ragged jacket together and limped off to a shop lit up with garish medical signs, mumbling about not knowing good stuff when they found it.
‘Where will he be?’ Harl asked.
‘The Cormorant,’ Screw said as he guided them down a narrow sidestreet. ‘His club.’
Up ahead, the ally opened out onto a larger square where a few derelict market stalls huddled together in the centre. A clean, brushed steel building stood to one side. It was the only thing not covered in graffiti or smeared with grime. The doorway was an open arch, guarded by two grim, hulking men. They wore the same cotton-like material that Marlin and the others wore, but theirs was dyed a deep blue.
Screw crossed between the stalls and headed for the Cormorant club’s doorway.
‘Can't let you in with that,’ the bouncer said, stepping in front of the doorway to block their entrance. He tilted his head at Damen’s rifle.
‘We’re not here to party,’ Screw said, stepping in front of him, chest pumped out, tools rattling.
The second bouncer moved in on Damen’s side. Harl caught the glimmer of steel as a pipe slipped down from from the bouncer’s sleeve. Screw’s eyes flickered to the weapon and his hand toyed with one of the many spanners strapped across his body as he spoke.
‘No one needs to get hur-’ Screw whipped the spanner from its holster and smashed it down against the bouncer’s wrist, snapping the bones. He then head-butted the man, his helmet cracking the soft cartilage of the man’s nose as the pipe clanged to the floor.
Damen brought his rifle butt up and slammed it in to the second man’s face, knocking him senseless.
Screw’s spanner was already back among the tools clipped to his jacket as he stepped over the two prone men. ‘Thanks laddies.’
The music and smoke intensified as the three of them entered the Cormorant. They faced a neon-trimmed bar that was stacked with exotic looking drinks being served by an equally exotic looking girl. Dark tattoos shimmered on her exposed flesh as she watched the newcomers surveying the bizarre interior. The bar sat in the centre of the room with booths lining the sides. They were packed with patrons and most looked normal enough, off duty workers enjoying the pleasures on offer. A few acknowledged Screw as he rounded one side of the bar, but they eyed Harl and Damen with suspicion.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ Harl said, cutting across to one of the booths where a scrawny man was arm-wrestling a bulky security guard.
It was Troy.
Harl thought that he recognised the guard as one of the men who had first blocked them from entering the ship, and smiled as the man strained against his friend, who was wedged between two beautiful women and showing no sign of effort.
With a roar, the back of the guard’s hand slammed down hard against the table and the indignant man stood to leave as Troy looked up at Harl.
‘Having fun?’ Harl asked.
‘Harl!’ Troy said, grinning ear to ear. He stood, tumbling both women off his lap.
‘Trust me to find you here,’ Harl said.
‘Just making the most of it,’ Troy said, lifting a glass. ‘It’s a good set up. Strange. But the drink is helping me adjust.’ He smiled, then frowned. ‘Why would you be down here? What about Sonora and Elo?’
‘They’re fine,’ Harl said. ‘Business brings us here. You’ve met Screw?’
‘Yeah,’ Troy said, thrusting a hand out. ‘Have now.’
‘You seen an odd looking fellow in one of the booths?’ Screw asked.
‘They’re all a bit odd,’ Troy said, looking around at the nearest table where a group of men were urging one another on as they stacked empty glasses, one atop the other, to form a tower.
‘This one would be well looked after,’ Screw said, ‘probably wearing green goggles and carrying a bag‘
‘Walked past earlier,’ Troy said, nodding to the rear of the club. ‘You need a hand?’
‘We might,’ Harl said pleased to have his friend close in case of trouble. ‘Just hang here for now.’
Troy lifted a glass, took a swig, and then turned back to the girls and pulled them close.
‘Easy,’ he said.
The large, private booth at the rear of the club ringed a table that was jammed with empty glasses and bottles resting in buckets of half-melted ice. Turpin lounged in the centre of the encircling couch, drink in hand, looking like he ruled the world.
‘Screw,’ he said, beaming at them. ‘I see you brought company. A drink on the house for you and your friends.’
‘The pipe,’ Screw said.
Turpin’s smile vanished.
‘I told ya, I ain’t got one of them pipes, so you can clear off,’ he said, slamming his glass down and standing as though to kick them out personally.
‘It’s not you I want to ask,’ Screw said. ‘Where is he?’
‘Not here,’ Turpin said, slouching back into the seat. ‘So you can get your greasy-’
He was cut short as Screw upended the table, clambered over the broken wreckage, and hauled the fat man up from his seat with a single, meaty hand.
‘You may be quartermaster,’ Screw said, so close to Turpin that the peak of his yellow helmet touched the man’s sweaty forehead, ‘but it doesn’t give you the right to order me about or to hide away that precious Hoarder of yours. Now where is he?’
Turpin swallowed, glancing at a dark booth tucked away in the furthest corner.
Screw let the man fall and stared across at the shadowy table. Two green orbs hovered over the table in the half-light.
‘What’s a Hoarder?’ Harl asked. ‘And what’s with the green circles?’
‘They’re scavengers,’ Screw said. ‘They scratch a living in the back of the ship, well away from us, and scrounge what they can find, causing misery to anyone they cross. Probably robbing and murdering them for all I know. That’s why no one goes there. Turpin trades with them for things he couldn’t get normally. I come across them sometimes when I go treasure hunting, but as there’s always a group of us, they don’t bother getting too close. They got access to areas I couldn’t get back from in one piece. Most are hostile, but this one that Turpin knows is half tame. I’m guessing he knows where to find the pipe we need. It’s likely buried somewhere in a corroded storage deck.’
‘How many of these Hoarders are there?’ Damen asked as they wound between the tables heading for the shadowed man.
Screw shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ ‘Fifty, sixty? Could be a lot more. All of them ruthless, both in trading and fighting.’
‘Why don’t you go down there and purge them then?’ Damen asked.
‘We tried,’ Screw said. ‘They attacked a farm on the lower levels, killing two and stealing every last grain of rice and wheat. So we armed up and went for them. The result was twenty good men dead, and two dozen more injured or crippled. On the whole they leave us alone. Ship’s too big to be chasing them around, especially when we got it comfy up front.’
‘How did they come about?’ Harl asked. ‘What started them off living in the far end of the s
hip?’
‘Who knows?’ Screw said. ‘Something happened a long time ago. I’ve heard all sorts, from a ship-wide war to disease.’
‘And the green orbs?’ Harl asked.
Screw led them on a winding path between stuffed chairs and faded barstools. ‘Let’s the suckers see in the dark. They probably found a crate of ‘em in storage a long time back. They’d fetch a good price, and be useful in treasure hunting. It’s no wonder they find so much.’
‘Handy skill to have,’ Damen said as they closed in on the table.
Screw reached to his helmet and clicked a switch to light the dark corner with the powerful head-torch. The Hoarder sprung up from his seat and stood, tensed for movement, as the three of them came in at different angles.
He was smaller than Harl had expected – perhaps coming up to Harl’s shoulder – and the green lenses on his goggles dilated as the beam spotlighted them. The goggles covered most of his pale face, leaving only his pink-lipped mouth and a stubble-coated chin visible. A glimmer of copper armour shone under the glare of Screw’s torch. It was only a single piece on his shoulder, just where his ragged black cloak opened out around his right arm. Harl had seen guards wear the same kind of thing. The armour was usually worn on the exposed shoulder of their sword arm, but he had no idea whether that was the reason in this case. The rest of man’s tattered clothes were lined with rows of sewn pockets and zips.
The hoarder let out a low, deadly hiss as they stepped closer.
‘We don’t want troub-’ Screw said.
The Hoarder sprang at Harl. He had expected the attack, and was sure he’d catch him, but the man twisted and slipped past, leaving Harl to grab empty air.
‘Damn it,’ Screw said as they turned to chase after the figure.
The Hoarder wound his way between tables, barely touching them as he darted past the bar, heading for the main entrance. He was already too far ahead for them to catch, even as they up-ended chairs and tables while Turpin shouted in protest.