For a second Hugo felt more alone than he ever remembered feeling before, then turned and hurried after Webb.
V
Hugo blinked in the bright front hall of the building Webb had chosen. It wasn’t exactly blinding, but compared to the gloom of the rest of the colony, it was like stepping from the dark side of the moon to the light. The room was wide, its floor covered in scuffed linoleum and the walls painted grey. There were lockers bolted to one wall and a number of closed doors. Webb was pushing the buzzer on the door with a panel above that read Building Manager.
“Where are we?”
“Boarding house,” Webb said as the sound of locks and bolts rattling came through the door. “Just let me do the talking.”
A man so short he barely stood to Hugo’s armpit open the door a crack. A couple of ties made of wire kept the door from opening further than a handspan and the man put his pinched face to the gap and peered at them both in silence.
“Hey there. Michalski, is it?” The man didn’t move or even blink. Hugo kept himself still as Webb continued smiling. “August Sinclair said you might have a room.”
The man stood peering at them a moment longer. Hugo resisted the urge to shift on his feet. “What shift you on?”
“None, yet,” Webb said, with one of his disarming smiles. “Just landed. We’re all yours.”
The man closed the door and there was the scraping of metal on wood. Webb gave Hugo a reassuring nod and then the door was opened and the little man stepped out. His hair was slate-grey and very thick. It stuck up in wild angles as if he’d run his fingers through it a thousand times that day already. His clothes were patched and washed to that Haven-standard colour that could have started off life as black or brown but was now somewhere between grey and beige. He folded his arms over a scrawny chest and eyed them with sharp eyes. Hugo noticed that his fingers were so twisted and gnarled they were like pale claws against his woollen jacket.
“Elder Sinclair sent you, huh?” he said, his English flavoured with something like the accents he’d heard in Old Europe.
Webb nodded. “I owe him some shifts.”
He eyed them both a moment longer. “Either of you any good at systems?”
“I like to think so,” Webb said.
The narrow eyes fell on Hugo. “And what does this one do? Can he talk?”
Webb slapped Hugo on the shoulder before he opened his mouth. “Conversation’s not exactly Kaleb’s strong point. But he’s got a strong back and some mechanics know-how.”
“A proby, huh?” he said, keen look lingering on Hugo’s neck. “You his Sponsor?”
“Aye,” Webb said. “I’ll vouch for him.”
The little man looked between them both a moment longer, weighing them up, then nodded. “Fine. If Sinclair says you’re good I’ll have you. You can have the attic. But first, I need someone to look at the security system. Damn thing keeps disconnecting. Wiring, I think, but I can’t keep up with the all new connection protocols. And you,” he looked at Hugo, the corner of his smile revealing yellowed teeth. “Storage yard needs a good clear out. Garbage disposal is on next street over and I can’t manage the lifter. Deal?”
“Deal,” Webb said, holding out his hand before Hugo said anything. The man just about managed to shake Webb’s hand with his twisted one. “What do I call you?”
“Webb. And Kaleb.”
Michalski nodded and Hugo searched his eyes for any glimmer of recognition but the man just said, “Leave your stuff here. Tag,” he called over his shoulder into his apartment. “Tag.” There was some muttering and a scrawny boy around ten with a jumper so big it swamped him appeared in the doorway. “Take their stuff up to the attic. Then let your ma know we’ve got a couple extra for dinner.” The boy gave them both a wide-eyed glance before taking their packs and scurrying away through another door. “This way,” Michalski said, closing his own door and leading them across the hall and through the door the boy had used.
He limped along the dim corridor on the other side, Webb and Hugo following. They went past the foot of a staircase and then more closed doors to one at the end that was heavily bolted. Michalski levered the bolts back with his bent fingers and led them out into a cluttered yard, lit by a dim security light cobbled onto the outside wall of the boarding house. There were overflowing trash bins, piles of plastic and metal that could have been anything from the remains of household appliances to sections of scrapped flyers and stacks of crates containing piled bottles, cans and plastic.
Michalski tapped the nearest crate. “Here you go, Kaleb my lad. Lifter’s in the shed. Webb? You follow me.”
The Havenite disappeared back into the building. Webb threw a not-quite apologetic look over his shoulder as he followed.
Hugo looked at the mountain of rubbish feeling his frustration war with despair. He wanted to be angry again, angry enough to strike off into the streets after Ariel alone. But as he stood there with the silence and the shadows almost physical presences around him and the air thick with the smell of metal, he felt a shiver run over him. It had been a long time since an unfamiliar place had gotten under his skin.
He shook himself, reminding himself Webb wasn’t far away and that, no matter how much it chafed, he had agreed to follow his friend’s lead. He heaved a deep breath and looked around for anything resembling the shed Michalski had mentioned. Spotting a lean-to cobbled together from sheets of corrugated iron propped against the yard wall, he picked his way over, stepping around the sprawling junk. It took a heave or two to get the door open and it was only with the aid of his pocket lenslight and a few select curses he found the ancient lifter under a box of tools in the corner. It wouldn’t power up so he dragged it out into the meagre light to get a better look at the controls. He tried blowing the dust out of the wiring and even turned it over to check the magnet coils but the power button remained unresponsive.
He was growling and shaking the machine when a voice at his elbow made him jump.
“It’s the burners.” It was the boy who had taken their bags, grinning a gap-toothed smile. “I’ll fix it.”
Hugo stood frowning for a second but then sidestepped and the boy knelt and pulled a panel off the side. “See? The air flow system’s gone. The burners are always getting clogged.”
Hugo craned his neck and watched the boy scrape away some carbon scoring from the connections and replace the panel. His throat tightened when he found himself wondering whether his own son would have liked to work with machines. He blinked back the stinging that started in his eyes as Tag hit the power button. The lifter coughed then hummed and rose off the concrete, hanging just about level.
“Thank you,” Hugo said, glad his voice didn’t sound thick. “Tag?”
The boy nodded then looked up as a loud booming noise like that of the ocean liners in Sydney Harbour echoed off the walls around them.
“What’s that?”
Tag gave him a confused look. “Shift end,” he said. “What, you don’t…?” The boy paused then reached and pulled down Hugo’s collar before he realised what was going on. “Whoa. You’re on probation, huh? That’s rough.”
Hugo pulled his collar over his brand, scowling but Tag didn’t seem to register and just stood there, smiling at him. He dragged the lifter over to the crates and Tag followed him.
“Where’d you come from then, huh? The Lunar Strip? They say you can see the moon and Earth all at once from Lunar 5.”
“Sometimes,” Hugo muttered as he started loading crates onto the lifter. The air started to fill with the noise of voices and feet and the occasional hum of a small engine. He couldn’t see anything over the walls of the yard but lights came on in some of the windows of the surrounding buildings and the sound of doors opening and closing punctuated the growing shuffle of foot traffic in the streets.
“That’s so cool,” Tag was saying. “This guy from Tranquility stayed here a while. He knew Grandpa. He told me about Wasteland Buggying on the moon. He said -”
/>
Tag was cut off by the sound of shouting. There was a loud clang of metal on metal and the nearest street lamp flickered. Tag rushed to a gate in the yard wall, heaved it open and peered out. More yells rang out along with the sounds of a struggle and Tag ran out into the street.
“Tag!” Hugo called, dropping a crate and running after him. The street was teeming with workers. They all looked eerily similar in the dim light, both men and women wearing hair shorn close to their scalps or else worn long and tied back. Dust scarves and goggles hid their faces and they walked alone or in twos or threes with the directionless amble of prisoners being migrated around a detention centre. Someone on a moped whirred by but otherwise people walked, gazes sliding easily off Hugo if they even landed on him.
Neither did anyone so much as glance at the two men grappling at the street corner. One, thin, and tall for a Havenite with what little hair he had left tied back in a thin braid, wielded a length of pipe with fierce desperation. His eyes were red and puffy and there were sores on the skin of his hands and neck. The other man was thicker-set and shorter but moved easier, concentrating on avoiding the pipe. They shouted insults at each other as they wrestled. The unarmed one managed to throw off the other long enough to draw a knife. Tag danced up to the small group of workers who had now stopped to watch the fight with solemn looks on their faces.
The knifeman lunged but the one with the pipe dodged and brought his weapon down on the other man’s back with a slam.
“What the…?” was all Hugo managed as the crowd of foot traffic continued to oil past, uninterested and the little crowd of bystanders stood by in silence. Hugo grabbed Tag by the wrist and tried to pull him away from the combatants, who were now attempting to slam each other against the nearest wall.
“Hey, let go, I know that guy,” Tag said as Hugo attempted to haul him away.
“Tag!” A flustered woman in a house coat hurried up. She grabbed Tag’s other arm and pulled him to her, glaring at Hugo. Hugo dropped his hold on the child’s wrist.
“But Ma, it’s Sol. He might need a witness.”
“There’s plenty of grown-ups here to act as witnesses,” the woman said, ushering Tag away. “Go and help your sister. The dinner needs serving.”
Tag returned to the yard gate, muttering the whole way.
“I’m sorry,” Hugo found himself saying. “I just - ”
“Who are you?” the woman said, hands on hips.
“Hugo,” Webb called from where he’d appeared at the gate. “Get in here. Now.”
Hugo threw one more glance at the men who were now standing apart, bloodied and breathing heavily but showing no signs of finishing, then went back to Webb, the woman following and giving them both an angry glance before heading back towards the house.
“Everyone’s just standing by and letting them knock seven hells out of each other. What…what is it?” Hugo added, seeing Webb staring hard at the fighters.
“I know one of them. Sol. He’s a member of Catiline.”
“Which one?” Hugo glanced back just as the pipe man made a mad swing for the knifeman’s head.
“The guy with the knife. Wait - ” Webb grabbed Hugo’s sleeve as he stepped back toward them. “You can’t interfere.”
“They’re going to kill each other!”
“They have witnesses. Let it alone.”
“Witnesses? What has that to do with anything?”
“Keep your voice down,” Webb hissed. “They’ll be settling a score, in the open, with witnesses for their kin to see nothing sneaky gets tried. It’s between them.”
“If he’s in Catiline, we need to talk to him whilst he still can talk.”
Webb’s jaw tightened, as did his grip on Hugo’s sleeve. “I’m telling you, don’t get involved.”
“Let me go. Now. I don’t care about this messed-up justice system. If that guy knows anything -”
“He won’t know anything about Ariel, you pig-headed idiot. He’s small-time. A petty Patch dealer. They’re probably arguing over a fee.”
“Patch?”
“You know, Energy Patches. Some people use them to get through their shifts.”
“They’re emergency treatment for heart defects,” Hugo managed. “They’re addictive.”
“Yes, I know. Now get the hell back in here before someone sees you gawking.”
Hugo wrenched his sleeve out of Webb’s grip to stride away.The clone’s face contorted with anger as he grabbed Hugo by the arms and hauled him bodily back through the gate. Hugo was thrown off balance, staggering when the younger man shoved him away. Webb took the opportunity to lock the gate.
“Commander Webb,” Hugo growled, picking himself up the floor. “When I agreed to follow your orders, I did not agree to sitting by whilst you let potential leads kill each other.”
Webb visibly gathered his temper. “I’m not your commander any more, Commodore. And even if Sol does know anything, the absolutely last thing you should do is confront him on the street with witnesses.”
“What can we do, then?”
“Just trust me, will you? Now get finished up here. We’ve only got the next shift to rest then we need to get to the yards and look for work.”
“I’m sick of this place already,” Hugo muttered, loading another crate onto his lifter.
“Then we’re in real trouble.”
Webb left him. He stood and fumed with fingernails digging into palms, listening to the fight carry on out of sight. He stopped himself with his hand on the gate twice before swearing under his breath and turning back to the lifter. By the time he had it loaded and was maneuvering it out into the street, the foot traffic had slowed to a trickle. The brawling men were gone with nothing but a dent in the lamppost to show anything had happened. He scouted the area anyway, not even sure what he was looking for, but they hadn’t dropped anything and there was no one around.
He pushed the lifter further down the street in a daze until he spotted someone hauling a hand-barrow full of junk around a corner and followed them. He came up on the end of a queue of people with armfuls, barrows or lifters of rubbish. Craning his neck he could see an angular hunk of metal he could only guess was a garbage disposal in the shadows between the buildings ahead. The workers all waited patiently and in silence, dumping their loads one by one and disappearing into the streets. When his turn came, Hugo lifted the metal lid to be met with darkness, a whirring of machinery far below street level and a putrid smell. He emptied the crates into the void and returned to the yard. Every time he did a trip he found himself looking up and down every street he passed and eyeing every Havenite that trudged by, but the knife-wielding Catiline member was nowhere to be seen.
Webb came and found him again when he was caked in dirt and sweat and about ready to drop. He followed him wordlessly indoors and up the stairs that seemed to go on forever. Webb gave a huge yawn as he turned an old-fashioned key in the lock of a door at the top.
Webb clicked on the light. There was a narrow cot against each wall, with a locker under each, a window and a set of shelves, broken. No workstation. No bathroom. Not even a sink. Their packs were on the cots and Hugo dropped down heavily next to his own to pull off his boots. A knock sounded just as he was searching through his pack for a clean shirt. Webb pulled open the door to Tag who stood there with two steaming bowls.
“I managed to swipe you some before it all went,” he said holding out the bowls.
“Thanks, buddy,” Webb said, taking the bowls and some foil pouches Tag pulled from his pockets.
Tag looked to Hugo expectantly. Webb gave him a hard look, holding out the bowl.
“Thanks,” Hugo said.
Tag smiled his gap-toothed grin and scampered off.
The bowl contained something grey, like everything else on Haven, with the consistency of unfiltered engine oil, but the smell was savoury and it made Hugo’s stomach clench.
“What’s this?” Hugo said as Webb passed him one of the pouches.
; “Nutripak,” Webb said around a mouthful of his food.
Hugo ate a spoonful of the gruel and discovered it was next to tasteless but was warm and satisfying. It was gone before he knew it. He eyed the Nutripak warily before tearing off the top and taking a bite of the paste inside.
“I know, tastes like shit,” Webb mumbled when Hugo scowled. “But you’re not going to get all the nutrients you need from the food, believe me.”
He made himself swallow the rest then was overtaken by wave of weariness. He lay back on the cot without undressing, falling asleep with the steady hum of a cranky air filter in his ears and the oily smell of Haven in his nostrils.
*
Webb stood at the window after waking up for the fourth time, arms folded and fingers digging into his arms. Hugo was sleeping, although he twitched and mumbled enough once again to make Webb think it wasn’t soundly.
Webb chewed on his lip, willing his pulse to calm. He’d given his former captain his word, but what he’d agreed to hadn’t seemed quite so real as when he’d seen Sol fending off the pipe-wielding Patch User with a bank of witnesses standing calmly to one side to make sure the fight was legal.
He stared out into the dull green dimness and took a deep breath, acknowledging that a lot more than Sol would have to be confronted before this was over.
Hugo’s sharp intake of breath pulled him out of his thoughts.
“Hey, Hugo,” he said, hovering by the Serviceman’s cot. His dark brows were drawn together, his eyes twitched behind the eyelids and he was sweating. Webb reached out and shook his shoulder. “Hugo…ah, fuck. Let go, it’s me.”
Hugo blinked, eyes huge and the grip he had on Webb’s wrist tightening. Finally, he focussed and loosed his hold. Webb rubbed his wrist, muttering, but turned away to let Hugo gather himself. The cot groaned as the other man sat up. His breathing was heavy.
Haven (The Orbit Series Book 2) Page 7