“What do you want?” Jazz said as she dropped the tunic in a washer set in the wall, though she sounded more tired than angry.
Webb shoved his hands deep in his pockets and felt his face grow hot. “Look, I’m sorry for being an ass earlier. I wasn’t exactly expecting to stumble into you. I overreacted.”
“Guilt’ll do that to you.”
“I’m trying to be reasonable here,” Webb said as she strode across the apartment without looking at him. “I just don’t know what else to say.”
“I guess we’re done then,” Jazz said, seating herself at the workstation. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
“Look, I’m sorry I left,” Webb blurted. “It wasn’t personal. I just…changed my mind.”
Jazz began scrolling through reams of data on the large display screens in silence. Webb ground his teeth together, shifting from one foot to another, fighting the urge to leave.
“Taking the ship,” Jazz eventually said in a deliberately even tone, “our ship, and disappearing right before my meeting with the Apollos Outreach reps…that’s not changing your mind, Ezekiel. That’s running away.” She finally looked over his shoulder. “I’m right, aren’t I? You got scared that you might actually be building a decent future for yourself, turned tail and ran. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Webb rubbed his neck again, feeling something crumble inside him. “I…”
Jazz sighed and got up. “Sit down, will you, before you strain something. I’ll get us some beer.”
Webb shouldered off his jacket and wandered over to the couch in a daze, perching on the edge of it and staring out the plexiglass window. The buildings, storage yards and shuttle rails of Sector 2 curved slightly down from this angle, lights blinking here and there in the dimness. The sight jolted something inside him and he couldn’t even try and hold on to the pretense he’d gathered around himself like a shield. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low.
Jazz came over with two flasks. “I know you are,” she said, handing one to Webb and sitting next to him. “You’re not really an ass, as much as you like to pretend sometimes. It’s just…” Jazz paused and took a mouthful of her drink before settling a cool look on Webb. “I thought, really thought, you’d gotten through it. I thought we were there. But then you disappear and don’t answer the comm or return my messages and the next thing I know it’s a year later and I find you in a barhouse trying to score.”
“That wasn’t what it looked like.”
“It doesn’t exactly look good, Zeek.”
Webb drank some beer, willing the trembling to leave his hands. “Maybe not. But I’m clean now. That much at least is true.”
“Well,” Jazz said after a pause. “As that former captain of yours was sat nearby, I was hoping that was the case.”
Webb lowered his flask, frowning. “What has Hugo to do with anything?”
Jazz shrugged. “Well, whatever else he’s done to your head, the good commodore does not strike me as the sort to sit by whilst you try and buy narcotics.”
Webb frowned. “‘Done to my head’? What are you getting at?”
“Well,” she looked into her drink and not at him. “He’s somehow convinced you to bring him here, and I don’t imagine it was with his charm.”
Webb took another mouthful of the beer to try to help frame his reply when he noticed high spots of colour on Jazz’s cheeks. Despite everything he felt a smile spread over his face. “Christ Almighty, Jazz. Are you jealous?”
“You certainly think a lot of yourself,” Jazz replied, taking a swallow, but the colour heightened.
“You are. You really are.” Webb felt laughter rattle out of him. The broker’s heavy frown just made him laugh more. “Lord above, Jazz,” he said, when he had the breath to do so. “You think Hugo…and me? You think we…?” He wiped moisture from his eyes . “Jesus, you’ve got your charts upside down, honey.”
“You’ve had relationships with men before.”
“I…what?”
“There was that man, Paragon - ”
“Jesus and Mary. How do you know about Paragon?”
Jazz gave him a measured look. “He called here, looking for you after you’d gone.”
“That wasn’t a relationship,” Webb said with a shake of his head. “He was assigned to me when I did some systems work in the Storage District. He latched onto me for a few weeks, that’s all.”
“Well,” Jazz continued, chin tilted up. “He certainly seemed keen to find you. And there was a time when you did nothing but track Hugo’s activity on the Orbit newsreels. It seemed to be the only thing keeping you going. Is it such an absurd assumption that there was might be something between you?”
“Yes it is. My God, I wish Hugo had heard that. The look on his face, I can just picture it.” He took a deep breath steady the last of the laughter whilst Jazz sat by, glaring. Before he knew what he was doing, Webb leant over and kissed her on the cheek. They stayed there, close for a second, Webb smiling whilst Jazz searched his face. Then he chuckled and pulled back. “Jesus, no, Jazz. Kaleb and I,” he sighed, looking back out the window. “It’s in no way like that.”
“What is it then? What did you bring him here for?” Jazz said, still looking carefully neutral.
Webb felt his smile fade. The beer was better than that at the barhouse and he took another long draught. It was cold too. He savoured the taste for a moment before answering. “I don’t think I can tell you.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“You’re one of the few people in this miserable Orbit I think I can trust. But as that’s such a rare thing these days, I wouldn’t want to risk getting you involved.”
“I think I already am. Or why are you here? It’s not just to say sorry for running out, I’m sure, if that piss-poor attempt at an apology was anything to go by.”
Webb let out a shuddering breath, closed his eyes for a long moment then heard himself speaking. “I’m helping Hugo hunt down a blade that someone hired to work over one of his officers.”
“Why would you do that?” Jazz said after a silence but then paused. Webb opened his eyes to see her looking grave and still. “You’re here after Ariel?” Webb felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and nodded. “You’re crazy,” Jazz said, standing. “Scratch that, you’re suicidal. You helped Commodore Kaleb Hugo onto Haven to arrest a resident?”
“Hugo wants to arrest him,” Webb said calmly, standing to make sure they were on eye level. “I don’t.”
“I don’t understand,” the broker said, her face a drawn with a mixture of concern and frustration. “You lived here for years knowing Ariel had a bolthole here and it never bothered you.”
“Oh, it bothered me. But I was trying to forget. Now, it’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because Hugo’s asked for my help.”
Jazz let out a noisy sigh and lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa. “Explain this to me then, Zeek. And thoroughly, if you please. If you and Hugo aren’t, you know, involved…what exactly is it about him that’s worth risking all this for?”
Webb drank more beer and sat back down, looking back out the window. “Hugo is one of the very few people who knows…everything. About who I really am…what I really am.”
“So?”
Webb shrugged. “He knows it all and still treats me as a someone. My own someone. Not a lookalike freak that stole someone else’s life.”
“Let me get this straight…” Jazz said, straightening her back and clasping her hands around her flask. “He makes you feel real enough that you’d risk your life for him, when you wouldn’t even risk going into business with me?”
Webb winced. “I’m never going to be able to repay you for everything you’ve done for me, Jasmine. You saved my life and, believe me, I plan on feeling shit forever for running out on our deal. But, the truth is…if it hadn’t been for Hugo, I wouldn’t have even been around for you to save in the first place.”
&nbs
p; Jazz held his gaze. Her eyes ghosted with regret. “Then I guess we both owe him.”
Webb snorted and patted her knee. “Just be careful what you say to him. He’s self-importance is healthy enough without any help from you.”
“I agree. He doesn’t sound like he calls in his favours cheaply.”
“No.” Webb sighed. “And I wasn’t going to help him. I was going to run away and pray I never saw him again.”
“What changed your mind?”
Webb finished his drink. “He did.”
Silence strung between them and Webb tried to identify the emotions prickling through him.
“I’ll help.”
“Say again?”
Jazz’s smile widened and her eyes had lost some of their bleakness. “I’ll help you. You’re obviously not getting anywhere on your own or you wouldn’t be lingering in doorways mid-shift looking so pathetic.”
Webb narrowed his eyes. “You’d help us smoke a Havenite out of sanctuary so a Serviceman can drag him to a trial?”
“No,” Jazz said, gathering the flasks. “But I’ll help you get the justice owed you.”
“Why?”
Jazz moved to the kitchen. She took some time rooting through the refrigeration unit before coming back with their flasks refilled. “You have a right to make this man answer for what he did to you. However he pays is up to you.”
Webb took the flask and drank. “You’re far too good for this place, you know that?”
“I know,” Jazz said, smiling again and resuming her seat.
Webb leant back into the threadbare cushions, looking out onto a spread of colony that didn’t seem quite so dark any more. “If you mean it, Jazz…if you help…I think we might actually stand a chance of getting somewhere.”
“Don’t count on it,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Finding a blade’s safehouse around here? You might as well try and find a particular grain of dust on the moon.”
“Your confidence is inspiring.”
Jazz shrugged. “Just wanting you to be realistic. Do you have anything at all to go on?”
“Nothing except Hugo thinks a gang dealing in bloodgrease are the most likely to have hired them for the job. He’s stuck on the idea Catiline might be behind it.”
“I doubt it. They’re too wrapped up in keeping themselves afloat to be gambling on any schemes potent enough to be worth hurting a Service officer for.”
“How do you know?”
“I know the guy who brokered for them.”
“Catiline have a broker?” Webb blinked. “So they do launder credit?”
“Not anymore,” Jazz shook her head. “The Elders found out and seized everything. They’ve spent the last year trying to claw back some control.”
“So that’s why Sol was dealing out of sector.”
Jazz turned to him, a brighter smile on her face. ““This is why you were sounding out Patch dealers in that bar? You were looking for leads?”
Webb nodded and gulped down more beer, feeling the alcohol warm him inside. “Told you.”
Jazz’s smile seemed easier and Webb felt a warm one of his own spread over his face.
“Why did you go to Sector 4 anyway?” Jazz asked after they’d both drunk in silence for a time.
Webb looked away. “August Sinclair let Hugo on board. Thought we owed his sector our labour. And…I didn’t think I’d be all that popular around here.”
“You really do think a lot of yourself,” Jazz said, but she was smiling.
“Well, Ribble agreed with me,” Webb said, wincing as he touched the bruise across his jaw.
“Ah yes,” Jazz said, smile taking on a satisfied edge. “He’s been in touch. He asked if I wanted him to take you down. I said I’d get back to him.”
“You did, huh?”
She nodded. “Don’t think badly of him. He’s a good Enforcer.”
“Yes. Capable,” Webb muttered, still rubbing his face.
“Do you want me to look at that?” Jazz said, eyeing the bruise.
“Nah. I’ll live,” Webb said, feeling his muscles relax and his eyes start to droop. The colony blinked outside the window and Webb fought to stay awake. The hum of the workstation, the smell of the citrus disinfectant and the steady blink of the pattern of lights through the plexiglass wrapped him in something that felt like comfort.
“I lied, you know,” Jazz murmured after several minutes sat enjoying each other’s silence.
“About what?” Webb asked around a yawn.
“That wasn’t my bar.”
Webb smiled. “It didn’t exactly look your style.”
“I’m glad you recognise that, at least.”
“Why’d you say it was?”
“To try and wind you up.”
“It worked,” Webb said, draining the rest of his beer to distract himself from the memory of their angry words. “What were you really doing there?”
“One of the Sector 2 Elders has me keeping an eye on that Sol and a few others. Catiline won’t be out of the dog house for a while.”
Webb chewed his lip. “Have you heard of any new rings of bloodgrease traders setting up shop?”
Jazz’s jaw hardened. “That’s who you think really hired Ariel?”
“Not just me,” Webb said, thinking of Hugo’s words about Harvey’s hunch. “Have you heard anything?”
“I’ve heard…well, I’m not sure what I’ve heard. Rumours. Whispers of something. Nothing solid. Which made me think that’s all it was. Gangs don’t normally keep quiet.”
“If a gang was gathering real power, though,” Webb mused. “Power enough to make the Elders concerned…they’d operate below the radar, wouldn’t they?”
“If they knew what was good for them.”
Silence resumed again. It was Jazz’s turn to yawn and rub tired eyes. Webb looked at her properly and wondered if she were thinner than he remembered.
“I am sorry, Jazz.”
“I know,” she replied after a pause and put a hand on his knee. Her hand was warm. They both looked at it, then at each other. Webb wondered what else he could say but then Jazz said, “Your wrist panel’s blinking.”
Webb glanced at the time and swore. “I better get back. Hugo’ll be having a fit.”
“Zeek,” Jazz caught his sleeve as he got up. “It’s good to see you.”
“Let’s hope you feel the same way when all this is over.”
*
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I can see you’re feeling better,” Webb said as he pushed past Hugo into their room.
“Webb…”
“Relax, Hugo,” Webb said, dropping onto his cot and pulling off his boots. There were dark circles under his eyes. “I’ve got us an ally.”
“You’ve what?”
“Jazz Leon is going to help us.”
“That woman from the bar?”
“Yeah.”
“The one that was angry with you?”
Webb frowned up at him. “Yes, the one that was angry with me. She’s going to help.”
“Why?”
“We go way back. Trust me. She’s just what we need.”
“She didn’t seem all that fond of you, Webb. Are you sure this is wise?”
Webb’s jaw tightened. “Yes. Trust me, will you? Why are you up anyway?”
Hugo felt his face flush. “I woke up. I thought you might be working on that air filter.”
“Sorry. I should have sent a message to your panel. I’m beat, Hugo, I’m getting some sleep before the next shift. You should get some more too.”
Hugo shook his head. “I’m fine.”
Webb raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Hugo shook his head again. “I can’t sleep any more. You rest. I’ll go fix the filter.”
“Do you know how?”
“I can handle a poxy air filter,” Hugo grumbled, pulling on his own boots.
Webb eyed him for a moment longer then shrugged and shouldered his jacke
t off. “Then knock yourself out. Hey…” Hugo turned at the door. “Don’t go doing anything stupid, ok?”
Hugo ground his teeth and shut the door. He went downstairs and let himself into the building’s maintenance room. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of rust and stale laundry fluid. Some of the industrial washers against the wall were rocking through their cycles. Hugo was standing looking around for the filter when a resident came in. He was bald, with scarring across his forehead. He startled to find the room not empty and blinked at him.
“You’re new, huh? Proby?”
“Yes,” Hugo said, eying the short man, trying to figure out if there was threat or just belligerence in his tone.
“Shouldn’t you be at your shift?”
“This is my down shift,” Hugo said, keeping his voice neutral. “I’m fixing the air filter.”
The bald worker snorted. “Don’t let me catch you slacking. Don’t let anyone catch you slacking, understand?”
“I am not prone to ‘slacking’,” Hugo said.
The man scowled and stepped into Hugo’s personal space. “I’ll tell you this for free, proby. Lose the tone before you lose your pretty, straight teeth. Ok?”
Hugo didn’t answer, but he didn’t step back either. The man eyeballed him a moment longer, the lines in his scarred forehead deepening with his glower. He kept his eyes on Hugo as he grabbed a clean jumper from the neatly folded piles by the washers and left.
Hugo took a deep breath to let his temper cool. He was alarmed to discover the chill that rose in its place. He resolved to try harder to keep his tone in check, then turned his attention back to the room.
The filter was sunk into the wall in the corner. He hunted out a step ladder, climbed up and just managed to wrestle the casing off its rusted catches without cutting himself. His heart sank as he took in the state of the interior. He shifted carefully on the step ladder, the uneven legs wobbling under him as he fished out a lenslight to get a better look. Just like the lifter from the yard, the wiring was old and dusty, the controls and sensors mismatched and the small CPU ancient. His wrist panel had more processing power.
“Hey.”
Hugo swore as the ladder wobbled under him. When he’d recovered, he looked down. “You should stop sneaking up on people.”
Haven (The Orbit Series Book 2) Page 10