The Master Key

by T. K. Toppin

  Good old Rand. Somehow this thought didn’t make John feel any better.

  Too preoccupied with Josie to give his sister another thought, John already filed it away in his head to contact her when he had a chance. Aline could handle things just fine without him interfering.

  He found himself marching straight to Margeaux’s quarters.

  That little girl is going to have a really bad day. A smile tugged at his mouth and glee made his steps lighter.

  He found her just as he’d left her earlier, angry, scowling, and defiant in that petulant manner. Before she could utter a single word, he strode across the room and stared down at her.

  “Tell me everything, from the beginning, and tell me no lies. Trust me, I’ll know.” With a rough yank of her arm, he dragged her to the single couch and flung her onto it. She let out a squeak of indignation but remained silent, her face positively feral.

  He would’ve hit her, a good, solid, open-handed slap across that wicked face. But he didn’t. Instead, he stood towering over her trying to look as menacing as he could.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “You killed my father. I have nothing to say to you.” Margeaux folded her arms across her chest and looked away. Her high-pitched, childlike voice was no longer. Instead, it was hard with a brittle edge to it, like an adult’s.

  “Unfortunately, before I killed him, he lacked the common decency to tell me what this whole business was about.”

  “How rude of him, and unfortunate for you.” Margeaux kept her gaze averted. “Father never told me exactly what it was he hoped to achieve. What will happen to me now?”

  Her words held a small hint of truth. But not enough.

  “You will be dealt with accordingly. It depends, of course, on how you choose to behave.” John kept his voice low, his face stony and blank.

  Margeaux slid her glassy eyes up to him. “What do you mean?”

  “You have never come across as a stupid girl. You tell me.”

  “What does it matter what I tell you? It’s over. He should never have taken her so quickly. But he would never listen to me. He lacks…lacked foresight. I told him going there was a bad idea.”

  “Did you, now? And tell me, why did you think that?” Controlling himself, lest he shake the girl until she confessed, John took a casual step back and tipped his head.

  “It would be too heavily guarded. And, see? I was right. He should have listened.” She cast her eyes downward, and for the first time, genuine regret and sadness swam across her face.

  “And what was the purpose of attacking the space station?”

  The last time he’d spoken to Simon, an hour ago, the Scrap Yard was under attack. John felt as if he’d been split in two, the need to be with Josie warring with the need to help Simon. He was of no use to anyone where he was now. He was determined more than ever to break this girl before him.

  “Didn’t he tell you?” With a small curl of her mouth she glanced up, the slyness returned.

  “He was a little busy trying to stay alive.”

  “For the cloning, silly.”

  “Indeed?” John winged up a brow. “And what was the purpose of this cloning? We do not perform nor indulge in cloning on the space station. It is forbidden.”

  “Sorry, did I say cloning? I had meant to say cell-fusion by way of cloning of cells and manipulation. You have the facilities there to merge machine with man. Need I say any more?”

  “That is strictly for the prosthetics.” John clamped his mouth into a tight line. “And it is stringently controlled and monitored.”

  So, Ho planned to use the Scrap Yard to produce…abominations. How interesting. It had been tried before, many times over, the results hideous and outright barbaric. But it was true; the Scrap Yard did have the facilities. The production of tissue-friendly prosthetics required specific conditions. Recipients of these prosthetics supplied their own tissue samples that were then cloned for re-growth, making the final attachment of the prosthetic “clean” and rejection-free—fusing man with machine. Bio-fusion.

  But why? Unless it was to create half-humans. Cyborgs!

  Did this mean Josie was at the Scrap Yard? He must inform Simon at once.

  “And your purpose here?” John continued. “Was it to distract us?”

  Margeaux shrugged. “Yes. And to get a sample from her. But she was never alone long enough for me to do that. You were always around—except for that one time, but that was too soon to do anything so invasive. I wasn’t ready.” She cast him an accusatory scowl. “Did he manage to get it? You said Father hurt her. Did he get it, then?”

  “I know of no samples, nor the purpose of why he wanted it. Do enlighten me.” John, impatient with the game, itched to wrap his hands around Margeaux’s skinny neck, forcing her to tell him. Patience, he told himself.

  “Why should I?” A wicked smile crooked Margeaux’s lips. “You don’t seem to be a stupid man. You tell me.”

  John tightened his hands into fists behind his back. No, he wasn’t stupid and he could guess. He half-lowered his lids, impassive, watching her as he thought. Ho wanted a sample of Josie. But why? And to what purpose? Why were her cells important enough, other than the obvious fact that she was the president’s wife? John couldn’t understand it.

  “Tell me, why did you have to acquire the sample? And how were you going to get it back to him? Through James, the Rogue?”

  “Of course not. I was going to convince her to take me out of the Citadel. I had two days to do so before James was to come and do it himself. That was the plan. Timing was everything. The moment you learned of my identity, it was automatic that you would go to the source to confirm. We made the first move, so we watched and waited until you made yours.” Margeaux leaned back into the couch and tossed her head. “But James played his hand too fast because he did not know the real reason. He is, after all, just a paid contractor and stupid.” She snorted, then frowned. “Or the timing hastened. So Father had to act with haste. I told him this would be to be the riskiest part. I told him to wait at the source until I got it.”

  John stared at her, unsure how to answer.

  “What? You don’t believe me? That I could have taken the sample from her? I am very skilled.”

  At this he laughed, an icy, evil chuckle. “Skilled, you say? I have seen children, younger than you take down a grown man twice my size without ever having moved an inch from where they stood. Do tell what your skill is?”

  “Persuasion,” Margeaux retorted, her face flushing. “I’ve spent all my life being trained for this moment.”

  “Well, it appears you have failed. You have not persuaded me or my wife into anything. Your temper and pride get in the way. Did your teachers not tell you that? Or were they too intimidated because they were paid by Ho?”

  “She believed me because I spoke the truth to her. She came here afterward. You didn’t know that, did you?” Her mouth curled into a nasty smile. “She went behind your back and came to see me again. How do I know she went behind your back? Because I just know these things. You never liked me—it was plain to see. I know you told her not to see me alone. I would have done the same thing if I were you. She was coming around. I needed one more session with her, and she would have done anything I asked.”

  “Session?” John hissed. The thought that this girl could categorize his wife in such cold and scientific terms riled him. He was left stunned into silence, reeling in rage.

  Stay calm, he ordered himself.

  “Yes,” Margeaux smiled sweetly. “Your wife is too trusting. Naively so. Any child could see that. A few well-placed tears, a little tonal alteration in my speech, were all I needed to finally convince her that I was her niece.”

  “Well, you have failed all the same.” Keeping the charade going, John forced himself to shrug. “No sample was obtained, and your father is dead. The plan has also failed.”

  “Where was Father when you killed him?” she squinted up at him, the hate barely masked
with the smile. “I want to know.”

  “It is unimportant.”

  Margeaux’s eyes turned glacial. She seemed to sense he wouldn’t utter another word about her father. “I hope she dies,” she whispered, cold and unblinking.

  That statement alone would have ensured Margeaux’s own death, but John remained resolutely calm. Right now, this girl was still important to him.

  He leaned in a fraction closer and whispered back. “You’ll be dead before that happens.”

  She scoffed like an adult and leaned back with a “just try it” expression.

  John tried another tactic. “What was the purpose of training you in the art of persuasion? You could not have possibly known of my wife’s existence, nor could your father have. It was only by chance she was discovered.”

  “Father was a visionary. By training me this way, the possibilities and the opportunities that lay before us were limitless. I could be used to convince any number of people into parting with their monies. When he found my dear aunt, it was my idea to change my appearance to look like her. Seal the deal, so to speak.” Margeaux chuckled. “It worked. I saw the confusion and the want in her eyes when she first saw me. She was ripe for the picking.”

  John continued to stare at the girl, willing himself to not react violently. This child before him, this cold and wicked child—how dare she speak of Josie like this!

  I must remain calm.

  Margeaux smoothed the front of her shirt and tossed her head, her hair flouncing over her shoulder. “So, what, then, is to become of me? Am I to be sent to prison? Tortured? Executed?”

  “No, not yet.” The returning calm brought everything together so it made a little sense. Pieces began falling into place. “When my wife recovers, I will let her decide what is to become of you. Consider that a generous offer; she can be very lenient. Personally, I would have thrown you into the recycling shredder and watched while I had my tea.”

  “You can’t keep me here like this,” Margeaux spat out. “I do have rights as a minor.”

  “Watch me. You forget who I am. I can do anything I please, and I say you have absolutely no rights whatsoever. Besides, no one knows you’re even here.” John smiled a little for effect. “And I am not done with you, yet.”

  “I demand a trial! I have a right to one.” Margeaux stood, her fist balled at her side. “Look at me when I speak to you! You can’t keep me here. I demand a trial!”

  John turned and left, ignoring her rant. A new urgency pulsed through him like electricity.

  Iceland!

  …go to the source, she’d said.

  How could he not have seen it? Why Iceland? That was another matter, but not as pressing as the need to get there, and get there fast.

  Aline. Timing was everything. They needed Aline to get them into the DNA banks. Ho may be smart, but maybe not smart enough to break through the security barriers guarding the precious remnants of people who once lived or were alive still. Generations of information stored and compiled over the years. Information more sacred than life itself—it was history, a story of civilization. Not anyone could just walk in and access it. He needed Aline’s face and pass-code to get in.

  Ho had to be there, with Josie and Aline. Orchestral maneuvers and precision timing—it was all about timing. All the tricks, deceptions and distractions had been set up to hide the fact that Ho was after the samples. The Scrap Yard was secondary. Without the samples, the facilities at the space station were useless.

  Damn it, that’s it!

  Ho planned on creating some hideous half-man, half-machine creatures. Perhaps gathering up the DNA samples of countless criminals stored in the Iceland facility. An army of super criminals! John had no doubts Ho would also subject himself to this creation—cyborging himself. That was it. A man like Ho wouldn’t waste time making an army of these creatures and selling them off to the highest bidder, not when he could make himself invincible. John’s head spun as he thought of the possibilities.

  But it still left the question of why he needed Josie in the first place. Why was she needed? If Ho was related to her, they shared DNA. The Iceland facility stored a multitude of DNA samples. Whose samples did Ho want besides Josie’s? As confusing as it was, there seemed no point in wasting time thinking about it now.

  As John marched away, he asked himself again: What possible motive would Ho have that he needed her DNA?

  Chapter 22

  The Scrap Yard was under heavy assault from Ho’s so-called army and they showed no discrimination regarding who or what they destroyed. The goal to take over the control room accomplished, it seemed everything else was of no consequence. Already they had sabotaged the launching sequences for the escape pods. People were stranded, locked in, trapped on a floating mass of metal in the middle of space.

  Simon had his hands full, and the last thing he needed to hear was that Josie and Aline might be in serious danger in Iceland. Though the conversation with John had been brief and somewhat strained, he’d received the gist of it. Details weren’t important. And now he had John to worry about on top of everything else. There’d be no stopping John and his single-minded goal of saving Josie. Simon had to let go and accept the fact John was skilled and would know how to handle himself. Of course, being discreet, for now, was a secondary matter.

  Simon turned to Governor Mwenye after juggling a call from both Ox and Madds. “They’ve managed to get through the first of the stop-check doors. Almost all your security droids are down—and many Junkies. The other two doors will not stand a chance now. Stay here with Renna. Do not move from this place. Understood? If the area is breached, use your magic and find a way to launch and get the hell out of here.”

  “I’m not an idiot,” Mwenye retorted with a bit of anger. “Where are you going? I should at least help in some way. The station is still my responsibility!”

  “You can help by staying here,” Simon snapped back with the full force of lethal authority in his voice. “Renna,” he turned to her and sent a meaningful look that said that under no circumstances was the governor to leave her sight. She gave him a quick nod then resumed her weapons check.

  “Where are you going?” Mwenye repeated. “Might I remind you of what you carry on your person?”

  Simon turned to face the governor, stepping closer so only he could hear. “Might I remind you that I am insignificant compared to you and what’s in your head? The moment they find out the mainframe is rigged with that shut-down sequence, the first person they will seek out is you. I need to get to the mainframe—now. Understood?”

  Mwenye glared back but made a stiff nod. He seemed offended at being rendered useless. He was a man used to delivering authority, issuing commands, taking responsibility. Now he was stripped of it all. A morsel of compassion flitted through Simon. It didn’t last long, but it was enough to gear down his anger a notch.

  “Understood.” Mwenye balled his fists at his sides and took a breath.

  Simon left Mwenye where he stood and headed out of the launch chamber. He needed to bypass the lockdown of the exit doors. Difficult but not impossible. The doors were thick, solid metal, reinforced to withstand the blasts and shock waves of high velocity ejection. The only possible route for escape was the cable ducts. He’d once saved himself by traveling for two kilometers along an underground cable duct like the one he was about to jump down into. It had taken him almost a day then, but that was another time, another place.

  A basic fault in most building designs, people never thought to secure these ducts; thinking no one in their right mind would ever dream of crawling over several thousand volts of electrical cables, on your belly, in a cavity no higher than two feet. Sliding over the warm cables, the smell of hot plastic casing with undertones of rubber and copper filled the senses. Sweat, oily and slick, rolled off the body and slipped through your hands, making it difficult to pull yourself forward. It was enough to make you wonder what would happen if a stray bead of sweat ever dropped through a small openin
g and ignited—frying you to nothing but dust.

  Simon cleared his mind, there was no point harboring thoughts of disaster when people depended on him. Just get on with it. Gritting his teeth, he jumped into the narrow opening and the dim cocoon of the launching chamber’s underbelly and began his horizontal crawl.

  Using his keen sense of direction, he slowly made it past the main doors. When he reached the reception area, a split that parted four ways greeted him. He took the right; it would direct him to the outer doors and, hopefully, he’d be able to surface somewhere just before them.

  It wasn’t a long crawl, not like the two-kilometer trek. It took a mere forty-five minutes, but it was long enough, and minutes were precious. Judging the distance, he leaned up and felt his way along the ceiling of his cocooned existence, pushing and prodding until, finally, one section gave in slightly. He pushed harder. A thin, bright stream of light shot through the dimness. Spying through the crevice, all was clear. He brought himself all the way up and found he was just past the doors as he’d reckoned, in a quiet corner near a vending machine.

  He slithered out and crouched, using the solid square bulk of the vending machine to hide. In the distance, along the corridors, he heard voices. They sounded agitated. Simon guessed there were at least seven people, three with distinct voices and tones that stood apart from the others. The pitch of their voices made him wonder if they were disagreeing about who was in charge.

  Emerging from his hiding place, he edged along the wall until he came to the end, then risked a look. There were eight, two were women, and armed to the teeth. It appeared they’d been stationed to guard the launch chambers, but from their conversation, they hadn’t realized the governor was in one of the chambers.

  Simon calculated his odds. He could, if he wanted, fight them all and get out of it alive, if not a little banged up, but it would draw unnecessary attention. The Scrap Yard was immense, and one needed a huge army to wrest control of it. And big armies were very difficult to get around once one had their attention.