The Master Key

by T. K. Toppin

  “Where is Governor Mwenye?” the woman rounded on Ox and barked into his face.

  Ox shrugged. “I think he may have been killed. In that first wave.”

  “Liar!” The woman turned to one of her men. “Find him. Start with the upper chambers—the escape shuttles. Now!”

  A communicator beeped at her chest. She wrenched it out, rammed it into her ear and spoke with acidity. “What? Good. How long? Good.” She thrust it back into her breast pocket and strode up to Ox. “Unscramble whatever it is you put there or people will start dying.”

  “Can’t.” Ox shrugged again. “I didn’t create it, nor did the governor. It’s all computer generated. Sorry.”

  Cerevetto whirled around. “He lies! Forget it. Let me at it.” He hunched over the controls, stabbing at keys on the pressure pad and uttering commands.

  On purpose, Simon, with Madds, had lingered so they would be the last to go into the storeroom.

  “What is the purpose of all this?” Madds asked, buying some time. “Ho will not get very far in his plans to take over this station. We’re not the only Elites here, and more are yet to come.”

  The woman darted a cold stare at Madds, her eyes were a hard grey, like balls of steel. “Why don’t you ask him yourself? He should be here within the day.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Was he successful then, in Iceland?” Madds replied. “Yes, we know about that already.”

  She glared back at him for a moment. “Very.” She turned to Cerevetto. “The moment you have control, begin separation. The gunship is in position.”

  Gunship? Simon thought with interest. Did they mean to blast one half of the station? He spared a thought for John before being shoved into the small storeroom. He hoped he had made it to Iceland in time.

  By the looks of it, he hadn’t.

  * * *

  Surrey was somewhere near the engine room. He could smell it. The thick, oily scent, mingling with wafts of heated metal, filled his nose.

  In gunships, the engine room was located directly under the bridge. It saved time should something go amiss, and freed up space in the rear, where they held the majority of the fighter jets and ammunition. Unfortunately for Surrey, the recycling hold was also located at the rear. It took close to an hour for him to steal his way through the ship—the crawl spaces and air ducts being his preferred route. He’d learned a lot from Simon.

  Time was precious, but stealth was imperative. Besides, Surrey reasoned, once the ship moved into position, they wouldn’t engage in combat immediately. Not when their own were still on board the Scrap Yard. Most likely, the gunship was all for show and intimidation. But once the objective to take over the Scrap Yard was achieved, chances were high the gunship would start shooting at whoever tried to defend the station.

  Around him, the reassuring hum and rhythm of the massive machinery melded and kept time with his music. It spiked and dipped, keeping tune with the sounds of people speaking. He heard at least five distinct voices. There was one, a woman, her high-pitched voice telling him she was quite young. Three men sounded older, their voices held knowledge in their fullness. The last voice was farther away. This man spoke few words, but when he did, they were short, precise and clear. He was probably the chief engineer.

  From amid the narrow crawl spaces along the walls that led technicians to various maintenance points within the ship, Surrey surfaced. He had managed to bypass the engine room doors. He didn’t make a sound as he slipped between two turbine casings, timing his footfalls to the rhythmic beats of the engine.

  He gave himself to the count of twenty, slow tempo—adagio—to bring down all five. By the way their voices traveled and resounded off the walls of the large room, they were positioned in a line. One, the chief engineer, was to the right but a few feet away. The three that were closest, he would need to bring down quickly and silently, without alerting the remaining two.

  With his right hand, he dug a knife out from his belt, with his left, his krima. It was close quarters; he made a quick adjustment so that the krima would only emit a single beam from one end. Then he moved, even-paced and silent, his heart rate never increasing, his mind keeping note of the time with beats of music.

  The first man, about sixty years old judging from the deep wrinkles in his face, had enough time to glance up from his task of sipping coffee from a mug. The krima sank through his throat with ease. With a deft move, Surrey snagged the mug by its handle with the tip of his knife, letting it slide down the blade. Scalding hot liquid sloshed over his hand but he barely registered it. The man sank to his feet, helped along gently by Surrey.

  The next man to die turned his head at the movement, a smile still on his face as Surrey flung the mug off the knife in his direction. On instinct, the man reached up to catch it. He realized his mistake a second too late when the knife sliced across his stomach, followed quickly by an upward jab under his chin. His intestines spilled to the floor before he died, still holding the mug like a precious jewel.

  The woman sat, bent over some controls, her right side to Surrey. She tipped up her head to sniff the air with a frown as the sudden stench of fecal matter thickened the air. Before she could turn to pinpoint the source, Surrey flitted by and impaled the back of her head with the krima. The deadly laser came clean out of her forehead. She slumped forward with a jerky twitch, her fingers scratching over the console in spasms.

  The fourth man met the same fate as the woman. His back to Surrey, he manned some controls, entering data into a log and doing a solo jig to some music only he heard. When he died, he crumpled down onto his knees; the top of his head leaned forward to rest on the wall as if in prayer. Even in death, he remained unaware anything was amiss.

  Surrey shifted right, down a grated walkway and came face to face with the chief engineer. Wide brown eyes met Surrey’s with surprise and brief confusion. The communications unit he held in one hand dropped to the floor, just as the other made for a weapon at his side. But Surrey was quicker. Flexing his wrist, his knife flew and found its mark—straight into the heart. The man gasped and staggered. Surrey turned, half-pivoting, and brought his krima sweeping down to lop off the man’s head.

  Surrey didn’t like people to suffer unnecessarily. Death must be swift; a common courtesy to all.

  He had counted to twenty-two. The coffee mug had thrown him off by two counts. But the obstacles were out of the way and he could get to work—undisturbed. He inhaled, then exhaled and emptied his mind. Glancing around, he laid down the foundation for a new musical composition.

  * * *

  I awoke with a jerk. My head snapped up and a strangled shout erupted from me.

  “Ho!”

  Then I groaned.

  The room spun, and something clutched me across my waist. Ho! His fingers were digging me there. I twisted and struggled, trying to wrench free.

  “Josie. Hold still—easy now.”

  A hand pressed on my shoulder. I growled in panic, bucked and twisted away, balling a fist, ready to strike.

  “Let go of me!” I yelled.

  “Josie. Please. It’s me. Look at me. Josie.” John held my face, forcing me to focus on him.

  His image was a bit blurry, and a sudden flush of heat coursed through me, like a fever. And anger. I snarled and shook like a feral animal.

  “Josie!” he said with more force. “Dammit, look at me. It’s me, John.”

  Through my grunts and the haze, I could barely make out John’s worried face—it was sheet-white, his brow creased. I darted my gaze about, confusion settled over fear. I was in a shuttle, strapped in. Aline’s face hovered nearby.

  “John?” I croaked.

  “Shh-shh. You’re safe, now. Just lie back.” He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

  A dull pain throbbed close to my neck, I felt it now and let out a low groan. My left arm tingled with pins and needles.

  “What happened?” I reached to touch my left shoulder; John’s hand caught it and held it secur
e. “My neck’s hurting like a bitch. Ow! Fuck!”

  It came back to me fast. The fight with Ho, the struggle, the knife…

  “Holy fuck! He stuck me!” Anger flared inside me. I was ready for another round with Ho. “Where is he?”

  “She sounds much better than she looks,” Aline chirped with a smirk. “That’s a good sign. Either way, she still needs to be transfused.”

  “Damn it, Josie,” John muttered weakly. “You’re going to kill me one day.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to my brow. “Remind me to chain you to our room. You’re never to leave it again.”

  I welcomed his lips. His breath was warm and comforting against my face. With a sigh, I leaned against him. “Only if you promise to be chained up next to me.” A sense of fretfulness still nettled me, but I managed a smile that took some effort, and stared up at him.

  John seemed to have aged. Dark circles bruised under his eyes, and the usually predatory glower was now nothing but a spooked and hollow stare. He hadn’t shaved for some time; stubble covered his face like dark, grisly moss.

  “You look like shit. Is this how you come to my rescue?”

  John laughed, the tension in him visibly evaporating. “Speak for yourself.” He brushed my face tenderly.

  “I’m sorry.” I smiled back.

  “What for?”

  “Everything. For being an idiot. For getting kidnapped. For putting you in danger. Everything.”

  “Josie,” John admonished with a grin, “just shut up.”

  “I let Ho get away.” I screwed up my face. “He did get away, right?”

  “Shut up, now. You’re babbling again.” He kissed my mouth to silence me. His lips trembled like he was restraining himself from swallowing me whole. He pulled away with some reluctance and a shaky sigh left him.

  “Don’t, not yet.” I reached out to cup his neck, bringing him close. He smelled like home, like waking up to find all your favorite things around you. I gripped him tight. “You took ages and ages to come.”

  “I’m sorry. I tried.” John pried my hands loose and cupped them in his, kissing them. Then he rested his forehead against them. “I almost beat the girl senseless to find you. I’m sorry but I—”

  “Margeaux!” I jerked back. “She’s Ho’s daughter! Holy shit, I have to tell you, John. The girl, Ho—”

  “I know, I know. It’s all right.”

  We both listened in turn as we exchanged our discoveries. Aline chipped in, filling in some blanks. She glanced to Ho’s computers. We followed her gaze.

  “Turn them on,” John instructed. “They might tell us something. Ho didn’t seem too concerned about losing them, so he must have made a copy.”

  Aline got out of her seat to set up the computers.

  I touched John on his arm. “What will happen to Margeaux? Do you think Ho will go back for her? Try to get her out? Or will he go straight to the Scrap Yard?”

  “I don’t know.” John’s face seemed to be returning to normal; he’d worked his mouth into a line, grinding his teeth in thought. “He waited this long to get that data. He knows we won’t harm Margeaux. My bet is he’ll go to the Scrap Yard. I haven’t been able to reach Simon. In fact, I can’t reach anyone—complete radio silence. Things don’t look good.”

  “Do you think he’ll send someone to get her instead?” I thought of James. He confused me. I put that thought aside, or so I thought.

  “Like another Rogue?” John cocked a brow, slid his eyes sideways to me. “Speaking of Rogues…”

  “I made an offer to pay him more than what Ho was going to pay him. He didn’t bite then, so I’ve no idea why he changed his mind later. He gave me back my krima, for fucks sakes.” Frowning, I glanced at my empty wrist holster. The last recollection I had of it was when Ho had it on me. Now it was lost. Shit.

  “Did he try to…” John clamped his mouth shut. But something clearly bothered him.

  I frowned up at him. “Did he what? Oh! Fuck. I mean no. No. He didn’t. But…” I considered something. “I wouldn’t put it past him if he had the chance. There’s something icky about him. I dunno. Can’t place it yet.”

  After a moment, John let out a small breath. Relief slackened his face.

  “Sorry. With you, I always seem to think the worst.” John offered a sheepish smile. Extreme tiredness slumped his frame and slackened his features. “Never mind, forget I even asked.”

  “I’m glad you did, silly. Jealousy tells me how much you love me.” I stuck out my tongue and then blew him a kiss. “And any woman who moons over you, I’ll gouge out their eyes.”

  “Then you’ll be needing this.” Snorting, he dug into his pocket and pulled out my krima. “Here.” He handed it to me. “That’s the second time someone’s tried to kill you with it. Try not to lose it again or I’ll glue it to your hand.”

  I broke out into a wide grin and snatched my favorite weapon from his hand and held it possessively to my chest. “I won’t lose it again. I promise. And I won’t fuck it up next time, either. I lost my head earlier. I panicked. It won’t happen again. I’m too pissed off for that, now.”

  “And what makes you think there’ll be a next time? I’ve already ordered a length of chain from Maintenance.” He was serious, but I saw he tried to sound casual, even raising his brows comically.

  “Because I know you’re going up to the Scrap Yard the first chance you get.” I leveled my eyes at him. I’d scared him badly, and knowing it was my fault just made me feel terrible, but I had unfinished business to deal with. “And I’m going with you.”

  “No, you are not.” His face changed to a stern scowl.

  “Hey, the little shit has messed with my head long enough. I won’t let him get away with it.”

  “Josie,” John’s face grew dark in warning, “don’t be foolish. I’ll not risk getting you hurt again.”

  “And you think I’m going to let you go? Let you get hurt? No fucking way.”

  “This is not something we should even be arguing about.”

  “Who said we’re arguing?” I retorted. “I’m going with you. Ho is mine.”

  “Ho is stronger and more dangerous than you think.” John gripped my hand as if urging me to rethink my stupid behavior. “You can’t defeat him. Look at what he’s already done to you.”

  “Yes, I can,” I seethed. “Especially if I take Margeaux with me. And threaten her life. I know he cares for her—he practically idolizes her.”

  “That is madness, Josie. What do you hope to achieve by doing this?” John shook his head. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’re no better than he is!”

  “I’m not going to actually hurt her. Don’t be insane!” I scoffed. “But Ho doesn’t know that. He just knows I’m pissed off and likely to do anything.”

  Glowering, John studied me a moment. He opened his mouth—probably to say something mean and small. I waited with narrowed eyes, but he shut his mouth. Thinking.

  “She thinks he’s dead, that I killed him,” he said after a while. “Don’t spoil it for her.”

  I shrugged my uninjured shoulder. Even that movement made me wince. “Then we’ll tell her she’s going to his funeral.”

  It came out cold and icy, uncaring, which was so unlike me. I heard it and it shocked me. This was revenge I spoke of so casually, of killing another human being out of sheer spite. That was wrong. Killing was still killing, no matter the circumstances. Yes, I’d killed before—had to. But now I planned it, wanted it. Setting a trap…

  “I want him dead,” I said in a quiet tone, my rage tasting bitter in my mouth. “I don’t care if he’s my…my nephew.” I spat the word out. “He’s no family of mine. He never will be. And nor will that little bitch he’s trussed up to look like Fern.”

  “I understand how you feel. But let me do this. Let me stop him.”

  “No. You can’t fix everything for me. And you don’t know how I feel.”

  “I do, and I want to.”

  “So do I.” I sat
up despite a wave of dizziness. “He’s part of me. And the way I feel now, I’m pretty sure it’s my genes that started all this madness. Who else could it have been? Look at me. I kill people.”

  “Stop it.” John held my face roughly; his lips thin in anger, his voice harsh and vicious. “Stop it. You are not like him. Do you hear me? You have had to kill to protect people—to protect me, and yourself. Don’t even soil yourself by comparing yourself to him. Ho loves no one but himself. He cares for nothing but greed and power. You are nothing like him!” He shook me once, and a fat tear spilled from my eyes. I sucked in a breath. He swiped the wet streak with his thumb.

  “Will you at least take me with you?” I sputtered in anger. “I need to be there. I need to see it…to see it end. It has to end. Please? I need to be there.”

  John brought my face into the crook of his neck, pressing me close.

  “All right.” He let out a long, strained sigh. “All right.” He pulled me back to look me in the eye. “But you follow my lead, understood? And only, only, if Aline gives you the all clear.”

  I nodded vigorously. Tears still poured out of my eyes, but not once did I cry out. I was ashamed. John was right. I was nothing like Ho. How could I even let myself think like that, to sink so low?

  Remembering what Adam had said about killing sobered me up. He’d been empowered by it, by having that control, by taking a life. It had always sickened me. I’d regretted it the moment it had happened. And the horror that drowned me. I still remembered the sensation of it, the way it happened, so quick, so final. So…undo-able.

  But if protecting John, myself or anyone else I cared for meant doing it again? Yes, I could do it again. And even though I still wanted to kill Ho, craved it, it sickened me that I wanted it so badly.

  “But if he tries to hurt you,” I whispered, “I will kill him. Even if I die trying.”

  “I know you will,” John whispered back. “And expect the same from me. This goes against all my better judgment, against everything that is sane—but, yes. I will take you there.”