Broken Sky

by L. A. Weatherly

  The base clearly already knew that Russ was dead. A palpable sadness hung in the air; there were more than a few red eyes. I no longer knew what to believe. Who had Russ really been? The gruff team leader who used to scoop me into a bear hug…or the person I’d uncovered once I’d finally gotten home the night before?

  I could see the back of Collie’s head a few rows away, and guessed how much he wanted to turn and catch my eye. I’d returned to my own house after running from Russ’s; all Collie knew was that when he’d woken up, I’d been gone. I gazed at his sun-streaked hair. I still felt sickened by what I’d found out.

  But if I was right, it would change so much more than I’d thought.

  With a faint rustle, Hendrix put the roster to one side. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m deeply saddened to announce the death of one of our own,” he said. “Russell Avery was found murdered in Heatcalf City last night, the victim of a violent robbery. Let’s have a moment of silence.”

  Quiet draped over the hangar. I closed my eyes and recalled the man I’d thought I’d known. The one I wanted to remember.

  Finally Hendrix cleared his throat. “Pilots stand,” he said quietly.

  “I swear to fight fairly.

  I swear to defend my country to the best of my ability.

  I swear to honour the sanctity of life.”

  My vow echoed with the others. I kept my gaze on the two flags at the front. No matter what Russ had done, I would not allow it to taint what Peacefighting meant to me.

  When the meeting finished I started to make my way to Collie. Commander Hendrix stopped me, his brown eyes concerned. “Amity, I saw on the report that you were the one who found Russ last night,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I said awkwardly. I could tell he was thinking about Dad. “But, sir, I wonder if—”

  I broke off as I noticed the cluster of administrators standing nearby. I had to be careful. Even just asking to meet was better done in private.

  “What is it?” asked Commander Hendrix.

  “Nothing,” I said. I managed a smile. “I mean…thank you, sir.”

  The base commander studied me, and then nodded. “All right,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  As he left I headed over to Collie. When we reached each other his brow creased and he touched my arm. “What happened to you last night? I woke up and you were gone.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” I glanced over my shoulder and then leaned close. “We need to talk.”

  Once we were in my bedroom with the door shut I dug out the cigar box from the depths of my closet. Collie eyed it warily as I sat beside him on the bed.

  “Why have I got a terrible feeling this has something to do with Russ?” he said.

  “I broke into his house last night. Don’t say it,” I added. “Just…don’t, all right?”

  Collie sat staring. “Tell me this is one of your unfunny jokes that I’m just not getting,” he said at last.

  “No joke.”

  The bed creaked as he gripped my arms. “What were you thinking?”

  “I had to know what he’d done!”

  “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

  I jerked away. “All right. But it’s done now. And I’m glad I did it.” I told him everything that had happened, from checking my plane months ago to running away from the two men.

  “I had to go, don’t you see?” I finished. “Collie, Russ was taking bribes! If I hadn’t gone there, those men would have destroyed the evidence.”

  Collie sat running a fist over his mouth, back and forth. “All right, what exactly is this evidence?” he said finally.

  “Look.” I opened the box’s lid. The scent of tobacco rose up; dozens of cigars in slick cellophane wrappers filled the space. Hidden flush against one side was a slim notebook. I handed it to Collie.

  He took it, his reluctance clear. The notebook was slightly grubby, with a cover of grey card. Collie flipped through. “It’s a date book. So?”

  “Look at the dates!” I shifted next to him on the bed. “Some are marked with a star. Like here.” I pointed at February 3rd. “That’s when Russ lost the Tier One fight that gave Gunnison extradition rights. And here—” I flipped back through time. “November 29th. When they sabotaged my air bottle before I went up, so that I couldn’t fire.”

  “You don’t know—”

  “I do know! My air bottle had a bullet hole that wasn’t charred – what else could that mean? Russ shot it after my plane burned, to make it look like it was damaged in the fight!”

  Collie put the notebook aside. “A date book with a few stars doesn’t prove anything,” he said tightly. “These could be family birthdays for all you know.”

  “Of course they’re not!”

  “You don’t know that.” He took my shoulders. “Amity, listen to me. You are playing with fire. Whoever those men were—”

  “Yes, what about them? Do you really think they were looking for Russ’s innocent little birthday reminders?” I snatched up the notebook and flourished it. “Why would they want this, unless –” I hated the words so much that I almost spat them – “unless Russ was taking bribes, throwing fights, betraying all of us? At first I thought it was just my air bottle, but it was worse than that!”

  I flipped through the pages. Some were back from when Russ had been a Tier Two. “On this date and this one and this one, he lost fights. Three more losses, three more stars.”

  Collie’s expression held reluctance mixed with dawning dread. “Maybe he marked his losses.”

  “With a star? Who would do that?”

  “Fine! But even if you’re right, this won’t prove anything; it could just be enough to get you killed! Russ had to have been shot for a reason—”

  “He wanted more money,” I said. “I think maybe he was threatening to expose everything unless he got it.”

  Collie’s head snapped up; apprehension crossed his face. “How do you know that?”

  “Because there’s more.” I fumbled at the bottom of the cigar box; my fingers found again the tiny catch that I’d discovered last night. A drawer slid open at the box’s base.

  It held newspaper clippings.

  I handed the top one to Collie. Its familiar headline read: Gunnison Wins Extradition Dispute Against Western Seaboard – CS Escapees Now Criminals. What wasn’t familiar was the margin note in Russ’s handwriting: 10K Cs = BULLSHIT!

  The clipping creased in Collie’s grip. “Ten thousand credits,” he murmured hollowly.

  The other clippings were similar: stories of Western Seaboard defeats with scribbled sums on each. I’d always felt a comradeship with Russ because he read the papers like me. But that meant he’d known exactly what his thrown fights had brought about.

  He’d known.

  “The losses are against different countries,” I said finally. “He must have been making deals with all kinds of people. Or illegal gambling, maybe.”

  Betting on the Peacefights was a felony, but people did it; there’d been a big gambling scandal only a few months before. That was just betting, though. For a Peacefighter to throw fights…I couldn’t comprehend it.

  Collie’s jaw was tight as he shoved the clippings back in the drawer. “Why the hell would Russ even save these?”

  “I don’t know; it doesn’t matter.” I gripped his hands. “But don’t you see? This is enough evidence! We can get these results overturned, including the extradition law. Collie…you’ll be safe.”

  For a moment I saw something flicker in his eyes. Then he got up and started pacing. He shoved his hands through his hair.

  “No – no, we’ve got to think this through,” he muttered. “We can’t go off half-cocked.”

  I got up too and stopped him, putting my hands on his chest. “Didn’t you hear me? Once the extradition law’s overturned, you can’t be shipped back to the Central States! Gunnison won’t be able to touch you.”

  “Oh, you are so naïv
e!” Collie gripped my shoulders; I recoiled at his raw anger. “Do you really think it would be that easy? You have no idea what the world is like!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “How did those men get past the guards onto the base, for a start? Somebody had to help them!”

  “Or they snuck in, or deceived someone, or—”

  “Grow up! You are in danger, can’t you grasp that? Did they get a good look at you?”

  I recalled the shadowy, running form. “I…don’t know.”

  “You don’t know,” repeated Collie.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But you don’t know. Amity, there aren’t that many female pilots! If they saw you, it wouldn’t take a genius to track you down.”

  “They won’t! It was dark; I was wearing your jacket. All they saw was someone running, okay?”

  Collie blew out a breath. Still holding my arms, he rested his forehead against mine. Neither of us spoke. I could feel the tension in his hands.

  I stroked his hair. “You’re right to be worried,” I whispered. “If they’d caught me I’d be dead now. But the dangerous part’s over with. I just have to show this stuff to Commander Hendrix – then the fixed fight results will be overturned, and with any luck we’ll win the rematches.” My muscles tightened as I thought of all that would mean: our country solvent again, eastern land rights returned, Collie and the other fugitives safe.

  And a pilot who’d betrayed everything I cared about wouldn’t have gotten away with it.

  Collie’s body was as tense as steel. At last he said, “No…no, don’t go to Hendrix.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Amity, those men murdered Russ to keep him quiet! We don’t know what the hell’s going on or how deep it goes.” He gripped my hands. “Please – don’t tell anyone yet. Let me check it out first and make sure you’ll be safe.”

  I stared. “Check it out how?”

  Collie’s mouth hardened. I saw some sort of mental battle going on. Then he sighed.

  “I have…contacts,” he said.

  The house felt very still around us. Faintly, I could hear the hum of the icebox.

  “You mean the people who helped you get out of the Central States,” I said. Collie nodded.

  I stood motionless. He’d said they were dangerous people, but that some of the ones he’d dealt with had been good guys. Then I recalled the look in Collie’s eyes last night at the dance club, before he’d gone off with Mac…the way he’d paused and touched my face.

  I heard myself say, “Is Mac one?”

  Collie hesitated. “Yes,” he said finally.

  Fear stroked my spine. “What’s wrong? Why did he want to talk to you?”

  “Don’t worry! Everything’s fine.” Collie sat me down on the bed with him. “He just had to tell me about some precautions for the new extradition law. I didn’t expect to see him last night, or for it to take so long. But since we were both there, it saved trying to meet somewhere else.”

  “So ‘How’s Greta?’ is a code?”

  Collie’s wince was all the answer I needed. “Please don’t ask me anything else,” he said softly. “But I trust Mac, okay? He wouldn’t betray me. Just give me a while to check this out, all right?”

  My throat clenched at his expression. “Collie…I can’t. People are being affected. There are lives at stake.”

  “Please.” He touched my cheek; his other hand was a tight fist. “If anything happened to you…”

  “Nothing will happen. I think you’re wrong.” But my voice didn’t come out as strongly as I’d intended.

  Neither of us moved. Collie’s eyes searched mine. And somehow, without even speaking, I knew that I’d just agreed.

  He let out a breath and kissed me. “I’ll take the stuff and hide it at my place,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t want it anywhere near you, in case those men suspect who you were.”

  I swallowed. “No…your house is too risky.” Collie and his roommate had a broken latch on one window that they hadn’t fixed. The base was usually so secure there was no need.

  “Amity—”

  “Don’t worry! I’ll hide it somewhere really safe. I don’t want it to be found any more than you do.”

  Reluctantly, he nodded.

  I took his hand and turned it over. I traced the glyph for Leo at the base of his thumb, following its small, blue-black curves. I thought of Collie’s nightmares, wondering again what he’d been through.

  I closed his fingers over mine. “A few days for you to check it out,” I said. “That’s all.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The army camp stretched for as far as Kay could see: tidy-looking temporary buildings, the gleam of jeeps and tanks in the sun, people moving like ants in all directions. This hot, dusty land was one of the areas “won” from the WS.

  Kay had had a vague idea that she might run into Rita, her childhood friend. Gazing at the reality of a hundred thousand troops, the thought was ludicrous. She turned her attention back to what Chalmers, her guide, was saying:

  “…could be ready to go at three hours’ notice; that’s how crack-trained they are. But of course we need to know exactly where the first stage of the Reclamation will take place. That’s where you come in, I guess.”

  Kay smiled, and tried not to give away that she was frantically scanning the small knot of people near the administrative buildings. A few days ago, Skinner had informed her that her offer to dowse for the best location had been approved. She’d insisted that only one date would be suitable, and had made sure it was when Gunnison was due to inspect the troops.

  There was no sign of him. And she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stall.

  Skinner had been checking some paperwork in the office. As his thin, narrow-shouldered figure rejoined them, Chalmers cleared his throat. “So, Miss Pierce, if you’d like to begin, I’m sure we’d all—”

  Kay gave him a bright-eyed look. “You know, I’d be fascinated to learn how this operation has remained secret. It’s so big.”

  To her relief, Chalmers swelled with pride. “Well, of course this whole area is restricted,” he said. “And we’re in a no-fly zone, so it can’t be spotted from the air. But yes, there have certainly been challenges. For instance—”

  The desert sun was merciless; Kay’s spine felt slick beneath her silk blouse. Skinner grimaced and dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief.

  “Shall we get on with it?” he interrupted.

  She could put it off no longer. Yet without Gunnison to subtly point her towards whatever location he privately favoured, she was lost. Kay slowly started to unsling the leather case that she carried over one shoulder.

  Make up some problem, she thought, trying not to panic. Some reason why I can’t do it today after all—

  The sound of an approaching engine. Kay glanced up and saw a long, dusty black auto arrive. As it halted, a pair of red-and-black Harmony flags on the hood fluttered and went limp.

  The sudden smile Kay shone onto the two men was dazzling. She pressed a hand to her heart. “My goodness! Is that who I think it is?”

  As they approached Gunnison, Kay had a few moments to take him in. A man of average height, solid with muscle, with thick blond hair going grey at the temples. He looked like an ageing farm boy, but wore his suit easily: he stood relaxed, hands in trouser pockets, nodding at something Charles, one of his aides, was saying.

  As they drew near Gunnison saw them; he raised a hand with a smile. “Mal, hello! Be with you in a moment.” His voice was as drawling and resonant as on the telio. He turned back to his aide. “Well, we can’t be having insurrection in the camps. You know what to do.”

  Kay kept her expression cheerful. She managed not to think about severed heads mounted on a chain-link fence, their blackened skin sparkling with frost.

  Charles’s gaze flicked to Kay. “So I have your permission to use…ah, the methods we’ve discussed, sir?”

&nb
sp; “Of course, Chuck.” Gunnison glanced over a document that the aide held out. He grimaced. “Ah, such a shame. But it’s their own fault.” He scribbled a signature.

  “Also, sir, I spoke to Mr Cain about that Western Seaboard matter,” added the aide.

  Gunnison glanced up. “I’m sure Sandy’s already got it under control.”

  The aide nodded tensely. Recalling Sandford Cain’s cold, pale eyes, Kay thought Gunnison was wrong this time: a nickname did not make Cain friendly.

  Finally Gunnison capped his pen and turned again towards Malcolm Skinner and the others. “Mal! How are you?” he said heartily.

  His smile broadened when Skinner introduced Kay. “So this is our dowsing astrologer! Very pleased to meet you, Miss Pierce.” He shook her hand warmly. His grip was broad, strong, like shaking with a friendly bear.

  And to Kay’s surprise, she couldn’t help giving a genuine smile back. The full impact of John Gunnison was like a physical force; his smile was contagious. I have to keep my wits about me, she reminded herself sharply. This man has the power to kill me.

  “The pleasure’s all mine, Mr Gunnison,” she said. “This is such an honour.”

  “Aw, stop it,” he said with a grin. “And what’s this ‘Mr Gunnison’ crap? The only people who call me that don’t like me. Call me Johnny.”

  Kay’s eyes widened. She’d heard that Gunnison often said this to people…but beside her, Skinner looked as if he’d just swallowed a moth. Clearly Gunnison had never offered his first name to him. Divide and conquer?

  Or maybe he just liked her.

  The thought was dizzying in what it could mean for her; apprehension followed. She could not let down her guard.

  “All right…Johnny,” she said. “And please call me Kay.”

  “Deal!” Gunnison clapped her arm and then gazed at her leather case with undisguised curiosity. He rubbed his hands together. “Good stuff, I see that I got here in time. Hey, why don’t you talk us through this thing?”

  And just like that, Kay was in.

  She unslung the leather case from her shoulder and opened it. A long, forked stick lay inside.