Zero

by J. S. Collyer

  Shakily, he got to his feet and closed his eyes. He tried to pretend the gusting air was actually the breeze off the loch. His brain did somersaults when he tried to decide whether it was a second or a first chance he had been offered, but either way it was a chance. He thought of the little hut by the water and the boat and the taste of real fish.

  “Hey,” a shout cut through the hum and clank of machinery and Webb started and blinked round. A man was coming towards him, face grimed with oil, waving a spanner. “Who are you? You shouldn't be here... hey!”

  He ignored the shouts fading to nothingness behind him and wove this way and that amongst the maintenance tunnels, staggering occasionally until he found somewhere dark he could curl up in. Now he had made up his mind the pain and the anger and the confusion ebbed to a dullness in the back of his awareness, to be replaced by everything else: gnawing hunger, sore limbs and stinging from the cuts and bruises where he'd staggered into things and cut his hair and a thirst so strong it felt like he was being turned inside out.

  But he could deal with all that when he had the strength to move. Right now it was enough just to be still, inside and out. He breathed more steadily and let everything go black.

  ɵ

  Another mouthful of the oily coffee helped Webb bring the screen into focus. The fact that the display was warped was doing nothing to help his headache. But he roped in his concentration, determined he could pull together enough fake credit to get him started without Rami recognising the pattern.

  He pushed away any further thoughts of Rami and bent to his task. He could feel the café owner's eyes boring into his the back of his head and kept his movements as smooth as possible. He blinked a few more times to be sure he had done it then got up from the workstation with what he hoped wasn't too obvious a stagger and turned his grin on the owner.

  “Thanks, buddy,” he said, keying the account codes into the panel he handed him. “Don't suppose I could use your bathroom?”

  The owner jerked his head at a door in the corner and Webb moved through, the coffee roiling in his stomach but providing some welcome heat and substance.

  He looked in the mirror and flinched. The owner probably thought he was drug-addled at the very least. He washed his face, cupping handfuls over his shorn hair to rinse away the dirt and dried blood as best he could. When he looked back he looked slightly less grungy though the last few... whatever it had been... days?... had left dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks were sunken and pale. He almost didn't recognise himself. Almost.

  He shook his head, then moved back out through the coffee bar, snagging a pastry off the counter whilst the owner was distracted. The day cycle was already halfway through. He looked back and forth down the street to get his bearings, forcing himself to eat the pastry slowly.

  Now he just had to find a ship running to Earth and barter a place without leaving a trail. It would have been a piece of cake for Webb, but with the fatigue that gnawed him right to the soul and lack of food and sleep, it was taking a great effort of will just to make sure he avoided the parts of the sector where he was likely to be recognised.

  He steered away from the trading streets and headed towards Aurora, the nearest megablock and one he hadn't been to in years... the former him anyway.

  The express lift ascended on the outside of the structure and the whole of the sector was laid out in front of him. He swallowed when he saw Houston Block against the backdrop of the steely colony horizon. He told himself not to react... those memories weren't his.

  Webb wandered around Aurora’s spacer level, swallowing some noodles from a vendor on the food court, trying to figure out which crews would be dishonest enough to smuggle him to Earth but not dishonest enough to want to cash in on one of his, probably by now, numerous contracts.

  As he finished the noodles and downed a third cup of water from a fountain he began to feel more in control. It was all still there, seething just below his belly like a pit of snakes, but he controlled it, picking carefully through his brain for just what he needed and refusing to look any deeper.

  After asking a few guarded questions of a few even more guarded company frontmen in the Earth-runner quarter, he heard of a new company that did runs to Old Europe. A little more digging turned up that they hadn't been around long enough to want to try anything too daring that might cut into more established runners' turf, but stretched to skimming through an occasional illegal immigrant to make ends meet.

  He got to the right level and wove through the corridors until he found the booth. It was small, nestled between a bar and... another bar... across from a few booths' worth of boarding pods. All the letters were lit up in the sign and a glimpse into the dark interior revealed a plain servicing desk with displays on the walls reeling prices, routes, ship capacities and timetables. It was empty.

  He wandered in, allowing his instincts to rise to the surface just enough to judge how closely he was being watched, but the only camera he could see looked old and broken.

  He stepped up to the counter just as the door behind it swung open and Kinjo stepped out. The smile fled from her face like it had been tugged off with wire. She stood and stared and he tried to untangle his tongue or find the strength to turn and leave but managed neither.

  “You...” she said.

  “Sort of,” he said before he could stop himself. She stiffened. “Sorry,” he said with a weak laugh. “I'm sorry. I'll go.”

  “No,” she said, looking up from the floor. She looked him up and down then right in the eyes. She paused a moment longer then said again, “No. Don't go.”

  They stared at each other for longer than was comfortable. “I'm sorry, Iena,” he said eventually, from a different place inside him. “This is all a bit fucked up, huh?”

  “So you know?”

  He nodded, running a hand over his untidy mess of cropped hair. “Yeah. Yeah I know.”

  “What happened to you?”

  He shook his head. “Oh, went to hell and back.”

  “Do you have to talk like him?” she snapped. Her eyes widened. “Sorry,” she said, putting a hand to her forehead. “I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. I'm not angry with you.”

  “I just happen to be the closest approximation to who you are angry with,” he said again, trying another grin.

  This time she smiled a thin smile. “Something like that. So you ditched the Zero, then?”

  Webb attempted to ignore the flare of pain this sparked in his chest. “I guess so. Though does it count as ditching if you never really belonged there?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe not.”

  “So this is where you ended up, huh?” Webb said, glancing around the booth. “Not bad for Lunar 1, I guess.”

  “Better than Haven,” she said.

  “Aye,” Webb muttered. “Look, Kinjo. I want to get to Earth. I'm going to disappear. It's best for everyone.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “Old Europe,” Webb hedged, watching her closely.

  She started tapping some things into a panel in the counter. “Well, you're in luck. We've got a run scheduled...” She paused, glaring at the panel, her hand over it, frozen. “I... I think I owe you an apology.”

  He came forward and, ignoring the part of him that told him it was a bad idea, took her hand in his. She stared at it. “We're both sorry. But I think I'm more sorry. I'll find another runner -”

  “No,” she raised her head and looked at him with steady eyes. “No... look... it's just. Damn it this is just too... I don't know.”

  “Don't beat yourself up. I don't think there is any established etiquette for how to converse with a clone of your dead crewmate.”

  She looked so pained for a moment that the regret swamped him. “I guess not.”

  “I'll go,” he said.

  “No, wait...” she floundered. “How about a drink?”

  He blinked at her. “A drink?”

  “Yes, you know,” she said. “Liquid, preferably with alcohol, that you
put in your mouth and swallow?”

  He smiled. “Yes, yes, Kinjo. It's just... is that a good idea?”

  She let the corner of her mouth twitch. “I think I can handle it. If you can?”

  “Okay. Sure. I’d like that.”

  Kinjo nodded. “I'll meet you in Armstrong's next door. Just give me a minute to close up.”

  When he was sat sipping at a bottled beer, glancing around the grimy hole that was Armstrong's, he wondered whether he'd made a massive mistake. But the place was next to empty and was so dimly lit that even if someone else came in he doubted they'd be able to recognise him. Kinjo came in and tapped her order into the bar without speaking. A panel slid aside and she grabbed her beer but then just sat on her stool, pulling at the label.

  “I don't want to say I told you so…” Webb said when she still hadn't said anything.

  “I felt like we should talk,” she murmured, still staring at her drink.

  “I don't know if I'm going to be able to tell you anything that will make you feel any better.”

  She closed her eyes a moment but then opened them and looked at him.

  “Except,” he continued after pushing down memories of Kinjo as a little girl, bruised and terrified, clinging to his leg and begging him to take her with him. “I can tell you that he loved you. He cared for you. If he knew he'd hurt you-”

  “I know,” she cut him off, swallowing a mouthful of beer. “I already know all that, I think. But you're right. It doesn't make it any better.”

  “Do you think...” he began, looking at his bottle and not at her. “Do you think we might just possibly be the two most shat-upon fuckers in this whole fucked-up Orbit?”

  She gave another weak smile. “I think we're close contenders, at least.”

  He nodded, drank again. “Iena -”

  “Don't,” she said, a little firmer, looking over her shoulder. “Don't say any more. I wanted to come here to get a chance to say I'm sorry. Properly.”

  “You don't need to be sorry.”

  “Yes I do.”

  He frowned. She was glaring at him, knuckles white around the drink, eyes shining and lips thin.

  “What's going on??”

  “You aren't Webb. You can't carry on pretending you are.”

  “I'm not... I'm not pretending,” he said. “I'm trying, Christ, I'm trying, to untangle myself from him... but everything I know and think and remember is-”

  “Stolen.”

  He blinked at her, feeling coldness wash up under his stomach. She stood, leaving her beer on the bar. Webb looked over her shoulder to see two large men in suits stood in the door. They scanned the empty bar then walked over. Kinjo backed away, not looking at him.

  “Has the credit been transferred?” she said as they took up position between him and the door.

  “Is this definitely it?” one of the men said, eyeing Webb suspiciously.

  “It is.”

  The first man nodded to the second and he pulled a panel from his pocket and tapped a few keys. “Then it's done.”

  Kinjo nodded, threw him one glance that struck him like a blow and left. The bigger of the two men pulled out a gun and let it dangle at his side. “Now. We can do this the easy way or the even easier way.”

  ɵ

  “Are you sure that's him? I never saw the Ezekiel I remember in such a state.”

  “You never saw him brought back from the dead just to be fucked over.”

  Evangeline came forward with a wrinkled nose. “Well it certainly sounds like him.”

  “The girl said it was,” one of the men said, shoving him further into the room.

  “And she would know,” said Evangeline in a soft voice. “My dear, what on earth have you done to yourself?”

  Webb glowered at her.

  “It is all a great shame, really,” she continued with a sigh. “I was rather fond of him, you know.”

  “So you know everything?”

  “Oh yes, darling, I know. One of the few who do, I suspect. Most people he knew haven't a clue he's even gone. Tragic, really, when you think about it. How did it happen?”

  Webb ground his teeth, heat pulsing behind his eyes. He tested the binders again but they didn't budge.

  Evangeline shook her head and turned to a black marble bar in the corner of her office. “But yes for the record I do think this is a miserable business. But one can't be too choosy. A girl's got to eat, you know. And after that little snafu with your crew... sorry,” she smiled. “Webb's crew and the Splinters' warehouse... well, darling, that left me in a bit of a spot. Have to make amends somehow.”

  “It's the same people who recruited the Splinters that are looking for me?”

  Evangeline arched an eyebrow, dropping a slice of lemon into her clear drink. “Come, come, my love. I thought you were clever.”

  “Who?”

  A slow smile spread across her mouth. She stirred her drink with a black cocktail stick and paced forward, pale eyes measuring him. “You really do remember everything he does, then? How curious. I'm almost sorry I've got to give you up. It's all rather fascinating, don't you think?”

  Webb spat on the floor at her feet. The men grabbed him and slammed him against the wall. Evangeline took a sip of her drink then shook her head.

  “Dear, dear. And you used to have such charm. Still, I can't say I wouldn't be upset too. I've seen all I need to. Lock him in the small conference room and let our contact know they can pick him up at their earliest convenience. And whilst you're at it,” she called as the men started to hustle him towards the door. “Remind them that this is us square. I do not take kindly to the way they have handled this matter.”

  She turned her back and he was manhandled out of the room and down the corridor. They went through a door and another and then he was bundled into a room so bright it made his head ache. There was a table and chairs, a wall display and a camera. They locked the door behind him.

  Dizziness overtook him and he sat down heavily on the floor. He sat with his forehead pressed to his knees, not even able to summon the will to have a look at the door lock. There was the sound of someone coming in and something being put on the table but he didn't raise his head until they'd gone.

  He made himself get up. There was a tumbler of water, a hard biscuit and a couple of ration bars on the table. He made himself eat slowly, fumbling a little because of his bound hands and sipped the water. He felt his head clear and his insides stop aching. He stole glances at the camera as he ate and his fingers itched for a multitool.

  Swallowing the last mouthful he wandered to the wall and turned away from the camera, pretending to examine a digiprint of a starscape. He took a deep breath then folded his thumb in until it strained against its joint and pulled, taking care to try and not let the exertion show across his back. The tendons in his wrist and hand screamed and the skin split but the blood helped slick his wrist. He twisted it a little, biting down on the inside of his cheek and with a jerk he nearly didn't manage to disguise, his right hand slipped free. After taking a second to breathe through the pain of his thumb slipping back into place, he wandered to the corner furthest away from the camera and slumped to the floor with his hands in his lap and his forehead on his knees. He kept still enough to look like he'd fallen asleep but sat and listened, his breathing shallow.

  He needn't have strained his hearing. The heavy boots of the approaching spacers could be heard well before they opened the door.

  “That's it?” someone grunted. “Jesus what a pathetic sack of shit. They've got their work cut out for them, that's for sure.”

  “Alright you,” a woman's voice commanded, and then he felt the muzzle of a gun poking him in the shoulder. “Up you get.”

  Webb leapt to his feet and wrenched the gun from the woman before she even had time to swear, then kicked her feet from under her and fired at the second mercenary. But his aim was sloppy and the man ducked out the way. Webb ran for the door. One of Evangeline's hulking bodyguards w
as in the room beyond but Webb managed to duck under his grasp and then was pelting down the corridor.

  Shouts and swearing clamoured after him. He wove down the corridors, finding a metal stairway down to the lounge of the Seven Sisters. He burst out a door behind the bar, someone nearby shattering a glass as he vaulted over it and made for the exit.

  He was so focused on the open doors that he didn't see the second of Evangeline's guards stood in the shadows until it was too late. He tried to skitter to the side but tripped and the man brought him down and pinned him to the floor. The wind was knocked right out of him and spots danced before his eyes. More hands grabbed at him and he kicked and punched and scratched, blind and furious, but there were too many and he was too dizzy and someone landed a blow on his temple that sent him reeling.

  When he came to, head pounding, he was being shoved into the back of a large flyer with the mercenaries, each with a gun ready.

  “Don't even fucking think it,” the man hissed, seeing him coming back to himself. This time his hands were bound behind him and it was all he could do just to stay upright.

  When his vision had stopped swimming he tried to get a closer look at his captors, but nothing about their clothes, faces or flyer gave him any sort of clue of who they might be. He peered out the window but his head hurt too much to make sense of their direction..

  He must have passed out again because the next thing he was aware of was the clunk of the flyer engine shutting down and being manhandled out the door. He blinked up and around the huge hold he was in, packed with flyers, fighters and cargo. Crewmen and technicians watched them as they passed and their heavy gazes sent a finger of fear crawling up his spine.

  He was forced out of the hold and down a corridor, though his escort had to support him as he struggled to get his feet under him, cursing and shaking him as they did.

  “You do that all you want,” he mumbled at their feet. “But I'm telling you now, when I hurl it's going on your shoes.”