by Adam Carter
“Seventeen,” Cassiel repeated, her voice small. “Seventeen that you know of.”
“That we know of,” Lexie said, the horror of the idea seeping in. “You’re saying there could have been more?”
“I think,” Arowana said, “you have a doctor on staff who isn’t quite as scrupulous as he should be. And you have a psychopathic killer in charge of your slaves.”
“I’ll deal with it,” Gardener said in agitation, “once we get home. I’ve told you that.”
“You knew?” Tomoko asked. “You knew about this and you haven’t done anything?”
“Don’t judge me,” he snapped. “I have schedules to keep. We’re behind schedule now. We’re …”
“Forget the schedules, Captain. Did you know about Haskell?”
“No, I didn’t know. How could I have known? I just … very strongly suspected.”
“And you still didn’t do anything.”
Gardener said nothing.
The two crewmembers stared daggers at him sharper than the sword Cassiel was holding. “You don’t need to be a pilot,” Tomoko said to Arowana. “Where do you want us to go?”
“No,” Gardener said. “We have schedules to …”
“Whoa,” Cassiel said, staring through the main window. “Wraith.”
They all looked out to see the massive form of a Carpoan sword-ship hurtling towards them.
“He wouldn’t,” Cassiel said.
“Oh hell,” Arowana said. “I think he would.”
“Evasive actions,” Gardener commanded. “Now!”
The entire command deck rocked as the Glory opened fire, its missiles slicing through the Obsidian just as it had been designed to. The black shape passed as the Glory shot overhead, but immense damage had been done even on its first pass. The lights were flickering on the command deck, several systems were shorting out and there was smoke billowing from a console.
“Open comms,” Arowana commanded. “I need to talk with him.”
“Communications are down,” Lexie reported.
“We have to talk with him,” Cassiel said, watching as Jupiter’s Glory came about for another pass. “We have to tell him to stop.”
As the sword-ship came about for a second run, Cassiel could not help but feel how stupid it was that they had pretty much peacefully taken over the Obsidian, only to have Wraith leap in and spoil it all.
Violence, it seemed, was the only solution for the foolish.
CHAPTER TWELVE
He would have much preferred to be searching for Arowana, but Hawthorn fully accepted that someone had to secure their escape craft. It would do little good to charge in to rescue Arowana only to find their backs to the wall. He could imagine her anger at him that he had thrown away both their lives simply because he had been overcome with emotion. Knowing that Cassiel was out there searching for her relieved some of the pressure, but Cassiel was green and naïve and Hawthorn worried she would get herself killed along the way. Cassiel was desperate to prove herself and he had to trust her to do this, yet at the same time he knew it was beyond her ability.
Rayne was the clincher, of course. Having been handcuffed to her, any decision Hawthorn reached would have to be agreed by Rayne, and she was fiercely loyal to Captain Gardener. Trying to understand that was no longer something Hawthorn considered a priority and he was beginning to think that if these slaves weren’t going to complain about their situation they could just be sold at Malkavia and be happy about it.
“We’re almost there,” he said as they hurried through the corridors.
“You still don’t fancy telling me where we’re going?”
“Not that I don’t trust you, but I think we both know you’re liable to let Captain Gardener in on anything I tell you. Hi,” he said to a crewmember they passed. They had been accosted by only a handful of people, some of them physically so, but Rayne had told them everything was all right. That the two of them were handcuffed together was clearly disturbing for the crewmembers, but once Rayne explained it was the captain who had attached the manacles they left things alone. After all, Rayne was a slave and if the captain chose to bind her wrist to a prisoner that was none of their business.
They rounded the final corridor and Hawthorn opened the door he was after. “There’s nothing in here,” Rayne said, closing the door behind them. “You can’t have hidden your ship in this room.”
“It’s not in the room, it’s through the gossamer.”
“There’s gossamer in here?”
“This is the worst emergency escape route I’ve ever seen.”
“We have emergency escape routes?”
Hawthorn hoped she was joking, for if the captain had not bothered to tell his slaves about the escape routes that made him the worst kind of individual. It was possible, of course, that Gardener himself did not even know of them all. It probably came from tucking them away in poky little rooms.
Hawthorn moved over to the gossamer and reached in to retrieve the two spacesuits. No one had touched them, no one had likely been in the room at all since Hawthorn and Cassiel had left. It occurred to him then that they should have brought some spares, but they would make do. Once Cassiel returned with Arowana, they could take turns in going to the escape craft. Hawthorn could go with Cassiel, then bring the empty suit back for Arowana. If Rayne wanted to come with them she was welcome to do so, but he doubted she would be willing to make that choice; nor was he going to force her.
“I get it now,” Rayne said. “Your craft’s through that tube, which is an emergency escape leading outside, and those spacesuits are what allow you to walk to it.”
“Yep. Now all we have to do is defend this room from Gardener so that when Cassiel arrives with Iris we can all get out of here.”
“All?”
He wasn’t going to ask, but since she had brought it up he thought it would at least kill time. “Coming with us?”
“Gordon, you seriously don’t get me at all.”
He decided at last to give up.
Someone knocked on the door. It was such an unexpected thing that neither of them quite knew how to react. They looked to the door, looked to one another, then back to the door.
The knock sounded again.
“What do we do?” Rayne whispered.
“I don’t know,” Hawthorn whispered back. “Why would someone be knocking on this door? It’s not a private room or anything.”
“Maybe they’re just being polite.”
The knock came a third time.
Without any better idea, Hawthorn called out, “Come in.”
After ten seconds of silence he decided whoever it was had gone away.
“Well that was weird,” he said.
“I wonder who it could have been.”
“I’ll check. Stay here.”
Rayne jangled the handcuffs. “Chained together, Gordon. Sort of difficult to stay here.”
“Then hang back and be quiet.”
Hawthorn crept to the door and inched it open. There was no sign of anyone about, no one had left a present or anything, and he began to think that perhaps someone was just going round knocking on all the doors to see whether anyone answered. That whoever it was had knocked three times was confusing, and as Hawthorn stepped fully into the corridor and looked both ways he wondered what was going on.
“Maybe we should go back inside,” Rayne said, although she was hanging around inside already, only her arm in the corridor. She looked more nervous than Hawthorn felt, and this was her ship.
“Sure,” he said and moved back inside with her.
Her eyes widened. “Gordon, look out!”
Something struck him from behind before he could react. He was shocked more than hurt, but as he fell into the room he dragged Rayne down with him, yanking hard upon her cuffed wrist. Something heavy landed atop his back, which told him whatever was attacking him was not hitting him with a weapon but was physically barrelling into him from behind.
As his brain
caught up to his senses he rolled onto his back to confront his attacker, but rolled the wrong way and succeeded only in dragging Rayne down atop him again.
Victoria Haskell seized the opportunity to land a punch directly into his jaw.
Hawthorn had been punched before, but the strength and ferocity behind this blow was staggering. His brain swam with confusion and pain and he was only vaguely aware of something tugging at his arm and the fact Rayne was screaming.
That snapped him back to some semblance of sense and he saw Haskell had pinned Rayne to the floor with one hand about her throat, while she brought her other fist down again and again into her chest. Hawthorn reacted on instinct, grasping out at Haskell and managing to grab her wrist before her fist could descend again. Haskell scowled at him, as though he was the one doing something especially repugnant, and threw herself sideways, shaking out of Hawthorn’s limp grip and moving herself away from Rayne at the same time.
“Seems you don’t discriminate in the women you want to save,” Haskell said.
“Seems you don’t discriminate in the women you want to hurt.”
“I only hurt the pretty ones.”
“Where’s Iris?”
“Looks to me like you’ve traded her in for a younger model.”
Hawthorn got to his feet, helping Rayne to hers. The young woman was gasping, holding her chest as she fought to breathe, and Hawthorn wished they were not bound together so he could better protect her.
“Iris,” Hawthorn said. “Where is she?”
“Are you ever going to stop obsessing about that woman? She was fun, I’ll grant you that, but I’ll be honest I’ve had better.”
Hawthorn lunged at her, but Haskell was ready for him. She caught his swinging fist and twisted, wrenching his wrist, and kicked him in the shin in the same instant. Hawthorn instinctively swung with his other fist, and Rayne yelped as he all he succeeded in doing was flinging her into Haskell.
Haskell laughed, grabbed Rayne by both shoulders and brought her knee up savagely into the young woman’s belly.
Rayne vomited, a spray of blood mixed in with the fluid, and collapsed, almost dragging Hawthorn down with her.
Haskell seized the opportunity and punched out at Hawthorn again, who barely managed to block the blow. It was the most infuriating, bizarre fight he had ever been in, and he could not believe he was losing it so badly. Haskell was strong, ferocious and had received physical training from somewhere. She also understood far too many aspects of psychological combat for Hawthorn to easily defeat her, plus she was taking advantage of the main thing which was holding Hawthorn back. It was not simply the handcuffs, but his desire to protect Rayne; and Haskell had identified that before she had even walked through the door.
The room shook violently and Hawthorn stumbled. By Haskell’s surprised expression he guessed it had nothing to do with her. Using the unexpected motion to his advantage, Hawthorn lunged for her, but Haskell had already anticipated his attack. Dropping, she shouldered him in the chest just as the room shook again. Hawthorn lost his balance and fell against the wall, cracking his head, Rayne sprawled across him once more.
Fighting to get back to his feet while at the same time being careful not to hurt Rayne, Hawthorn found Haskell was gone. He staggered to the door and opened it wide, but there was no sign of her.
Behind him, Rayne was gasping in pain. Her face was pale and there was blood about her lips. She was clutching her chest where Haskell had pummelled her but Hawthorn knew nothing of doctoring so even if he examined her he would not have been able to do anything. A cold compress, or maybe a heat patch – he didn’t even know which would be better for her out of those.
“I’m fine,” she wheezed. “Where’d she go?”
“I have no idea.”
“Why’s the Obsidian shaking about so much?”
“No idea about that, either.” Then he noticed something. When he had retrieved the spacesuits from the tunnel beyond the gossamer he had left them in a heap in the corner. One of them was missing. “She’s gone up the shaft. She’s trying to steal our ship. That’s why she followed us all this way.”
“You have to go after her.”
Hawthorn picked up the remaining suit, but stopped. There was no way he could get the thing on while still attached to Rayne, and short of cutting off her hand there was no way he could part them.
“Ah,” Rayne said. “Problem.”
Hawthorn dropped the suit and stuck his head through the gossamer barrier to peer up the shaft. He could see Haskell – wearing a spacesuit and already a quarter way up the shaft – but was powerless to do anything to stop her. Even if he tried to climb after her, it would be next to impossible while handcuffed.
There was nothing he could do but let her go.
The Obsidian shook a third time and Hawthorn decided they really should try to figure out what was going on.
“We need to get to the command deck,” he said. “I think we’re under attack and Captain Gardener could probably do with all the help he can get.”
“First thing we’ve agreed on in quite some time.”
They started for the door but Rayne stumbled under her pain and fell into him. He caught her and placed a protective arm about her. “You want me to carry you?”
“No. Just … hold me steady.”
He knew it had cost her a great deal just to ask that much of him so he complied. They would make good time to the command deck and along the way Hawthorn would make sure that, no matter how many further quakes shuddered through the Obsidian, he would never allow her to fall.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Carla Rayne would have been fun, but Haskell had not had the time to stay with her. She had had her eye on young Miss Rayne for some time now, ever since Captain Gardener had bought her, but had not thought she would ever have been able to do anything with her. The problem with Rayne was that the captain had personally selected her, due to her impressive qualifications, which meant the girl could not simply disappear one day. Over her time on board the Obsidian, Haskell had made a fair few people disappear and none of them had ever been missed. With so many slaves dying of radiation sickness lately, Haskell had been able to take pretty much whomever she pleased, and once the infection had spread to the crew she had been overjoyed, for this was her opportunity to sink her teeth into young Miss Rayne.
Of course, handcuffing her to Hawthorn had ruined everything, and there was a part of Haskell which believed the captain had only done such a thing because he had known it was the best way to make sure Rayne was well looked after. Still, they were Haskell’s handcuffs, so she was the only one who possessed the key.
She had suspected for a while now that Gardener was onto her, but the man was so obsessed with schedules he likely thought he would have to arrange an appointment to fit in her disciplinary.
Haskell had for a while now been thinking of jumping ship, for she knew Gardener would eventually hand her over to the authorities. None of the bodies were ever discovered, Haskell made sure of that, yet it was only a matter of time before she was caught. That was why Arowana and Hawthorn had been so exciting for her, for they had clearly come from somewhere they were not willing to say, and were engaging in illegal activity in their attempt to free all the slaves. If Haskell could therefore make her way to their vessel, wherever it was, she could start a whole new life for herself.
There was one thing, of course, which Arowana did not know about, and that was the reason why she had asked her so few questions. The answer was simple: when Haskell had first taken Arowana, she had injected her with what could crudely be termed a truth serum. Haskell had bought a great quantity of the serum in order to use it on all her victims. It enabled her to discover whether anyone knew they were there, who would miss them and how best to get rid of them. Injecting Arowana had provided much more information than that, however. From the injection, Haskell had learned Iris’s full name and the names of her crew. She had learned their vessel was a Carpoan sw
ord-ship called Jupiter’s Glory and that it was poorly manned. There were presently only three people aboard, and Haskell had everything planned out. It was a plan which would culminate with her having someone entirely new to play with: a game which she would draw out for a long, long time.
The sword-ship came into sight, flashes from its missile turrets indicating where it was still firing shots into the Obsidian. The slaver vessel had suffered badly, with huge sections on fire, but Haskell could not believe the pilot of the Glory would be trying to destroy the entire thing. They were attacks designed to make Captain Gardener realise he was fighting someone who meant business, which meant soon enough the Glory’s pilot would stop shooting.
She watched as the sword-ship came around for another pass. It was strange, watching space combat, because it was so slow, like two whales rounding on each other. Everything about spaceflight was slow, from blasting off to the actual journey itself, and combat was no different. Space was, in essence, a fairly boring place, but it was also vast, empty and airless.
And it was a place where no one could hear you scream, which was a phrase Haskell had used to her advantage on so many occasions.
The controls of Hawthorn’s small craft were unfamiliar to Haskell, but she had mastered them within but a few minutes and was on a direct course for the sword-ship. She flashed her lights to make sure the pilot could see her and was not surprised when a voice came back over her console.
“Gordon, you all right? What’s going on over there?”
Haskell did not reply.
“Gordon, seriously, can you hear me? Are you damaged?”
She flashed her lights.
“Can I take that as a yes?”
She flashed again.
“All right,” the voice said. “Dock and I’ll have Wyatt meet you. I need to know what’s going on over there.”
She flashed her lights a final time and headed for the docking area of the great sword-ship. It loomed magnificently before her, a mighty testimony to war, and Haskell was already working out how much fun she was going to have for the rest of her life.
