Fortune's Detour: Prequel of the Deka Series by Abigail Schwaig

by Abigail Schwaig

“Affirmative.”

  “Nicki! Really?”

  I could barely suppress a chuckle. He sounded so annoyed.

  “This is completely against protocol. I need you to get back inside the house- you are at the corner of the apartment, correct?”

  “Nope. I’m walking along the crowded street. I like the exercise.” I was breezy.

  “What’s wrong? You aren’t doing this to mess with me; I know that much.”

  “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” I swung the hair out of my face. “I

  want to pay a little visit to David.”

  “What.” His voice was dark and flat.

  “I want to see Dav-”

  “No.” His tone was crisp, authoritative.

  “There is nothing you can do about it, Sam. I’m going whether you want to hear my plan or not.”

  He calmed down quickly. “Don’t do this to me just because of that whole ‘Formists protect their fellow man’ manifesto literature I unwittingly put in your head…”

  “No, Sam. It really isn’t about that, although I think that’s an important thing to do. The thing is; I just want my freedom. I feel like the criminal. I’m not allowed out into the shine, like I’m some kind of pariah. I’m not allowed to contact my friends, I can’t take a walk in the park for fear of being spotted, I can’t even call my mom to tell her I’m safe… I’m the one in prison for the cartel’s crimes. And I’m not doing time anymore.” I took a breath.

  Sam’s side of the conversation was ripe, like he was dying to jump in and say something.

  “I’ve decided to confront David and let the chips fall where they may. Either you talk me through it or I go it alone.”

  He sighed. “Please, Natalie.”

  “That’s the whole point, Sam!” I was borderline hysterical. “I’m not Natalie any more- I haven’t been her for a long time! And that’s why it’s taken me so long to do anything. I’ve been paralyzed by indecision and confusion. I couldn’t fathom the person I was supposed to be, but now I know. I know Sam. You know how you know? Like you feel it straight through your whole body and it settles down somewhere inside your gut and it’s just right.”

  “I know; I know exactly…” He sounded ragged, beaten.

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “You really do?”

  “What do you think inspired me to become a proclaimer? Remember that calling I mentioned?”

  “About Formists?”

  “Yeah. Well, it sounds like you’ve just been called.”

  I could hear him ruffling his hair.

  He spoke so low it was almost a whisper. “I just don’t want you to make a decision that you’ll regret.”

  Like you did? I paused, biting my tongue. “I am a person. I am worthy of experiencing my own journey. And I have something that I want to share with the world- my soul. I don’t know what it will look like and I don’t know how I’ll manage it, only that I cannot be the human that I aspire to be unless I help take David and his cartel down. But here, literally hiding from everything in life, how can I do any good at all? How can I make a difference?”

  Silence.

  “Sam?” I cried, covering my face.

  “I’m here.” His response was quick.

  “I…” I couldn’t continue, hiccupping.

  “I know.” He sounded tired; resigned. “I know what you’re feeling.”

  There was another pause.

  “Since we’re friends, will you do something for me?”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  Slight pause- “I need you to finish your walk and go back to the safe house. Stay inside and don’t go to work tomorrow. I’ll talk to Tom and get it squared away. I’m coming over there. I’ll be there tomorrow morning, early.” He was stern, but let up at the end. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” I murmured.

  “Say it.”

  “I trust you, Sam Marshal.” I felt breathless saying those words. I truly did trust him. With everything.

  He was satisfied. “Will you stay inside the safe house until I get there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Yes, Sam. I promise.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll see you soon.” He let out a long sigh.

  “Ok.”

  “Be safe.”

  “I will.”

  “Alright. Bye.”

  He clicked off.

  “Bye,” I whispered to the dead line.

  ~

  4811/14/1/7

  He walked in at 4 bells, while it was still dark (Cornish time- no idea what the number system denoted it was in World City), took one exhausted look at me and said, “We will talk. But first I need sleep.” And then proceeded to slump into the couch. He was dead to the universe in a moment. I smiled. I fished around in Tom’s under stocked linen cabinet and found a spare blanket that smelled old but seemed clean. I draped it over Sam and pulled his shoes off, tucking in the edges around his socked feet, resisting the urge to ascertain whether he was ticklish or not. He fidgeted slightly, cracking an eye. “You’re not going to go and leave while I’m passed out- when I’ve shuttled all across space and several time zones just to hear your idea?”

  I grinned. That would actually have been a good idea if I wanted to continue in my loner endeavor, but I couldn’t do that to him. Not after the stunt that his previous witness, the girl, had pulled. I respected him too much. Plus he probably had a better idea than I could come up with. “I promise I’ll stick around,” I teased, rolling my eyes.

  He nodded, not so much satisfied as resigned.

  “Though you might wish I hadn’t, once you hear what I have in mind,” I murmured significantly.

  He smirked, half-closing his eyes. “You better not have a ridiculous hare-brained scheme cooking in that,” he paused, then adjusted his shoulder into the cushions, “head of yours”.

  “It’s actually pretty simple,” I said regretfully, wondering if it was too simple.

  “Simpler the better,” he mumbled, eyes drooping shut.

  ~

  Some hours later in the kitchen, I was puttering around, trying not to make any noise. Morning had broken and I was in socked feet to keep the disturbance to a minimum. I knew Tom would be at work by now, but one look at the sofa in the communal living space told me everything I needed to know. A shock of brown hair stood up from under the light blue blanket I dug out of the closet for Sam last night. I had smiled and tiptoed my way into the kitchen, where I was leaning against the counter and staring at the white curtains that blocked the view of the street. I was lost in the folds of pale fabric when his step registered in my brain.

  ~

  “I know you’re going to do whatever the hell you want,” he stated, one hand on his holstered hip.

  I grinned, looking up from my hot mug of plain water. I was still unable to acquire a taste for Tom’s gasoline-aerated morning caffeine kick.

  He leaned against the doorjamb. “But,” and he sighed, “I just want to put down for the record the intense rigor of my disapproval...” He gave me a look until I nodded in acknowledgement. He looked somewhat placated, though I knew it was nowhere near enough to truly soothe his protectively neurotic streak.

  I smiled, more than a little distracted. His hair was ruffled and sticking out all over the place like scraggly tufts of grass on beach dunes. His shirt was only slightly wrinkled, due to his lanky, stretched-out way of sleeping I presumed.

  “-though it just might work in this case,” he finished.

  Whoops. How do I figure out what he was saying without giving myself away? “Why are you giving in?”

  “Because.” He looked at the ceiling. “I see the sense in what you’re thinking. David isn’t the typical drug seller. He has a past, a real rough childhood, and he didn’t get to be the adopted son of this kingpin for nothing. He’s probably more embroiled than any of us realize. I think you could be the catalyst for bringing the house down
around their ears, Nicki. David didn’t get to finish what was started between the two of you. He’ll want to clean up his mess.”

  I shivered. I didn’t like the sound of that.

  “That either means he’ll try to kill you or he’ll try to keep you with him for good. Understand what I’m saying? Either way he claims you.” He raked his fingers through the dark thicket on top of his head and shoved his hair back against his skull. It wasn’t working.

  I stifled a snicker. This was a serious discussion and here I was, staring at his hair.

  “I honestly don’t know which possibility we should be more worried about!” Sam continued, his hands halfway in his pockets, with thumbs threaded through the belt loops. His stance was that of a motorcycle rider at a stoplight.

  I tried not to capture his every detail into memory. I nodded vaguely and gestured, while forcing myself to stare into my mug. I didn’t even hear his next question; I was too busy trying to stop grinning like a krivving idiot.

  “Nicki- I asked you a question.”

  I looked up into his face, feeling ridiculous. This was why I was not a peacekeeper. Way too easily distracted… I could have blushed right there on the spot, but his graveness chased the heat out of my face.

  He repeated himself, “Do you understand what this means for you?”

  I nodded seriously. “I do.” I winced. My word choice was absolutely atrocious. I clenched my teeth behind closed lips.

  “Alright then.” Another hand raked through the untamable mop.

  If he noticed my slip-up, he didn’t mention it. I almost wished he would. This constant hedging about my feelings for him had become wearisome.

  “Let’s do this,” he met my gaze.

  I couldn’t agree more. I was ready.

  ~

  Later that day, Sam made a few calls. He had to time them absolutely right, because of the Doorways- they had to be open as he sent a message to his associates on Tera.

  We’d know soon if we would be getting help.

  I paced up and down in front of the fireplace, chewing my longest fingernail.

  Sam sat on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped and resting on his upper lip as he stared straight ahead into the black maw of the fireplace. The blanket, folded neatly to his side had been arranged hours ago.

  Stress affected Sam into hyper-neuroses of cleanliness. I was surprised to find out Sam was a neat freak. An immaculate badass.

  I snorted at the thought, but managed to hold in the hysterical, lone titter. Stress made me bite my nails and prone to giggle fits.

  All of a sudden his Comms bleated. I jumped; he reached out like a shot and snatched it open. “Sam here.”

  I watched, holding my breath, a fingernail clenched between my teeth.

  His expression heightened. He stood up to his full stature, impressively carrying himself a good six centimeters taller than me. “Are you positive about that?” He fidgeted, like he wanted to pace but forgot he had the space to accommodate it.

  I stared; trying not to eavesdrop or squirm. It didn’t work.

  Drawn to my movement; he glanced at me and I tried to catch the glint in his eye. He shook his head at me and looked away, concentrating on the other voice on the line.

  I bobbed from one foot to the other, trying to maintain composure. What was the guy saying?!!

  It seemed to take forever, but finally Sam was off the Comms. He just stood there, his hands at his sides.

  I stared at him, willing my tongue to stay firmly clamped between my teeth.

  “It’s a go.” He said simply, empty.

  ~

  I stood on tiptoe, lifting the chain over his head as he ducked into it, arranging it around his neck. I gave him my half, the Myceania Shores symbol, because I wanted to feel connected to him somehow. We stood rather close. I placed my hands on his chest, smoothing the wrinkles of his shirt with my body warmth.

  “Nicki, it isn’t too late.” He didn’t push me away.

  “No, Sam. I’m ready.” I could feel his heartbeat, through the shirt. It really was too late, for me. I wasn’t kidding myself about the danger; I knew the risks involved and I had already made my peace about it. “It sounds like a great draw-out plan. Being the bait is kind of… cool.” I was okay. Really.

  He was agitated, looking at me like I was a liar. Well, maybe I was. Just a tiny bit.

  “You’re going to be fine- I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “I know.” I tried to smile, smoothing the chain underneath his shirt. I patted his shoulder, trying to explain how much his words meant to me. “Thank you, Sam. For everything.”

  The truth was, no matter how optimistic I acted for his benefit, I expected to die. I had stayed up late the night before, writing letters to my friends and family, letting them know one last time how much I loved them. How much I missed them.

  It was all I could do.

  ~

  4811/14/1/8

  Sam decided to take the long route to Myceania, saying it was for security reasons.

  Liar.

  We both knew what it was for. More time keeping me alive. His favorite witness was dangling herself like a bucket of chum in the dark, creature-deep water of Myceania’s ocean.

  “Sam?”

  “Hmm?” He looked up from the news tube he was unrolling. The shuttle was enduring her last check points before we launched off of Hecta.

  “Since I have officially tipped the scale toward “risky behavior”, does that mean that I’m no longer your favorite witness?” I was trying to make a joke, but it came out a little more serious than that. I cringed. So much for keeping it light. I swung my feet, for once failing to look like a spacer.

  A strange expression fused into his face. His voice dropped several levels; he seemed annoyed at the question. “Never. You’ll always be my favorite.”

  His gaze locked onto mine for a moment and then he nodded, jutting his chin at me. I assumed he meant for me to strap myself in, so I did so, the heavy fabric of the belts pressing my thighs so tightly to the seat I felt I had been born with them attached.

  After an intense moment of silence, weighted down by an unidentifiable heaviness, I kicked my feet under me again and let them dance around and drag to a stop in the air on their own volition. An idea came. Impulsively, I snatched the now rolled up news tube from him and thwacked his arm. And then wondered if that was a felony. Imagine, all of a sudden getting kicked out of witness protection because you whacked a peacekeeper with a news tube. “That wouldn’t be construed as assault, would it?” I spoke low, conspiratorially teasing.

  He chuckled. “If that’s the way you assault people…” Clearing his throat he continued, “Anyway, if it was, I’d make an exception for you.”

  I sat back in my seat, smiling, tapping the edge of the cylinder absently to my mouth as I contemplated the shuttle we sat inside. It was rather spacious in the middle, probably to give the passengers some visual relief. The last time I was in one, I hadn’t mapped out the compartment due to the new sensations I had been focused on feeling.

  We were all grouped in clusters of twos and fours.

  Always an even number.

  I had noticed that tendency - every organization related to the Deka Federation seemed to be obsessed with even numbers, as if it would prove their equality and fairness. It was one of those unspoken social norms that define who we are as a people group.

  This Four-headed Galaxy of 10 planets (well, at least all the planets of the 10 that keep up communication with each other), sees evens and commonality and extreme balance as a sort of religion. I didn’t like to ponder this, though. I felt vaguely fearful about the so-called superiority of such a narrow, imposing mentality.

  ~

  Back on Tera, in Sky City, we ventured out into places that we wouldn’t have dared to visit the first time. Sam wasn’t too keen on the field trip, but when I asked for it specifically, he relented. If my plan didn’t keep me alive, I’d never have the opportunity to
see any of it again. He seemed to sense this, because he didn’t press me for an explanation.

  The private sector there was flourishing. The underground train lines were old and governmentally run and stinky and claustrophobic, while the interplanetary shuttle spire was a beautiful and sleek privately owned building. The slender column seemed to grow up and up and burst through the exosphere. But it was only an illusion.

  A trick of architectural genius.