Haven (The Orbit Series Book 2)

by J. S. Collyer

  Hugo held himself still until they moved past and continued on their patrol. He paused there for another ten heartbeats until their footsteps had faded away before risking another look. He recognised the building across the square as the one that Mac had marked as Ariel’s stronghold. There was nothing to tell it apart from any other buildings or to even indicate that it was used at all. If he hadn’t loaded the co-ordinates into his wrist panel he would have thought he’d made a mistake. What had once been a door big enough to fit several industrial lifters with cargo was now a series of iron seals barricading the entrance. Once again, there were no windows and no other visible way in. However, as he padded closer, he made out a watch tower and communication rigs on the roof.

  Something almost like excitement, but colder, buzzed through him. He ducked back down the way he’d come, to approach the building from the shadows of its neighbours. He began a circuit of its cluster of outbuildings, relay sheds and storage bunkers, looking for a way in.

  He found side doors, but they were all sealed or guarded. He was beginning to feel a nagging doubt that perhaps he wasn’t as well-prepared for this as he thought, when he heard the whooshing sound of ventilated air somewhere nearby. Looking about, he spotted an open shaft in the concrete over his head. It was far too high to reach and his grips wouldn’t work on concrete so he began a tentative search of the storage bunkers for something to stand on. Most were locked or empty but the last one he checked yielded a rusted sit-on sweeper, some piles of unidentifiable tools and two empty bloodgrease canisters.

  He winced at the noise the canisters made as he dragged them back to the vent. He paused to catch his breath and listen. He heard radioed orders and information exchanged between some of the guards echoing off the tall walls, but nothing close by. He stacked the canisters beneath the vent. They wobbled as he clambered up. He stretched. His fingertips just brushed the lip of the vent.

  “Hey, you!”

  His heart leapt into his mouth. He span and just had time to take in a startled-looking guard before the canisters toppled. He sprang free as they fell, landing with a roll and then was up again and running, shouts and the clattering of the canisters following him.

  His heart pounded. He steered away from the light, not letting himself consider the sucking despair that threatened to swallow him whole. The sounds of shouting and running could be heard behind him and then the cough and whine of mopeds being started up.

  He skidded round a corner, glancing over his shoulder as he went and so didn’t see the hand-lifter blocking the way until it was too late. With a crash and a shout of surprise and pain, he went over, spilling the lifter’s load of cans and drawing spluttered curses from its driver.

  Hugo lay dazed on the concrete, the green murk of Haven’s hull spinning far above him. The cans rolled about and bumped into his legs and the worker bent over him.

  “Hey, you ok?”

  “There he is,” someone shouted and Hugo scrambled to his feet just as two guards on mopeds rounded another corner. He turned and ran, though there was nowhere to go. They caught up and outflanked him. He skidded and jumped back as they braked in front and behind him. He pulled out both his knives and spread his feet, trying to blink away the spinning in his head.

  “Put your weapons down,” the guard in front of him ordered.

  Hugo tightened his grip on his knives, a million and one ideas racing through his head and getting rejected one by one.

  “Hey, I recognise him,” the other guard said as he sidled closer. “He’s the one the bosses said would come skulking.”

  “Grab him,” the other man said and made a swipe.

  Hugo sidled out of reach then lunged. The guard ducked the blow and Hugo staggered, turned and threw his knife at the second man. It caught him in the shoulder. He and his moped went sprawling, but the first one had recovered. He leapt forward, ducked Hugo’s stab and shouldered him in the solar plexus, taking him down. Hugo hit the concrete hard and gasped, winded. He lashed out blindly and tried to roll away but the guard’s weight was on top of him and he pinned his knife hand to the floor.

  Something cold and blunt pressed into his neck, cutting off his air. He coughed and shifted as his vision steadied.

  “You keep yourself fucking still, hear me? Or I’ll blow your head off.”

  Hugo tilted his head to try and free his windpipe from the crushing press of the gun at his neck, still dazed enough to not be able to make sense of what was happening. With his other hand the guard tightened his grip on his arm.

  “Drop it.”

  Hugo choked and dropped the knife.

  “Get up,” the man ordered, standing up and dragging Hugo with him by a handful of collar.

  “Blood and sand, Art,” the wounded guard cursed as he scrambled to his knees. He’d pulled out Hugo’s knife and had a hand clasped over the bleeding in his shoulder. “Put the gun away. There’s a worker right over there.”

  The guard holding Hugo paled and looked over to the worker with the overturned lifter, who was stood gawping. The guard called Art put his gun away and pulled out a short stick-knife to take its place at Hugo’s throat before his fractured awareness could take advantage of the break.

  “Leave the scoots,” Art muttered. “Can you walk?”

  “I don’t walk with my fucking shoulder, do I?” the other growled, wincing as he pulled out a knife of his own with his other hand. “Come on, let’s get him locked away so I can get to a medic.”

  “You going to tell us who you are?” Art said as he twisted Hugo’s arm up behind him and wrestled him forward.

  “Don’t talk to him, you idiot,” the wounded guard hissed. “Let the bosses handle it, like they said.”

  Hugo managed to take a breath, and a degree of calmness stole through him. He assessed both guards and the surroundings, even as they manhandled him across the square and called for backup on a wrist comm. Neither of these guards limped but the one he’d injured had one milky eye and the one holding him definitely had one weak wrist. Ghosts, he wondered? The men on the Perseverance had all been visibly scarred or limped. He wondered whether they chose this life because the yards had left them crippled and bitter, but then he forced himself to focus.

  Hugo tested the man’s hold again. Whilst he was distracted by his pulling, Hugo slammed his head back into the man’s face. There was a sickening crunch and a bubbling cry and Hugo was able to wrench himself free.

  He ducked the injured man’s knife and took out his legs with a sweeping kick. The man went down, taking Art with him and whilst they were cursing in a tangled heap on the concrete, Hugo took off towards the nearest gap between the warehouses.

  He’d gone down one alley and was skidding toward the boundary walls when the first spatter of silenced gunfire cracked into the ground at his heels. He looked back, made out more men on mopeds bearing down on him, handguns drawn, barrelled around a corner and right into the arms of three more men. He heard someone shout an order not to shoot before something cracked into the back of his skull and everything went dark.

  *

  The first thing Hugo became aware of, some indeterminable time later, was a pounding in his head and a metallic taste in his mouth. After that, it was the coldness of the floor and the awkward angle of one his arms. He took a breath and opened his eyes, blinking away stars. He tested his limbs. All worked, though everything ached.

  He eased himself up of the floor, fighting back a sweep of nausea. He was in a cold, windowless room, lit by some dingy lighting panels in the ceiling. There was no furniture and nothing on the walls, though marks on the floor and walls suggested heavy objects had been stored here. He peered about but saw no cameras.

  He touched a finger to his forehead and it came away bloody. A careful probing with his tongue confirmed a split lip also. Everything else felt sore and bruised. He got to his feet, leaning against the wall a moment until the ringing in his ears eased and his vision stopped swimming, then he went to the door.

&n
bsp; The handle on the inside had been snapped off. There was an electronic lock but no panels or controls on his side. He gave the door an experimental kick but it didn’t budge. His attempts to shoulder it open only succeeded in increasing the ferocity of his headache.

  He slid down the wall and sat on the floor, closing his eyes to ease the pain and cursing himself. His weapons, wrist panel and tech were all gone. He crossed his legs, closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. All there was to do was wait.

  He purposely did not think about Webb and Dana trapped underground, or about the fact that he could be anywhere on Haven, held by anyone. He could be in one of the Elder’s holding cells, about to be handed back to Bryce.

  He breathed deep, wiped his mind clean and waited.

  He didn’t realise he’d fallen asleep, or passed out again, until the sound of shouting outside the door and the lock opening jerked him awake. He was on his feet in an instant, ignoring the protest from his pulled muscles and throbbing head and put himself in the middle of the room so he couldn’t be cornered.

  His heart dropped like a stone when he heard Webb’s raised voice. The door scraped open with a hideous noise and the clone was bundled in. The door was hauled shut again and the lock buzzed and clicked.

  Webb got himself to his knees, swearing and holding his injured side. “Oh, hey Hugo,” he said through gritted teeth. “So that’s where you’d got to.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “That was my question,” Webb said, crawling to the wall.

  “Where’s Dana?”

  Webb groaned and shifted to lean against the wall. “Hopefully somewhere doing better than us.”

  “What happened, how did you end up here?”

  “How did you?” Webb countered. “Jesus Christ, Hugo. When we woke up and I’d calmed Dana down, I told myself you wouldn’t have bolted unless you had some sort of kick-ass plan. Did you even have any kind of plan?”

  “Yes. Did you?”

  Webb shook his head and kicked his heel into the floor. “Christ in Heaven, I don’t believe you. After everything that’s happened, you ditched us? Hell, even your pain-in-the-ass of a sister didn’t deserve that.”

  “Do you know where we are?”

  Webb blinked. “They hit you hard, huh? Good.”

  “Where are we?”

  “One of the privately-held strongholds,” Webb muttered, looking around at the dingy room. “No thanks to you. You know, if we’d planned this together this wouldn’t have happened.”

  Hugo clenched his mouth shut, closed his eyes and tried to think.

  “Hugo,” Webb said, getting to his feet. “Hey, Commodore. I’m talking to you.”

  “Shut up,” Hugo gritted. “I’m thinking.”

  “Hey, hey, hold up,” Webb raised his hands. “You’re mad at me?”

  “You were supposed to stay put.”

  “Why?” Webb tried to sound angry but the hurt wasn’t entirely hidden from his voice.

  “Because you were right, ok?” Hugo deflated and clutched at his forehead. “You were right, right from the start. I’ve used you, even though I said I wouldn’t. And it got you hurt.”

  “That’s why you ditched us?” Webb said, folding his arms.

  Hugo ground his teeth together. “I told myself that as long as I got Ariel, it didn’t matter how I did it. But I was wrong. I didn’t want you to get hurt again.”

  Webb’s face was rigid but then he looked away. “Well I’m telling you now, Dana has more than a few select words stored up for you. But whatever, we’re here now. What do we do?”

  Hugo chewed the inside of his cheek, staring at the door again. “I don’t know yet.”

  “He knew we were coming, just like we said,” Webb said after a defeated pause. “The bastard’s got this place tied up tighter than a ship’s hull and they’ve got guns. Guns, Hugo.”

  “I know,” Hugo said, running a hand through his hair, wincing as he hit the bruise blossoming across his scalp.

  “Well, shit on it,” Webb sighed. “Two different plans and neither of us even got close. We’ve fucked this, haven’t we?”

  “No,” Hugo said, going to the door and feeling round the seams “We’re not fucked until we’re dead.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do,” Hugo said, rounding on Webb. “Ariel is in this building somewhere.”

  “We don’t even know that.”

  “He’s got to be. ‘Let the bosses handle it’ is what the men that jumped me said. He knows we’re here by now and he’s not getting away. We get him off this colony or we kill him.”

  Silence spun on as Hugo realised what he said.

  “You’ve changed your tune.”

  Hugo clenched his teeth, kicked the door and swore.

  “Alright, alright, don’t have a fit,” Webb said, getting to his feet and pulling Hugo away from the door. “We’ve done this before. Keep calm. We just need a new plan.”

  “Where’s Dana?”

  “Don’t worry about her. She’s more capable than you give her credit for.”

  “I know she’s capable. She’s also reckless.”

  Webb cracked a crooked grin. “Must run in the family.”

  Hugo rubbed his face. “This isn’t helping.”

  “No, right, ok. First question, then. Ariel must have recognised us from the blacklist. He must know why we’re here. He’s set and armed his guards ready…”

  “So why are we still alive?” Hugo finished.

  Webb scratched his cheek. “And why do I get the feeling we don’t want to know the answer?”

  Hugo’s mind skidded about like a marble in a bowl then there was the sound of voices and footsteps outside the door.

  “Get back,” Hugo said and they both fell in next to each other, the wall at their back and their eyes on the door. The lock buzzed and the door was heaved open.

  In stepped a man, short even by Haven standards with dark hair pulled back from his face and tied in a short tail at the back of his head. His eyes were a very pale blue, startlingly so, and if it weren’t for the extremely unpleasant expression on his face, Hugo would have considered him handsome. Beautiful, even.

  Hugo started. It was the man he’d seen spying on them at the boarding house. He watched the man register his recognition and straighten his shoulders in response, scorn clear in his eyes. He carried no obvious weapons but by the way he held himself, as well as the two large guards standing at his back, he clearly did not feel the need.

  “Paragon?” Webb said, face stricken.

  “You know him?” Hugo asked.

  The short man’s icy eyes darted over both of them as he sneered. “Always knew I’d see you again someday, Ezekiel,” the man’s voice grated, like he had a throat problem. “And somehow I always knew it wouldn’t be a joyous reunion.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Hugo saw Webb swallow. “I…we…”

  “We were close, for a time,” the small man said as he looked Webb up and down. “Very close.”

  “Don't flatter yourself,” Webb said. “I knew…I knew there as something weird about you. You were spying on me?”

  “What, you thought it was your sparkling personality that kept me around?” The man snorted, pulled back his sleeve and pressed a command on a top-of-the-range wrist panel. Hugo noticed his left arm moved with the slight stiffness of a synthetic. The skin didn’t quite match his other hand, either.

  “The one-armed man,” Hugo muttered but Paragon was already talking. Webb didn’t appear to be listening though Hugo could see him making the connections.

  “You were right sir,” his rasped into his communicator. “Our lanky friend is back. And he brought the bulky, angry-looking Serviceman, the one that was involved with that Eclipse agent.”

  “And the girl?”

  The high-quality speakers on the panel meant the voice that replied barely had any distortion, but it was thin and flat, slightly high-pitched a
nd controlled to an almost painful degree. It put Hugo in mind of the simulant technology he’d been shown on his last official tour of the research and training vessel, Endeavour. The researcher had said that the androids were more likely to end up being engineered for domestic and retail markets than the military, but their blank eyes and empty voices had set his flesh on edge.

  A glance at Webb showed that the voice had even more of an effect on him. His jaw was tight, his skin pale and he wasn’t blinking. He was staring at the Havenite’s wrist panel like he had seen the devil himself.

  “No girl,” Paragon went on, examining Webb’s reaction closely, the beginnings of a cruel smile playing about his mouth.

  “Very well. Bring them to me in the Conference Suite.”

  “Sir,” he began to protest. “I think we should keep them locked up. They’re slippery, these two.”

  “I’m not moving for them, Paragon. We employ guards, don’t we? Use them.”

  The Havenite looked angry for a moment, then he schooled himself and transferred his angry look to the guards. “You heard him. Get these two up to the Conference Suite.”

  The two men nodded and drew their guns. One stepped forward, reaching for Hugo.

  “Come on, you.”

  “And what if we’re quite happy here?” Webb muttered.

  “Shut up and move,” the guard snapped and hustled Hugo out as the second man came in for Webb.

  They marched down a wide passage with bare walls and a series of reinforced doors. They marched in silence and Hugo spent the time trying to set aside the growing feeling of unease that sprouted from the disorientation and Webb’s reaction to the voice on the comm.

  They turned a corner and climbed a flight of stairs. Hugo’s mind went through a dozen possible ways to overpower the guards as they climbed, using the steps to their advantage. However, the guard in front kept checking over his shoulder as if he knew his thoughts and whenever he glanced back to try and catch Webb’s eye, his friend didn’t look like he was entirely with them.