Learning the Hard Way 1

by H. P. Caledon

  He stepped into the room and locked the door before he threw himself on the bed where he tried to get his breathing under control. He needed a plan. Pissing Ratkins off was not intended or even expected.

  He wondered whether Keelan had really been there. He would have sworn he felt Keelan’s breath in the back of his neck. But maybe he’d just grown paranoid. No matter what, an adversary like Keelan meant he had to proceed with the utmost care.

  Mike was angry about the whole situation, and he especially hated feeling his own fear again. But he felt confident that Keelan wouldn’t try anything on an open street, even though Verion four was a dark planet all hours of the day and night. Irritated, Mike walked to the nearest grocery store and bought breakfast, which he took back to his room. While he ate, he read a news update, and there was nothing about the murder on the front page. There were several mentioned further on, but none of them told of the finesse Mike would expect from Keelan.

  Mike packed his things to leave but hesitated by the dresser. He looked at his reflection.

  If Keelan is waiting for me somewhere, then you and I might not see each other again. In his mind, he nodded a last goodbye to the familiar face in the mirror and left the room. On the way to the spaceport tower to collect his belongings, he had his eyes on his surroundings. But he also quickly felt the exhaustion from not having backup to keep an eye on half of it. He constantly had the feeling of being watched, and when Mike reached the port, he hid in an old warehouse on the edge of the construction area. He threw his rig on a table and a cloud of dust rose to saturate the beam of light from a single bulb dangling from the ceiling.

  “Nice place,” Mike mumbled. The distinct feeling of not being alone crept in, and it only became stronger—so strong that he stood rooted to the spot and held his breath. Only the vague sound of the thin chain the light was hanging on was audible. But still, the atmosphere seemed filled. How long he stood there listening intensely, he didn’t know, but long enough to dare breathe and think that it was just his paranoid brain playing with him.

  Strong arms grabbed him from behind. He yelped in surprise before he screamed in pain from being thrown against a table. Mike turned his head in time to see Keelan closing in fast.

  “No, wait!” he screamed, but Keelan’s weight crashed down on him, and he had to use all his strength to push himself up enough to be able to breathe.

  “The only thing you had to do was keep trusting me,” Keelan sneered. “You broke the deal, not me!”

  Mike fought to breathe, but when Keelan’s weight finally disappeared the pressure on his torso was replaced by a searing pain in his back. Mike screamed again and gasped for air. Instead, his body collapsed on the floor. In a fog, he registered Keelan standing next to him, and Mike was lying in a growing pool of blood. A crash, a punch, and a thud—Keelan landed next to him on the brink of unconsciousness.

  “Keelan,” Mike whispered, but then someone was moving him.

  “Mike, God dammit,” Ratkins said, but his voice was soft as he turned Mike onto his stomach and straddled his legs so he could press against Mike’s back. It hurt, but it also felt strange, as if his body wasn’t his. More footsteps sounded, but Mike didn’t register whose—only that Keelan’s eyes finally rolled back in his head as he slipped into unconsciousness.

  Darkness closed around Mike. The last thing he registered was Ratkins’ continuous orders for him to stay awake. But why? Keelan would never believe that Mike had nothing to do with this. However glad Mike was to see Ratkins here, he also knew Keelan would end up in a maximum-security prison. Even without prior knowledge of Ratkins’ plan, Mike still felt like he’d betrayed Keelan. He was the bait used to flush him out.

  Epilogue

  Three years later Mike was on his feet again and back in a business he hated—although alone and with his own ship. The business had been his only choice after the whole ordeal with Cecil and Keelan. Cecil had been taken to the Tribunal to stand trial, and Mike had sought after Pierre for a long time, but to no avail. He’d looked until the day the bounty on Pierre was retracted.

  He was left with his thoughts of Keelan.

  Mike had at least hoped Keelan would have heard him out before deciding to kill him or not. It hadn’t gone as hoped, and Ratkins had collected on Keelan and delivered him to the maximum prison Irgang, while Mike ended up in the hospital to get patched up and then six months in his sister’s guest room on Kanakoon to recuperate.

  They’d said to count himself lucky that the person who’d tried to kill him hadn’t known where the artery in the back was located. One thought had haunted Mike since. Had Keelan hesitated?

  Mike had spent the last three years first hating Keelan for not giving him time to speak before he tried to kill him. Then he hated him for having failed so Mike had to continue living with the guilt. He also hated himself for not having trusted Keelan and not given him the benefit of doubt. But he also knew that the circumstances and all that had happened in prison hadn’t even left that as an option. Mike hadn’t been himself—he’d been as insufficient an individual as a newly broken silver slave.

  When Mike finally learned to live with all of that, he spent his time repeating a conversation that never happened in the warehouse. A conversation where Mike would explain to Keelan that they’d both been victims of Rainer’s plot.

  With time, it had become an obsession to Mike. He hated the thought of having sold his soul to the highest bidders, which in that case were the guards, taking him from the hell pit to the docks.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like that. He wasn’t one of the men Brad had told about—men who would sell their souls.

  For years Mike felt hollow, like half a man, a turncoat. He wanted to make amends and thus be able to look himself in the mirror again. He wanted to be able to sleep without having his dreams haunted by Keelan’s honest gaze, which over the past three years had become the hateful glare from the warehouse seconds before he’d tried to kill Mike.

  Most of all, Mike wanted to feel like a good man again, and the irony of his chosen role model only made his obsession stronger. A criminal, a murderer, but a good man and a good friend. Someone who kept his word!

  For the past three years, Mike often felt the pain in the scar on his back. However, he wondered whether it was a pain in the scar itself left by Keelan’s knife or if it was phantom pains from having knifed Keelan in the back. He was inclined to believe the latter. The scar was a reminder of what he’d done to Keelan, and he wondered whether the pains would go away if he earned Keelan’s forgiveness.

  Mike smiled at the thought and punched in the information on his next mission. Now all he had to do was to wait, so he killed time by going to the kitchen and make coffee. While pouring, he heard a beeping from the cockpit.

  That was fast. The screen was blinking as he sat down and called up the window.

  “Transfer of prisoner six four eight four nine six zero approved!”

  Mike nodded satisfied and turning his seat, he punched in the prisons coordinates.

  The knot in Mike’s stomach tightened as the ship closed in on the dock. He’d thought the one-man job and the possible consequences through more than once. The hatch to dock-tube four opened, and Mike descended to the designated spot. There he waited for the hatch to close, the tube to equalize, and the inner doors to open while he glued on fake fingerprints. As soon as the inner doors opened, Mike was overpowered by how stupid it was to transfer a max-prisoner alone—this prisoner in particular.

  Two guards came into view with a prisoner between them. In Mike’s eyes, the prisoner towered over the two guards. Even with his arms fixated behind his back and his strides minimized by a chain, he seemed dangerous. Even without being able to see his face because of the hood, Mike could still imagine his face and what hatred the eyes would hold.

  Mike hurried down and opened the ramp. One guard took the job of holding the prisoner in place while the other one reached for the pad Mike held out. The guard checked
the information and put his thumb on the reader, after which he handed Mike another pad for Mike to place his print on.

  “John Mathers, the prisoner is now in your custody,” the guard said before he helped his partner guide the prisoner into Mike’s ship and confine him to a rack in the holding bay. “Long jump. Do you need help putting him under?”

  Mike shook his head and let the guards leave the ship before he turned to study the prisoner. Without a word, he left for the cockpit to steer the ship from the dock and enter the route into the computer.

  Mike sat and thought about everything he’d spent the past three years trying to word right. Suddenly it seemed to take twice as long. He gathered all his courage, took the pad, and left the cockpit.

  The prisoner turned his head as Mike came down the stairs, and he hesitated shortly while trying to get his nerves and hectic heart rate under control. He took a deep breath and removed the hood. Keelan stared at him surprised before his eyes filled with the burning hatred Mike had expected. Had he not had a bit in his mouth, Mike was sure Keelan would have snarled at him. Mike reached out and removed the bit, but pulled his hands away quickly. He’d already seen what that action had cost careless guards on prison transports.

  “I was sure I’d killed you, but then I heard the rumors of your survival from some new prisoners. You’re brave for taking the job of transferring me, traitor!”

  Mike held his gaze for a while. “Final lesson,” Mike said. Keelan stared at him bewildered, and Mike held up the pad for him to see. “How to forge federal documents like transport documents of prisoners. A near perfect escape plan.”

  Keelan looked at Mike in surprise, and Mike couldn’t hide his smile. The look in Keelan’s eyes changed and softened. Mike saw no deception and felt the spark of hope of being forgiven.

  To be continued...

  About the Author

  Thinking there was only so much room for future worlds and chatty characters inside a person’s skull, HP Caledon decided to write some of it down to get some peace and quiet and be able to live in the present moment. Fat good that did—it just made room for more chatty characters! So, with coffee ad libitum and the occasional glass of red wine at the ready he has come to enjoy the run of characters and never-ending creativeness that this brought with it.

  When not writing, he reads, trains Crossfit, studies all aspects of life and people, and enjoys more coffee.

  HP Caledon is in his late thirties, Danish, and a blacksmith by trade.