by Nick Travers
Chapter 47
A Microtough agent? Trent? I figured him for some sort of Gaia terrorist, but never a Microtough agent. My mind whirls as all the jigsaw pieces fall apart again. Now nothing makes sense.
“As soon as you disappeared into Felix’s trading station, I was dropped off to infiltrate your crew.”
I cannot maintain the silent treatment any more so I swivel to face him. “You knew I didn’t kill Felix,” I snarl, “but you still did nothing to help.” I turn my back again before he can reply, just to spite him.
He sighs deeply behind me, and I smile again. “You really are fantastic, Nina. You have achieved so much. But even you couldn’t have gotten away with everything on your own. My agents were right there helping you each step of the way.”
I don’t believe him. “Like when?”
“Like on Newark. They saved your life and helped you escape from Borker’s assassins.”
My mind flits back to that day on Newark and starts replaying my flight from the Assassins. What I thought I remember starts to blur with other possibilities, given the knowledge I might have had expert help. “The woman taking out an Assassin with a broom.”
“Yep.”
“The person who jumped on my back and forced me down the stairs onto the assassins?”
“Yep.”
Did I achieve anything of my own accord? “The fight with locals at the bottom of the steps?”
“No. Genuine annoyed locals, but my agent may have mixed it up a little with a few stray punches.”
I almost laugh out loud, but instantly wipe the smile off my face. The line between reality and fabrication blurs further. “So where were your agents when I jumped the rail?”
“Ah, Nina. Such a fantastic move. Who, but you, would dream of something so crazy and yet so brilliant? My agents were preparing to take down Borker and his assassins, which would have broken our cover and revealed our interest in you. But you saved us the embarrassment and the mission continued.”
So now I’m just a mission. My mind scans through the disaster that is the rest of our journey, wishing, perhaps, that the mission had ended on Newark. “Where else?”
“The Western Post Hub,” Trent replies without hesitation.
“Where I’m wanted for arson and mass murder?”
“The explosion was a spur-of-the-moment thing. To distract Borker and McGraw when they cornered you.”
“You killed all those people for me?” Perhaps I should be flattered. Instead, I feel revulsion. “I’m the reason for all those deaths?”
“I never meant to set a fire. It was a simple compressed air grenade, but metal struck metal causing a spark and the whole thing went up like a torch—I’ve never seen anything like it. I did what I could to save lives.”
“What? Chucked a few buckets of water,” I snarl.
“I sent young McGraw to the control tower with the idea of dropping the Post Hub through the rain clouds.”
“Jack? That was him?”
“He has a good heart. He’s a hero, but I doubt anyone will ever know. Especially if he follows Borker’s path.”
“Jack won’t let Borker corrupt him,” I say with too much conviction. “He’s a believer—he will stick to his principles. He has good reason.” There are some things even a super-spy can’t know.
I feel Trent raising a questioning eyebrow, even though I cannot see him, because I still have my back to him.
“You know that for sure?”
“You still killed a lot of people,” I accuse. “And it will still weigh on my conscience for the rest of my life.” All those dead people, all those injured and maimed people. All because I couldn’t keep alert enough to avoid Borker. I can feel the blackness seeping into my soul as we speak. What sort of degenerate monster am I.
“It is all for the greater good,” Trent declares with conviction. A true believer in his own righteousness.
I take the opportunity, with some pleasure, to dig in the emotional knife. “Now you sound like Borker.”
Trent goes silent and I know I have hit home. Through the pause I can hear the constables casting off. So to distract myself, I turn to Trent with another question. “What about Newtonsteign? If you are a Microtough agent, you must have helped us there.”
Trent actually grins, like he’s enjoying himself. “Do you really think we could have gotten into the most security conscious city in the world with a few white coats and a flimsy story?”
Now he mentions it, the whole escapade does seem ridiculously easy.
“Not only did Microtough give us free access and drive away your constable friends, they staged a terrorist attack to alert you to the dangers of the Daughters of Gaia.”
“So the girl did recognize you.”
“One of my agents. I thought for a while you recognized her too?”
I had seen her before? Then it hits me: the movement of the head, the body shape, the same fluid arm action. “Newark. The woman with the broom.”
“Exactly.”
Then I remember another incident. “What about you volunteering yourself to Jed as a hostage. Was that genuine?”
“As a Microtough agent, should I have chosen to reveal that information to Jed, I had inherently more value than you. Besides, I recognized one of Jed’s entourage as another agent with possibly useful information.”
“Not such a selfless or honorable act then? Just business as usual.” If I can’t hurt him physically, I can at least hit his pride.
“Ouch. I’m a spy—everything’s about business.” He shrugs apologetically—or maybe I’m still thinking generously. “The other agent had a possible lead on the White Woman.”
“Leanne,” I insist.
“She had a whole squadron waiting to drop on Cutter’s End to retrieve their precious experiment.”
“Waiting for the Reavers?”
“No, that was a total surprise. We had no knowledge of any Reaver interest until you found out from Jed.”
“I met her—this other agent?”
“The old woman. She took out the Reaver guard, dove over the edge, and set off a flare. Which was the signal to launch the attack.”
“So that’s why the Reavers never came after us. I thought it suspicious. Do you think she survived?” Why I’m suddenly interested in the survival of a Microtough agent is beyond me. Maybe it’s just that her bravery moved me so deeply at the time.
“Must have. Otherwise the fleet would not have followed us to Platform sixty-nine.”
“Even Fernando thought it odd no one pursued us from there. Why didn’t they just snatch Leanne while they had the chance?”
While Trent pauses to think, my ear is drawn by a commotion on the deck. Something is happening—I wish I knew what.
“One old mystery—you might still lead us to your mother,” Trent interrupts. “And one new mystery—why are the Reavers interested in Leanne?”
“So that’s why you took the Shonti—you finally had the answer to your first mystery. Scud worked out my mother is alive and you knew where to look for her—’
Trent continues my train of thought. “—And having a Reaver Hive on our doorstep puts Leanne at too great a risk. You would make a fabulous spy, Nina.”
“But why the fake journal? And fake crash site? More of your doing?”
“No doing of ours. The journal, as far as I can tell is genuine. The crash site…” He shrugs, clearly at a loss. “All I can guess is someone very much wants you to turn back.”
“But the constables caught you in your escape,” I press on, ignoring the rising sounds of chaos outside door.
“At least Borker will take us directly to your mother.”
“Not if Jack stops him.”
“Brave he might be, but also naive—I don’t think he stands a chance against Borker.”
Poor Jack.
I tense as I hear more shouting, then running feet. Something is definitely going on out there. What is Borker doing? Then someone stops right outsi
de the map room door and a gunshot cuts through the commotion.
“Reavers!”
Trent and I throw ourselves to the window, just in time to see a Reaver raider draw alongside the airship. A horde of Reavers on the open deck level weapons and throw grappling hooks.
Trent drags me away from the window as the Reavers fire their first salvo. “Sorry, Nina, but I have to do this.”
Something heavy hits me on the back of the head. I see stars and feel nauseous then my knees give way.
Nothing.
