Unclear Skies

by Jason LaPier

  * * *

  There was a showing that night, so they went. Thompson and Lucky didn’t know who Jax was and didn’t seem much to care, but the theater served beer, so they managed to entertain themselves. In terms of content, it was a little on the boring side. There weren’t any real villains, only the looming threat of magnetic field flux, which the film went through great lengths to explain would result in the whole population of Terroneous getting cooked alive.

  Most of it was a mix of actors re-enacting the scenes that led up to the almost-evacuation and real people being interviewed documentary-style about the geological science and the technology involved. Occasionally, there were clips of “real life” footage. These were actually fairly tense, with people arguing and frantically wrestling with the systems, but would have gotten mundane if they hadn’t been such short edits. It was during these sequences that Psycho Jack made his appearance. Interestingly, whenever his name appeared on-screen it was just “Fugere”, or sometimes “Fugere, The Fixer”, but never Jack or Jackson.

  Was he hiding out on Terroneous? Why else would a B-fourean be on a rock like this? And if he was hiding, why did he let himself get filmed for everyone to see? Not that Dava thought this trash would make it far off-world, but it was bound to get back to ModPol somehow.

  “So who is this guy?” Thompson said, leaning over her armrest to talk into Dava’s ear, but not exactly whispering.

  Dava tilted her head away from the sweet-and-sour buffet of alcohol that came with the question. “That’s Psycho Jack. Was Johnny Eyeball’s cellmate once. Supposed to be a mass murderer. Did a whole block in a dome, like thirty, forty people.”

  Thompson attempted a whistle but failed to make more than a puff of air. “Damn.”

  “But turns out he didn’t do it. He was framed by these corrupt Pollies.”

  “Fuckin’ ModPol.”

  “He figured it all out though. He and this cop – I guess one that’s not corrupt – they tracked down this lady who hacked the dome or something. I can’t remember what the whole deal was.”

  “So he’s not a psycho.”

  “No,” Dava said wistfully. “Too bad too. He’s smart.”

  Thompson seemed to consider this. She cocked her head at the holoprojection. “Kind of cute.”

  “Unbelievable,” Lucky moaned from the seat in front of them. He turned to face them. “Really, Tommy? This guy?”

  “I swear, Lucky, if you don’t turn around I’m going to cut your face off and wipe my ass with it.” Thompson waved at the screen, where Psycho Jack and a woman from some environmental agency were working at a console. “Seriously, you think I’m checking out this lanky pale-ass domer? I’m talkin’ ’bout the girl, you ass.”

  Dava choked back a laugh, not wanting to encourage their banter, but not exactly sober enough to put a stop to it.

  Dan turned around as well. “Dava, you think he’s still here? On Terroneous?”

  She gave him a look. “Maybe. Why?”

  He hesitated, which meant he was going to say something that was probably a good idea but was going to involve pissing her off in some way. She motioned with her hand. “Out with it.”

  “Well,” he said. “We lost Freezer at Vulca.”

  “I lost Freezer at Vulca,” she muttered. There was the bit that pissed her off. The memory of the fight at the relay station drifted in, swirling and bubbling, questions surfacing in the haze of her alcohol-addled mind. Questions like, weren’t Johnny and Frank worth more than some stupid equipment? Was the point of the mission the equipment, or had there been another reason for such an attack?

  “And? What—” She stood up, spilling popcorn onto the floor. “We get Psycho Jack to sub for Frank?”

  Dan nodded and even smiled a little. “That’s what I was thinking.”

  It was a good idea, for sure, because they needed another hacker. And Psycho Jack clearly had the knowhow, being that he tracked down a murderous programmer, plus they just watched a holofilm about how his skills saved the whole moon from – what, exactly? Something about a magnetic field, and Jack hacking into the system to make it all better. And he was already an enemy of ModPol, which made him as good as an ally.

  But what made it a very good idea was that Jansen had been talking about bringing in his own man to replace Frank. If Dava could get Psycho Jack, then they wouldn’t need another hacker and Jansen would have to cool his heels.

  Not that she wanted to play games with Jansen, but there was just something about him she still didn’t trust. Jack, she could trust. He was a fugitive. He was one of them.

  “You’re a genius, Dan! Can you find him?”

  Dan lifted a handypad. “I’ve been taking notes.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Jax flung the suitcase from its place in the bottom of the closet up onto the bed. He flipped it around to open it, realized he’d flipped it backwards, righted it and tried again. Whipped it open so hard that it tipped backward and slid off the bed.

  “Jack.”

  He bent down to get the case and then with determined focus pushed it down onto the bed and opened it to face the closet.

  “Jack.” Lealina’s voice was soft but firm.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” was all he could manage in response. He started pawing through clothes, selecting them more or less at random and shoving them into the case.

  “It looks like you do.”

  He paused for a moment, staring at the closet. “Like I do what?”

  “Know what you’re going to do.”

  He looked at her. “Well I don’t.”

  She scowled, her hair coming down in front of her eyes. “Then why are you packing?”

  He turned back to the closet and reached for a shirt. “I have to.”

  She put a hand on his arm, pulling hard. Her unexpected strength almost broke the spell, almost brought him into focus. But when he looked into her eyes, all he saw were storms in the distance.

  “You need to tell me what’s going on.” Her anger scared him. He didn’t like seeing her eyes like that.

  He forced his arms down to his sides. Forced air into his lungs, slowly. Forced himself to sit on the edge of the bed. Forced the words out of his mouth. “I’m innocent.”

  She stared at him for years. “Innocent,” she said, handling the word like a freshly sharpened knife. She bent slightly to meet his eye-line. “Of what?”

  He felt disconnected from his own body. Like he was watching the conversation play out from a distance. He watched himself as he motioned to the desk on the other end of the room and spoke. “The top drawer.”

  She glanced at it, gave him a look, then walked over and opened it. She pulled out the folder and flipped through the pages. “What is all this? Why do you have these print-outs?”

  “I made them at the library.”

  “Don’t you have any handypads?”

  “No.” He abstained from explaining that he needed to stay offline, hoping she would pick it up soon enough.

  She didn’t press. Instead, her attention went to the pages. “The Dome Killer,” she read. “I remember this. Back on B-4?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jenna Zarconi,” she read, then began to paraphrase as she flipped pages. “ModPol tracked her down, all the way to Sirius-5. Scary stuff.”

  “You have no idea.”

  She looked up. “What does this have to do with you?”

  Jax had spent months combing through every news article from every outlet in the known galaxy looking to see if there were any references to a B-fourean fugitive. Some outlets played up the success of ModPol, others highlighted the possible corruption that had opened the door to the murders, or covered them up after the fact. Some even mentioned Officer Stanford Runstom, whether to note his sheer luck or his perseverance and dedication to justice in cracking the case. There were interviews, and Jax read them, watched them. The name Jackson was never mentioned, for which he knew he had to be thankful.

&n
bsp; In one interview, Stanford had turned to the camera at the end and nodded curtly. Not in response to anything the interviewer was saying. Not to acknowledge the audience, nor anyone off-camera. Just one short nod. His eyes looked through time and space and digital recording, looked right at Jax and nodded.

  Jax had to hide in the restroom of the library for an hour after that.

  He felt Lealina’s eyes on him and cleared his throat. “There’s more to it. Something that’s not in those articles.”

  She stared at him and closed the folder.

  “The murders – you know how they happened?”

  She nodded slowly. “Something about the airlock vents opening up at the top of a block. Both at the same time. Some kind of system hack.”

  “On B-4, we have Life Support operators that monitor those blocks every hour of the day. Do maintenance things like change out the air, turn on the rain, fluctuate the temperature—”

  “Turn on the rain?”

  A small corner of his mouth curled reflexively. “For purification purposes. Everyone gets a warning ahead of time so they don’t get wet.”

  “Weird.”

  “Lealina,” he said. “I was a block operator.”

  “Oh,” she said quietly. She cocked her head. “Did—”

  “It was my block. 23-D, in Gretel.”

  They both grew quiet. Her eyes scanned him, searching for answers. Instead of peppering him with questions, she just said, “I’m sorry, Jack. That must have been … horrible.”

  “There’s more,” he said, even though he knew she knew that.

  And he proceeded to tell her. Once it started, he just couldn’t stop. He told her about his arrest, about being grilled by ModPol, about his useless lawyer, about their decision to haul him off to prison at the outpost at the edge of the system. That he got off the transport barge before it was destroyed.

  “What happened there?” she interrupted. “The official story was that it was a horrible accident. But I heard it was an attack. Some people even said it was Space Waste, but that’s just kind of ridiculous, isn’t it?”

  He grew quiet. It must have been hard for ModPol to swallow that. But to save face, they had to go with the accident story. They couldn’t admit to the known galaxy that a misfit outfit like Space Waste planned such a coordinated and deadly effort against them.

  “Stanford,” he started finally, “Officer Runstom, I mean—”

  “The one who they say tracked down the killer?”

  “Yes, that one. He was with me on that barge. He got me off in one piece.”

  “I don’t understand, Jack. What does this all mean? Why are you hiding? They found the real killer, right?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But the corruption part – that’s real too. And even if I didn’t commit those murders, I’m still a criminal. I escaped their custody.”

  She scowled again, this time not at him, but at the folder twisting in her hands. “I knew there was something not right about you.”

  He straightened up at that, frowning. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Because I fucking like you!” She slapped the folder back down on the desk. Her head bent down, away from him. Quieter, she said, “I really like you.”

  He sighed, and an unexpected roughness in his throat caused him to cough. “Believe me, Lea. I wish it wasn’t true. I don’t want to run. I don’t want to run for the rest of my life. I don’t want to run from here. From …” he trailed off, looked at her, then looked away.

  He heard her release air, a deflating sound. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re going through.”

  He still couldn’t face her, but he had to ask. “Do you believe me when I say I’m innocent?”

  She was quiet for another eternity. Then she sat next to him on the bed. “I believe you.”

  A tear came loose then, followed by another, and another. He wiped his face ungracefully with his shirt sleeve. “Thank you,” he managed.

  She put her hand on his leg. “Just breathe for a minute.”

  “I’m scared,” he whispered. A secret he’d kept in all the months he’d been living there.

  “It’s okay. It will be okay.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  “Jack, believe me,” she said, a small upward swing in her voice. “You’re not the first person who came to Terroneous to hide. From ModPol, or anything else.”

  He sniffed. “I suppose not.”

  “Seriously. We’ve got lots of hiding places on this moon. We just need to talk to some people.” She lifted his head with her fingertips. “Okay?”

  He looked at those eyes, blinked away the storm and tried to see them as the bright blue that he was first enchanted by. “Okay.” He swallowed then straightened up. “I want you to call me Jax.”

  “Jax? Not Jack?”

  “My name isn’t Jack Fugere. It’s Jack Jackson.”

  Her head tilted slightly. “You’re telling me your real name is Jack Jackson?”

  “My dad,” he started then shook his head with a soft laugh. “It’s ridiculous, I know. Something in my dad’s engineer brain latched onto a name that lined up.” He looked into her eyes. “I kind of hate it, which is why I prefer Jax.”

  The corner of her mouth turned up and her eyes crinkled with the grin. “Okay. I like Jax.”

  “Good.” The smile he felt growing across his face lifted him up, and he rose from the bed.

  “We’ll get through this,” she said, standing with him and gripping his arm. “Jax. We’ll find a place for you, Jax.”

  He nodded, the lightness giving way to a sudden anger. “Before we do anything, we need to find David Granderson.”

  * * *

  Granderson was difficult to track down. He seemed to be hopping all over Stockton, on some kind of movie-promotion mission. They’d gone to his studio, only to be told by one of the other artists that rented space in the same building that he’d gone off to a gallery. They went to the gallery to find fliers for the film, Jax’s face part of the montage that adorned each and every one. According to the security guard, Granderson had left for a restaurant just a few hours previously. They went to The Golden Krogg and found that the dinner party had wound down to nothing but dirty plates, drained glasses, and handwritten invites to an after-party at The Sundown Lodge on the edge of town. The staff were reluctant to give these up, as the growing entourage that Granderson was acquiring was having a blast and they wanted to ensure they could get into the after-party themselves.

  So Jax and Lealina showed up at Sundown uninvited.

  “Sorry, folks. Private event tonight.” The broad doorman didn’t give them much of a look, seemingly distracted by the evident fun just beyond his post. He thrust out a hand. “Unless you have an invite. Or, you know.” The fingers wiggled. “Whatever.”

  “Can you at least tell Granderson we’re here?” Jax said.

  “Who’re you?” A choral whoop caused him to turn his head fully away from them, and he peered down the hall into the darkness.

  “I’m Jack Fugere.”

  Finally he looked Jax full in the face. “No shit – you’re the bloke from the film!” He looked at Lealina. “And you’re the bird!”

  “Can we go in?” Lealina asked.

  “Yeah, of course, of course.” He stepped aside. “Hey, if you see Muri in there, tell him it’s his shift. I want to go in.”

  “We’ll be sure to do that,” she said and pushed past, pulling Jax by the arm.

  Inside, the small bar was packed. The lights were low, but not so low they couldn’t see. And there was music, but it wasn’t loud. In fact, it seemed to be just the right volume to be present, but not loud enough to dampen an enthusiastic and experienced storyteller, should one embark on a tale or two.

  In fact, one just happened to be so embarked.

  Though members of the crowd whispered among themselves, as a whole they were fixated on the voice at the back of the room.

  “So then I said, Ma
ximus, listen pal …”

  Lealina wasted no time. She began pushing through the crowd, Jax still attached by her grip. People invariably gave them a look of protest that quickly turned to recognition, followed by a step back to let them through.

  “The only way that thing is coming out of there is if you’ve got something for it to eat …”

  The front row was particularly dense. With his height, Jax could see Granderson perched on a stool, gesturing grandly in between pulls of a bright-green conical cocktail.

  “And this thing only eats live food!”

  Gasps and laughter and even a few claps broke out across the listeners, but it was short lived. Everyone went silent as Lealina pulled Jax past them all.

  “Jack! Lealina!” Granderson’s face went from shock to mild anguish to a wide grin. “Welcome, so glad you could make it!”

  “What the hell, David?” Jax said. He glared at the man with the angriest face he was capable of making.

  “What? Oh sorry.” He leaned in close. “I know I didn’t invite you out tonight, but you know. It’s reality HV. You’re not actors, you know what I mean? It’s just kind of – it takes the reality out of it if I invite the subjects to the premiere party.”

  “We need to talk,” Lealina said. “Now.”

  Granderson leaned back away from them and tilted his head up. “Everyone, this next round of drinks is on me, so you better make your way up to the bar while you can.”

  The crowd began to mill and small conversations were born all around them. Jax felt his face redden as he heard his name in snippets from various parts of the room.

  Granderson leaned in again. “Is this about the cut? It says right there in the contract you signed that your percentage is paid out after expenses are cleared, not before. I was very up front about that, in the wording.”

  “David,” Jax growled. “I thought you were going to use actors.”

  He blinked. “We did, Jack. Lots of actors. I told you I was going to have to re-enact most of it because we got filming so late in the storyline.”

  “But there are parts of it with me in it! When you were shooting at TEOB, you said you were just gathering – source something.”