Salvage

by R J Theodore

  “Scrabbling my way there,” she said, begrudgingly. The uncontrolled anger was passing. Her knuckles throbbed and protested any thought of repeating the blow. And she still needed to know what the Tempest was all about. Now more than ever. “Hope to survive it this time.”

  Taking her by the elbow, he steered her into the proper structure of Subrosa, off the open catwalks along the docks. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Tisker’s strained face watching her, his hands turning white and bloodless as they gripped the railing. She gave him a small upward toss of her chin. I’m all right, it said. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tail us.

  Hankirk babbled on about how he’d missed her, worried over her since he departed Heddard Bay. “But I knew you’d make it.”

  He paraded her through the streets of the undercity with his arm hooked through hers. She got the sense he wanted everyone to know she had come to meet with him. Wanted everyone to see her walking close to him. She hoped they could also see how she tried to lean away from his cloying grip. She didn’t like the looks from the Rosan guards. Their pairing was going to be reported to someone.

  Finally, they came to a warehouse in the Shuttle District. It had an enormous rolling door, which edged aside only enough to let them through before sliding closed again with a deep boom and the rattle of corrugated plating.

  Through shadowy front stock rooms, past innocuous crates with innocent-reading labels. Water. Dry grain. Skeins of cotton. The Tempest did apparently have an interest in humanitarian aid. But she was not in the least bit surprised as another door slid aside, leading deeper into the cavernous warehouse. There were no shelves of food or sundries here. The wooden crates had a decidedly menacing quality to their labeling. Magazines of ammunition. Stacks of explosive charges. Carts of light artillery.

  The others in the warehouse stood straighter at Hankirk’s arrival, not quite at military attention. Their expressions were . . . Good gods, Talis thought. They’re looking at him like some kind of hero.

  Before he led her in, he turned and put his hand on her shoulder, too close to the side of her neck for her liking, and his thumb brushed against the skin above her collar. She shrank from the intimate touch.

  “I am so happy to see you here, Talis.” He moved the hand down to grip her upper arm and gave it a squeeze. “So glad.”

  She tossed his hand aside with a casual and dismissive wave. “I came here for help, Hankirk. Someone’s trying to play me again, and I heard the Tempest has resources. I had no idea I’d find you bankrolling them. Can’t say I’m happy to see you here. I found Scrimshaw, by the way, in real rough shape.”

  “Regrettable.” He looked genuinely guilty over it. “I had no idea the Veritors were going to bring the aliens into our government. Once I came back and found out, it was too late. So I volunteered to care for Scrimshaw. Did ghi tell you that?”

  Talis grit her teeth, noting Hankirk had swapped pronouns. “Before passing out from exhaustion? We didn’t get the chance to have a long chat. But if you call that caring, I know your skull’s cracked for good.”

  He beamed and took a deep breath that inflated his chest. “Ghi is free and safe. That is what’s important. The best I could do. And you and I are reunited for what will be the most important effort of our lives.”

  Her knuckles curled again. She tried to gather her thoughts. She’d expected maybe the Tempest’s leader might have strange motivations or methods. She’d never anticipated it would be him.

  He looked confused. “But you said you needed help. You can’t do it alone, with what you salvaged from the wreck of Wind Sabre?”

  “Heard about that, did you,” she muttered. “You lightened the coffers a bit for me before you readied that dinghy to disappear, I noticed. I’ll be wanting a receipt. You know they call me a thief?”

  “A small exchange, Talis, but I did save you. That money was my nest egg.” He spread his arms wide to encompass the space around them. “For the operation of a lifetime. Talis, I’m really doing it.”

  “Really doing what, exactly? We heard about this group all the way from Heddard Bay. You’re fighting the ‘good fight’ against the coddled fools in the capital who’ve decided to align themselves with the Yu’Nun? ‘Great,’ I think; ‘that’s the kind of help I need.’ But then I get here and find these people arming children to send to a war none of you are ready for. A war you started. And I find it’s you at the head of a new viper. How’m I supposed to feel about that, now?”

  He gently moved her aside as two men came through, wheeling a cart loaded down with metal barrels. Afterward, he left his hand on her arm. The light pressure made her want to scream. How had this happened? Her plan to find help, and it led her right to the person she thought she was fighting again.

  “Just what do you hope to accomplish?” She brushed his hand away again. “You greet me like I’m on your side. But what side is that, exactly?”

  Gods rot him, he looked sincere as he answered. “I’m not the only one who was misled by the Veritors of the Lost Codex. I wanted so badly to be a part of something meaningful that I followed them without looking ahead to where they were leading me. I would have foolishly spearheaded that march, too, if they’d let me. When they threw their lot in behind the Yu’Nyun—not just after Nexus, I realize now, but leading up to that. Now, I know what they were really for. They want to maintain as much of their former control as they can. They think they can use the aliens to facilitate their plans, Talis, but I know that’s a false hope. The problems of Peridot cannot be solved by creating new ones.”

  It almost sounded reasonable. Talis couldn’t argue with the words, but she knew the man. He’d always wanted to be at the top of something, hadn’t he? So maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. The Veritors never trusted him to lead, only valued the legacy of his family enough to parade him around like a mascot. But the Tempest was a new dog in the junkyard and all his own. He sat at its pinnacle, making the decisions, receiving the adoration he’d been after as long as she’d known him.

  “You still want to reduce this world to a single homogenous race.”

  As she said it, his face didn’t change. He didn’t have the good sense to be ashamed.

  That only made her angrier. “You still want to overthrow The Five and spiral the world into chaos. If everything that happened to us at Nexus changed your mind, then deny it, and I’ll join your fight. But you can’t, can you?”

  His facial expression softened into a patient smile. “Birth is chaos. Rebirth comes with pain and readjustment. But that’s not my mission now, Talis. Maybe that comes later. Maybe then you’ll understand things the way I do. There’s a lot of the story you still haven’t heard. We aren’t meant to be like this, racially and geographically divided. We are all made from the same matter, cut from the same cloth!”

  He waved his hand as if tossing the argument aside. “But today, the struggle is the people of Peridot against the invading Yu’Nyun. If you join this fight, that’s what you’ll be fighting for.”

  “And if I put you in control, I know what comes next.”

  “I don’t want to take control. I want to show the Cutter people how close we are to ruin if we don’t take action.” He looked as though he wanted to touch her arm again but had the sense to drop his hand to his side. “I support Empress Emeranth. When I lived in the capital, I came to love her as everyone who knows her must. She’s a bright spirit, Talis. She’s brilliant, though young and has a lot left to learn. But her heart is strong, fair, and compassionate. There’s no better ruler for the Empire.”

  Hankirk started walking again. In a sort of shock, Talis let him lead her to a curtained-off portion of the warehouse, behind which a command room was arranged in an open space between tall wire racks. A large table made from a polyboard panel across four square crates sat central in the room, covered with a patchwork of paper diagrams and plans. Architectural drawings,
city maps, and lists written on myriad notepads in varying hands. Talis couldn’t help herself; two years of absorbing details in preparation for their Lippen heist had trained her to memorize details at a glance. Grenades, used as paperweights, weighed down the corners of a drawing that threatened to roll itself back up.

  The casual threat of it all made Talis want to pull her weapons, kill Hankirk, and run for the docks. But she was here, in the heart of his delusions, and it might be the only chance to learn what game he was playing at. Then she could kill him. Gods-rot it, finally end the man.

  Hankirk’s people were hard at work, murmuring among themselves over inventories, plans, or worse. They looked up as Hankirk led Talis inside, nodded to him, and returned to their conference. He directed her to stand out of the way of the bustle, near the table, and continued. She scanned the plans—an unrecognizable, entangled labyrinthine architectural system, a webwork of rooms or hallways or catacombs—as Hankirk continued his proud monologue.

  “But right now, the empress is surrounded on all sides by enemies who would use her for their own gains. Aliens who put her on display as a justification, an endorsement of their presence, and bureaucrats who try to influence her and sway her mind to their personal aims. The Empress is at risk. I only want to strip away the corruption that will try to ruin her.”

  “They’re not really going to let her rule anything.” Talis suspected Hankirk would also use the girl for his own gains, but she left the comment unspoken. You don’t walk into a sleeping bear’s cave and poke at it with a stick.

  “Talis, we’ll change the system. The people will follow her because she’s the legitimate heir. She doesn’t need a tower full of politicians to claim that. We’ll strip down the old court, cast out the liars and the schemers. She can pick new advisors, bring in new teachers to educate her as she goes, but she must be the one in charge. I won’t have her surrounded by the Veritor sycophants who will put the alien concerns first and do nothing to help her lead when her time comes. So her time comes now.”

  Talis cringed. However smart Hankirk was, he was no tactician. He’d been used, himself, for years and was no less naive for knowing it in hindsight. Now, he imagined himself as a hero storming the castle. Saving the princess, protecting the kingdom.

  But that didn’t mean Hankirk was entirely wrong. Maybe the Empress could be stronger if the system built up around her family’s throne was stripped away and reinforced with good, honest people. But that wasn’t Talis’s call. And gods knew it shouldn’t be Hankirk’s call, either. He was going to get all these new followers killed.

  But none of that meant he was wrong about the present situation. Their enemies were the Veritors and the Yu’Nyun.

  If she stuck close to Hankirk, played his game, let him believe she put stock in what he was saying, maybe she could be in the right place to act at the end of it. Maybe she could stop him from moving ahead with the worst of his plans and still get what she needed out of the organized strength of his rebellion. Then. Then she could finally end him.

  She crossed her arms and leaned her weight into one hip, against the side of the table. “So what’s your plan, then?”

  The grin that split his face was ridiculous. Gods, after everything, he really did just want her to believe in him.

  “This way,” he said, his hand at her elbow again. She tolerated it.

  He steered her to the back of the makeshift headquarters, to a stack of crates covered by a dingy olive colored tarp. It was conspicuous in its camouflage, and before he even pulled the covering off, she felt her stomach drop out beneath her as she recognized the regular shape and size of the forms beneath.

  “This will take care of the aliens.” He proudly lifted one side back to reveal the crates of Yu’Nyun solution. She gaped, her mind fried by the reveal, so he continued. “They brought it here to destroy us, so we’re going to make them drink their own poison.”

  “Poison. Oh gods, Hankirk.” She muttered a curse. It all made sense. “You’re the one who hired me to dredge that crap up.”

  “I tried to work with you on this,” he said. He looked disappointed, lifting a hand as if to touch her again, but curled the fingers and let it fall back to his side.

  She trembled with the things she wanted to scream at him. She wanted to hit him again. Rather, she wanted to shoot him. But she was in his secret base, surrounded by his people. She settled for spitting on the floor, then stabbing at his chest with one finger.

  “That Vein person you sent to hire me? They sent an assassin after Dug! That’s how you help me? That’s how you do business?”

  He stumbled over his reply, so sure of his reasoning he couldn’t handle an argument. “No. Eneil was supposed to get you off that island so you could salvage the ships and get back to the war. I told them ‘at any cost,’ but that’s not what I meant.”

  Hankirk lived in a fantasy world free of consequence. There were no words for her anger that would satisfy. Heedless of the danger, she hit him again.

  It occurred to her there was once a time when he’d have dodged the punch, sensed it coming. But he wasn’t quite the same bastard who expected the worst of her, and he was still processing what she’d said.

  The punch connected, only her fist was properly formed. It still hurt, but the knuckles held their shape. He staggered back, falling, and she got to enjoy watching him reel, blinking away the daze. She shook her hand, flexing the fingers.

  “You think you have it all gods-rotted figured out, don’t you?” She waved her other hand at the crates, at the whole building. “You’re gonna rush in and save the day. Only you haven’t witnessed what this crap does. I have. I’ve been to Ytima, where they tested it on people. People, Hankirk. It turns them to monsters. They killed each other. You want to just go tossing this stuff all over the capital? You think that’s how you’re going to help the Empress?”

  He landed on his metal arm again, held up his good hand to ward off another blow. But she was done. The room behind them was silent, all work had stopped at the sound. She noticed no one came forward to restrain her.

  “I didn’t know,” he said, wincing and moving his jaw. Blood dribbled from his lip. “Talis, I swear.”

  He staggered back a step. Bastard never thought things through.

  “Of course you didn’t. There’s a whole hell of a lot you are innocent of knowing. You always forge ahead with your half-cocked schemes and wait to see what the mess you make looks like on the far side. But you nearly got mine killed, and now you’re going to make a bigger mess for your precious Empress to try and solve, all on her own, if you start shipping this off to your frontline.”

  He got himself up into a seated position and struggled for the balance to stand. “I didn’t know. How can that be?”

  He might have been stunned by the news or her punch. Both. She was beyond caring.

  “The ‘how’ makes no sense to me, but I’ve got a pair of alchemists and the whole dead island of Ytima to tell me it’s true. You’ll just have to trust me on this. As much as you keep claiming you do.”

  He climbed to his feet and backed away from the crates to stand beside her, so they both faced the pile. The horrifying, destructive solution. The scuffle of noise behind them indicated everyone had returned to their tasks. Only now the plan was properly screwed. She wished they’d have the sense to realize that and leave.

  “Then what . . .” He was talking to himself, probably. She might have hit him too hard.

  Fine with her. He deserved one of those a day.

  But this was an opportunity. She’d destroyed his plans, and she could replace them with her own while he was still too rattled to argue. Take advantage of the scale of his operation. Then take him down, for Dug, when the imminent threat was cleared.

  She dusted off his jacket, with sharp, brisk movements. Partially to knock off the dust from the floor, partially to get his att
ention. Get him focused on her.

  “You can’t throw the stuff out; someone else will just find it. Can’t wash it down a drainpipe or you’ll destroy the city. And I wouldn’t risk tossing it back to flotsam for some other fool to pull up again. I want you to hang onto it, keep it safely locked up, and don’t let anyone touch it. No one, hear me? We’re working on a way to counter it. I’ll come back when we have it figured out.”

  He didn’t reply. Mumbled a few more words under his breath, staring at the crates, inconsolable. She gave him a light slap on the face.

  “You hear me? No one touches it. You wait for me to come back with something to break it down and make it harmless.”

  “I didn’t know.” He grabbed her shoulder again. “Talis, I swear I didn’t know.”

  “And that’s why I told you. Now you do. You hearing me, you bastard? You don’t use this stuff for your plans. Whatever you do to invade Diadem and free your little empress, you don’t use this.”

  She was too surprised to stop him when he pulled her into another hug. His face pressed against her neck and she felt the wet of his hot tears on her skin.

  “Thank you, Talis.” He pulled back. “You see, now, how I need you on my side?”

  She patted him awkwardly, willing him to let go. “Yeah, I know. You stop doing stupid crap like this, and maybe I can be.”

  No way. Not even close, but now she had to keep him trusting her long enough to sort out what to do about him, his fool army, and their ultra-destructive stockpile.

  Chapter 33

  And he’s actually going to pay us for it?” Sophie’s eyebrows had elevated so high in disbelief they disappeared behind her choppy fringe. Since returning to the world, she’d taken up her old style of bleaching a few scattered strips of her hair and dyed them with bright blues and greens.

  Talis scoffed. Not at the question. She couldn’t blame Sophie’s skepticism. Her wry humor was inspired by the absolute upside-down-ness of the whole situation. Hankirk was their best repeat customer of the past few years. The ring, the alien tech, and now a counteragent Scrimshaw and Amos would work on together to destroy the solution. Hankirk had been emphatic about sponsoring the costs of the research. Talis hadn’t asked for that, but she wasn’t about to refuse him. It was still going to cost him his life later on, no discounts.