Dark Sky (Keiko) (7 page)

Drift produced a small box from one of the pouches on his belt and set it on the table. ‘Your grandfather asked me to pass this on to you. Did you have a message for me to take back?’

Shirokov didn’t reply. Instead he stared at the box with an unreadable expression.

‘Mr Shirokov?’ Drift prompted, after a few seconds had elapsed with no reply forthcoming.

‘I have no message for my “grandfather”,’ Shirokov said, looking up and meeting Drift’s eyes, ‘but I have message for you, Captain.

‘Get me out of here.’

Drift blinked, not welcoming the sensation of the metaphorical ground shifting beneath his feet. ‘Excuse me?’

Shirokov reached out and flipped the box open to reveal a small silver oblong. ‘Do you know what this is?’

Drift had already looked at Shirokov’s payment to make sure that he wasn’t going to be smuggling anything illegal into Uragan City, but made a show of inspecting it for the sake of politeness. ‘It appears to be a power cell.’

‘It is,’ Shirokov nodded. He tapped his knuckles on his left leg, which was unyielding. ‘I lost this leg at mine face when I was thirty-two. Industrial accidents not uncommon here, although mine was worse than many. I could not afford prosthetic, even from Universal Access Movement; they can provide good basic items, but my nerve damage too bad. I could only work in office and had to move by wheeled chair. My reading and writing not good, but I seemed to have knack to learn when I needed to. Also learned English; half well, I feel.’

‘Your English is certainly better than my Russian,’ Drift acknowledged, wondering when Shirokov was going to get to the point.

‘I got lucky,’ the Russian continued, although his lips twisted. ‘Or so I thought. Wealthy businessman visit our office, shocked how government does not help its injured workers. Organise for me new leg: proper, powered, matched with nerve endings, perfect balance. I can walk again! He tell me: any problems, I can reach him.’

‘I think I can guess his name,’ Drift muttered.

‘I think you can too,’ Shirokov sighed. ‘After eight months, power supply fails. I cannot find manufacturer to replace, brand too specialist for Universal Access Movement to supply. I contact businessman; he say, of course I can get you new one! I send someone to bring you replacement. This man come just before big storm. He tell me—’

‘I can guess what he told you, too,’ Drift sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Goddamn it, was it too much to ask for Orlov to have found someone willing to talk for money instead of this little entrapment scheme? But of course, if you wanted regular information you needed your mole to have a regular need for whatever you were paying him. He thought for a moment about what he’d do to ensure his mechanical eye kept functioning.

Yeah, quite a lot.

‘So you want out?’ he asked, gloomily.

‘
Da
,’ Shirokov said firmly, a tone of urgency entering his voice for the first time as he dropped it lower. ‘Here is
my
deal to you: you get me and my Pavel off-world and I give you information you need. This planet took my leg and I am sick of living in this
svalka
, sick of waiting for someone to realise I pass information for last ten years! Maybe I can find how to get new power supplies myself, maybe I just learn to do without one leg again. But I want to leave. I want to
live.
’

‘And if I don’t get you off-world?’ Drift asked wearily. Shirokov sat back, arms folded.

‘Then you fly back to New Samara and tell Mr Orlov you could not do his job.’

For a moment, just a moment, Drift was tempted to do just that. Or, hell, just leave the system entirely; pack up and head off, forget about Uragan and New Samara and Sergei Orlov. Kelsier had left other stashes of money around the galaxy, after all.

But … the hundred grand from Orlov was a payoff not to be sniffed at, and one of his reasons for taking this job was to prove to his crew that they still wanted to be a crew at all. Cutting and running from something as easy as this would not reflect well on his leadership credentials, or their chances of making a living from following him.

Besides, Orlov might not bother coming after them, since it wasn’t like they’d taken anything belonging to him yet apart from the power supply sitting on the table in front of them, but what if he decided they’d found a higher bidder elsewhere and sold Shirokov’s information on? That would be a slight he could not overlook, regardless of whether he had any genuine concerns about their ability to cause chaos when provoked. And there was also their reputation with the rest of the galaxy to consider. Ichabod Drift, abandoning a simple fetch-and-carry information run because it got too hard? All Orlov would have to do would be to circulate that rumour and their employability would take a terminal nosedive.

‘And Pavel,’ he said, trying to buy some time to think, ‘he would be … your son?’

‘My husband,’ Shirokov replied. Drift nodded; at least a second adult would be easier to move than a child …
Why in God’s name am I even considering this?

‘You understand that this is a slightly different situation to the one we were anticipating?’ he asked, amazing even himself with his understatement.

‘Of course,’ Shirokov nodded. ‘You may wish to get used to this, if you keep dealing with Mr Orlov.’

‘Right, thanks for that,’ Drift muttered. ‘Can you just up and leave when you like?’

‘
Nyet
,’ the other man sighed, shaking his head. ‘We will need emigration papers, and these the governor does not often grant. Who would stay, otherwise?’

‘Who indeed?’ Drift paused, then realised to his horror that Shirokov expected him to be able to do something about this. ‘Wait … what sort of clout do you think we have, exactly?!’

Shirokov shrugged. ‘I do not know. A lot, I hope.’

‘Great.’ Drift looked at Jia, then back at Shirokov. ‘I’m gonna need to discuss this with my crew, so if you’ll excuse us …’

‘Please.’ Shirokov gestured to indicate they should leave the table if they wished. ‘We have until next storm arrives.’

‘Thanks for the reminder,’ Drift said, trying not to grit his teeth too hard, and pushed his stool back. He drained the rest of his beer with one long swig and turned to head for the bar, Jia at his elbow.

‘What we gonna do?’ the pilot hissed.

‘The way I see it, we don’t have many options,’ Drift muttered. ‘I mean, do you think Apirana would beat the information out of him?’

‘Nope.’

‘No, me neither,’ Drift agreed, ‘and I wouldn’t want to do that, anyway. That leaves us with—’

‘Rourke might.’

Drift frowned. ‘You might be right. Maybe. Even so, I still wouldn’t like it. I think we’re going to have to do this the hard way and get both Shirokovs out of here.’ He smiled at the landlady and held up his now-empty bottle as she wandered over to them. ‘The same again please,
krasotka
.’

‘Why do you know how to say “pretty lady” in
every
language?’ Jia hissed as another beer found its way into Drift’s hand, courtesy of a slightly blushing landlady. Good to know he hadn’t lost his touch.

‘Because there are pretty ladies everywhere,’ he replied, taking a sip. ‘Okay. We obviously can’t get them proper emigration papers, so—’ He stopped, taking in Jia’s suddenly widening eyes. ‘What?’ He glanced around as much as he could without moving his head, trying to see if there were any mirrors or other reflective surfaces nearby, and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Did someone just come in?’

A hand landed on his shoulder and he was spun around before he could even move of his own accord. He found himself staring up, which didn’t happen often, into the face of a man he didn’t know. The newcomer was pale, with a slightly overlarge nose and hair an unremarkable shade of brown that fell shaggily to his jawline, and an artificial eye much like Drift’s own.

He wasn’t alone. Drift registered three others, all shorter, two men and a woman. Then someone else sidled into view, hair as black as a New Samaran night and his face weathered and tanned by actual atmospheric exposure. He was wearing a red-and-white neckerchief, a matt black armavest and heavy-duty trousers, the sort Kuai favoured with hundreds of pockets and reinforced knees. His mouth, under that stupid damn moustache, was twisting into a smug grin.

‘
Olá
, Ichabod,’ Ricardo Moutinho sneered. ‘Long time, no see.’

‘
COULD YOU IMAGINE
actually
living
in a place like this?’ Jenna asked in a low voice, looking around the bar. Apirana took a swig of his drink and followed her lead, trying to let his preconceptions go.

The buildings down here had clearly been built to specification; this was going to be A Bar, in the same way as the block across the street had been constructed (or should that be excavated?) as A Hotel or similar accommodation. It was a strange contrast to other mining planets or moons he’d been to, where old tunnels had been sold on by the mining companies to development agencies, and then on further to whoever could pay. On Uragan, the Red Star Confederate had come in and planned this entire subterranean city from scratch, then built it. It was ordered, functional and … well, more than a little soulless. Then again, if he was given a choice between living in the lower tunnels on somewhere like Carmella II or living in the lower levels of Uragan City, Apirana would take the pre-planned version every time.

‘I don’t think it’s that bad,’ he said honestly. ‘It’s clean, you got good air provision,’ he gestured at the large, functioning fans in the ceiling, ‘you got running water an’ sewage an’ that. Good lighting. Probably got grow galleries with sunbulbs in too, so you can at least get some fresh fruit an’ veg local.’

‘I’d miss the sky,’ Jenna said sadly, her face turned towards the darkened window which overlooked the street outside.

‘I would, too,’ Apirana nodded, ‘an’ I’m not saying it’d be ideal. But you can get used to it. Main thing is the people you share a place with. If you’ve got good people with you, you can put up with just about anything an’ keep going. If you’re surrounded by assholes, you won’t be happy anywhere.’

‘You think that?’ Jenna asked, turning to look at him. Apirana shrugged.

‘I know it. If that weren’t true, I’d still be in New Zealand.’

Jenna winced, clearly uncomfortable with the reminder of his history: to be fair, it wasn’t a pleasant story. However, something else occurred to Apirana as he looked at her.

‘An’ I’m thinking that you might still be on Franklin Minor.’

Jenna’s face didn’t move, but that in itself was an indication that he’d hit close to the mark; it wasn’t a lack of reaction so much as her expression freezing in place.

‘What do you mean?’

Apirana sighed. ‘Look, I ain’t meaning to pry, but you talking about how you’d miss the sky, an’ given how shook up you got with that business in the asteroid – an’ don’t get me wrong, you had every right to be shook up, that was some nasty shit an’ I don’t just say that cos I got shot – I’m just thinking, it sounds like you
should’ve
been happier on Franklin Minor. Got a breathable atmosphere, plants, animals, your family must’ve had some money, you went to university …’ He tailed off and swirled his drink around in his glass, looking down at it to avoid pressurising her with his gaze. ‘It sounds like a good place to be. But I know it don’t always work out that way. Just seems to me more likely that it’s people what meant you ended up with us, not that you had some sorta wanderlust.’

Now he did look up. Jenna was staring at her own drink, lips pressed tightly together.

‘We don’t have to talk about our pasts.’

‘Not trying to make you,’ Apirana said gently. ‘I’m just speculating. Could be wrong, could be right. But sometimes having a secret can be draining. Sometimes people wanna talk about something an’ don’t know where to start. Sometimes it’s easier if someone else’s done some of the groundwork for you, if you know what I mean. Told you before, I ain’t in no position to judge anyone for what they’ve done or didn’t do, because odds are I did worse.’

‘Okay, just to get this straight,
I
didn’t do anything wrong,’ Jenna snapped, ‘so you can stop that line of speculation.’

‘You didn’t do
anything
wrong?’

‘No!’

Apirana couldn’t prevent a slight smile touching his lips. ‘So you just turned up on our ship with all that slicing knowledge which had been
purely theoretical
beforehand, then?’

‘Uh … that’s …’

‘An’ it’s not like you told me an’ the Captain about how you’d got the stuff to make your EMP,’ he continued, winking at her. ‘Y’know, when you talked about how you’d been to a well-equipped university an’ you were good at getting around security systems?’

Jenna glared at him, but she had the decency to look slightly ashamed. ‘There was a context.’

Apirana couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Like I said, I ain’t judging. You’re
whānau
o’mine, an’ I trust you. You say there was a good reason, I ain’t gonna call you a liar. Probably a hell of a lot more sensible decision than I was making when I was your age.’