The Long Forever. Eugene Lambert
follows is ugly. And so is Sky’s scowl.
‘I didn’t mean to kill him,’ I protest. ‘I just lashed out.’
Heads are shaken. I hear grim mutters.
‘Great. What do we do now?’ a youngster says.
My heart sinks. Thanks to me, we’ve traded our small cage for a bigger one hurtling through space with nobody at the controls. I daren’t look at Sky, so I glance at Murdo. To my astonishment, I see his battered mouth twist into a grin.
‘You think this is funny ?’
He shrugs. ‘Relax. It’s not a problem.’
Cam curses. ‘Are you deaf, or stupid? Your mate killed the pilot. Without him to fly this thing, we’re screwed!’
Murdo loses the grin, trading it for a wince as he pushes himself away from the bulkhead he’s leaning against. ‘Wind your neck in, kid. I’m a pilot too, so we’re not screwed.’
Out of the corner of my eye I see Sky start.
No kidding. We both know Murdo can soar a cobbled-together windjammer along Wrath’s ridges like a bird, but this is a shift-stuff-between-the-stars spacecraft. Can he fly it? Like hell he can.
But I keep that doubt off my face. He’s saying this to calm things down. And it’s working. Sky’s face is scrunched-up and sceptical, but the nublood kids are letting out held breaths and swapping happy looks again. Banged up in ident camps all their lives, what do they know?
They shoot a few questions at Murdo, but he waves them away. ‘Later. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m so hungry I could eat a fourhorn, horns, tail and all. How about we find food and fill our bellies?’
That gets a massive cheer. My stomach, which doesn’t seem to care that we’re still doomed, rumbles loudly. Murdo suggests they haul skinny guy out of the cage to show us where the food is and how to prep it. He’s not keen, but Cam soon persuades him with a killstick.
All the nublood kids stream noisily out after them.
Anuk stops in the hatch. ‘Aren’t you coming?’
I say we will, but first we need to secure the prisoners.
Sky pokes Murdo in the chest. ‘So you’ll do the flying, huh?’
‘Quit that,’ he says, swatting her hand away.
‘You don’t really think you can fly it, do you?’ I say.
He looks me in the eye. ‘Just watch me.’
‘Look, how the frag are you even here?’ Sky growls.
Murdo’s grin widens. ‘I hid amongst some crates while they loaded them, ducked out of the hold and inside an escape craft off the crew compartment. Thought I’d stay there until you guys busted yourselves out. But time goes by and nothing happens. And the pod’s life support must be faulty. It gets so cold I can’t take it any more. In the end I figure I’ll bust you guys out instead.’ He winces and feels his battered jaw. ‘Only when I opened up the pod’s hatch, I ran straight into two of them. I could hardly walk, let alone fight. The rest you saw.’
I shake my head at him. ‘Okay, but why?’
‘Why not? The Slayer crackdown is making it damn near impossible on Wrath. Anyway, a life out there is only half a life. I belong out here. And –’ he struggles over to the nearest wooden crate and slaps his hand on it – ‘there’s this. No marks on it, but we know what’s inside, don’t we?’
He laughs, all his aches and pains seemingly forgotten.
‘Darkblende’s worth a fortune. Sell this load here and we’re not just sorted, Sky, we can go anywhere and do anything we like. Live so fine you won’t believe it. We’ll make the Saviour and his lot look like peasants.’
Sky’s scowl stays put. ‘You’re mad, you know that?’
‘Am I? We’ll see. Hey, Kyle, do you think you could secure that cage again?’
I give myself a shake. ‘Yeah, sure.’
‘Do it then. I’ll be on the flight deck, checking things out.’
With that, he lurches stiffly out of the hold.
Sky leans against a crate and sighs. ‘Well, either he’s mad, or he knows something we don’t.’
‘Seems awful sure of himself.’
‘Doesn’t he always?’
In cargo holds there’s always some rope lying around. I find a heavy-duty strap that’ll do. The cage’s lock was some fancy electronic thing. After Murdo blasted it, it’s melted slag. No problem. Growing up out in the Barrenlands, you learn to make do. I strap the cage door to its frame, lead the tails of the strap round a stanchion a few metres away, and use its built-in ratchet to cinch it as tight as I can.
Ugly. Effective. They’ll never undo that.
The two dead kids lie by the charred crate. Somebody’s thrown an old tarp over them, but their feet stick out. Inside the cage, one of the knocked-out crewmen stirs.
‘You’ve no idea who you’re messing with,’ he snarls.
‘Neither do you,’ Sky snarls back.
We clear off through the hatch and slam it behind us. Through its porthole I watch the guy struggle up to wrench at the cage door. It holds. He slumps back down.
‘If Murdo does get this ship’s drive going again, they’ll get a taste of their own medicine,’ I say.
Sky grins. ‘Hah. I hadn’t thought of that.’
I’d raced through the freighter’s crew compartment when we were hunting for crewmen. It looks much smaller now, with all the kids jammed inside. The lucky ones are curled up on two clusters of seats over by the walls. Others sprawl on the deck, or perch on anything they can find. Some stare around, their eyes big and curious. Most only have eyes for an alcove to the right. Cam, Anuk and skinny guy are pulling packets of crunchy-sounding stuff out of lockers that seem frosted up inside. Food, I reckon, from the eager looks on their faces. Light shines from a small clear hatch with something turning slowly inside it, and my mouth starts watering at the smell of warming food.
But I can’t help seeing how filthy and tired it is in here. Which is weird. All my life I’d heard off-world stuff is slick and shiny compared to Wrath’s rusty old crap.
Sky starts picking her way through the kids, heading for the hatch that leads forward to the flight deck.
‘What about the food?’ I say.
‘It can wait,’ she says.
My stomach growls, but what can I do but follow?
We’re almost at the hatch when she suddenly staggers like a drunk. I lunge and hold her up.
‘You need rest and food. Murdo can wait.’
‘Don’t be a gom. Help me.’
‘Okay, okay.’ I duck under Sky’s left arm so it’s over my shoulder, slip my arm round her waist and take her weight. She was never heavy, but now she’s scary light.
We carry on through the hatch, along a companionway and up a few steps on to the flight deck. As we lurch inside, another hatch hisses closed behind us. It’s brightly lit in here, and I have to squint. Two complicated-looking pilot chairs face forward, away from us. Murdo’s to our right, sitting in front of flickering lights and several powered-down screens. When he sees us he rotates his seat and struggles up.
Sky