Night time. Grey rain moving in sheets at an angle across the dirty city, pooling in potholes and rushing in the gutters, the sound of it gurgling heavy in his ears. What else stood out? The single yellow light on the third or fourth floor of the apartment building across the way, curtains carried on a humid night air dancing lamely in the window. Moving like a ghost, with no-one behind them. No shadow blocking the light. Nobody watching him. Cassius remembered that distinctly - the feeling of being alone, of being unseen. Like he was dead. A ghost himself.
Anyway, he didn’t know if that would’ve changed anything having somebody in that window, maybe washing dishes at a kitchen sink, glancing up for no reason and noting with detached curiosity the man skulking in the rain. He didn’t know if that would’ve stopped him or if he would have paid no mind to it because he had no mind left, if he’d just kept on with what he was about to do instead. Probably would’ve kept on, what with the state he was in. It wasn’t even the drink in his veins, he knew that now. The drink was just a lubricant, oil to the gears that were in motion long before he downed his sixteenth glass and decided he was going to kill that man.
That person in the window, if they’d been there, they would’ve seen Cassius trudging in the rain, and then they would’ve cast their eyes along the street and noticed the figure ahead of him. The shadow of an inebriated man shambling along apparently unaware of the predator behind him. Well, maybe they would’ve just thought that they were two men trying to get back to their hotel after a big night on the town.
After all, lots of men and women piled into cities like Dinar, transient workers from the mega ships that carried passengers and precious cargo across the galaxy. Frustrated, often poor people who would stay in a city for a week or two and blow off steam and then be gone, only to be replaced by others exactly the same that very day, indistinguishable.
He’d begun to feel a little like that – faceless – even though he was about to make Captain in the largest transport company in the galaxy. It was a big achievement, sure, but not enough to keep the rest of his life together. His wife certainly didn’t give a shit about it. No, he was just another person nobody would notice or remember, doing necessary but thankless work.
The opportunity he was looking for presented itself rather seamlessly. He thought he would have to drag the man off the sidewalk kicking and screaming. But the man did it for him. Mumbled something and then veered sharply to the right and down the alleyway. Cassius followed, moving like the darkness, his steps masked by the sound of the rain. The man’s shadow diminished down the alleyway, right to the very end where Cassius followed. Finally he stopped, planted his left hand on the wall and pulled his dick out with the other and started to piss all over his shoes. Cassius just stood behind him staring at the back of his head, squeezing his fists, open and closed, open and closed.
He’d run his tongue over his split lip then, feeling for the drip of warm blood but the wound had stopped flowing and all he got was a metallic aftertaste. The man had landed a good shot back at the bar when they’d run into one another in the dimly-lit hallway to the toilets and Cassius had told him he’d had enough to drink.
“Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do, cunt,” and then thunk, right fist into his mouth. Hit so hard it knocked Cassius into the wall and he shattered the framed pin-up girl there with the back of his head. The man was younger than him, smaller but well built. There was power behind the shot. And for some goddamn reason, Cassius froze. Slid down to the ground and hunched there on the bits of glass while the man stepped over him on his way back to the bar. Cassius didn’t know whether he should go out there and strangle the man right in front of his crewmates, even if he was wearing his uniform jacket and they’d ID him and he’d be jailed and stripped of his rank, or if he should just walk away. He walked away.
Not long after, staring at himself in the bar’s grimy half-cracked bathroom mirror, looking at his stained and crumpled collar and the line of blood down his chin and the busted swollen lip and the thin veneer of sweat all over him, his whole body thick with self-loathing – well, he decided he should wait. Wait until the man was alone. Wait until he’d left his crewmates and then Cassius would do it. Because he just wouldn’t take that kind of disrespect. He didn’t deserve it. Does that little fuck know who I am? First Officer Cassius Jet of the WATC Vanguard. Soon to be Captain. Did that man understand what that meant? What it took for Jet to get there? Goddamn Captain Cassius Jet. And what was he? A crystal monkey in an engine room in some cantankerous piece of shit labouring across the galaxy. Not like him. Nothing like him.
He waited until he heard the zip of the pants go up to hit the man in the back of the skull. The man jolted forward and smacked his head on the brick wall. Then he fell spread-eagled and Jet was on top of him in an instant, raining blows on him, all that blood streaming down the man’s face and mingling with the water puddling on the asphalt around them. The poor sod was trying to scream but it was just mangled, guttural curses and ineffectual thrashing of arms. What tha fuck – fuck yoo – st-st-stop – why are ya – why – why
The man was spectacularly drunk and uncoordinated. It was a cheap shot. Cassius knew that. But fuck it and fuck him. The guilt was just a twinge that quickly disappeared, a shot of light across a night sky and in the darkness it left behind a wild rage, an ugly lost thing that had finally found a home.
He beat the man relentlessly, slamming his head into the ground again and again, and then he wrapped both hands around the man’s neck and squeezed. The man choked a breath out and scratched at his face. He almost gouged Jet's eye and in the struggle, ended up digging his fingers into the skin near Jet's hairline. It was a deep gash that sent blood spurting down his eyebrow like a small jet. Cassius growled and grabbed the man’s flailing arm from just under his elbow and shoved it up and back until he heard a stomach-turning crack. The man screamed a terrible wail and his blue eyes widened like saucers and found Jet's face in the dark. And that look – those eyes – they terrified Cassius so much he sprung off the man like he’d seen a snake in the grass and ran down the alleyway, his entire body shuddering and breath rattling in his chest and his feet pounding the pavement in a desperate attempt to put space between him and that thing back there. He could hear him keening in the dark, raw agony in his voice, the sound bouncing around the walls and echoing down the street, magnified. Lights going on in the apartments across the street, each warm glow like eyes opening. He sprinted faster.
Even years later, he’d hear that voice in his sleep. It’d be gone by the time he woke up, just an echo of something he might or might not have done, sometimes he wasn’t so sure. But those eyes – he’d see them floating on the canvas of his shut eyelids and he would know what happened wasn’t a dream. It was real. He did it. He’d see those eyes in other people’s faces. The waiter at the restaurant, or the man he passed in the ship halls. Sometimes in his own face, a shard of expression snagged in the reflection of a wall panel or the Bridge glass that looked out onto the black expanse of the universe. They’d stare back at him, those eyes, cold and lit with a glint like sunlight falling on ice in some inhospitable place. He’d never forget them.
But what he feared most, more than being haunted in the lone night hours, was that those eyes would never forget him.
***
Maverick Lopin didn’t think he loved Cressida DuPont, not yet, but he was a hair close to it. It was everything about her, but especially that body. Those breasts. Shaped like tear-drops that’d move up to damn near her neck when he made love to her. Bounce, bounce, bounce. And then after they’d be done fucking he’d start to see her again, properly. The way her black eyes danced with wit and her laugh rolled low and throaty like thunder and she looked at him with an almost savage optimism that made him tremble.
She had her head resting on his chest, dark hair splayed across him in seaweed-fashion, her fingers tracing his ribs like whispers. Her eyes on him, soaking him up. He didn’t want to say it to her, that he felt like this was everything, that it was moments like this when it was all fucking worth it and every challenge to come would be worth it and he could conquer it all because he was a god, like she always told him. You are a god and the world is here for your pleasure. That was how she viewed the world, a place of infinite possibility, of him and her being giant players on a tiny stage, all of life a string of pearls waiting to be swept up and pocketed. He’d never met anyone with a view like that. She told him she picked it up from a book she found under a park bench at university, the words of some avant-garde painter, and it stuck with her because the world was too dim and dull to look at any other way. And he hadn’t known what to say to any of that because he’d been too fixated on how she made him feel trapped in all sorts of good ways.
Well, he didn’t say none of that right then. He just grinned at her, happy that she’d insisted on coming into his cabin before the job started and happy that he’d caved. He couldn’t see her smile but her eyes slanted and the skin around them wrinkled and the familiar bubble of nerves crackled in his chest. He wanted that silence to stretch on for a while, even though first shift started soon and everything they’d planned would be set in motion. It didn’t matter, not right now. He didn’t want to acknowledge it yet. He wanted to pretend like they had an entire summer to do nothing but fuck and sleep and dream of future riches and what they’d do and where they’d go, but not have to do a thing about it. Not yet.
“Are you ready?”
And like that, the moment was gone. A candle snuffed out, a balloon popped. Cress sure knew how to knock the wind out of his sails, just as well as she could fill them up. He sighed and put his hand in the crook of her elbow.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” he said, squeezing her arm. She gazed at him a moment, eyes flicking back and forth over his face like she didn’t quite believe him.
“Finch is good? Brecken?”
“Uh-huh. They’re ready.”
“Good. My boys are ready too. Do you know anyone else in the crew?”
“None.”
“Alright, well we have plan B if they don’t go along with us,” she said quickly. That was like her, always looking for the next opportunity.
“Yeah we do, but we won’t need it alright? Why you worrying now, huh?”
She pursed her lips and drew upright, bare breasts blotched red where she’d been laying on him.
“It’s just – it’s a big deal, you know?”
“I know it’s a big deal.”
“A lot of money.”
“Fuck yeah it is,” he said, grinning. He felt another swell in his chest. God it’s a lot of money. He’d waited a long time and waded through a lot of shit to get here, just to get a shot at it. But Cressida didn’t crack a smile.
“It won’t be easy.”
“No, it ain’t gonna be easy.”
“And you only have limited time to-”
“Hey, hey,” he interrupted her, narrowing his eyes. He sat up against the pillow, noting distantly the faint starlight breathing cool on her tan skin. “I’ve been planning this a long time. I’m prepared. I know what I’m doing. You gotta trust me.”
She stared at him, not saying or doing anything, eyes dark and empty. His heart skipped.
“You trust me, don’t you, Cress?” he said softer, searching her expression and her eyes for the warmth that was there when he was inside of her. For a second it wasn’t and then, like a light switch going on, it was.
“Of course I do,” she said and she rubbed her hand up and down his shin. “You know I do.”
He nodded.
“Well alright then.”
She bobbed her head a few times and then inhaled deeply as her eyes coasted over to the digital clock on the bedside table.
“I should head off,” she said. “Have a shower and get dressed. Remember, it’s important -”
He pinched her flesh gently. “I know. Be on time. How’d you think I got to this position huh? By being late?”
She rolled her eyes and climbed off the bed. He turned his neck and spied the clock. He was due on the Bridge in thirty minutes, sharp. And even though he was never late, Cressida was right in saying it. He couldn’t take any risks, not in his position. Not with this plan that relied almost entirely on his reliability and authority. He needed to look like he was doing it right, all of it. Cressida stood stretching her arms tall over her head. She was all tapered waist and curved lines, and he appraised her more out of reflex than desire. She dropped her arms with a swing and nodded at the bedside.
“Can you pass my necklace?”
When they first started seeing each other, Maverick snapped the necklace off during an especially acrobatic sex session. Cressida had flown into such a rage about it, she socked him hard enough to make his cheekbone swell. Now she always took it off when they had sex. He went to reach up for it with his left hand and halted. A tremor of pain raced up his shoulder and into his neck. He cleared his throat and sat up proper and reached across his body for it.
“Still hurts?” she said softly. “Will it be fine for, you know, whatever happens?”
He gritted his teeth and didn’t look at her.
“Yeah, don’t worry, it ain’t bad,” he muttered, scooping the necklace in his fingers. Why does she even have to ask? “It’s way better now than it was, anyway.”
It wasn’t. The thing never got better. It just healed to a certain point and then stopped. He never told her the extent of it, that he could barely reach over his head, couldn’t shampoo his own damn hair with his left hand, couldn’t grab things off the top shelf or do a pull up without crying. Sometimes he’d scratch the top of his head in front of her, even though he was screaming with pain inside, just to show her that it wasn’t so bad. He hid its extent from everyone, even his seniors and the health board. As far as they knew, his shoulder healed up and he was fit for service. He did his routine fitness tests loaded up on the strongest painkillers he could find. His shoulder swelled up like a beach ball after each time, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he got this far.
“Poor pup,” she crooned, rubbing her hand up and down his bare back. “How’d it happen again?”
“Wrestling, remember, I told you,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. He handed her the necklace. “Ended my career dreams so I got into this gig instead.”
He got to his feet and started to pull on his shorts.
“Well, you can still wrestle with me, Mavlo,” she said with a wink and nudged him playfully with her elbow. He straightened up and huffed a laugh and watched her hurriedly get dressed.
When she was finished, she gave him a peck on the cheek, bade him good luck and went to the door. She pressed her ear against it and listened. When it was quiet on the other side, she opened the door and peered up and down the corridor and then disappeared out of it. The door sealed shut after her. He stood there staring at it, thinking that he damn near loved Cressida DuPont, but there were some things that woke him up at night in a cold sweat, and those things he kept to himself.
***
“Have you worked with him before?”
Captain Cassius Jet was seated in the Bridge meeting room with a full view of the galaxy and the curling edge of the green planet below. Commander Ricad Dall cut an imposing figure at six-foot-five with a shadow that fell like a slab over the end of the table. He stood there hunched over a folder and peering up at Cassius with stony eyes from beneath black lashes, waiting for an answer with the impassive face of a colossal statue.
Cassius felt like he’d swallowed his own sleeve. Had he worked with him? No, no he hadn’t. But he did know him. He did. Of course, the name didn’t ring any bells when he first read it on the brief sheet issued from the Company, and it never occurred to him that the man listed could be the same one from that night ten years ago. The truth was, he thought the man was dead, which made Jet a killer who got away with murder and somehow he’d lived with that truth until now. It made no difference that he hadn’t actually succeeded in killing the man. He’d left him to die, and whatever luck or grace saved him didn’t change Jet’s intent.
Now there was no time left to try and pull some strings in the Company to have someone replace him. And even if there was, what could he say? That the man was too young and inexperienced for a mission like this? That, hell, this is war-time and you need the absolute best to transport goods like these? No. That worked both ways, the war-time excuse. The Federation just needed warm bodies and they needed them now.
“Captain?”
Cassius looked up, his reverie broken.
“No, I don’t know him,” he said.
“You haven’t worked with him?”
“No.”
“I know someone who served with him in the defence force about nine or ten years ago.”
“He’s ex-military?”
Dall nodded.
“Excellent pilot was what I heard.”
Nine or ten years ago. So Cassius had left a soldier to die, no less. However he made it out of there, the man would’ve attended with a military doctor after the attack. Those records would still exist.
“Oh, really? That’s great,” Jet mumbled.
“Yes, well, given the circumstances of the mission, it’s unfortunate you didn’t have the time to get properly acquainted prior to mission go.”
“I know.”
“But it shouldn’t be an issue.”
“It won’t be.”
It can’t.
Dall turned a page in the file. Cassius peered at the upside down photograph on the page. Even from here, he knew the details. They were etched in his memory. The moment he spied that face a week earlier, it was like he was falling, as if the ground beneath him disintegrated and he had a straight shot to hell. Maverick Lopin was a fair man with fine features, small blue eyes like wet opals and golden hair long on the top and cropped short on the sides. An almost boyish face interrupted by an ugly scar near the inner corner of his eyebrow and one on his lip, only half hidden by stubble. They were scars that Cassius had given him, and there were probably more. He could hear that crack again, sudden and deafening like a strike of lightening, and he shifted in his seat and cleared his throat and ran a trembling hand over the back of his warm neck. Dall didn’t seem to notice.
“He should be on the Bridge shortly,” the Commander commented. He straightened up and went to the window. Cassius stared with unfocused eyes at the broad man clothed in dark military blue. “You can get acquainted and then we’ll head down for the briefing.”
“Certainly,” Cassius whispered.
He had started to pray, although he wasn’t much of a religious man, certainly more out of obligation and tradition than any true spiritual calling. But he prayed nonetheless, pleading with God to make it that Lopin didn’t recognise him that night, that he didn’t catch any of his face or body or uniform and even if he did, even if he did God, please don’t let him remember me. Please, don’t. I need this to go right. Maggie needs this to go right.
Well, maybe she didn’t. But she said to him when he got his shit together and paid those debts and stopped leaving on six month assignments, then she’d reconsider their separation. What he needed now more than ever was a big payout. The mission had to go right. God knows it has to go right. And that couldn’t happen if Maverick Lopin came through that door and ID’d him. If he saw Jet’s face and immediately turned to Commander Dall and told him “Captain Jet violently attacked me a decade ago,” Dall would have to do something about it. He would contact the Company and inform them, and they would call the police. Lopin could tell the Company dates of when he was in Dinar and show how Jet was also in Dinar at that time. He would have medical records of when he sustained his injuries. Injuries consistent with an attack, not a fall or a sporting injury. The military protected their own, so he could easily get the treating doctor to testify as much. And what if he had a witness? Then it would all be over. Jet would be arrested and taken off the ship and thrown in a cell. He wouldn’t fly again, at least, not in time to repay his debts. Not in time to stop DeRoss’s lackeys finding him. Maybe they’ll find Maggie if I don’t come through…
Someone knocked on the door of the meeting room and Cassius almost jumped out of his seat. Dall gave him a side-eye look before saying, “That must be him.”
Cassius bobbed his head and got to his feet. He reached up and made sure his hair was covering the scar Lopin had given him, then he gripped the edge of the table with both hands. His heart was galloping in his chest, the muscles in his legs quivering.
“Enter,” Dall called.
Jet eyeballed the door with as even an expression as possible, though it felt like he was trying to contain a monster playing inside his skin, desperate to escape. The door parted. A moment later, Maverick Lopin entered. He was a tall, athletic man with a confident manner and purposeful stride. His cold blue eyes found Dall first and the men shook hands.
“First Officer Lopin,” the military man said. “Ricad Dall, commanding officer of the convoy’s military escort.”
“Good to meet you, sir,” Lopin said, and then he dropped his hand by his side and those eyes swivelled across the room and settled on Cassius, who stood breathless and unblinking. It felt like the room had fallen away. They were somewhere else, just him and Lopin, a place with no time and no form. Just them. Just those blue eyes, so light they were almost translucent, floating away from Lopin and coming towards him, seeking him out, finding him.
“This is Captain Cassius Jet,” Dall said, stepping back. Lopin took a step towards Jet.
“I know,” the first officer said. “We’ve met before.”