First thing to do was to talk to the Cap’n. He ought to know his crew. He ought to know what to do and say to keep Malvery on side. Because if the doctor left, there was no way Ashua was staying. Not with Jez and Harkins and Silo. She had no real affection for them.
And if Malvery walked, he might very well walk right into a noose.
She made her way through the craft to Frey’s quarters, one of several blank metal doors to either side of the passageway that ran along the Ketty Jay’s spine. She knocked, and was answered by a bored ‘Yeah?’ from inside.
‘Ashua,’ she said.
Frey slid the door open. He was dishevelled, his eyes weary. He looked her over. Either he hadn’t slept, or he was drunk, or both. Then he stepped out the way, inviting her in.
His quarters were grubby and poky. A sour smell of unwashed male hung in the air. A hammock bulging with luggage hung above an unmade bunk. Lying on the bunk was a creased handbill. At the top was the legend: WANTED FOR PIRACY AND MURDER. LARGE REWARD. Below it was a picture of Frey, young and smiling. It was obviously old, but Ashua wondered why he’d been looking at it at all. What kind of memories did it hold?
She walked past him into the dim metal room, and he closed the door behind her. When he turned back, he noticed the handbill as if for the first time, picked it up quickly and put it aside. ‘Wanna sit?’ he said, indicating the bunk.
She eyed his sheets. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘No.’
He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms. ‘What’s up?’
‘Just came to see if you’re okay, Cap’n,’ she said.
‘The doc send you to make a diagnosis?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Wondering if you needed something, that’s all.’
Frey cleared his throat and looked around the room as if surprised to find himself there. He was dazed and glassy-eyed. Definitely drunk, she thought, though she couldn’t see a bottle anywhere. She was beginning to wonder if it had been a good idea, coming here. Perhaps she’d been over-familiar. She should have left him to himself.
He reached over to a cabinet fixed to the wall and pulled open a drawer. It had a key in it, but it was unlocked. From within he drew out a small glass bottle full of liquid.
Ah. Now it made sense. She felt a slight sinking feeling in her belly.
‘Since when did you take Shine?’ she asked.
‘I like a drop now and then,’ he replied. ‘Haven’t touched it since Samarla, but now. .’ He gave a slow, clownish shrug and a stupid grin. ‘Who gives a shit, right?’
Ashua decided she’d had enough. She thought a bit of sympathy might help him out, even though sympathy was a rare weapon in her arsenal. But she knew that look. She’d seen it on Maddeus’ face, and the faces of the people he surrounded himself with. The placid, empty look of the chemical escapist.
The sight of him filled her with disgust. She hadn’t thought him so weak.
‘You know what? I think I’ll leave you to it,’ she said. ‘Excuse me.’
She moved for the door, but he put his arm across in front of her, barring her way. ‘Stay a while,’ he said. ‘Now you mention it, there is something I need.’
And then he had his arm around her waist, and he was leaning in to kiss her. She shoved him away with such force that he fell against the luggage hammock, which snapped under his weight. He fell onto his bunk amid an avalanche of suitcases. After a moment of surprise, he burst out laughing.
‘You’ve got some kick to you!’ he said.
‘Knock it off!’ she snapped at him. She swatted the bottle of Shine from his hand and it smashed on the floor. ‘And you can knock that shit off too! You already lost two of your crew. Pull your damn self together or you won’t have any left!’
She pulled open the door and stormed out. Frey was still laughing hysterically as she left.
She went down to the cargo hold, humiliated and boiling with fury. That arsehole! She always knew he had it in him, that sense of entitlement concerning the opposite sex, that need to obtain women. She’d seen it from the start. But she’d thought he had it under control. She’d come to believe he was better than that.
Should’ve trusted her instincts. People always disappointed her. It was just a matter of time.
There was nobody about in the hold. She burrowed into the blanketed niche between the pipes where she slept and let the fabric curtain close behind her. The pipes gave her no warmth: the Ketty Jay had cooled off quickly from her flight. She lay on her back and stewed for a while. Then she rolled over, dug between the pipes, and pulled out the object that Bargo Ocken had given her. A small brass cube with a press-stud on one face and a light on the other. Her signalling device.
If the crew fell apart, if it all went to shit, it wouldn’t be Ashua they hunted. She’d go free; she’d have the world before her. But she needed money, if she was to be thrown out in the cold. And with what she knew now, she could negotiate a bonus. A big bonus. Something that could set her up for a while, if she played her cards right.
A faint note of caution sounded in the back of her mind. The secrets they’d learned in the Awakener base were dangerous material. They had to be handled carefully. She remembered what had happened with Jakeley Screed. The spy game could be a deadly one, and every player took a risk.
They’d first approached her not long after Maddeus had kicked her out. Maybe it was just coincidence; maybe they knew she was in need. She’d never have agreed while she was still under his wing, but she was out on her own, and this was an opportunity.
His name had been Dager Toyle. He was a Vard in the Free Trade Zone, a charismatic man in middle age, with the kind of manner that made everyone want to be on his side. He came to Ashua with an offer.
We need your eyes and ears, he said. Anything you can tell us. Titbits. Everything helps, and the better you do, the more we’ll pay you.
It sounded like a win-win situation for Ashua. Sounded like money for old rope. Little did she know.
And so she began to spy on the Samarlans on the Thacians’ behalf.
At first she was lazy about it. She knew the underground, and there were always rumours. Toyle was interested in anything. The Thacians, long-time enemies of the Samarlans, would be arrested on sight in the Free Trade Zone or anywhere else in Samarla. They had to keep an eye on their aggressive neighbours somehow. Ashua imagined they had dozens, hundreds of people like her in Shasiith, feeding them scraps.
But the money wasn’t much, and Ashua wanted more. Motivated, she tried harder. She made friends with the untouchables, the lowest caste of Samarlan society, who were so insignificant to other Samarlans they were practically invisible. And invisible people made good spies. Soon Ashua was regularly providing Toyle with good information, and her pay increased accordingly.
Eventually the good times ended. Eventually, Jakeley Screed turned up.
She first heard it through another spy in Toyle’s network. He made contact with her, warned her that Toyle was dead and all his agents compromised. Ashua had warily agreed to a meeting, but he never arrived. She tracked him down, found him dead in his apartment. Frightened, she went into hiding, and while there she learned that the Sammies had employed a Vard spyhunter named Jakeley Screed. He was killing all of Toyle’s agents. It was only a matter of time before he got to her.
But Frey got to her first.
In the end, it was through her connections in the untouchables that she heard about the shipment which contained the Iron Jackal. She needed the money to hire protection or to escape, she wasn’t sure which. So she started gathering men for the job, but somehow a whispermonger found out and sold the news to Trinica Dracken. She sent Frey to find Ashua, which led her here. Strange how things worked out.