Onekka - The Tragedy of Jaqui Fennet (11 page)

"You
don't breathe? Are you any part human?"
"I'm slightly organic," he said, shrugging. "But the human parts
are powered by the electronic. Not, err, not the other way around. So,
technically I'm dead."
And just like that, the world fell out from under her.
The words made her feel sick. Her confidence was slipping away with every
breath as the thing she'd thought could never happen came to be. No living
being could harm her - she'd thought that made her safe, as absurd as it had
sounded when she first heard it. It was her buffer, the thing to which she
could cling for certainty. And now, she'd met the impossible person to undo
everything. A non-living being.
She mumbled something about places to be, unsure of what was happening besides
the kaleidoscope of confusion that was bursting in her mind and the tattoo of
heartbeats in her ears. He gave her a reply, but it was as meaningless as dust
in the desert. She was undone, and it seemed there was no chance, now, for
Jaqui Fennet.

Jaq crashed
around her bunk like a caged animal, driven to frenzy by captivity. She threw
her mattress on the floor, tore fittings from the walls, and smashed every
breakable thing she could find, needing a release. Nothing she did helped, but
with each blow against the wall, each valuable item broken, and every
incoherent roar, she distracted herself for the tiniest fraction of a moment.
If she strung enough of those moments together, she could avoid thinking about
her situation. No matter if her knuckles were split and bleeding, or her throat
numb and raw. Pain was good, if only because it was a feeling she understood; a
focus for her ravaged mind.
When everything fragile was broken, she sat on the solid bed base. Her hand
drifted into the drawer between her feet and came back holding the pistol. She
hefted it for several minutes, noting that she'd never unloaded the clip after
returning from her trip to Sector 5. It felt good in her grip; it felt right.
The leather of the handle suited her skin, the trigger called to her finger,
and the barrel's cold kiss soothed the pain at her temple.
How easy would that be? No prophecies to contend with, no doubt or
confusion, no dream companions insisting I keep killing. How many others can
one person kill, if they do so one at a time? Or, I could stop this now. One
tug of my finger and the world gets to pick apart events from the tapestry my
brain leaves on the wall.
She couldn't say how long she sat there, gun held to her head, debating the
value of her life against others she might take. She even thought briefly about
heading to the storage warehouses, where the hull was thinnest, and emptying
explosive rounds into the wall until Onekka turned herself inside out at the
beck and call of immutable physics.
Eventually, her arm simply dropped under the weight of guilt and a handful of
metal designed purely for the purpose of destruction. Her life spread out like
the branches of a tree before her, the options occasionally intertwining, but
boiling down to a few paths: Head straight for sector 5, blindly following the
conspiracy that had led her to this position in the first place. Run away with
Derek, and wait for the terrible moment when they were either caught or he
found out what she'd done. Give herself in, and spend the rest of her life in
restraints. Sleep, and give herself over to the hypnotic wiles of the dream
companions. Kill Helen. Kill Henrickson. Kill herself.
Jaq wasn't sure she liked any of those options, or any combination thereunto.
She sat for hours until the decision was made for her, and her mind shut down
in exhaustion. As she faded from consciousness, the lights went out.
*
She fought against the shadowy figure, utterly uncertain which of them would
prevail. They both floated in a darkened space without gravity, light, or frame
of reference. A hand with long finger nails loomed from the shadows and
scratched at her face, but she evaded it, spinning away.
Her foot touched something solid, and she launched from it, towards her
dimly-seen foe. They clashed in mid-air, bodies slamming together and fists
flying. She hooked one arm round the other's head and grabbed a fistful of hair
behind the neck. So braced, she pummelled punches into her foe's face with the
free hand.
A knee rose sharply between her thighs, slamming into her groin, but she
persisted through the pain, punching over and over. Then she got too close in,
and the enemy crashed a forehead into her face with a sharp head-butt.
They parted, and she fumbled at her nose as she floated, screaming in anger
when she realised it was broken. Her back met a wall, and she spread her limbs
out to steady herself. Off in the gloom, something was moving. A blob of shadows
was shifting in the air like a pool of ink on black parchment.
Suddenly, her foe came floating into view, arms braced outward, ready for a
fight. She wasn't startled by the attack, though, but by the face.
It was her own.
As they came together, she fought her doppelganger with renewed vigour. The
horrid approximation of her features infuriated her beyond reason. Direct blows
were little use in zero gravity, so they were reduced to hair pulling,
scratching, and holding whilst trying to inflict pain. This time, she avoided
the lethal head. They grappled and scratched, spat and roared, spinning in the
open space.
Eventually, she managed to wrap her legs around the foe, hooking her feet
together behind her, and finally was free to attack. She rained punches into
that hated face, bashing away any semblance of humanity, and then curled both
hands around the doppelganger's neck.
The muscles bunched and slithered beneath the skin, but she placed her thumbs
together over the throat and rammed them into the neck with all her might. She
felt the windpipe collapse under the pressure as gagging sounds came from the
mouth, and pushed harder still. Hands slapped at her, and one set of nails
dragged bloody gouges in her cheek, but she pushed those thumbs so deep and so
hard that she thought she might feel backbone.
As the foe went limp in her clutch, she grinned savagely, elated at her
victory. Alone in life amidst a cloud of blood globules from her cheek and the
foe's broken face, she gazed at her conquest and was content. As reality faded
away, she cackled in contempt of her enemy and joy in her own dominance.
*
Jaq woke to a sensation she'd not felt in a long time. There were covers and a
mattress, the whiteness of residential walls and that underlying hum of a
million systems running. And there was another person in the bed with her. At
least he wasn't fumbling at her nipples this time, she thought, trying to
remember when she'd invited Derek to stay. Then it occurred to her that no
snore was rattling in her ear, no sleepy erection was poking at her backside.
In fact, no sensation of movement at all was coming to her from the other side
of the bed. She rolled over, and suddenly the air she tried to breathe was like
a throat full of cotton wool.
Helen's face, so close their noses were almost touching, stared at her from the
pillow. Her skin was a pallid grey, her eyes distended, and her nose and
cheekbones were so broken there was barely any structure left. The terrible
bruising around her neck told Jaq it was her prints embedded in the woman's
skin, and that the stinging sensation now throbbing on her cheek was where
Helen's nails had gouged at her.
You really have fucked the bunny this time, Jaq.
A numbness settled over her then. She sat looking at the dead woman before her,
unable to think of her as peacefully reposed. The violence of Helen's death was
etched - quite literally - into her form. Nobody deserved that - to be
violently murdered by somebody they thought was a friend. Well, perhaps 'acquaintances'
would be more true, but it didn't make her feel any better.
It didn't bother her at all that Helen had, technically, betrayed her, because
she knew there was no intention behind it. What bothered her most was the
thought that Helen didn't understand that - she died thinking Jaq hated her
enough to murder her with bare hands. Had she even intended to do it? She
didn't think so - in fact, she'd argued with the dream companions to save the
poor, mind-wiped Helen from such a fate.
Jaq shivered, realising she was either completely out of control or the dream
companions were able to direct her while she slept. A chill suffused her body.
Did
someone just walk over my grave?
No amount of thinking gave any comfort.
Was it time to call it a day, concede defeat and lay it all out for Henrickson?
Or should she take the other path?
'In for a penny, in for a pound,' as
Daddy always used to say.
Her hands shaking like newly born lambs, she covered Helen's body with the
ruffled duvet. The poor woman's bunk was a total mess, and Jaq could feel aches
and sore patches all over her body, which was still clad in yesterday's
clothes. Helen may have been falling apart mentally, but she'd put up a solid
fight.
There was so much evidence here that no amount of cleaning up might help. Not
to mention, it was day time now, and she couldn't move a body in the light.
Neither did she relish the thought of staying in Helen's bunk with her corpse
for the next several hours.
Instead, Jaq focused on a plan. If she couldn't get free, she could at least
find out what was going on. That meant breaking into upstairs, and it meant
staying awake, since it was obvious she couldn't trust herself asleep. As she
paced up and down in Helen's bunk, she realised there was something she'd need,
and there was only one person who could get it for her. She used Helen's comm
unit to call Derek, suspecting her own communications would still be monitored.
Ensuring it was set to voice-only, she waited for him to answer. When he picked
up, sleepy-voiced and curious as to why Helen was calling him, Jaq told him
what she needed. He sounded dubious, but agreed.
I just hope I don't have to sleep with him this time!
*
"It's a mark six test pulsar," he said, plonking something that
resembled a gun grip without the gun on the table. It had a single button on
the top of a shaft moulded to be held upright inside one's fist. "We use
it to test shuttle engines, make sure their shielding is up to scratch. This
little baby tells us if they'll fail in the event of an on-board explosion. It
emits x-rays, radio, and magnetic pulses. I can't use them on account of my
pacemaker." He patted his chest. "Had a fake heart since I was
eighteen. That's probably the only reason she couldn't break it."
Oh, she broke it, alright. On any other day, I might think I was the one to
fix it for you, but right now, you're just a chump who can get me what I need.
Sorry, honey.
Jaq blinked and looked around before a tear could betray the horrid nature of
her thoughts. They were sitting at a table in the 'open air' arboretum,
munching on a sandwich as birds flew above and tree branches shimmered. It was
all a farce; a human-created natural environment, pretending to be the glory of
nature with only a small portion of the capability. Still, it was better than
the more enclosed bars, with their tighter surveillance and greater
concentrations of other people.
She went to take the item, but Derek grabbed it back up. "Whoa, there're a
few things we need to talk about first."
"Like what?" She could feel a wellspring of frustration in her
stomach, and it both hurt and frightened her.
"Like how to use it."
"Looks straightforward enough to me."
He frowned. "The trigger is obvious, but some things you need to bear in
mind. You can set a delay of up to twelve hours with this small dial on the
side - just change it from zero to the time you want, then press the trigger.
It's effective range is about twelve feet. Nothing beyond that - makes sense,
really, otherwise we'd kill half the station every time we tested an engine.
Also, you'll only get about three uses out of it before it needs recharging,
and it takes about five minutes to be ready between pulses. That's fine,
because more than one dose inside an hour is lethal, so you don't want to do
that."
Jaq crossed her arms on the table. "Anything else, or can I have it
now?"
"Yeah," he said, pouting. "If they find out I took this from the
testing bay, I'll be court marshalled, so a little more thanks would be nice.
Needless to say, if you're caught with it, you'll be fucked."
"Derek, I'm so far beyond fucked right now, my grandchildren are sore. But
that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the help. I am grateful, truly, and I know
you took a huge risk to get this to me. It's just, I have a lot to think about
right now." She held out a hand. "If you only knew the depth of shit
I'm swimming in..."
He clutched the pulsar to his chest. "Tell me. Don't think I can't see the
marks you've tried to cover up with foundation. You look like you came last in
an arse-kicking contest. Your knuckles are split, there's something bloody
under that plaster on your cheek, and you're covered in bruises. Not to
mention, your nose looks like it had a disagreement with a jackhammer. You've
been through the wars, Jaq, so please just tell me what's going on."
He knows too much!
Jaq felt her heart turn cold in her chest. "I
can't."
"Then you don't get this." His face was set - a combination of the
pout from earlier and an earnest determination that made 5 per cent of her want
to kiss him, and the other 95 shoot an air cannon into his mouth.
"Damn it, Derek, I can't. You wouldn't understand, and I'd be putting you
in an impossible position."
"My life is an impossible position. Come on, Jaq. I know you didn't tell
me everything before, and I didn't push because I wanted to be supportive. But
if you're going to do something stupid, and I'm helping you do it, I have a
right to know what you're up to."
Before she could stop herself, Jaq was on her feet and slamming a fist down
onto the table, drawing several gasps from nearby diners. "You have no
such right!" she spat, feeling the anger vibrating in her whole body.
"You either help me, or you can FUCK OFF!"
Blood pounded in her head and it felt like her eyeballs were going to burst
from the pressure. Everything appeared as if through a red mist, with shadow
encroaching on her vision from all sides. Even Derek's look of hurt, right in
front of her face, looked far away and dissociated, like a vid screen showing a
movie, or a targeting system for some remote weapon system.
"Well then," he said quietly, "I guess, in that case, I'm going
back to work."
"Okay!" she said as he turned to leave. He paused in his flight. Jaq
felt bile roiling in her stomach and acid, wet and burning, in her throat. Did
she dare tell all to this man? It seemed her only chance to get what she
needed, and a part of her wanted very much to confide in someone other than the
suspect dream companions. Derek walked back over to her and placed a hand on
her shoulder.
"You can trust me, Babes. It's me, Derek."
"Okay," she whispered. "I'll tell you, but not here. Let's go to
your bunk, where it's private."
He looked intently at her face, and she knew the vulnerability he'd see there
"It's okay, you know. I'm not going to hurt you."