Chapter 10
Consciousness and not washed over him several times, and several more times that he couldn't have remembered. The idea that he was in his own bed, in his own room, lingered, but nothing was certain any more. Each time, there was a moan, loud in his ears as if someone was laying next to him and was in pain. By the time he could make a coherent thought, though, his mother walked in and stroked the hair from his forehead. She would titter, saying he needed a haircut, but she was warm and kind and there, so he didn't notice the prick in his arm, or the grogginess wash over him, and by the time he was asleep, he hadn't even realised it.
Jim rubbed a hand over his face, yawning. He was exhausted, as if instead of sleep he'd done three days of Academy Training on coffee and no rest. Actually, Jim thought it over, that's exactly what it felt like. His mind refused to stick to one thought, and there was a buzz in his body that made him want to move about his room and stretch, but all his muscles screamed to stay still. He did work out that he was in his private room, still on the ship, but somehow it was empty. His jacket on the back of the door was gone, the door to his wardrobe was open and clearly empty, and his books, notebooks and pencils had been removed from his desk.
Jim pushed himself out of bed quietly, as the memory of yesterday's events washed over him. Pirates, was all he could think. Mutiny didn't seem to cover it at this point, though he certainly didn't count it out. He wasn't restrained to the bed, but the door was probably locked. As his feet swung to the floor from under the sheet, something cluttered to the floor, something heavy and solid and something that bounced and rolled. The noise wasn't acknowledged right away, but sure enough, his journal and a pencil was on the floor when he looked.
All his movements felt slow and lazy. His arm didn't want to hold the edge of the desk, his legs didn't want to support his weight, his eyes didn't want to focus, and his body definitely didn't want to find any balance. He felt himself close to toppling, and the world swam around him as the blood drained from his head, pulled away by gravity. Even his vision narrowed to a tiny speck as the world darkened around him; He had been lying down too long. Once he felt like himself, or more than he had a few minutes ago, he knelt down and picked the book up off the floor.
He could see his writing, Academy trained writing, on each page, including half an entry from the day before the attack. After that, though, it turned into a messy, almost scrawl across the pages. It took a few minutes to decipher, but it turned out to be reports on his health.
"Hawkins woke again around 0700, calling out for his mother. I gave him another shot, and set him back to sleep. They don't seem to be lasting as long on him as they are the rest of the crew. Humans are a frustrating race. I wish he would just stay unconscious...
"Hawkins woke again around 2000, calling out for his father. I gave him another shot and he fell asleep shortly after...
"Hawkins woke again around 1420. He wasn't calling anyone's name, just moaning. I let him wake up enough to eat half a serving of soup and a glass of water before giving him another shot. He tried to talk to me, but he couldn't get my name right. He called me several different people, some I know and some I don't, before falling asleep again...
"Hawkins woke again around 1300...
Hawkins woke again around 0400...
Hawkins woke again around 1230...
Hawkins woke again...
Hawkins woke again...
Hawkins woke again...
Hawkins...
Hawkins...
Hawkins...
Jim closed the book. The entries had been dated from the day of the attack, and if the book was to be trusted, it wasn't yesterday it happened, but nearly two weeks ago. Jim ran a hand through his hair- Or lack there of. At some point someone had cut it short again, practically a crew cut. It spiked and tickled the palm of his hand. He never wore his hair this short, except for formal occasions.
There was a noise outside the door, and Jim set the journal and the pencil back on the floor where it had fallen. He didn't have time to fake being asleep, but he put on his most exhausted and confused face he could as he settled himself on the edge of the bed. It wasn't that difficult, because that was still exactly how he felt.
"You're awake," her voice floated in as she opened the door. Sasha. "I'm sorry about locking you in here; everyone else wanted you in the brig where we knew you couldn't escape, but those years of friendship don't account for nothing here. I hope you're not feeling too unwell," As she stepped into the room the smell of a warm broth filled his nose, and Jim's stomach couldn't help but growl in anticipation.
"What's going on?" Jim asked, hoping his voice didn't sound too steady.
She shushed him with an affectionate hiss, "Sweetheart, don't ask questions now, just eat this. It'll fill you right up, then you can walk around a bit, stretch those poor arms and legs. You've been cooped up in here so long," Her voice was soft and gentle, but there was something frightening about the click of the lock behind her as the door closed. Jim nodded obediently, trying to act compliant. It would have been nice to know what he was like every other time he was awake, that way he could fake it better, but he figured tired and obedient was a safe option, and the more likely out of the many choices.
It was only a small severing of the stew and a glass of water, but true to her word, Sasha let him walk around the room, even let him ask a few questions about what was going on, but she answered each of them cryptically, or with short answers. Her favourite answer, though, was 'I can't tell you that.' It's what she used when he posed questions like: Where are we going?; Who are we seeing?; How long until we get there?; Is everyone else OK?; What do you want from me?; Why do you keep knocking me out?
"Is Myst OK?"
"Myst?" Sasha asked, surprised.
"Yeah, you know, dark skin, black hair, Magrow, hates you?" Jim replied, impatient, but finally getting a more personal answer from his friend.
"I wouldn't say she hates me," Sasha's straight face turned into a sly smile.
Jim leant against the wall, crossing his arms in front of his body. "She told you to jump off the ship. What else could it be?"
Sasha broke into a laugh then. "No, dear, that's called self preservation. Does the Monkey avoid the Lion den because it hates the beast?" She shook her head.
Jim thought over the words. "Nope, you lost me." He finally admitted.
"So tell me what you do know, or what you have guessed, at least." She offered, sitting back on the bed.
"Myst knows you, and she really didn't want to help you. She told you to jump without the slightest look of shame or guilt, and-"
"Myst doesn't feel guilt." Sasha cut him off. "To feel guilt, one must first have a heart. If she has fooled you into thinking she has one of those, then you are in more trouble than you could imagine." She stood up from the bed and motioned for him to sit. When he made no move, she pulled a small device out of her pocket. "I do have to check your vital signs, make sure you're not getting any lasting effects." When Jim still didn't move, she sighed. "If you don't, I don't really care. We've got a fair bit of information backed up with your response recovery and to be completely honest, it's good enough for us to continue with the treatment."
"Treatment?" Jim questioned, but she was already at his side. A flash of something thin and silver caught his eye, but it was already in his arm, his movements still too slow to react properly. He had a faint recollection of this happening before, even asking those same questions, but she was already leading him to the bed and telling him to lay down.
Next time he remembered waking, the journal and pencil were gone and he was alone again in the room. "Sasha!" he called out, but instead of a shout it was raspy and this throat ached; as if he had been shouting. He probably had, he just wouldn't remember. He tried a couple more times, and finally there was a noise on the other side of the door. By this time, he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He meant to move to the desk chair, but that was no longer in the room. Even the hinges on the wardrobe were removed.
Myst stepped into the room, her cheerful and enthusiastic demeanour from before the attack gone. "If you plan on trying to kill me again, tell me now." Her voice sounded bored, and somewhere in his memory he remembered her asking that very question before.
"I don't want to kill you." Jim said, watching her intently. Everything about her had changed. She still looked the same, her eyes still glittered when she turned her head and her hair still caught the light when she moved, but there was nothing cheerful about her now. She just looked cold and unwelcoming.
"You may not remember, but you said that last time, too." The door closed behind her, locking, and she turned to face it. It took a moment for him to realise she was removing the hook on the back of the door.
Once she was done, she tucked it into her pocket. "You should have listened. You all should have." She faced him. "If you had, we wouldn't be here." She was so matter-of-fact that Jim didn't say anything. "You remember talking to Sasha?" Jim nodded. "Good, one of those has stuck. We'll see if you remember talking to me, since you clearly don't remember trying to kill me. Best of luck with that." She turned and the door was opened, letting her out.
Jim was alone in the room again.
After a few minutes, though, she came back. There was a fog watch in her hand, and she was checking it as she walked back through the door. In her other hand, she held his lunch. A small section of meat and some roughly cut vegetables. "Times up, let's see how this goes. Arm." She commanded.
Jim shook his head. "No. No more."
She sighed, dropping the plate on his desk. "Give me your arm, James."
He scooted back against the wall, clutching his shoulder where dozens of tiny scabs had formed. "No."
Myst threw her arms up in exasperation and left the room. "Fine! See what I care. This will be one hell of a boring trip for you, though." After that, her words were muffled by the door.
Jim's attention was drawn quickly to the meal waiting for him. He didn't know how long ago it had been since he ate, but he didn't want to waste the opportunity. Sasha would be back soon, and she didn't mess around.
After the lean portion, Jim yawned and lay back against the headboard. Vaguely, he thought about how it would have been smart to hide the drug in his food, but he never got the chance to finish his thought.
The next time Jim was aware of waking, he didn't even look around at first. He just threw an arm over his face to wipe the sleep from his eyes, scratching the skin just above his eyebrow. He changed his mind about denying he was awake, and looked at the contents of his hand.
There was a slip of paper, scrunched and balled up in his hands. He didn't remember holding it, or where it came from, but as he struggled to wake up, he unfolded it.
Slip this under the door when you're awake
We need to talk
The note wasn't signed, but heartless or not, Myst's cursive writing was still smooth and fancy.
Jim sat up groggily and stumbled towards the door. He had barely slipped it under the crack when the lock released. Jim scooted back, narrowly missing a wooden door to the head.
"Sorry, I don't have a lot of time, I just hope there's enough for you to remember this conversation," Myst whispered, closing the door behind her. She looked at him on the floor. "Well, get up. I've got you a change of clothes." She thrust a pile of fabric into his arms. "I even managed to get you a pair of socks." She dumped his boots on the floor in front of him.
He started removing his current shirt and it was only then he realised how bad it actually smelt. "When was the last time I had a shower?"
Myst waved it off, as if it wasn't important. "Right now I've got to get you ready. At least somewhat."
"Ready for what?" Jim pulled off his socks and tossed them and the shirt into the far corner of the room. They still stuck.
Myst gave an exasperated sigh. "Start with a more simple question and we'll work from there, ok?" She lay back on his crumpled bed.
"Fine." Jim felt himself getting snappy already. "Where are we?"
"Lagoon Nebula. Specifically, the Third Quadrant, System of Nev. We're about to dock at the planet Lexa."
"Ok," Jim thought this over for a moment. "How long has it been since you took over?"
"Nearly three weeks."
Jim didn't say anything for a moment. Finally, he swallowed, but his voice still squeaked. "Three weeks? What about the rest of the crew?"
It was Myst flicked her wrist in a disinterested manner. "Most of them are fine."
"Alcor? Bophie? Nebs? Kae?" Jim's voice cracked again, "Shanti?"
Myst scrunched up her nose, but answered. "Alcor was killed shortly after you were knocked out, Bophie and Nebs are in solitude; injured but fine. Kae is crying in the brig like a wuss. Shanti.. She's fine."
Jim's voice darkened. "Define 'fine'."
Myst winced, staring up at the ceiling. "Sasha made her an offer, and she may have accepted.."
Jim felt himself go cold, but he pressed. "What kind of offer?"
"The kind where she get's to stay in our room so long as she doesn't try to free anyone."
"She joined you?" Jim felt his voice rise.
When Myst didn't answer, Jim's anger deflated slightly. "Traitor," He muttered. His best friend.
"Please just ask another question." Myst voice was quiet.
Jim sighed angrily but peeled the old pants away from his skin, where it had stuck. Myst turned her head to face the wall, giving him the illusion of privacy.
"Why, pray tell, are we at the planet Lexa?" Jim fought to keep his voice even.
A smirk found it's way onto her lips. "That, my dear, requires a backstory. Specifically a story, for that matter. Do you know the legend of the Mysterious Assassin?"
He sat himself on the edge of the bed, since there was nowhere else to sit apart from the floor, and changed his socks. "Yeah, I know it."
Myst nodded. "Do you remember how it ended?"
Jim let out an angry breath of air. "What has this got to do with anything?"
Gritting her teeth, Myst repeated her question. "Do you remember how it ended?"
"It ended up with the assassin getting beheaded for his crimes."
"And?"
She could see the gears grinding in his frustrated little head.
"And his daughter finding his hidden study with all his files and the mask..
"And the daughter took over the family business." She finished for him, sitting up. "Do you remember how you found Treasure Planet after reading about it in a book? Well, this is another of those situations."
It was almost funny, watching him try to figure it out.
"Then who-" He turned to her, eyes wide. "You. You're- You're an assassin? The Assassin?"
She shrugged. "My mother thought it would be a hilarious joke to call me 'Mistrie'. In her defence, I was never supposed to take over the job, that was supposed to fall to my brother, but one thing lead to another and here I am."
"So you failed?"
"Excuse me?" Myst's eyes snapped back to meet his. "I.. what?"
"Failed?" Jim felt unsure, like he was asking instead of saying. "If you're an assassin, and I'm still alive, doesn't that mean you failed?"
She scoffed, and Jim wondered idly how anyone could believe she didn't actually have a heart. He wondered how he could believe she did. "There is more than one job as an assassin. I'm also a collector of fine and precious artefacts."
Jim winced. "I'm being reduced to a 'thing' now, am I?"
She shrugged. "I don't make the rules, I just deliver the cargo."
"Ok, so my next question, you're delivering me somewhere, that means someone wants me, right? Who wants me?"
Jim had the opportunity to watch her think it over, this time. He was starting to feel a little more level-headed, now the initial shock was over, but every second that passed that Myst didn't answer his question, he feared it was about to get more serious.
"Captain Alex Flint." she finally answered, her voice quiet.
Goosebumps rose up on Jim's skin. Alex Flint was supposedly a direct descendent of Nathaniel Flint, the creator of Treasure Planet. The pirate followed in Captain Flint's footsteps and killed without mercy, the only evidence he'd even been on board a ship was the engraving on the deck: A planet with two rings.
He had come from nowhere about ten years before, just suddenly a pirate ship was seen patrolling the systems. No one knew who was responsible for months, it was just these ships appearing, the crew slaughtered and an image drawn, burnt or carved into the deck. It was only when he made a mistake, when he allowed a sailor of a destroyed ship float away unharmed, that anyone knew his name or identity.
The witness had begged to be locked away in a cell, certain his account would come with a hefty price. By the next morning, though, the witness was dead. Whether Flint or one of his men broke in and killed him, or the witness had taken his own life, no one was quite sure.
It was one of the first assignments at the Academy, a report on both Flints', and what was known about both of them. Every textbook and story and account, though there weren't many, were horrific and gruesome. As the memories of the images and descriptions rose to mind, Jim felt sick. This was not a man to mess with. If Alexander Flint wanted him, he was as good as dead.
Myst lay back down, her voice not dropping the monotonousness level. "Alex was angry that you found and destroyed Treasure Planet. She wants revenge, and would like you there to witness her vengeance."
Jim slumped forward, taking it all in. Myst checked the time on her watch, and gave a satisfied nod.
It was a couple of minutes before anyone spoke, and when he did, there was a spark of hope, of fight, in him.
"What's the plan?"
Myst scoffed. "Plan? What do you mean?"
"Well, you wouldn't have told me this if you were just going to drop me off and wish me well, would you?" He was looking at her intently. "So what's the plan?"
"Let me make this as clear as possible." Myst sat up and gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him close. "I'm not saving you. I'm going to be losing money by even thinking up a plan to get you out. If you need rescuing, you better hope your princess charming is going to save her Domius in distress, because if I get caught in the act, they'll kill me."
A shiver went up Jim's spine, as she stood up and headed for the door. "I'll be back with your meal, and you'll be compliant." There was no arguing with the tone of her voice, and she stalked out of the room, shutting the door firmly and loudly behind her.
It took him a moment, but he remembered a very important part of each storybook. When the friend-turned-enemy-turned friend promised to never free you, they always-
Left the door unlocked so you could free yourself!
Jim was off the bed and at the door in a heartbeat, but the door was still locked.
Looks like this isn't a cliche story after all. Jim sighed, falling back onto the bed.