TITLE: A Past to Outdo

NOTES: Thanks for the feedback, as always! Keep it comin' :D

CHAPTER FOURTEEN Grander Schemes

"The greatest shock of all is turning around to look back,
only to see it's not the path you thought you walked."

Jian-Lao, sage and prophet

CY 421

Beka reached Sauska and docked without paying the fees. She had no time to do things by the book. Equipped with a gun, a flexi with the fake Ellis's and Harper's picture, and a few other select items, she headed immediately for Rosanders, a high-rollers club in the centre of the city. It was there she would find her old contact. When she, Harper and Trance used to do business in Sauska, Rosanders was their first port of call.

He was dead, and this was hell. It had to be, because Lane Farrow was dead, and Lane Farrow most definitely belonged in hell.

The ghost seemed to delight in Harper's reaction. "Hello Seamus."

"I was getting worried Makar had done some permanent brain damage," Deven laughed.

Harper shook his head in denial. "This isn't real. It's not real, you're dead. You died on Autriva."

"I think I can handle things from here," Lane told Deven, who smiled. She gave one last look at Harper, and left the two alone.

"Not quite," Lane told her newly acquired prisoner. She twirled a gun on her finger. "I left before your ship blew up that dump."

The ship...how could he have forgotten? Scanning the datafiles from the attack during his drug-induced paranoia, he had found a small unidentified vessel that left the planet minutes before Andromeda fired on the colonies. In that instance his suspicions had been dead on. It was Lane's ship. If that was true...what did it mean about Ostara? About all the times he had seen her, all the times she had driven him to relapse...It was too much to comprehend. "Then you were on Ostara," he uttered, trying to get things straight in his head.

"Of course I was, who did you think gave you that scar?" Lane replied, indicating the one on Harper's face. He remembered being slammed into the mirror, but the others had convinced him it couldn't have been Lane.

"And the other times? On Andromeda, Ostara, even in the halls of justice...that was you?"

"Jesus, they weren't kiddin' when they said you went crazy," Lane mocked. "I was only on Ostara for two days. I needed to know if you were going to mention my name in that investigation. After all, the whole reason your ship went nuts was because I showed you that imager."

The imager. Harper remembered it so clearly. It showed a boy - the son of the man he had killed all those years ago on Carna. The man whose murder he framed Lane for.

"But instead I found you wallowing in your own guilt, falling back into the world you were so eager to leave behind."

Rosanders was a squalid, filthy corner of the galaxy. Beka could see at least seventeen felonies being committed on the main floor. The bar was to the left, and tables and chairs littered the floor. A bloodied body lay on the floor, which people didn't really seem to pay any attention to. The place hadn't changed a bit.

Beka scanned the crowds for any sign of Trell, her contact. If she remembered correctly, and she almost always did, Trell was very much the accommodating host - for the right price. She couldn't see him at first glance, so she stopped one of the employees. "I'm looking for Trell."

"He's in the back," the man told her.

Beka found her way to the VIP rooms, but the doors were heavily guarded. She needed a distraction. Taking out one of the phonic-charges she had brought along, she set the time delay for thirty seconds, subtly dropped it behind the bar and moved to slip into the VIP room.

Thirty seconds passed and everyone covered their ears in pain as the high-frequency screeching reverberated through their eardrums. It then smashed every bottle and glass in the entire establishment, causing chaos. If Beka hadn't had an urgent agenda, she would have enjoyed it more.

The VIP rooms were much like the main floor, but slightly less dusty, and slightly more smoky. Beka coughed involuntarily. What a disgusting habit.

"Beka Valentine? Is that you? My my, it has been a long time. Are you buying, selling or just here for the music?" It was Trell.

"Secret option number four. I want information, but I'm not paying," Beka said, smiling threateningly. "I need to know if you've seen or heard anything about either of these people." She showed him the flexi.

"Beka, Beka, Beka. You know I'm not in the business of giving things away."

"I'm warning you Trell, I am not in the mood for your games," Beka said, and moved up closer to him. "Now tell me what you know."

Harper was numb. This was so much to take in. He was trying to rewrite history in his own mind. Lane did attack him in the halls, but everything else was a hallucination?

Lane got up from her chair and started pacing slowly, still twirling her gun around. She watched her prey, slyly monitoring every twitch in his face. "As it turned out, your little relapse worked in my favour," she said enigmatically. She knew the question was coming.

"What do you want from me?" Harper breathed.

"I'm tired, Seamus. I'm tired of running. It's hard to enjoy your freedom when a large number of bounty hunters and a task force from Calliope are on your back."

Harper was confused.

"You didn't think six years was a short sentence for murdering a prince? I would have been in that hell-hole for the rest of my life if I hadn't escaped," Lane told him. "After I tracked you down I tried to get on with my life, but my newfound freedom was, let's say, a little restrictive. And the only person who can help me..." she stopped pacing and brought her gun slowly down to point at him "...is you."

Harper hoped to the divine that Lane didn't mean what he thought she meant. But it seemed to divine wasn't listening.

"We're going to Calliope," Lane said. "And you are going to confess to the murder you framed me for. It's time to pay the price, Seamus."

End of chapter fourteen

Next chapter: A Past to Undo