(fic) chasing starlight (3/5)
Dec. 11th, 2009 06:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
violaceaPart One
Part Two
When they reached the last beacon before Clandestine, Bob gave Mikey the coded file that had been left on the Cobra palm unit, along with the strange message meant for Clandestine's owner. He understood none of it - something about a summer, and a couple of slang phrases he vaguely recognized as being popular with kids in this part of the galaxy - but the notes Ryland had left for him assured him it would get him permission to dock at the resort. As Mikey entered the message into the computer, he narrowed his eyes. "There's something ... like I might recognize this whole thing, but it's right out of my sight, and if I turn my head, it'll be gone. Fuck my memory," he grumbled.
It didn't take long for the resort's spaceport to respond. In fact, only a few minutes after transmitting the message, Bob found himself directed to dock in the far northern corner of the facility. As they descended, Mikey leaned over Bob's shoulder to look out the window. "Wow," he said.
"You said it," Bob muttered. Victoria's sleek little cruiser might fit into this facility, but had Bob been flying his own beat-up old cargo ship, he'd feel like he was walking into a masquerade ball totally naked. The walls of the bays were painted in a rich gold, and each individual ship bay had a whole team of mechanics and attendants caring for both ship and passengers. As Bob and Mikey watched, a small hovercraft flew up to the entrance to a ship. A gray-haired woman stepped out and onto the cushioned seat at the back of the hovercraft. Two attendants placed a trunk on the craft in front of her, and the craft flew off. "Think we can get one of those for you?" Mikey wondered.
"Fuck off. I can walk."
"Sure you can." Mikey glanced doubtfully at Bob's leg. Bob snatched it off the chair defensively, ignoring the sharp pain that shot up to his hip. He rolled the leg of his pants down and smoothed the front of his shirt. None of his clothes were really good enough for this place, but he'd had to make do with a clean black shirt and pants. He'd even trimmed his beard. If someone wanted to give him hell for being shabby, well ... this wasn't his place. Rich people could go fuck themselves.
Mikey was similarly dressed in black, but the materials of his clothing were noticeably more expensive even to Bob's untrained eye. Mikey had slicked his hair back off his face with some kind of product that Ryland had left for him; the whole effect served to hide any residual fear he might feel. That is, unless you looked at his hands, which shook as he gripped the edge of the console. Bob placed one of his hands over Mikey's briefly. "This is supposed to be a safe place, remember?"
"Yeah," Mikey said, not entirely convincingly.
They landed quietly in an empty bay. Bob finished inputting his landing sequences and cut the power to his console. When he looked back up, he saw a small, dark man standing on the platform in front of him. He wore a conservative suit, but his sleeves were pushed up far enough that Bob could see whirling black designs covering the skin of his arms. He bounced on his toes, squinting up at the front of the ship as he tried to see into the cockpit. "The welcoming committee, I guess," Bob said.
Mikey helped Bob out of the chair, but Bob pushed him away once he was standing. "I can walk," he repeated. And he did, slowly and gingerly, gritting his teeth at the pulses in his muscles every time he stepped onto his injured leg. Mikey walked next to him, not touching him but obviously poised to catch Bob if he should fall. Bob scowled and kept his eyes on the outer door as he walked.
When the emerged and started to descend the ramp, the dark-haired man rushed up to meet them. "Mikey!" he said, his voice too loud for the quiet bay. When Mikey simply blinked at him, he stopped a few steps short of them. "Right. Memory drug. Motherfucker." Then, he closed the distance and embraced Mikey. "I'm just glad to see you alive."
After an awkward moment, Mikey returned the hug. He gave Bob an unreadable look over the man's head. When the man pulled back, he turned his attention to Bob. "Captain Bryar?" Bob nodded. The man extended his hand. "Gabe's message told me about you. Thank you. You know, for rescuing him."
Bob shook his hand. "Are you ..."
"Oh, right. Pete Wentz. Welcome to my world." Pete gave Bob a strange half-smile before gesturing down the ramp. "Come on, let's get the hell out of here."
Pete led them out of the bay. Beyond the spaceport, they walked through halls that, while understated in decoration, made Bob feel too dirty to touch anything, despite the fact that he'd just gotten out of the shower. When they entered a glass-covered walkway between buildings, Bob hesitated for a moment, taking in the landscape outside. The ground was made up by violet and orange rock and clay; what looked like large rock formations at various intervals were, on second glance, all buildings, with glass walkways connecting each one. The whole place looked like a jewel-toned maze. "We're not terraformed, not really," Pete explained, stopping along side Bob. "The company that originally tried to settle this place tried three times, but it never took. I bought it from them for a song. Almost literally." Pete chuckled to himself. "My architects figured that if you can't beat nature, you might as well work with it."
"It's beautiful," Mikey said, his nose nearly pressed to the glass.
When Bob looked over, Pete had his hand on Mikey's back. He pointed over Mikey's shoulder with his other hand. "See the big building over there? Your suite is there. You haven't been here for a while, though. Not since your brother took over the corporation. I missed you." Mikey looked back at him. Pete met his eyes for a long moment, then started to walk again. Mikey followed silently, leaving Bob to bring up the rear, walking as fast as he could without toppling over.
In the next building, Pete led them into a large, surprisingly homey looking office, full of overstuffed furniture and brightly colored art. There was a large desk in the corner of the room, but it appeared to be empty. Instead, a mass of papers were spread out on a low table in front of a large couch; on the couch, a beautiful redheaded woman tossed a file folder into the pile when she saw them walk in. "Mikey!" She stood up, crossed the room, and threw her arms around Mikey's neck. This time, Mikey responded a little bit faster. "I'm so glad you're okay."
"Well, sort of okay," Mikey said, pulling back.
"He doesn't remember," Pete said to her.
Her face fell, but she nodded. "So that's what you meant. You ran out of here so fast, I barely caught what you were saying. I cleared the building, though, and sent a housekeeping crew to make sure his suite is prepared." She stepped backward and gestured to the seating area in the middle of the room. "Have a seat, guys. There's food on the way."
Pete kept his hand on the door. "I'll be right back. Gotta get something from my office."
"This is your office?" Bob asked when Pete was gone.
"Yep. Oh, god, I'm sorry, I'm being completely rude. I'm Ashlee." She held out her hand.
"Bob. Bryar. I'm a pilot." Bob felt more than a little stupid. Suddenly, he found himself in a room with members of two of the most powerful families in the galaxy, and what the hell was he doing there, anyway? He shifted uncomfortably as he sat in one of the chairs - the cushions were too soft, and he felt like he was sinking down to the ground.
Mikey, for his part, perched on the edge of another seat, back straight and leaning forward to look at Ashlee. Looking at him, Bob could barely remember the filthy zombie he picked up back on Genara. "You're ... Pete's wife, yes?"
"Yes, I am. I also oversee the resort's personnel, mostly because Pete's too soft for his own good sometimes." There was a touch of sadness in her smile. "It feels so weird to have to tell you that. Last time you were here, you spent the whole time making fun of me because I nearly fired a poor entertainment hostess for a decision that Pete actually made. You kept calling me Dragon Lady. I yelled at you every time you did it, but actually, it was really funny."
"I..." Mikey began to speak, then shut his mouth and very obviously changed gears. "I wish I remembered."
"Me too. But you will, eventually. Those drugs aren't meant to be permanent. I've seen people recover from them; it takes a little while, but the memory comes back in full, as far as I remember." When Bob looked at her, a question on the tip of his tongue, she shook her head. Her smile faded, and Bob could almost feel a drop in temperature when he looked at her face. "I was old enough to know things when my father ... attempted to expand his business."
Bob remembered the people he'd met on the edges of the Simpson-Beckett war - poor working stiffs, used as cannon fodder in a rich man's fight for more money - and kept silent. Mikey, meanwhile, gave Ashlee a half smile. "It's kinda nice to hear something good. Or hopeful, at least. Sometimes it feels like I'm never going to know anything ever again."
Her smile returned, and she reached across the table to put a hand on Mikey's knee. "You will. I know you will."
Pete returned to the room, carrying several palm units that he threw down on the table, knocking some of his wife's paperwork to the ground. She groaned, but he just shrugged. "You should do your work on a computer like a normal person."
"I can't look at things the same way on the computer screen. Stop messing up my office." She smacked him halfheartedly as he sank down onto the couch next to her.
"What are those?" Mikey asked, looking at the palm units.
"Every bit of information I have on you. What you order for breakfast when you're here, some event vids you appear in, all the messages you and I have sent to each other over the years ..."
Ashlee nudged him, smirking. "All of them? Really?"
He turned to her and grinned widely. "Hey, they're all good examples of who he is. Or used to be. Not that you're much different than you used to be," Pete said, gesturing at Mikey, "but anyway. I thought they might help you figure some things out."
"Huh." Mikey leaned over and picked up one of the units. "Maybe. Thanks."
"I have a better plan, actually," Ashlee said. All three men looked at her. She looked at Pete. "Our new doctor?"
Pete smacked his forehead. "I would have thought of that if I'd had more time to think about it."
"Sure you would have." Ashlee patted his knee. To Bob and Mikey, she explained, "We just hired this doctor - he does research, mostly, but he sees patients here in exchange for lab space where he doesn't have to answer to anyone. It works out well for everyone involved."
"If anyone around here would know how to treat memory loss drugs ..." Pete stood up. "Come on, I'll take you out to his place."
Mikey immediately stood up. Bob tried to push himself out of the chair, but his leg gave out underneath him before he was fully upright. He sank back down into the chair with a loud curse. Mikey immediately crossed to him. "Maybe you need the doctor more than I do."
Bob waved him off. "I'm fine. Just give me a minute."
"Why don't you relax for a little while?" Pete suggested. "Our doctor ... well, Spencer gets a little irritable if too many people invade his space. We'll probably do better if it's just me and Mikey."
Mikey looked down at Bob, doubt plain on his face. "I don't know ..."
Bob looked at him, then at Pete, who gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. Bob took a deep breath. "It's okay," Bob said slowly. "I think you're all right here."
"Bob . .."
Mikey blinked rapidly. It was an expression that Bob was beginning to recognize as panic. He placed his hand on Mikey's arm. "These are your friends. Go."
After another moment of hesitation, Mikey nodded and walked back over to Pete, whose eyes were unreadable when he looked back at Bob. When they were gone, Ashlee offered her hand to Bob and helped him stand. "Come on, you look like a man who needs a drink."
She called a transport vehicle, and so Bob found himself flying through Clandestine's glass tunnels, marveling at the structures he saw all around him. "I've been to a lot of planets," he said, mostly to himself, "but I've never seen anything like this."
"I'd never been off my home planet before I came here," Ashlee said, sitting across from him. "But I spent most of my life watching vids and reading history books about all the places I thought I'd never visit ... and I didn't read about anything remotely like this. I think I spent my first week just wandering from building to building, staring at everything and everyone."
"You'd never been off-planet?" Bob looked back at her, surprised. "I would have thought, with your family ..."
Ashlee's face twisted into a humorless grin. "Because I'm from a Lane family, you mean? You've obviously never met my father."
The transport stopped just inside the next building. Ashlee climbed out of the vehicle, while the driver helped Bob to dismount without falling. As he caught his balance, he heard a beeping noise. Ashlee pulled a small palm unit out of her pocket and pressed a button. She sighed. "There's a problem with one of the servers in the Emerald restaurant. I have to go see the manager." She pointed Bob towards the door that led to the building's interior. "In there. They'll have a table waiting for you. Order whatever you want, it's on the house." She patted his shoulder as she climbed back into the vehicle. "I'll be back shortly."
Inside the door, Bob found himself on the top level of a large nightclub. The stage sat at the bottom of a amphitheater-like setup, with tiers of plush booths surrounding it in a semi-circle. A host spotted him as soon as he walked in the door. "This way, sir," he said, giving Bob a strange half-bow before walking down an aisle that led to a middle tier. Bob followed slowly, until he was seated at a booth that overlooked the stage from the left side. He felt a little ridiculous; the booth was large enough for half a dozen people, probably, and every booth surrounding him was occupied either by enthusiastic, well-dressed groups or by couples leaning in to each other in intimate gestures. Still, the audience noise barely registered as whispers; the only thing Bob could really hear was the singer on stage. He listened as he ordered a drink from a passing server. The music was dreamy-sounding jazz, the vocalist a rich baritone that impressed Bob. He'd been a musician, once upon a time, before his need for money outweighed his love of the art. He knew a little bit about what qualified as good, and this guy - kid, really, he thought as he looked at the tiny, dark-haired guy playing the piano - more than had what it took. That was why he was playing at Clandestine, he guessed. It wasn't like the Wentzes couldn't afford to hire the best.
His drink appeared in front of him. Bob was surprised, however, when the person who set it on the table then slid into the booth opposite him, carrying his own drink. "You're Captain Bryar, right? The one who came in with Mikey? Ashlee called to tell me you were here."
"Bob," he said automatically.
The man - small, with shaggy red hair poking out from underneath a black hat - smiled and reached across the table to shake Bob's hand. "Patrick. Nice to meet you."
Bob tried to think of something to continue the conversation, but finally just slumped back into the booth and took a drink. "I have no idea what I'm doing here," he muttered.
To his surprise, Patrick laughed. "Trust me, I know the feeling. When I met Pete, I was playing at a dingy little club halfway across the galaxy. I don't really have any idea how I ended up here, except for the part where Pete's a force of nature."
"What do you do here? Play?" Bob asked, gesturing to the stage.
"Sometimes. These days, I mostly just run this place, and occasionally wander off planet to find new talent. Brendon's our newest," he said, indicating the boy playing on stage. "I actually didn't have to go anywhere to find him, he was working on the housekeeping staff. It was ... well, it's a long story, and probably really boring." Patrick waved a hand in the air, and a moment later, a server appeared with a tray full of food. "I haven't eaten yet today," Patrick said, pushing a plate towards Bob so he could serve himself. "So, I have to ask, how did you end up with Mikey? And how'd you know to come here, to Clandestine? I've been getting most of the information in pieces."
"The answer to your second question is Gabe Saporta." Patrick gave a knowing grin at that answer. "As to your first ... well, it's a long story."
Patrick nodded to acknowledge the point. They fell silent for a long moment, as they ate and listened to the boy - Brendon - sing another song, an old standard that Bob recognized. He began to sing along softly, tapping out the rhythm on the table with his fork. When he looked up, Patrick was watching him. "Musician?"
"Used to be. Played drums for a while back home."
"Me too. I played other instruments, but never in public, until Pete got ahold of me. He's stupidly persistent." Patrick smiled. Then, he gestured at Bob with his fork. "If you know this song, did you ever play ..."
As it turned out, Bob and Patrick had played a lot of the same music, and they fell into a long conversation that made Bob forget his discomfort in the surroundings. Bob lost track of time; he only noticed that Brendon's set had ended and someone else's had begun when Ashlee slid into the booth beside Patrick. She kissed his cheek noisily. "I'd apologize for being late, but I don't think either of you actually noticed."
Bob's thoughts returned to the issues at hand. "Any word about Mikey yet?"
Ashlee shook her head. "Haven't heard anything from Pete. Soon, trust me." She speared one of the few remaining sandwiches from the tray in front of them. "Go on, don't let me stop you. I love listening to Patrick's music conversations." She and Patrick grinned at each other, in what was obviously a private joke.
They continued talking, but Bob's mind was half occupied with worrying about Mikey yet again. He kept one eye on the entrance to the club. A short while later, Pete appeared in the doorway. He caught Bob's eye and jerked his head in a summoning gesture. Bob stood up, trying not to wince at the flash of pain in his leg. "Sorry," he apologized. "Excuse me."
Neither Patrick or Ashlee made any move to follow him. When Bob made it up the stairs to Pete, Pete offered his hand to help him up the last step. "Mikey's in his suite," he said without preamble. "Sleeping. It was ... well." Pete spread his hands. His expression was resigned. "Spencer tried. It didn't work. There are things only the doctors who work for the Lane families know, and apparently the antidote to memory loss drugs is one of them. I wouldn't put it past Spencer to eventually figure it out, but he's young." Pete shrugged. "The best plan is going to be to get you guys back to Nariall, let his family doctor do his thing. But there's a problem there."
"Communication block on Nariall?" When Pete nodded, Bob sighed. "The Cobra folks mentioned something about that."
"Gerard had been calling me twice a day, wondering if I'd heard anything about Mikey. Then ... nothing, for days. Nobody can get through, not even other Lane families. We had Ashlee's dad try, he didn't get any farther than we did." Pete laced his hands together and brought them to his mouth. "I won't lie, I'm worried. There's another family involved in this, Gerard knew that much before he disappeared. The only thing I can guarantee is that it's not my in-laws, and that's only because good old Joe is still recovering from his little war with the Becketts." Pete rolled his eyes.
"So ... another Lane family decided to declare some kind of war with the Ways, and Mikey was a bargaining chip?"
"Pretty much, yeah." Pete's mouth was set in a grim line. "No one here seems to know anything about it, or if they do, they're really good actors. I have people from almost every family and corporation staying here at any given point in time, and I've talked to everyone who's come through. But, do you know the part that's really worrying me?"
"What's that?"
"The Ways aren't as ruthless as everyone else. At least, Gerard isn't. When Elena was in charge, yeah, they would have given as good as they got. She was a tough old broad." The half grin that quirked the corners of Pete's mouth told Bob that was a compliment. "But Gerard ... well, he's got a couple of good people around him that know how to play the game, but sometimes I don't know how far Gerard will listen to them. I'm afraid that some determined bastard will run right over them."
Bob was silent for a moment. Then, he furrowed his brow. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"What?"
"You barely know me. I'm nobody. Why are you telling me all this Lane family stuff? It's not anything I have any business knowing."
Pete quirked an eyebrow. "You're neck-deep in family business right now. Don't you want to know what you're dealing with?"
Bob blew out a breath. "I don't know. This is all way beyond what I'm used to. I'm just a fucking cargo pilot."
"Like it or not, you've become a little more than that." Pete laid a hand on Bob's shoulder. "We can get you guys a flight plan to Nariall, if you want. But I don't have any idea what you'll find when you get there."
"I don't see any other choice," Bob said.
Pete hesitated. "You could leave now," he finally suggested. "You've already put yourself in stupid amounts of danger for someone you don't even know. You've gotten Mikey to a safe place. I could take Mikey home, deal with whatever's going on. He's practically family - he and his brother both. I owe him a hell of a lot. You don't owe him, or any of us, anything."
Thoughts swirled around in Bob's head. Part of him wanted to take Pete's offer, to leave and never look back. He'd already screwed up their operation on Genara, cost Brian valuable business, painted a target on his back that would be hard to erase. And for what? For a guy he'd only known a couple of days, someone who belonged in a completely different life than Bob would ever have. It was tempting, oh so tempting, to take the out and go back to rebuilding his life. But, before that sensible part of his brain could have its say, he found himself replying, "No, I'm in this 'til the end. I'm staying."
Pete gave him an unreadable smile. "I kinda thought you might be." He gestured to the door. "There's a transport waiting out there. It'll take you to the Way suite. Ash had someone make up Gerard's room for you."
"Thanks." Reminded of Ashlee, Bob turned around. "I should thank ..." His thought was lost when he looked back to the booth he'd recently vacated. Ashlee had her arms draped around Patrick's neck, one hand casually playing with the hair that brushed his neck. He was laughing at something she was saying; a moment later, she leaned in and kissed him slowly. His mouth opened against hers, and she snuggled closer to him as their tongues intertwined.
When Bob looked back at Pete, he was was watching the scene with a pleased smile. He noticed Bob staring, and his grin widened. "I have a good life," was all he said before he patted Bob on the shoulder and headed down the stairs towards the booth.
Bob watched Patrick and Ashlee separate and greet Pete with smiles before he turned around and headed for the door. "Rich people are weird," he muttered under his breath.
The transport dropped Bob off inside the entrance of a building decorated in understated colors. As soon as he climbed down from the transport, the inside door opened. Mikey stood in the doorway - his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was even more pale than usual. "What did they do to you?" Bob demanded.
"Nothing," Mikey said, leading Bob inside. "The doctor tried a couple of drugs on me, things that are usually antidotes to some of the components that make up a memory loss drug. But, none of them worked, and Spencer apparently hasn't worked out how to combine them all yet, not without causing an explosion."
"Explosion?"
"I guess there are drugs that get flammable when mixed." Mikey shrugged. He dropped down onto a couch, leaned his head against a pillow and closed his eyes. "Anyway. It didn't work. My head hurts."
"You should sleep."
"So should you."
Bob sat in a chair and stared at Mikey, When Mikey opened his eyes, his lips curved upward. "Neither one of us is very good at resting, are we?"
"Never have been." Bob put his injured leg up on an ottoman. "So this is your place?"
"So they tell me." Mikey gestured at two doors, one on either side of the lounge. "One bedroom for me, one for my brother. The upstairs is ours, too, some kind of big meeting room or something. I don't know, I wasn't up there too long. The bedrooms are kind of ridiculous. Pete says I decorated mine myself, but I don't know. I don't know too much about myself, but would I really want something so ... black?"
Bob snorted. "Well, it sounds like Pete might have some firsthand experience with your bedroom."
Mikey flushed. "Um. Yeah, I guess. I think it was a while ago, though."
"Probably. His love life seems to be complicated enough without adding you to the mix." Mikey looked at him quizzically, but Bob waved him off. "You'll figure out who you are. Pete's going to get us a flight plan to your home planet, and there will be a doctor there who can help you."
"Are you sure about that?"
"So I hear. But," he continued, "I can't imagine you're that much different with your memory than you are now."
"How do you figure?" Mikey raised his head and propped himself up on an elbow.
"You're really calm and collected. You're loyal. You're a good guy, Mikey Way."
Mikey's face turned red again. "I don't know," he said. "I've been reading the things Pete gave me, all the information about me. I sound ... I don't know, it's all about parties and playing around and jokes and stuff. It doesn't sound very important. I think I might be kind of ... shallow, I guess."
"You're rich," Bob pointed out. "When you don't have to work for a living, you can do a lot of fun things."
"Yeah, but ..." Mikey sighed. "Pete's rich, and he runs this resort. My brother's rich, and he runs the family corporation. There are a lot of rich people who work because it makes them happy, or something like that. Looking at all this stuff, I don't know what it is that makes me happy. I just seem to travel and go to parties."
"That sounds like something that could make you happy."
"But it's not doing anything. I don't know," Mikey concluded, frowning. "It just doesn't sound like I'm a very useful person."
"There's a lot of stuff that won't be on vid reports. There's probably a lot of stuff that wouldn't even be in your messages to Pete. I don't think you're going to know exactly who you are until your memory is back. Stop worrying about it."
"Easy for you to say." Mikey laid his head back down on the pillow. "You do things. Important things."
"I haul cargo. Mostly small-time shit. Nothing important."
"You rescue people," Mikey reminded him. "From Apex. You can't say that's not important."
"Eh." Bob shrugged, shifting in his seat. "That's mostly Frank's deal. I got into it by accident."
"But you do it, which is more than most people could say."
Bob didn't answer. After a few minutes, Mikey stood up and walked to a door at the opposite end of the room, one that wasn't one of the bedrooms. When he didn't reappear, Bob hauled himself up and out of the chair and followed him.
When he pushed the door open, he found himself on a large balcony. The glass dome separating them from the unterraformed landscape was almost within arms reach of the edge of the balcony, but something inside the dome was moving the air around in a way that made it feel like they were outdoors. Mikey leaned on the railing, looking out at the orange and violet landscape that glittered in the light of one of the smaller suns in this system. This was a planet of near constant daylight, with three stars lined up in such a way that a planet orbiting the center star would have light from one of them at nearly all hours. The one visible at this time of day was far enough away that it shone a pale, weak pink, casting just enough light to illuminate the buildings around them in a colored glow. "This is a beautiful place," Bob said softly.
Mikey didn't turn around. When he spoke, it was almost to himself, so that Bob had to walk to the railing to hear him. "It feels like somebody else's place. None of this feels like mine."
"It will."
"You don't know that." Mikey turned his head to look at Bob. His eyes were shadowed, lost underneath hair gone unruly again. "It's weird, the only place I've really felt comfortable since all this happened has been on your ship. And Victoria's ship, I guess. With you."
Bob's mouth went dry. He swallowed. No response bubbled up in his whirling brain, so he settled on a gruff, "Thanks."
"I wish ..." Mikey trailed off. He reached over and touched Bob's hand. It was a brief moment, only a whisper of skin against skin, but it made Bob's pulse skip. Then, Mikey drew back and stepped away. "We should get some sleep," he said, backing towards the door. "We're leaving tomorrow, right?"
"Yeah." Bob turned back and focused on the light reflecting off the glass domes all around them. "Good night."
He heard the door open and close behind him, but he stood there for a long time before he retired to his own room. Sleep didn't come easily that night.
The next day, Ashlee appeared at their door as they were getting ready to leave. "I talked to my father, and he pulled some strings to get you the most direct flight plan to Nariall." She handed Bob a palm unit. "There's still no answer from anyone on Nariall. Even my dad is worried, but that's mostly because he needs Gerard to sign some contracts about one of the Lane intersections." She looked past Bob, to where Mikey stood. "Be safe. Come back soon." To Bob's surprise, she kissed him on the cheek as she left. "You too."
When they got to the bay that held Victoria's ship, Bob found the small galley stocked with food, and a small music device laying on the cockpit console with a handwritten note attached - in a nearly illegible scrawl, it read, "For the road." He pressed play on the device, and heard a song that he and Patrick had been discussing the day before. It earned a half-smile. "Thanks, dude," he murmured.
Pete stood on the dock when they were ready to leave, in much the same position as he'd occupied when they arrived. Mikey walked down the ramp to meet him, and Pete wrapped his arms around him. This time, Mikey responded immediately. When he pulled back, Pete merely gave Bob a salute. "Safe travels. Call if you need anything. If something goes horribly wrong, I can round up reinforcements pretty quickly."
"Thanks." Bob returned the salute, a small grin on his face.
Mikey disappeared back up the ramp, but Pete's voice stopped Bob halfway there. "Hey, Bryar." When Bob turned around, Pete's face was serious. "When you get there, don't just talk to anybody. Insist on talking to one of the family representatives. They won't let you talk to Gerard, but ask for Lindsey Ballato or Ray Toro. They're the only people around there I'd trust without a doubt."
"Why?"
Pete shrugged. "Somebody in the Way compound had to be in on the kidnapping. Mikey was taken from his personal quarters, from what Gerard told me. Don't tell anyone you've got Mikey unless Gerard, Lindsey, or Ray hears you. Call me paranoid, but ..."
Bob nodded. "Understood. Thanks."
Pete tossed him a small object. He caught it - it was shaped like an old-fashioned key, but the wide end held several buttons that marked it as some kind of electronic device. "Codes," Pete explained, "that will get you here no matter where you're coming from. Come back any time. It's much more fun here when you're more relaxed." Pete smiled.
"I can't afford your resort, Wentz," Bob said, turning the device over in his hand.
"Your money's no good here. You'll always be welcome." Pete saluted again before Bob could protest. "Take care of him, okay?"
"Yeah, I will." Pete turned and walked away before Bob could find the words to thank him.
Inside the ship, Mikey made fussing noises. "You should be sitting down."
"My leg is better." It was mostly true; walking wasn't exactly a painless proposition, but he had a lot more balance than he'd had the day before. "But I'm sitting. We're taking off."
Mikey followed him to the cockpit. "Will you show me what you do to fly this thing?"
"It's not something you learn in a day."
"I know. I just want to see."
Mikey sat in the chair next to Bob. Bob began the take-off process, narrating it as he went. He had Mikey key in the sequences on the wall console - it only took one false start to get their course to the intersection of the Simpson and Way lanes set in. As they rose through the opening at the top of Clandestine's port dome, Bob felt Mikey's presence next to him, solid and warm. He kept his eyes on the stars in front of them. It seemed the only sane thing to do.
Part Four
Part Two
When they reached the last beacon before Clandestine, Bob gave Mikey the coded file that had been left on the Cobra palm unit, along with the strange message meant for Clandestine's owner. He understood none of it - something about a summer, and a couple of slang phrases he vaguely recognized as being popular with kids in this part of the galaxy - but the notes Ryland had left for him assured him it would get him permission to dock at the resort. As Mikey entered the message into the computer, he narrowed his eyes. "There's something ... like I might recognize this whole thing, but it's right out of my sight, and if I turn my head, it'll be gone. Fuck my memory," he grumbled.
It didn't take long for the resort's spaceport to respond. In fact, only a few minutes after transmitting the message, Bob found himself directed to dock in the far northern corner of the facility. As they descended, Mikey leaned over Bob's shoulder to look out the window. "Wow," he said.
"You said it," Bob muttered. Victoria's sleek little cruiser might fit into this facility, but had Bob been flying his own beat-up old cargo ship, he'd feel like he was walking into a masquerade ball totally naked. The walls of the bays were painted in a rich gold, and each individual ship bay had a whole team of mechanics and attendants caring for both ship and passengers. As Bob and Mikey watched, a small hovercraft flew up to the entrance to a ship. A gray-haired woman stepped out and onto the cushioned seat at the back of the hovercraft. Two attendants placed a trunk on the craft in front of her, and the craft flew off. "Think we can get one of those for you?" Mikey wondered.
"Fuck off. I can walk."
"Sure you can." Mikey glanced doubtfully at Bob's leg. Bob snatched it off the chair defensively, ignoring the sharp pain that shot up to his hip. He rolled the leg of his pants down and smoothed the front of his shirt. None of his clothes were really good enough for this place, but he'd had to make do with a clean black shirt and pants. He'd even trimmed his beard. If someone wanted to give him hell for being shabby, well ... this wasn't his place. Rich people could go fuck themselves.
Mikey was similarly dressed in black, but the materials of his clothing were noticeably more expensive even to Bob's untrained eye. Mikey had slicked his hair back off his face with some kind of product that Ryland had left for him; the whole effect served to hide any residual fear he might feel. That is, unless you looked at his hands, which shook as he gripped the edge of the console. Bob placed one of his hands over Mikey's briefly. "This is supposed to be a safe place, remember?"
"Yeah," Mikey said, not entirely convincingly.
They landed quietly in an empty bay. Bob finished inputting his landing sequences and cut the power to his console. When he looked back up, he saw a small, dark man standing on the platform in front of him. He wore a conservative suit, but his sleeves were pushed up far enough that Bob could see whirling black designs covering the skin of his arms. He bounced on his toes, squinting up at the front of the ship as he tried to see into the cockpit. "The welcoming committee, I guess," Bob said.
Mikey helped Bob out of the chair, but Bob pushed him away once he was standing. "I can walk," he repeated. And he did, slowly and gingerly, gritting his teeth at the pulses in his muscles every time he stepped onto his injured leg. Mikey walked next to him, not touching him but obviously poised to catch Bob if he should fall. Bob scowled and kept his eyes on the outer door as he walked.
When the emerged and started to descend the ramp, the dark-haired man rushed up to meet them. "Mikey!" he said, his voice too loud for the quiet bay. When Mikey simply blinked at him, he stopped a few steps short of them. "Right. Memory drug. Motherfucker." Then, he closed the distance and embraced Mikey. "I'm just glad to see you alive."
After an awkward moment, Mikey returned the hug. He gave Bob an unreadable look over the man's head. When the man pulled back, he turned his attention to Bob. "Captain Bryar?" Bob nodded. The man extended his hand. "Gabe's message told me about you. Thank you. You know, for rescuing him."
Bob shook his hand. "Are you ..."
"Oh, right. Pete Wentz. Welcome to my world." Pete gave Bob a strange half-smile before gesturing down the ramp. "Come on, let's get the hell out of here."
Pete led them out of the bay. Beyond the spaceport, they walked through halls that, while understated in decoration, made Bob feel too dirty to touch anything, despite the fact that he'd just gotten out of the shower. When they entered a glass-covered walkway between buildings, Bob hesitated for a moment, taking in the landscape outside. The ground was made up by violet and orange rock and clay; what looked like large rock formations at various intervals were, on second glance, all buildings, with glass walkways connecting each one. The whole place looked like a jewel-toned maze. "We're not terraformed, not really," Pete explained, stopping along side Bob. "The company that originally tried to settle this place tried three times, but it never took. I bought it from them for a song. Almost literally." Pete chuckled to himself. "My architects figured that if you can't beat nature, you might as well work with it."
"It's beautiful," Mikey said, his nose nearly pressed to the glass.
When Bob looked over, Pete had his hand on Mikey's back. He pointed over Mikey's shoulder with his other hand. "See the big building over there? Your suite is there. You haven't been here for a while, though. Not since your brother took over the corporation. I missed you." Mikey looked back at him. Pete met his eyes for a long moment, then started to walk again. Mikey followed silently, leaving Bob to bring up the rear, walking as fast as he could without toppling over.
In the next building, Pete led them into a large, surprisingly homey looking office, full of overstuffed furniture and brightly colored art. There was a large desk in the corner of the room, but it appeared to be empty. Instead, a mass of papers were spread out on a low table in front of a large couch; on the couch, a beautiful redheaded woman tossed a file folder into the pile when she saw them walk in. "Mikey!" She stood up, crossed the room, and threw her arms around Mikey's neck. This time, Mikey responded a little bit faster. "I'm so glad you're okay."
"Well, sort of okay," Mikey said, pulling back.
"He doesn't remember," Pete said to her.
Her face fell, but she nodded. "So that's what you meant. You ran out of here so fast, I barely caught what you were saying. I cleared the building, though, and sent a housekeeping crew to make sure his suite is prepared." She stepped backward and gestured to the seating area in the middle of the room. "Have a seat, guys. There's food on the way."
Pete kept his hand on the door. "I'll be right back. Gotta get something from my office."
"This is your office?" Bob asked when Pete was gone.
"Yep. Oh, god, I'm sorry, I'm being completely rude. I'm Ashlee." She held out her hand.
"Bob. Bryar. I'm a pilot." Bob felt more than a little stupid. Suddenly, he found himself in a room with members of two of the most powerful families in the galaxy, and what the hell was he doing there, anyway? He shifted uncomfortably as he sat in one of the chairs - the cushions were too soft, and he felt like he was sinking down to the ground.
Mikey, for his part, perched on the edge of another seat, back straight and leaning forward to look at Ashlee. Looking at him, Bob could barely remember the filthy zombie he picked up back on Genara. "You're ... Pete's wife, yes?"
"Yes, I am. I also oversee the resort's personnel, mostly because Pete's too soft for his own good sometimes." There was a touch of sadness in her smile. "It feels so weird to have to tell you that. Last time you were here, you spent the whole time making fun of me because I nearly fired a poor entertainment hostess for a decision that Pete actually made. You kept calling me Dragon Lady. I yelled at you every time you did it, but actually, it was really funny."
"I..." Mikey began to speak, then shut his mouth and very obviously changed gears. "I wish I remembered."
"Me too. But you will, eventually. Those drugs aren't meant to be permanent. I've seen people recover from them; it takes a little while, but the memory comes back in full, as far as I remember." When Bob looked at her, a question on the tip of his tongue, she shook her head. Her smile faded, and Bob could almost feel a drop in temperature when he looked at her face. "I was old enough to know things when my father ... attempted to expand his business."
Bob remembered the people he'd met on the edges of the Simpson-Beckett war - poor working stiffs, used as cannon fodder in a rich man's fight for more money - and kept silent. Mikey, meanwhile, gave Ashlee a half smile. "It's kinda nice to hear something good. Or hopeful, at least. Sometimes it feels like I'm never going to know anything ever again."
Her smile returned, and she reached across the table to put a hand on Mikey's knee. "You will. I know you will."
Pete returned to the room, carrying several palm units that he threw down on the table, knocking some of his wife's paperwork to the ground. She groaned, but he just shrugged. "You should do your work on a computer like a normal person."
"I can't look at things the same way on the computer screen. Stop messing up my office." She smacked him halfheartedly as he sank down onto the couch next to her.
"What are those?" Mikey asked, looking at the palm units.
"Every bit of information I have on you. What you order for breakfast when you're here, some event vids you appear in, all the messages you and I have sent to each other over the years ..."
Ashlee nudged him, smirking. "All of them? Really?"
He turned to her and grinned widely. "Hey, they're all good examples of who he is. Or used to be. Not that you're much different than you used to be," Pete said, gesturing at Mikey, "but anyway. I thought they might help you figure some things out."
"Huh." Mikey leaned over and picked up one of the units. "Maybe. Thanks."
"I have a better plan, actually," Ashlee said. All three men looked at her. She looked at Pete. "Our new doctor?"
Pete smacked his forehead. "I would have thought of that if I'd had more time to think about it."
"Sure you would have." Ashlee patted his knee. To Bob and Mikey, she explained, "We just hired this doctor - he does research, mostly, but he sees patients here in exchange for lab space where he doesn't have to answer to anyone. It works out well for everyone involved."
"If anyone around here would know how to treat memory loss drugs ..." Pete stood up. "Come on, I'll take you out to his place."
Mikey immediately stood up. Bob tried to push himself out of the chair, but his leg gave out underneath him before he was fully upright. He sank back down into the chair with a loud curse. Mikey immediately crossed to him. "Maybe you need the doctor more than I do."
Bob waved him off. "I'm fine. Just give me a minute."
"Why don't you relax for a little while?" Pete suggested. "Our doctor ... well, Spencer gets a little irritable if too many people invade his space. We'll probably do better if it's just me and Mikey."
Mikey looked down at Bob, doubt plain on his face. "I don't know ..."
Bob looked at him, then at Pete, who gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. Bob took a deep breath. "It's okay," Bob said slowly. "I think you're all right here."
"Bob . .."
Mikey blinked rapidly. It was an expression that Bob was beginning to recognize as panic. He placed his hand on Mikey's arm. "These are your friends. Go."
After another moment of hesitation, Mikey nodded and walked back over to Pete, whose eyes were unreadable when he looked back at Bob. When they were gone, Ashlee offered her hand to Bob and helped him stand. "Come on, you look like a man who needs a drink."
She called a transport vehicle, and so Bob found himself flying through Clandestine's glass tunnels, marveling at the structures he saw all around him. "I've been to a lot of planets," he said, mostly to himself, "but I've never seen anything like this."
"I'd never been off my home planet before I came here," Ashlee said, sitting across from him. "But I spent most of my life watching vids and reading history books about all the places I thought I'd never visit ... and I didn't read about anything remotely like this. I think I spent my first week just wandering from building to building, staring at everything and everyone."
"You'd never been off-planet?" Bob looked back at her, surprised. "I would have thought, with your family ..."
Ashlee's face twisted into a humorless grin. "Because I'm from a Lane family, you mean? You've obviously never met my father."
The transport stopped just inside the next building. Ashlee climbed out of the vehicle, while the driver helped Bob to dismount without falling. As he caught his balance, he heard a beeping noise. Ashlee pulled a small palm unit out of her pocket and pressed a button. She sighed. "There's a problem with one of the servers in the Emerald restaurant. I have to go see the manager." She pointed Bob towards the door that led to the building's interior. "In there. They'll have a table waiting for you. Order whatever you want, it's on the house." She patted his shoulder as she climbed back into the vehicle. "I'll be back shortly."
Inside the door, Bob found himself on the top level of a large nightclub. The stage sat at the bottom of a amphitheater-like setup, with tiers of plush booths surrounding it in a semi-circle. A host spotted him as soon as he walked in the door. "This way, sir," he said, giving Bob a strange half-bow before walking down an aisle that led to a middle tier. Bob followed slowly, until he was seated at a booth that overlooked the stage from the left side. He felt a little ridiculous; the booth was large enough for half a dozen people, probably, and every booth surrounding him was occupied either by enthusiastic, well-dressed groups or by couples leaning in to each other in intimate gestures. Still, the audience noise barely registered as whispers; the only thing Bob could really hear was the singer on stage. He listened as he ordered a drink from a passing server. The music was dreamy-sounding jazz, the vocalist a rich baritone that impressed Bob. He'd been a musician, once upon a time, before his need for money outweighed his love of the art. He knew a little bit about what qualified as good, and this guy - kid, really, he thought as he looked at the tiny, dark-haired guy playing the piano - more than had what it took. That was why he was playing at Clandestine, he guessed. It wasn't like the Wentzes couldn't afford to hire the best.
His drink appeared in front of him. Bob was surprised, however, when the person who set it on the table then slid into the booth opposite him, carrying his own drink. "You're Captain Bryar, right? The one who came in with Mikey? Ashlee called to tell me you were here."
"Bob," he said automatically.
The man - small, with shaggy red hair poking out from underneath a black hat - smiled and reached across the table to shake Bob's hand. "Patrick. Nice to meet you."
Bob tried to think of something to continue the conversation, but finally just slumped back into the booth and took a drink. "I have no idea what I'm doing here," he muttered.
To his surprise, Patrick laughed. "Trust me, I know the feeling. When I met Pete, I was playing at a dingy little club halfway across the galaxy. I don't really have any idea how I ended up here, except for the part where Pete's a force of nature."
"What do you do here? Play?" Bob asked, gesturing to the stage.
"Sometimes. These days, I mostly just run this place, and occasionally wander off planet to find new talent. Brendon's our newest," he said, indicating the boy playing on stage. "I actually didn't have to go anywhere to find him, he was working on the housekeeping staff. It was ... well, it's a long story, and probably really boring." Patrick waved a hand in the air, and a moment later, a server appeared with a tray full of food. "I haven't eaten yet today," Patrick said, pushing a plate towards Bob so he could serve himself. "So, I have to ask, how did you end up with Mikey? And how'd you know to come here, to Clandestine? I've been getting most of the information in pieces."
"The answer to your second question is Gabe Saporta." Patrick gave a knowing grin at that answer. "As to your first ... well, it's a long story."
Patrick nodded to acknowledge the point. They fell silent for a long moment, as they ate and listened to the boy - Brendon - sing another song, an old standard that Bob recognized. He began to sing along softly, tapping out the rhythm on the table with his fork. When he looked up, Patrick was watching him. "Musician?"
"Used to be. Played drums for a while back home."
"Me too. I played other instruments, but never in public, until Pete got ahold of me. He's stupidly persistent." Patrick smiled. Then, he gestured at Bob with his fork. "If you know this song, did you ever play ..."
As it turned out, Bob and Patrick had played a lot of the same music, and they fell into a long conversation that made Bob forget his discomfort in the surroundings. Bob lost track of time; he only noticed that Brendon's set had ended and someone else's had begun when Ashlee slid into the booth beside Patrick. She kissed his cheek noisily. "I'd apologize for being late, but I don't think either of you actually noticed."
Bob's thoughts returned to the issues at hand. "Any word about Mikey yet?"
Ashlee shook her head. "Haven't heard anything from Pete. Soon, trust me." She speared one of the few remaining sandwiches from the tray in front of them. "Go on, don't let me stop you. I love listening to Patrick's music conversations." She and Patrick grinned at each other, in what was obviously a private joke.
They continued talking, but Bob's mind was half occupied with worrying about Mikey yet again. He kept one eye on the entrance to the club. A short while later, Pete appeared in the doorway. He caught Bob's eye and jerked his head in a summoning gesture. Bob stood up, trying not to wince at the flash of pain in his leg. "Sorry," he apologized. "Excuse me."
Neither Patrick or Ashlee made any move to follow him. When Bob made it up the stairs to Pete, Pete offered his hand to help him up the last step. "Mikey's in his suite," he said without preamble. "Sleeping. It was ... well." Pete spread his hands. His expression was resigned. "Spencer tried. It didn't work. There are things only the doctors who work for the Lane families know, and apparently the antidote to memory loss drugs is one of them. I wouldn't put it past Spencer to eventually figure it out, but he's young." Pete shrugged. "The best plan is going to be to get you guys back to Nariall, let his family doctor do his thing. But there's a problem there."
"Communication block on Nariall?" When Pete nodded, Bob sighed. "The Cobra folks mentioned something about that."
"Gerard had been calling me twice a day, wondering if I'd heard anything about Mikey. Then ... nothing, for days. Nobody can get through, not even other Lane families. We had Ashlee's dad try, he didn't get any farther than we did." Pete laced his hands together and brought them to his mouth. "I won't lie, I'm worried. There's another family involved in this, Gerard knew that much before he disappeared. The only thing I can guarantee is that it's not my in-laws, and that's only because good old Joe is still recovering from his little war with the Becketts." Pete rolled his eyes.
"So ... another Lane family decided to declare some kind of war with the Ways, and Mikey was a bargaining chip?"
"Pretty much, yeah." Pete's mouth was set in a grim line. "No one here seems to know anything about it, or if they do, they're really good actors. I have people from almost every family and corporation staying here at any given point in time, and I've talked to everyone who's come through. But, do you know the part that's really worrying me?"
"What's that?"
"The Ways aren't as ruthless as everyone else. At least, Gerard isn't. When Elena was in charge, yeah, they would have given as good as they got. She was a tough old broad." The half grin that quirked the corners of Pete's mouth told Bob that was a compliment. "But Gerard ... well, he's got a couple of good people around him that know how to play the game, but sometimes I don't know how far Gerard will listen to them. I'm afraid that some determined bastard will run right over them."
Bob was silent for a moment. Then, he furrowed his brow. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"What?"
"You barely know me. I'm nobody. Why are you telling me all this Lane family stuff? It's not anything I have any business knowing."
Pete quirked an eyebrow. "You're neck-deep in family business right now. Don't you want to know what you're dealing with?"
Bob blew out a breath. "I don't know. This is all way beyond what I'm used to. I'm just a fucking cargo pilot."
"Like it or not, you've become a little more than that." Pete laid a hand on Bob's shoulder. "We can get you guys a flight plan to Nariall, if you want. But I don't have any idea what you'll find when you get there."
"I don't see any other choice," Bob said.
Pete hesitated. "You could leave now," he finally suggested. "You've already put yourself in stupid amounts of danger for someone you don't even know. You've gotten Mikey to a safe place. I could take Mikey home, deal with whatever's going on. He's practically family - he and his brother both. I owe him a hell of a lot. You don't owe him, or any of us, anything."
Thoughts swirled around in Bob's head. Part of him wanted to take Pete's offer, to leave and never look back. He'd already screwed up their operation on Genara, cost Brian valuable business, painted a target on his back that would be hard to erase. And for what? For a guy he'd only known a couple of days, someone who belonged in a completely different life than Bob would ever have. It was tempting, oh so tempting, to take the out and go back to rebuilding his life. But, before that sensible part of his brain could have its say, he found himself replying, "No, I'm in this 'til the end. I'm staying."
Pete gave him an unreadable smile. "I kinda thought you might be." He gestured to the door. "There's a transport waiting out there. It'll take you to the Way suite. Ash had someone make up Gerard's room for you."
"Thanks." Reminded of Ashlee, Bob turned around. "I should thank ..." His thought was lost when he looked back to the booth he'd recently vacated. Ashlee had her arms draped around Patrick's neck, one hand casually playing with the hair that brushed his neck. He was laughing at something she was saying; a moment later, she leaned in and kissed him slowly. His mouth opened against hers, and she snuggled closer to him as their tongues intertwined.
When Bob looked back at Pete, he was was watching the scene with a pleased smile. He noticed Bob staring, and his grin widened. "I have a good life," was all he said before he patted Bob on the shoulder and headed down the stairs towards the booth.
Bob watched Patrick and Ashlee separate and greet Pete with smiles before he turned around and headed for the door. "Rich people are weird," he muttered under his breath.
The transport dropped Bob off inside the entrance of a building decorated in understated colors. As soon as he climbed down from the transport, the inside door opened. Mikey stood in the doorway - his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was even more pale than usual. "What did they do to you?" Bob demanded.
"Nothing," Mikey said, leading Bob inside. "The doctor tried a couple of drugs on me, things that are usually antidotes to some of the components that make up a memory loss drug. But, none of them worked, and Spencer apparently hasn't worked out how to combine them all yet, not without causing an explosion."
"Explosion?"
"I guess there are drugs that get flammable when mixed." Mikey shrugged. He dropped down onto a couch, leaned his head against a pillow and closed his eyes. "Anyway. It didn't work. My head hurts."
"You should sleep."
"So should you."
Bob sat in a chair and stared at Mikey, When Mikey opened his eyes, his lips curved upward. "Neither one of us is very good at resting, are we?"
"Never have been." Bob put his injured leg up on an ottoman. "So this is your place?"
"So they tell me." Mikey gestured at two doors, one on either side of the lounge. "One bedroom for me, one for my brother. The upstairs is ours, too, some kind of big meeting room or something. I don't know, I wasn't up there too long. The bedrooms are kind of ridiculous. Pete says I decorated mine myself, but I don't know. I don't know too much about myself, but would I really want something so ... black?"
Bob snorted. "Well, it sounds like Pete might have some firsthand experience with your bedroom."
Mikey flushed. "Um. Yeah, I guess. I think it was a while ago, though."
"Probably. His love life seems to be complicated enough without adding you to the mix." Mikey looked at him quizzically, but Bob waved him off. "You'll figure out who you are. Pete's going to get us a flight plan to your home planet, and there will be a doctor there who can help you."
"Are you sure about that?"
"So I hear. But," he continued, "I can't imagine you're that much different with your memory than you are now."
"How do you figure?" Mikey raised his head and propped himself up on an elbow.
"You're really calm and collected. You're loyal. You're a good guy, Mikey Way."
Mikey's face turned red again. "I don't know," he said. "I've been reading the things Pete gave me, all the information about me. I sound ... I don't know, it's all about parties and playing around and jokes and stuff. It doesn't sound very important. I think I might be kind of ... shallow, I guess."
"You're rich," Bob pointed out. "When you don't have to work for a living, you can do a lot of fun things."
"Yeah, but ..." Mikey sighed. "Pete's rich, and he runs this resort. My brother's rich, and he runs the family corporation. There are a lot of rich people who work because it makes them happy, or something like that. Looking at all this stuff, I don't know what it is that makes me happy. I just seem to travel and go to parties."
"That sounds like something that could make you happy."
"But it's not doing anything. I don't know," Mikey concluded, frowning. "It just doesn't sound like I'm a very useful person."
"There's a lot of stuff that won't be on vid reports. There's probably a lot of stuff that wouldn't even be in your messages to Pete. I don't think you're going to know exactly who you are until your memory is back. Stop worrying about it."
"Easy for you to say." Mikey laid his head back down on the pillow. "You do things. Important things."
"I haul cargo. Mostly small-time shit. Nothing important."
"You rescue people," Mikey reminded him. "From Apex. You can't say that's not important."
"Eh." Bob shrugged, shifting in his seat. "That's mostly Frank's deal. I got into it by accident."
"But you do it, which is more than most people could say."
Bob didn't answer. After a few minutes, Mikey stood up and walked to a door at the opposite end of the room, one that wasn't one of the bedrooms. When he didn't reappear, Bob hauled himself up and out of the chair and followed him.
When he pushed the door open, he found himself on a large balcony. The glass dome separating them from the unterraformed landscape was almost within arms reach of the edge of the balcony, but something inside the dome was moving the air around in a way that made it feel like they were outdoors. Mikey leaned on the railing, looking out at the orange and violet landscape that glittered in the light of one of the smaller suns in this system. This was a planet of near constant daylight, with three stars lined up in such a way that a planet orbiting the center star would have light from one of them at nearly all hours. The one visible at this time of day was far enough away that it shone a pale, weak pink, casting just enough light to illuminate the buildings around them in a colored glow. "This is a beautiful place," Bob said softly.
Mikey didn't turn around. When he spoke, it was almost to himself, so that Bob had to walk to the railing to hear him. "It feels like somebody else's place. None of this feels like mine."
"It will."
"You don't know that." Mikey turned his head to look at Bob. His eyes were shadowed, lost underneath hair gone unruly again. "It's weird, the only place I've really felt comfortable since all this happened has been on your ship. And Victoria's ship, I guess. With you."
Bob's mouth went dry. He swallowed. No response bubbled up in his whirling brain, so he settled on a gruff, "Thanks."
"I wish ..." Mikey trailed off. He reached over and touched Bob's hand. It was a brief moment, only a whisper of skin against skin, but it made Bob's pulse skip. Then, Mikey drew back and stepped away. "We should get some sleep," he said, backing towards the door. "We're leaving tomorrow, right?"
"Yeah." Bob turned back and focused on the light reflecting off the glass domes all around them. "Good night."
He heard the door open and close behind him, but he stood there for a long time before he retired to his own room. Sleep didn't come easily that night.
The next day, Ashlee appeared at their door as they were getting ready to leave. "I talked to my father, and he pulled some strings to get you the most direct flight plan to Nariall." She handed Bob a palm unit. "There's still no answer from anyone on Nariall. Even my dad is worried, but that's mostly because he needs Gerard to sign some contracts about one of the Lane intersections." She looked past Bob, to where Mikey stood. "Be safe. Come back soon." To Bob's surprise, she kissed him on the cheek as she left. "You too."
When they got to the bay that held Victoria's ship, Bob found the small galley stocked with food, and a small music device laying on the cockpit console with a handwritten note attached - in a nearly illegible scrawl, it read, "For the road." He pressed play on the device, and heard a song that he and Patrick had been discussing the day before. It earned a half-smile. "Thanks, dude," he murmured.
Pete stood on the dock when they were ready to leave, in much the same position as he'd occupied when they arrived. Mikey walked down the ramp to meet him, and Pete wrapped his arms around him. This time, Mikey responded immediately. When he pulled back, Pete merely gave Bob a salute. "Safe travels. Call if you need anything. If something goes horribly wrong, I can round up reinforcements pretty quickly."
"Thanks." Bob returned the salute, a small grin on his face.
Mikey disappeared back up the ramp, but Pete's voice stopped Bob halfway there. "Hey, Bryar." When Bob turned around, Pete's face was serious. "When you get there, don't just talk to anybody. Insist on talking to one of the family representatives. They won't let you talk to Gerard, but ask for Lindsey Ballato or Ray Toro. They're the only people around there I'd trust without a doubt."
"Why?"
Pete shrugged. "Somebody in the Way compound had to be in on the kidnapping. Mikey was taken from his personal quarters, from what Gerard told me. Don't tell anyone you've got Mikey unless Gerard, Lindsey, or Ray hears you. Call me paranoid, but ..."
Bob nodded. "Understood. Thanks."
Pete tossed him a small object. He caught it - it was shaped like an old-fashioned key, but the wide end held several buttons that marked it as some kind of electronic device. "Codes," Pete explained, "that will get you here no matter where you're coming from. Come back any time. It's much more fun here when you're more relaxed." Pete smiled.
"I can't afford your resort, Wentz," Bob said, turning the device over in his hand.
"Your money's no good here. You'll always be welcome." Pete saluted again before Bob could protest. "Take care of him, okay?"
"Yeah, I will." Pete turned and walked away before Bob could find the words to thank him.
Inside the ship, Mikey made fussing noises. "You should be sitting down."
"My leg is better." It was mostly true; walking wasn't exactly a painless proposition, but he had a lot more balance than he'd had the day before. "But I'm sitting. We're taking off."
Mikey followed him to the cockpit. "Will you show me what you do to fly this thing?"
"It's not something you learn in a day."
"I know. I just want to see."
Mikey sat in the chair next to Bob. Bob began the take-off process, narrating it as he went. He had Mikey key in the sequences on the wall console - it only took one false start to get their course to the intersection of the Simpson and Way lanes set in. As they rose through the opening at the top of Clandestine's port dome, Bob felt Mikey's presence next to him, solid and warm. He kept his eyes on the stars in front of them. It seemed the only sane thing to do.
Part Four
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Date: 2010-01-05 12:17 am (UTC)