The Scarman Enigma

[|Scarecrow|]

EPILOGUE
Alcatraz Depot, California System

Sayne Jadyn nodded at the Junker scrapper and handed over the modified computer slate containing the transport’s falsified command codes. The man before him clearly knew the deal. It was highly likely that he handled several stolen ships under these conditions on a weekly basis. Jadyn was sure he’d have no trouble rewriting the codes. He looked around shiftily before initiating the final sign off to the scrapper. The man flicked through the dataslate, nodded contentedly, and turned on his heel.
“That’s good enough,” He spoke over his shoulder as he departed, waving dismissively.
Jadyn mirrored him quickly, turning away without a word and heading briskly in the opposite direction. He didn’t need to linger. In fact, he wanted to make his way out of the California system as quickly as possible. Alcatraz was a good place to lay low, but he couldn’t be certain of whether he had been followed. The credits from the transport would see to his safe passage, but he still had a few things to do before he could leave.

As he walked through the asteroid station’s long, twisting corridors, Jadyn wrapped his long, dark cloak tightly about him and pulled the hood low over his eyes. He had taken the cloak from the transport pilot’s personal quarters. It wasn’t exactly his style, but it served a purpose, enabling him to move cautiously around the station. He doubted there were any allies of the Black Flag aboard Alcatraz, but he wasn’t prepared to take any chances. The last thing he needed right now was to be recognised. He swept back through the base like a gliding phantom, rapidly making for the budget-bunks on the far side of the public concourse. The bunks were in a large hollowed out cavern toward the starboard side of the asteroid and provided a cheap and discreet resting place. Comprised of long rows of metal resembling an oversized server room, the bunks were essentially large, human-sized drawers that could be pulled out on runners and climbed into. Inside, they were incredibly basic, offering only light bed furnishings, a heater, a small vid-screen, and industrial grade soundproofing. It was the soundproofing that Jadyn had been the most grateful for.

Finally arriving at his rented bunks, Sayne pulled out the first of the two trays and instantly clamped his hand down over Heather Scarman’s mouth. The girl had been screaming at the top of her lungs to be set free, but thankfully, no one had heard her. By now, her voice was hoarse, but it still threatened to carry. Sayne glanced nervously up and down the aisle. Fortunately, they seemed to be the only two present.
“Enough,” Jadyn snapped, “Be quiet.”
He kept his hand over her mouth as he reached inside, feeling around for his duffel bag. His fingers finally found purchase, and he pulled the bag forcefully from the back of the bunk. He quickly slammed the tray back into its berth, silencing Heather before she could utter another sound. A faint scratching and muted wailing came from within, as if he had trapped some feral beast. He watched the smooth steel cowling silently until the sounds died down. A pang of regret simmered from somewhere down in his core. Heather had been locked in the bunk for several hours; ensuring her containment whilst Jadyn conducted his business on Alcatraz. Now, he was consigning her to even more claustrophobic darkness. He hadn’t even spared the credits to power the single, meagre interior light. She would once again been shrouded in total darkness. There was no telling the degree of trauma she was suffering. At her young age, Jadyn was certain the experience was likely to leave a significant imprint. His regret bubbled up into remorse, but he quickly shook it off. She was a victim of what was necessary, collateral. She may yet survive, and if she did, hopefully she would move past all this. It was Scarecrow Jadyn wanted. Only Scarecrow.

Turning away from the bunk, Sayne dipped a hand into the duffel bag and produced a palm computer. Another item pilfered from the stolen transport; this palm computer would serve a small but highly significant purpose. Jadyn powered it up and activated its external light. The dimly lit corridor of bunks was suddenly illuminated by its gloomy blue glow, casting long shadows around the narrow passageway. He quickly ducked down toward the second bunk, beside the one that encased Heather Scarman, and thumbed the lock. The catch came undone with a clunk, and he leaped inside. Once safely within, Jadyn cranked the tray back into the wall, and flicked his way through the computer’s menus to the recording mode. Composing himself, he looked squarely into the computer’s eyelet and took a deep breath.
“Scarecrow,” he began, keeping his voice low. “I have Heather here with me. She is safe, for now, but her life depends on what you do next. It’s only us now Scarecrow. No more Black Flag, no more Freedom Fighters, just me and you. Meet me on Rochester Base, and we can end this rhythm of violence. Come quickly. Find me there. Don’t leave me waiting.”
Jadyn shut off the recorder. It was a simple but effective message. He didn’t need to further outline the danger to Heather, it was clearly implied. Still, he looked to the bunk wall, to the side facing Heather’s tray, once again feeling a twinge of guilt. Could he bring harm to her? Could he step over that line? She had already been through so much. His thoughts drifted back to the darkness of his own childhood. To the hellish abuse he had suffered at the hands of his tyrannical Uncle.
No, he shivered and turned away. Scarecrow would come, Sayne was sure of it. He had to, for Heather’s sake.

Sayne rolled over onto his side and hunkered down. The next transport off-station wasn’t for a few hours, and he hadn’t rested at all since the descent of the Black Flag over Los Angeles Capital. He still had one or two loose ends to tie up. There was no way the small palm computer would be able to ping Scarecrow from so far away. Jadyn would need to pay for a wider broadcast, but he could dispatch it in a few hours. He needed to preserve all his strength for the fight to come. For now, he needed to sleep. Sayne pulled the cloak around him and closed his eyes. What lay ahead was the culmination of years of vengeful plotting. It wasn’t how he’d imagined it would be, but fate had led him to this conclusion, and he still had the upper hand. He would have his revenge. Marcus “Scarecrow” Scarman would finally pay for the death of his beloved Julianne.

* * *

Thank you for reading. It's been a long road, but I'm proud to have finally finished this, some fifteen years after it was started.
Hope you enjoyed!
~SC

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| S C A R E C R O W |

"See you space cowboy..."