Rogue Stars

by C Gockel et al.

  “... but not all,” James continued. “There will be a need for cheap labor while Luddeccea transforms its manufacturing to a system not reliant on augments.”

  He said it as though repeating a history lesson. She felt a prickle of sweat on her skin and it wasn’t just from heat.

  “Do you have any feelings on this matter, James?” She didn’t try to hide the bitter edge to her voice.

  “It makes me concerned about the possibility of being caught,” he said.

  For a few heart beats, Noa couldn’t speak. “Don’t you want to help?” she asked incredulously.

  “I want us to stay alive,” James ground out.

  “Millions of people are dying. And you don’t want to do anything about it?”

  “No,” he said levelly.

  Noa rocked back on her feet. He wasn’t a coward; he hadn’t abandoned her—he’d taken care of her, very good care of her. But now he seemed remote, unfeeling. “You’re inhuman,” she whispered.

  “According to the authorities I am not human,” he hissed.

  And then she felt a little disgusted—at herself for saying something so cruel, at the fundamentalists taking over her planet, but also at him for forsaking the other innocent people caught up in the same mess he was in.

  Turning back to the hover with a growl of frustration, she began carefully scanning the wires and ports, looking for anything that might have been loosened when she disengaged the conduit. And she also began to think. The Fleet wouldn’t let their own be arrested by locals without a court martial first. Which meant they didn’t know Noa had been arrested in the first place … and acts of genocide gave the Fleet carte blanche authority to intervene. So they didn’t know what was going on here, period. The Luddeccean authorities had managed to control the data packets that were being sent between Time Gate 8 and the wider galaxy by shutting down the ethernet, but that wouldn’t be enough. She shook her head—how did they control the mouths of travelers? Were they restricting travel somehow? That would be difficult, and the Republic would be suspicious and would question it. Action would be slow in coming, bogged down by the Republic’s near endless bureaucracy. She thumped her index finger on a wire and scowled. Still, she thought surely by now the Fleet would have an inkling …

  She shook her head. Lifting herself out of the craft, she said, “I have to alert the Fleet.” She felt a small wave of dizziness.

  “The ethernet is down … How do you plan on doing it?”

  Noa turned in his direction, tools shaking in her hands. Why wouldn’t her hands stop shaking? “I’m not going to the Northwest Province to start.”

  “Where do you plan on going?”

  Where indeed? She took a deep breath, felt a bite in her lungs and sweat forming on her palms. She did know where. “I’m heading to Luddeccea Prime. You can drop me off at the nearest magni-freight line.”

  She expected to hear “fine,” maybe “if that’s what you want,” and at most, “you’re crazy.” James took another step closer to her. When he spoke, his voice was almost a shout. “You’re going to do what?”

  Noa met James’s eyes. “You heard me.”

  He didn’t want to believe what he’d heard. He didn’t care about millions, but Noa … he shouldn’t care, but he did. Dipping his chin, James said, “You’re going to the capital, the hub of the Luddeccean Guard, the location of the Central Authority of this world?”

  “Yes,” said Noa.

  “No,” said James, taking a step forward. She was so thin, her eye sockets sunken, her skin dry, and paler than he remembered. She was in no shape to go anywhere, much less to Luddeccea Prime. Noa didn’t back up, didn’t even wobble on her feet. She lifted her chin higher, as though she was challenging him.

  He paused mid-step. Was he challenging her? A vision of swinging her over his shoulder, throwing her into the LX, and taking her to the Northwest Province flickered through his mind. And then he remembered finding her in the snow … She’d escaped a concentration camp; she would escape him. Or hate him. His vision went black for a moment. That was not acceptable. He took another step forward.

  This time Noa did react. “Are you going to try to stop me?” Noa said, throwing up her hands. The pliers flew one way, and the pulse reader flew another, landing in water with a plop. And then Noa did back away, holding her hands in front of her. They were visibly shaking and she was looking at them with alarm … as though they weren’t her own. He could empathize.

  Straightening and dropping her hands, she turned to the water. “I still need that,” she whispered, her voice slightly breathless.

  He was barely listening. James felt like snarling—and couldn’t, just as he couldn’t smile or frown. She was going to get herself killed if she went to Prime. It shouldn’t be his business, but it was; and it made anger and frustration burn in his mind like a white hot solar flare. “I’ll get the pulse reader,” he ground out. He had to get away from her, just for a moment.

  James walked past Noa before she could protest. He kicked off his shoes, and then peeled off his slacks and his sweater. Noa’s jaw fell. The tattoos that had been on his arm ran down his torso and his legs too—and they were very dark now. As he bent to put down his sweater, he paused, lifted his arms much as she did moments before, and then looked down at his body. His back was to her, so she couldn’t read his expression—but from the way he practically leapt into the water, she got the impression that he was trying to run away from what he’d seen.

  Noa watched his head disappear. She put a hand through her not-quite-existent hair—she was still shaking. And breathing hard. She felt a gust of wind could knock her over. She trembled again, this time with foreboding. What was wrong with her body? When James had stalked toward her, she hadn’t been afraid, just aggravated. But when the tools had slipped through her hands … that had been scary. She wasn’t clumsy. She didn’t run out of breath. She didn’t shake like a leaf.

  Her jaw hardened. She’d been in a concentration camp for weeks, that was what was wrong with her. And others were still there. She growled in frustration, and her eyes dropped to the water where James was. It was very calm … she felt a stab of worry and checked her chronometer app. It had been two minutes and thirty-three seconds since he’d plunged in. She walked to the edge of the water. “James?” she shouted. “James?” The surface of the water remained eerily calm.

  Grabbing the flashlight, knowing it had to be waterproof, she kicked off her shoes and dove in, the cold water hitting her like a physical blow. For a moment she saw an underwater world straight from a fairytale. But then the light flickered and the frigid blackness wrapped around her. She could see nothing, not even the surface.

  5

  It felt as though every centimeter of his skin was tightening and constricting to ward off the frigid waters in the cave. And he swore he felt all his cells cry for oxygen, and then sigh, as they gave up and realized none was forthcoming. His muscles stiffened—from the cold, or the lack of air, he wasn’t certain. It was unpleasant. But even if he didn’t have the lost tool as a goal, he would not have wanted to return to the surface. The world beneath the water was quiet, undemanding, and fascinating. Soaring through the water over a forest of pastel-colored stalagmites on the cave floor, he caught sight of small fish-like creatures with enormous eyes. The same soft hues as the stalagmites, they darted among the columns. He dove farther, searching among the column roots for the gauge, and was struck by a memory: a smaller version of himself asking his mother, “Why do the colors leave when it gets dark?” His mother had told him about the limitations and advantages of rod and cone cells in the retina—and how in darkness, the cones, the color receptors, could not receive enough light to be effective. Rods, by contrast, could be activated by as few as six photons. The shimmering colors of the underwater world defied that memory. A product of his augmentation? The only thing that told him it was dark was that the periphery of his vision was nearly black, as though looking through binoculars. He had no memo
ry of when his vision was augmented. It was very strange. And wonderful just the same.

  Catching a glint of something at the bottom of the watery cave, he dove deeper still. The blackness on the edges of his vision expanded, the pressure in his ears and chest increased, and his world shrank. He had to keep his eyes glued to the glimmer, or he would veer off course. It took a few minutes, but he did reach the fallen gauge. He wrapped his hand around the hand grip and brought it to his eyes. The tool was blurry, and it seemed to shimmer, and he was filled with a wave of panic. Something was wrong again, he could feel it, yet he wasn’t sure what it was. He blinked in the depths, and called up every memory he had of being in a pool, a lake, or an ocean … and realized he hadn’t exhaled … he hadn’t even felt the need to. The water above him suddenly seemed solid, the cold completely frigid, and he was certain his muscles were going rigid. With a terrified kick, he propelled himself upward. As he got closer to the surface, he heard splashing, and Noa’s voice, muted by the water.

  He erupted through the surface and sucked in a long breath—to reassure himself that he still could.

  “James!” Noa screamed.

  Treading water, he turned toward her and lifted the gauge. “I found it,” he said, because it was easier than saying, “I don’t seem to need oxygen.”

  Splashing in the shallows, Noa said, “You were underwater for eight minutes.” She ran a hand over her head. “How are you even—you don’t have gills—I’d be able to see them.”

  He blinked at her, and an image of the implants along the front of the neck some divers and special ops agents sported flitted through his mind. Kicking to the shore, James searched his data banks. “Even without augmentation, humans are capable of staying beneath water for over ten minutes. It just requires training.” It required years of training, packing air just before the dive, and staying motionless underwater. He didn’t share that, though. Ducking his head, he climbed out of the water and shook himself off. The warm air on his skin felt wonderful, his muscles loosened, and he took another deep breath.

  Noa didn’t say anything for two long minutes. And then she looked down at the flashlight in her hand, now unlit. “I tried to dive after you, but your flashlight broke. Who doesn’t have a waterproof flashlight?”

  James blinked at her. He felt his own skin warming, and the edge of hunger that had begun to bite beneath the surface starting to fade, but she was soaked through and shivering. “I’ll finish the repairs,” he said, because he could. Disengaging the dampener wasn’t a skill he had, but checking the charge in the ports was basic. He needed to not think about her fragile body in the cold water, trying to save him when he apparently didn’t need saving.

  He shook water out of his hair and then glanced down. Before his eyes, patterns were reappearing on his arms and torso. They were leaf-like shapes that were split by tiny veins of paler skin. He ran his hands over them. They had a slight texture, like scales. He tried to remember when he’d received them, and his memory was like a gray wall. He felt colder than he did in the water, though the air was warm. He remembered the Briefing Room, and Bob Wang describing aliens taking over the bodies of augments … he blinked his eyes. An alien of pure energy stuck in an augment would still have to breathe, and a being of pure energy wouldn’t have … scales.

  “James, what’s wrong?” Noa said.

  “I … ” he stared at the leaf-like patterns becoming noticeably darker. “I still can’t remember where these came from.”

  Noa shifted on her feet. “We need to get out of here, James, both of us.”

  James thought of the sweeper ship, the drones that would invariably be coming back. He wanted to tear at his skin with his fingernails. “You’re right,” he said. Turning quickly, he strode to the craft and went to work. As he did, he heard the pteranodon-like birds of the planet call outside the cave, and near his feet water lapped against the shore. But Noa was silent. Which at first was a relief. And then it was a worry. The woman seemed to like to talk. But maybe she was reconsidering her plan?

  “All done,” he said to break the silence. Lowering the seats back into place, he climbed to his feet.

  He found Noa staring at him, arms wrapped around herself. “You can drop me off at the northeast junction,” she said.

  She had obviously not reconsidered. James’s jaw shifted. He couldn’t force her to do something, but perhaps he could reason with her? “Going to Luddeccea Prime is dangerous … ”

  She glared at him. “That isn’t a good reason not to do something that needs to be done.”

  James felt heavy, like his neurons were misfiring. “You’ll die.” He blinked at his own words, amazed that was the first thing that came to his mind, not his death, although he was worried about that, too. He gulped.

  Noa’s mouth fell open, but instead of arguing, she just panted.

  James pressed on. “You’re breathing hard … you’re half-starved … ”

  Her face softened.

  “It’s too risky,” James said, shaking his head.

  “It’s the riskiest course of action,” Noa admitted.

  James’s body sagged with relief. He tried unsuccessfully to smile.

  “But it has the highest reward,” said Noa. “We get to Time Gate 8, we call the Fleet, they’ll have a cruiser there in minutes. They have ships on standby at other gates just for this sort of thing. We could be completely safe within days, not hunted like rats for potentially months.”

  James tried to run estimates of their chance for success … and could not. There were too many unknown variables. And yet, what she said about highest rewards—that was rational. Although saying a lottery had higher rewards than conscientiously saving for fifty years was also rational. He felt a shiver spread like a wave through his body. He took a step toward her.

  Unmoving, Noa whispered, “You have to let me go, James.”

  James stopped. That would be the rational thing to do … it was her decision, he didn’t have to go along with it. He opened his mouth, wanting to say he’d take her to the magni-freight line. “I will go with you to Luddeccea Prime,” he said, the words surprising him with their smoothness. He felt like he did when he’d wanted to run away from her the night before. What was wrong with him? He stared at a black puddle on the cave floor. It gave him no answers … just his reflection framed by inky darkness. His reflection faded, and his imagination conjured up Noa in an interrogation room, body spilled out over a steel table, her neural interface yanked from her head, her eyes open and empty … to let that happen would be … failure.

  “You will?”

  His reflection on the surface of the obsidian-like puddle returned, and he lifted his eyes. Noa was smiling wildly, her teeth white against her dark lips. That smile filled his eyes, and his jaw shifted. Despite the stupidity of what he’d just offered, he wanted to echo the smile with one of his own. He stepped closer to her, as though pulled by a string, and then stopped short. His fists balled at his sides. He wanted more than just that smile—and the realization filled him with frustration that was more than sexual. She was in a profession he didn’t particularly admire, she was too loud, and he was beginning to doubt her sanity.

  Noa’s smile disappeared. Her lips parted slightly. He blinked and in the same instant, Noa stepped away. Her wet clothes made her gauntness more apparent. He remembered the image of the smiling woman in his memory. Maybe he was attracted to an idealized Noa that used to be?

  Rubbing her arms, Noa stumbled, and it hit him with the force of a blow. “I have spare clothes for you to wear,” he said hastily. She was obviously cold, and ill, and he should have offered them before. She didn’t argue, just said, “We have to hurry,” so softly it was as though she were reminding herself.

  After digging out spare clothes for her, he went to grab fresh clothing of his own. Hearing the craft rev a few minutes later, he turned to see that she’d already dressed and hopped into the LX before he’d had time to put on his sweater. He blinked. He had countl
ess memories of waiting for women to get ready, and even making jokes about their lack of expediency. Feeling slightly abashed, he balled his sweater into his fist, and hopped into the craft—not even complaining that Noa was at the wheel.

  A few minutes later, they were zipping through the canyon—not over the main river, but along minor tributaries.

  “They are probably stopping all vehicles entering the capital,” James said. Part of him hoped that, if he pointed out all the dangers, she’d turn back.

  “Yep,” said Noa. “I have a plan.”

  The craft darted through a patch of sunlight and James looked down at his arm. His “tattoos” were darkening; where the sunlight flooded in the window of the hover, they were darkest of all. He studied the veins on the markings. Holding his hand above his arm, he watched as the markings started to fade in the shadow of his hand. Maybe this was an augmentation that had happened after he fell? He felt a cold bolt of panic. He didn’t remember waking up after the doctors wheeled him down the hallway. But no, he’d told his parents he was coming to Luddeccea. That had happened after the accident on Earth … hadn’t it?

  “Why are you still not wearing your sweater?”

  Noa’s question drew James from his confusing thoughts, and it was, surprisingly, a relief to escape.

  “Who doesn’t wear a shirt in the middle of winter?” she continued. “It’s just ...” She gestured at the air between her and himself.

  “Is this some breach in etiquette?” James asked. He had memories of people in the Luddeccean countryside not wearing shirts, or much else, in the summer.

  “Well, it isn’t exactly high-class,” Noa said. She leaned forward and scowled, eyes straight ahead.

  James raised an eyebrow at the look of ire. “Is my naked chest bothering you?” Seeing the tattoos bothered him, but they weren’t obscene.

  “I … no … of course not!” Noa stammered.

  The transparency of the lie lit a little spark in his mind, a wicked, twisted little spark. She did say she wanted him to help her lighten the mood. “Maybe you are not so much Han Solo as the etiquette and protocol droid?” His lips didn’t turn up at the jibe, though they wanted to.