Andromeda's Rebel

by Debra Jess

  "You will be issued a salary on a regular basis as dictated by AuRaKaz." He might not have even heard her in his desire to finish his recitation of the rules. "Director Kazamitiru will be responsible for basic clothing, food, shelter, and supplies. Any extras are your responsibility. Your pay is set at the current minimum wage level and will rise only as deemed necessary by Manitac."

  Tamarja's throat turned dry. She glanced at the bar and was about to ask Yohzad if she might order a drink when he slammed his chair back onto all four legs and ripped off his ear jack.

  "Look, I hate relating legalities. It's all there for you to read while you're shuttling down. All you need to remember is that you work for AuRaKaz. If the director is happy with your work and continues to renew your contract, then you have a chance to live a fairly normal life on Dawn's Landing. You'll have a chance to make friends, meet someone special." He waved his hands wildly in the air. "Hell, you could even have kids if you like."

  Tamarja's breath hitched at the thought. Children. A memory jumped, invading her brain. It immediately faded to gray and disappeared before she could grab hold. Her longing to remember her family included the usual complement of mother, father, and maybe a sibling or two. She had never considered she might also have children, maybe even a spouse. The possibilities wrung more unshed tears from her heart. Given she had only been frozen for four years, they might still remember her, might still need her.

  Stop it! You can't assume anything. Don't work yourself into a tailspin over theoretical children you're not even sure you want. Deal with today, only with today. Get yourself under control.

  "If you displease her," Yohzad continued, either not seeing her bite her lip or choosing to ignore it in his rush to brief her, "and she doesn't renew, then every time Manitac has to transfer you, or places you in deep freeze until they can place you, it just extends the time you have to serve. Whatever life you might have built for yourself on Dawn's Landing will be left behind. If they mind-wipe you again, you won't even remember you were there."

  How could she create a family when one had already been ripped from her? Never. She would never give Manitac that much power over her. She sealed her vow with a swipe at her hair, tucking a curl behind her ear.

  Loneliness had been hard enough on Bregarlos, where her instructors kept her separated from the other flight students. At first she had thought it was because of her prisoner status, but now she knew it was because she was unique even among prisoners. She couldn't connect to any of her instructors, and they had made it impossible for her to befriend anyone else.

  She would rather live the next forty years as a lonely old woman than as a heartbroken one.

  "How much does she know?" Tamarja plowed over the hitch in her voice. "The director, I mean. How much does she know about me?"

  Yohzad relaxed a bit, returning his chair to its two-legged balancing act. "She knows nothing. No one else besides me knows of your situation. This will allow you to better interact with your colleagues and to complete your assignment."

  "What about the officer I ran into outside your office? He seemed to know me. Does he know I'm a prisoner?"

  Yohzad hesitated while rubbing his chin. "Hard to say. Blayde is with security so he has access to all personnel transfer records, but he also comes into contact with prisoners and soon-to-be prisoners all the time. I certainly haven't told him anything about you. He could easily have mistaken you for someone else. I wouldn't worry about him too much. The director is the woman you want to impress."

  She wasn't so sure about Blayde not recognizing her, but Yohzad was right. "Dawn's Landing doesn't sound so bad, considering the circumstances."

  Yohzad nodded but dropped the front legs of his seat again so he could lean closer to her. He lowered his voice, even though no one could hear them through the barrier. "I've adjusted your collar to give you freedom of movement so long as you stay within the boundaries of Dawn's Landing. Because you are an atmosphere-restricted pilot, Aura—that is Director Kazamitiru—cannot compel you to fly outside those boundaries. I've included all facilities and habitats as well as a generous portion of the surrounding geography. Since the director is determined to protect the skyline, most buildings have underground levels, but you'll have no worries if you need to travel in that direction, either. Cross those boundaries though, or try to jump a security barrier, and you'll activate the left side trigger and be paralyzed until I can find you."

  He paused, his right index finger gently stroking the stylus that could also activate her triggers. The fire in his eyes cooled and hardened to ice. "Don't make me have to find you, Tamarja. I may not always be down below, but I can find you faster than AuRaKaz security. I can always find you no matter where you are."

  Yohzad, for all his smiles and disrespect, had a dangerous side, the coldness of a warrior. Excitement slithered up her spine instead of fear. For a moment, she forgot her anguish, her pain, her family. Why did she find Yohzad more exhilarating than frightening? Why did his change in manner bolster her sagging confidence? Why was she a sucker for dangerous men? Was that what had gotten her into trouble in the first place?

  She'd never know. Those memories were lost to her.

  "I'll be careful," she promised. Not that she had much of a choice.

  Yohzad nodded, and the ice melted. "As the director's personal pilot, you will be on call day and night unless she gives you leave. She's demanding—very demanding—but fair when it counts."

  "She's really that good?"

  Yohzad chuckled as he rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair again. "Director Kazamitiru is as arrogant as you get, but everything she touches turns to pure profit. That's why Manitac has given her so much freedom for the Dawn's Landing project."

  A faint chime came from his ear jack. He acknowledged before hooking the device back over his ear. A frown creased his features as he listened. "I've had a bit of a schedule change. Another prisoner transfer I have to oversee." He deactivated the privacy screen while he shoved back his chair. "Stay here, have a drink on my credit. I'll try to get back before you board the shuttle."

  Tamarja watched him walk away, waiting for him to pass through the exit before scrubbing her face with her hands. What was it that she had tried to remember, but missed? She fought for a second to get it back but gave up as the gray began to pound. Was she really disappointed he had other prisoners under his care and not just her? Was he as charming with the other prisoners as he was with her? Did it matter?

  Too many questions she really didn't want the answers to.

  Instead of wallowing, she signaled the nearest servo and ordered a drink. Maybe she could survive this if she stayed numb.

  Though she'd limited herself to one beverage, Tamarja was still jolted out of her haze by the quiet chime in her ear. Judging by the expressions on the faces around her, everyone in the lounge had heard it too. It took her a moment to realize the chime came from the station comm system, not from her ear jack.

  The lounge door dissolved, and Daeven Blayde entered. Unlike Yohzad, he followed Manitac protocols to the letter, even though he wore an all-black uniform. She could only assume black was for AuRaKaz security. The stark contrast between the two men couldn’t have been more different. Cyrek who flouted the minor details, and Blayde who appeared to live and breathe them. A part of her wanted to have the freedom Cyrek had to laugh at the rules, but toeing the line like Blayde would keep her safe.

  What did she want? To rebel and live dangerously, or live without fear of capture and another mind-wipe?

  You don’t have to choose today, so don’t. Follow the rules for now.

  Her unease wound down.

  "Everyone, please stand and move against the walls," he commanded.

  Listening to her conscience, Tamarja did as ordered without question. She stood, grabbed her satchel, and moved toward the nearest wall.

  The civilians must have hesitated too long, caught in the middle of a game or still half-asleep, because Blayde bellowed,
"Move it, people! Up against the walls. I don't have all day."

  The unspoken repercussions promised in Blayde's command galvanized everyone, and within moments Tamarja shared wall space with an annoyed, thin-lipped business-type cursing creatively under his breath while a middle-aged mother held one of her daughters close. Tamarja had to squish closer to the wall so another two children could gather around the mother's legs. The mother glared at the businessman, who took the hint and stopped swearing.

  Satisfied at the organized upheaval he'd created, Blayde backed toward the entrance again, and waved his hand. Puppets marched through the doorway, their slow rhythm dictated by the lack of space for such a long line. They wore the traditional orange jumpsuits, perfectly fit, crisp, and clean, the material swishing as they walked.

  As the line progressed, Tamarja noticed they were all male, and all had their heads shaved. If not for the differences in height and skin tone, she would have thought them clones.

  Tamarja studied their faces, trying to look for deeper characteristics, as if by staring hard enough she could discover their thoughts. They didn't seem to have any, though. Each puppet looked fit enough, normal enough, but their eyes, blank and completely devoid of personality, told a different story. No spark of pride or fear or determination—just the emptiness of people who knew nothing and felt nothing beyond the task at hand.

  Blayde stood to the side of the line, keeping a close eye on the ‘pets. He showed no remorse, guilt, or pride in his work, just the hard stare of a man doing his job. She wondered if he'd seen her when he'd entered the lounge. She doubted a mere change of uniform could hide her from his laser-focused gaze.

  She should hate him for being a part of what Manitac did to these people, people like her, but she couldn't stay angry with Blayde any more than she could hate Yohzad. Her anger hurt too much. It brought on the fog she tried so hard to escape. Instead, she concentrated on her gratitude that she hadn’t wound up like these blank-eyed drones. All because Yohzad saw something special about her, something worth saving despite her crimes, whatever those might have been.

  The ‘pets continued to march through the gateway in a single file, looking neither right nor left. She swallowed hard and tried not to stare, but one particular ‘pet at the end of the line caught her attention. He seemed different from the others, more animated. He looked in her direction, and their eyes met until he was forced to walk through the gateway to the launch bay.

  Fog enveloped her thoughts, blocking her memory. Her heart raced as she tried to fight the familiar tug-of-war between hope of remembering and the frustration of banging her virtual head against the memory blocks. She tried to blink away the fog, but it took time to clear. She hummed to herself, letting the rhythm soothe her until the fog faded.

  Why had the sight of a mind-wiped ‘pet triggered a memory? Had she worked with one? Had she owned one? Were individuals even allowed to own ‘pets? Maybe Yohzad would know. She would find a way to ask, without him wondering why.

  Yohzad followed the last ‘pet in line through the lounge until they reached the launch bay with Blayde ushering him through. Yohzad reached out for Blayde's arm and held him back from leaving the lounge. He said something to Blayde. The black-clad man glanced at Tamarja but said nothing in return. Instead, the two men shook hands before Blayde escorted the ‘pets to their shuttle.

  Most of the regular passengers ignored the ‘pets like most did homeless people, and a few cast sneers their way. That’s how they would regard her if they knew how like the ‘pets she was. It made her both sad and angry.

  Had he seen her distress, sensed her anger? Did it please him, or did he think her weak, sympathizing with those who—as far as the Unity government and Manitac Corporation were concerned—deserved their fate? Why did she care what Blayde thought of her anyway?

  "Will they be traveling with us?" The little girl who clutched her mother's hand asked the question.

  "No, sweetling, that's why there are two shuttles. One for us, one for them." The mother shifted the child in her arms to her other shoulder. "They won't hurt you if you leave them alone."

  "And if you don't leave them alone?" Tamarja asked, more to herself than to the mother.

  "Sometimes they get violent."

  Yohzad had replaced the business-type while she'd been distracted by the mother-daughter conversation. He directed Tamarja back to their table as the rest of the passengers returned to their seats. He raised the privacy pane so no one could overhear them.

  "The behavior modification of ‘pets is still experimental."

  Like me.

  So why did seeing that odd ‘pet trigger a memory cloud?

  Yohzad pulled out her chair for her, letting her settle before taking his own seat. "Sometimes a particularly violent prisoner doesn't react well to the mind-wipe, and their innate violence breaks through the physical barriers we create in their brains. It doesn't happen often, but we keep a record of what stimuli set them off to see if we can prevent the outbursts before they start."

  Tamarja fiddled with her empty glass. "So Manitac is creating slaves out of prisoners."

  Yohzad shook his head, leaning back. "Slaves are too expensive to keep, always needing to be watched, always needing care. Mind-wipes mostly live on their own and take care of themselves. At the moment, they can fill simple occupations, but Manitac hopes for more than that. They're trying to find a balance between wiping a prisoner's memory so they don't repeat the crimes they were convicted of, but can still support themselves in the job market, working alongside their nonwiped colleagues."

  "That's where I come in." Sickness swirled in her stomach. "I'm the next evolution of ‘pet. See how much you can wipe and still have someone who can work without constant supervision."

  Yohzad's mouth pinched as he considered her words. "That sums it up rather nicely."

  I need to stop asking questions I don't really want answers to. "That's why I still have to wear this collar. You don't have to watch over me every second of the day, but you can still keep me under control in case I get violent. I'm a prototype prisoner for the future of Manitac."

  "All prisoners have to wear collars," Yohzad confirmed. "It's a policy Manitac chose not to change even with the success of the puppet program. In your case, it allows you the freedom to live a relatively normal life without needing me, or another Manitac or Unity official looking over your shoulder. You're not, theoretically, going to be a constant burden on society. Aside from the occasional collar adjustments, all you're responsible for is doing your job to the best of your ability."

  "Cheap, neat, and efficient." Damn them.

  "Would you rather a cage?" Yohzad asked. "Guards constantly at your back? Bad food, little sleep, no beds. Nothing to keep your mind active, just four walls and a toilet? That's what Unity did to prisoners before Manitac offered them another option."

  She knew that. However bad her conditions on Bregarlos were, it could have been a lot worse. She should be grateful. Letting her anger bleed away, she mustered a small, apologetic smile for Yohzad. "I'm sorry."

  He smiled back. "I know. And believe it or not, I understand." He reached out and took her hand in his. "You're anxious and confused, heading into a world you don't understand with a job responsibility you're not sure you're ready to handle."

  He had that right all in one. She gripped his hand tighter, drawing on the support he offered, absorbing the warmth and security.

  "I know you, though. I knew you before the wipe. I know how strong you are and what you are capable of. I wouldn't have volunteered you for this position if I didn't think you could do it."

  He knew her, but he wouldn't share, not the details—he couldn't, by Manitac rules and Unity laws. Her frustration bubbled to the surface. Already tears formed in the corner of her eyes, but she fought them back. Her frustration was nothing compared to what the other puppets suffered. At least she had a second chance. Digging deep to find her motivation, she held her chin up a little higher. She’
d entered this new world devoid of her history, a past where she'd harmed others, and she must pay the price for her actions. She had nowhere to go from here except where Manitac sent her. She needed this opportunity, and she wouldn't, couldn't, let it slip away.

  "I won't fail," she promised, and she meant it as she regained full control over her emotions, unsure if the words were for Yohzad or herself.

  "I know." He gripped her hand harder for a moment and then set her free. "I won't let you."

  He opened his mouth slightly to say something else, but a chime interrupted, followed by an announcement that her shuttle was ready for boarding.

  "You better get in line." He stood, circling the table to pull out her chair for her again. "I have some business to finish up here, but you can still contact me through the broadcast ‘net if there's an emergency. I'll see you in a few days, local time."

  She felt as if she should say something more, but everything she could have said stuck in her throat.

  "Go on now." He turned her around and gave her a gentle push.

  She resisted the urge to look back as she walked through the gateway.

  Chapter Four

  Tamarja woke at the slight pop of atmosphere entry. She had chosen a seat in the aft section while the others had crammed themselves closer to the fore, hoping for a quicker exit. That was fine with her. She had no need to feel the suppressed urgency of the other passengers, no need to engage in pleasantries she didn't feel.

  She kept to herself, letting the quiet hum of the shuttle's engines lull her into a doze, the shields swishing softly as they worked to equalize the pressure during descent. Not perfect, but Manitac's shields worked better than any other system out there. Manitac's inability to develop shielding that withstood the stresses of crossing the light barrier had brought about the slipstreams. The company's control over the slipstreams gave them control over space travel and economic dominance in most other industries.