Andromeda's Rebel

by Debra Jess

  And she couldn't let it happen to Jita or anyone else. No one deserved to have their memories wiped. Yet that was exactly what was going to happen to her friend if she didn't stop it.

  Daeven had said it wasn't her place to decide when and where to make a stand, that contacting the Shadows would only lead to war, one they would probably lose.

  He was right and he was wrong. She didn't have the right to force others to take a stand just because someone she knew and cared about was in jeopardy. Yet if she didn't do it, who would? How long did Unity citizens have to wait before someone fought back?

  Daeven seemed to think that twenty-three people on the verge of being wiped weren't enough to interest the Shadows. Twenty-three lives weren't enough to warrant a war.

  Well, she disagreed. Twenty-three people were enough for her, and if Manitac wanted a war with her, then that's what they'd get. She'd have to be very careful, and very clever, about how she waged this war. After what she and Daeven had started, she didn’t want to die, and she didn’t plan on it. But in part because of that, she wasn’t content to live this half-life. And she particularly wasn’t content to condemn others to it by her inaction.

  The ear jack she'd tossed on her desk chimed loudly. She grabbed it, but her hands were clumsy, and she almost dropped it. Keeping the viewer off, she jacked into the signal.

  "Chase."

  "We're flying." Ramsey's voice cut through her internal revolutionary rant. "Report to the shuttle immediately."

  "Yes, ma'am. I'll be right there."

  Ramsey cut the signal.

  The details of her plan to free the colonists would have to wait.

  Word had spread about the missing colonists. Tamarja only heard snippets of the reports broadcast over the public channels as she dressed. Joran read a statement from the director, pleading for calm and confirming her meeting with Manitac this morning. Tamarja hurried to the roof.

  Even the wind gusted, carrying the leaves from the hanging gardens into a blue-and-yellow whirlwind, with an intensity reflected in the director's mood.

  Despite the wind, Traffic signaled them to lift off without delay. Tamarja, however, only pushed the shuttle as fast as she dared, overruling Ramsey's request to unlock the passenger seats for movement about the cabin. As captain, she could do that. In any other circumstances, Tamarja might have enjoyed some satisfaction at denying Ramsey this one request. Today the little rebellion felt miniscule.

  The Manitac shields held as she landed the shuttle safely, if not gently, at the spaceport. A knot of Manitac officers waited to greet the director, but Tamarja was free to roam.

  Jita could still be here, Tamarja thought, gazing at the signs pointing her toward the decontamination wing. Decon could take most of the night depending on how long an individual had lived here. Jita hadn't left Dawn's Landing in years. She'd need at least a level four decon, with twenty-two others needing the same treatment. That could take all night, if not longer.

  Trying to appear casual, Tamarja followed the signs. Passengers had the option of decon prior to boarding or after. If Manitac, expecting delays from the director, decided to decon their prisoners here, then all she had to do was figure out which decon tube contained Jita and then…

  What? Snatch her and make a run for it? What about the twenty-two other colonists? Could she free them as well? They might make it to the exit before Manitac shut down her collar. Jita didn't need to see that, and worse, it would be an end to the rescue.

  One problem at a time. First, she'd just see if Jita was here, and then she'd worry about how to get her out. She approached the decon waiting lounge. She had no trouble picking out the Manitac gray uniforms against the lounge's colorful background. The number of uniforms standing at the staging area before entering actual decon tubes told her these guards were on duty, not waiting for decon themselves.

  She counted four guards with one lone tube tech sitting behind the customer service station. Tamarja strolled over to the tech, who kept his nose buried in the text scrolling across his head-up display.

  "We're all booked. Come back in three hours, we'll have a tube open for you then."

  Someone else entered the lounge. A new flash of gray caught the corner of her eye. How many more guards did Manitac need? She dropped her satchel to the floor, giving her the flexibility she needed to lean closer to the tech and keep her voice low.

  "I don't need decon myself. I just wanted to know if a friend of mine has entered one of the tubes."

  The tech at least had the good grace to pull his nose away from his text and look at her. "We don't give out names. It's against policy."

  "Right," Tamarja said. "I understand. You don't have to give me a name. I already know the name. I just need to know if you've seen someone…"

  "Tamarja!"

  Tamarja stiffened as a pair of hands circled her waist and turned her around. Cyrek stood there with a huge grin on his face.

  "Honey, it's so good to see you." He leaned down and gave her a loud, smacking kiss on the lips. "As you see, dear, I'm not in the tubes just yet. They're still booked solid. Correct?"

  Cyrek eyed the tech, who had already returned to looking bored. "Correct."

  "How sweet it is that you've come to see me off. Follow me. I've access to the executive lounge. Knowing you, you probably skipped breakfast to catch the first shuttle over. I have it on good authority that executive lounge food is far superior to the slop you'll find around here."

  "Well, okay. If you don't mind." Tamarja grabbed her satchel as Yohzad turned her, keeping one arm secured around her waist, and guided her out of the lounge. She looked back over her shoulder at the tech. "Uh, thank you!"

  The tech didn't even glance in her direction as Cyrek dissolved the doors to the main spaceport terminal.

  He leaned close to her ear. "What did you think you were doing?"

  "Spying."

  Cyrek groaned. "I asked you to spy on AuRaKaz, not Manitac. Which part of that didn't you understand? Spying on Manitac is pointless and stupid."

  Tamarja stopped walking, forcing Cyrek to stop with her. "So is turning entire families into ‘pets."

  "No, it's not. Not from a business standpoint. Inhumane, yes. Pointless and stupid, no." He stuffed his hands into his pockets while leaning back on his heels.

  "I can't believe you just said that."

  "Believe me, Tamarja, I'm not telling you anything that the Council that sentenced you to a mind-wipe hadn't said, and believe me, you'd like their version even less."

  They glared at each other, ignoring those who walked around them.

  "How did you find me?"

  Cyrek pulled his hand out of his pocket, motioning her to keep walking. "When the director showed up to personally make her plea for the release of the transfers, I had a funny feeling you would try to track down your friend. I excused myself, pleading exhaustion, and figured you'd try to find her in the decon tubes first."

  "Since you know she's my friend, you can't blame me for trying to find her."

  "No, but I can blame you for making a bad situation worse. What did you think you were going to do? You can't rescue her, Tamarja. Even the director with all of her influence and assets can't do that."

  "At least she's trying."

  "Yes, she's putting on a pretty show to keep the majority of the Dawn's Landing population under control. The more she pleads, the bigger show she puts on, the less likely the population will riot."

  Tamarja stayed quiet as they walked past the shuttle lounge, heading for the executive suite down yet another corridor.

  "I really only wanted to talk to her one more time. I knew, deep down, I couldn't rescue her, but I could at least talk to her. Let her know that she wouldn't be forgotten. That people were fighting to free her. Give her some hope before she forgets."

  Cyrek pulled a ‘fresher from his pocket and handed it to her without breaking stride.

  Tamarja snatched it and dabbed her eyes. "I don't suppose…" She hesitated
before continuing. Wasn't that her biggest fault? Not thinking before she acted or spoke her mind?

  "Yes?" Cyrek prompted, slowing his stride.

  Tamarja glanced at his face, judging his mood. His eyebrows were knitted together as if he regretted prompting her to continue. "Could you bring Jita into the experiment? My experiment? Could you arrange for her to only have a partial wipe?"

  Cyrek stopped walking at the question. She had, evidently, taken him completely by surprise. "I don't know. I hadn't considered the possibility. The division funding your experiment had only budgeted for one partial wipe. I'm actually doing them a favor by monitoring you myself instead of calling in pricier psych experts for a more clinical analysis of your behavior."

  "But can it be done?"

  "Your current behavior isn't exactly a testament to continuing this experiment, you know. If I reported that I found you attempting to rescue a personnel transfer…"

  Fear shot through her. She hadn’t thought he’d go there. She thought they had a deeper connection, a friendship at the very least. Swallowing that fear, she focused on the facts. "Yes, I know. Manitac would have me completely mind-wiped before the end of the day." Tamarja threw her hands up in the air, waving the ‘fresher about. "Remember, though, you were the one who asked me to spy. That's not exactly a standard ‘pet assignment. You could very well have overloaded my poor abused synapses, causing a moral reversal, which could have led to the recurrence of my anti-Manitac behavior, directly causing me to try to rescue a personnel transfer. In the end, it's really your fault, you know."

  "By the Stars, I've created a monster," Cyrek muttered, more to himself than to Tamarja. He scrubbed his face with his hands before resuming their walk. "What would you propose we do with Ms. Tessier, even if I could arrange for only a partial wipe? We still couldn't bring her back to Dawn's Landing. Too many memory traps for her here."

  "Keep her on Jarvis Station. She's only been there once, when she first landed here. One time shouldn't create too many traps, as you say."

  "Hmmm, and I would still be able to monitor her." Now more than ever, Tamarja could see how tired he was. "I'll see what I can do. No promises, no guarantees, but I'll make a few comms, tap a few resources, and maybe I can swing a deal."

  It wasn't a complete victory, or even a victory at all considering the consequences, but at least she had done something for her friend.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Cyrek hadn't lied about the executive lounge food, but Tamarja couldn't generate the same level of enthusiasm for her gourmet meal as he did. She chewed but didn't really taste her food.

  After they'd eaten, he had excused himself, saying he needed to find a corner of the lounge to lie down and sleep. "All the better to brace myself for another round of flapping lips and gnashing teeth."

  Tamarja started back toward the shuttle to wait for the director to contact her. There was always the possibility that the director herself would remain far into the night, debating with Manitac over their "personnel transfers." Somehow, Tamarja didn't think that the director would waste that much time on a pointless endeavor.

  Instead of entering the shuttle, she kept walking. Maybe a brisk trek around the port would shake off her nervous state.

  Landing pads lined docking stations that stretched out into the darkening blue sky. The docked spacecraft ranged from small single-passenger transports with swept wings carefully sheltered from the wind to the bulkier-looking cargo ships with their heavier oval fuselages not budging at all. She followed the path between stations, keeping just enough attention on the ground to avoid tripping over equipment or bumping into a dock worker. A few of them were vacant-eyed, nondescript uniformed ‘pets. Tamarja watched them with interest as they worked, mostly performing activities requiring repetitive motions, such as cleaning or stacking equipment. They seemed content in a catatonic, creepy sort of way. They reminded her of Rory, which made their presence only depress her more.

  She kept walking. It didn't take long to reach the point where the spaceport came to an end, leaving her following a series of hangars, private and rented most likely based on the personalization of colors and materials. There didn't appear to be a security screen activated, and no one tried to stop her as she walked past. The hangar at the end had quite a bit of activity surrounding it, so she picked up her pace. She'd do anything to keep from thinking about Jita. And Daeven. And the possibility of getting her memory back.

  She dodged more equipment as she angled toward the open bay. Even from a distance, she could see the stern of a freighter balanced on a half dozen grav-resisters. The engines dangled close by as a maintenance worker guided them into place. Sneaking as close to the entrance as she dared, Tamarja peered around the large bay doors.

  "Hey, you supposed to be here?"

  Tamarja jumped into the upper atmosphere as the voice boomed behind her. Scrambling, she pulled out her ID disc from her pocket and shoved it toward the beefy maintenance worker, the Manitac logo displayed prominently on his sleeve. "I have clearance."

  "To the spaceport. This is a private bay."

  "I didn't see any security." She nodded toward the freighter. "I got curious about that beauty. Pre-Manitac, isn't it?"

  Looking up at the craft, the man grinned but quickly looked back at her. Like Dace, this guy seemed to warm to anyone with an appreciation for spacecraft. Unlike Dace, this guy had a look in his eye that lingered more on her more than the freighter. She'd have to watch herself.

  "Yeah, some ‘Tac officer paid a fortune to have it towed here. Now he wants the original engines installed."

  "Those are the original engines?" Tamarja didn't have to fake the incredulity in her voice. "I knew folks collected the shells for air shows but thought Manitac scrapped all the engines as outdated."

  "Eh, there's an underground market for these things." The maintenance guy didn't seem to mind as she followed him inside. "Simulators, ride operators, vintage collectors—hell, I heard of one guy who used them for sculptures. Imagine that―artwork!"

  Tamarja nodded, critically assessing the freighter's structure. "She appears to be in good shape. Can she fly? On her own, I mean, not slaved to a tow."

  "Hardly a scratch―though someone scored the paint. The engines are in rough shape, but the rest of her is almost ready. There's some custom modifications made to the flight controls, though, hard to tell without the maintenance manual."

  "Guess they forgot to include that with shipping," Tamarja said.

  Her guide barked with laughter. "You got that right. Pre-Manitac isn't my specialty. No one in a generation has needed the licensing. I'm doin' my best to get this baby flyable, but only the Guardians know if I'll ever get her there."

  Her gaze now fixed on the starboard side, Tamarja examined the gold-and-green paint with interest. She guessed there had been a logo until someone scraped it off.

  A crash followed by a hiss startled her out of her musings. One of the grav-resisters started losing altitude, and the entire freighter listed to starboard, right over her head.

  The maintenance worker yanked her backward by the arm, shoving her closer to the edge of the bay.

  "Whaddya jokers think you're doin' over there!" he roared at the hapless ‘pets scurrying away from the danger. He turned back to Tamarja. "Look, you're welcome to watch, but stay out of the way. Some days tryin' to herd these ‘pets is like trying to herd felions."

  Tamarja nodded, but the worker had already left her behind, yelling at the top of his lungs as he tried to shove the grav-resister back into place. She just stood there, clutching her arms, staring at the gold-and-green swirls, trying to remember where she had seen them before.

  Gold and green. It meant something. Fog gathered at the edges of her eyesight, but she ignored it. Her skull started to pound, but she tried to push through. What did gold and green mean to her? Why did it give her the feeling of safety, security? Why did she want to reach out and touch this ship?

  More gray, more cloud
s—no, I won't give up. I won't give in. Let me remember!

  She couldn't. Her head felt like it would explode, and she could only whimper in distress. Releasing the death grip she had on her upper arms, she began to massage her temples, pulling herself back from her failed memory attack.

  "Hey, you okay?"

  The maintenance worker had returned. She could only offer him a weak smile. "Uh, no, sorry, I forgot the scent of lubricant gives me a headache. I better go."

  She speed walked out of there as fast as she could without drawing too much attention. Once out of the man’s line of sight, she broke into a run and kept running back down the line of bays until she hit the spaceport. Finding the first entrance, she dissolved the doors and slumped against the nearest wall. She was at the far end of the port, still a distance from the shuttle lounge, but no one was nearby to see her as she slid down the wall and collapsed on the floor.

  Gold and green. It meant something important, important to her, and she couldn't remember. She needed Daeven—she needed hope. She needed to remember where she belonged in this world.

  Her ear jack chimed. Without looking at the identifier, she answered, her own name slurring in her despair. "Chassse."

  "Tamarja, what's wrong?"

  Daeven. She sniffed loudly, getting herself back under control despite the headache. "Nothing, everything. I had another memory loop just now. I'll be okay. I just need to focus on the present for a while."

  "Do you want me to come get you?"

  Always running to her rescue. Him, Jita, Yohzad. What did she ever do to deserve such wonderful people in her life? "No. I'm at the spaceport. Had to fly the director here. I'll have to fly her back."

  "Can you fly?"

  Tamarja sucked in a huge lungful of cool, over processed air. "Yes. She probably won't be ready until later this afternoon. I'll be ready long before then."

  "Okay, I'll trust you on your word."

  "Did you call just to check on me?"

  "Yes, and to apologize for yelling at you last night. You scare me when you start talking like that."