by Rachel Aukes
For now, she hid where Mason’s spies couldn’t reach her. But she couldn’t remain in hiding forever. At some point she’d have to face her demon, and a part of her looked forward to that day. He had trained her to be strong and relentless, and she planned to show him that she’d learned her lessons well.
First things first.
The torrents needed her more than she needed to stop Mason. Once Tulan Base was running at full capacity, then she could focus on taking her father down, slice by slice.
“There you are.”
Heid looked up to find Sylvian, a tech who served on the Arcadia’s command deck. Heid smiled weakly and raised her hands in surrender. “You found me.”
“I have a few forms for you to approve.”
Heid sighed, pushed to her feet, and accepted the tablet. She stared down at it for a moment and then looked at the tech standing before her. “I need you to help me with something, something just between the two of us. Can you do that?”
“Of course,” the woman replied.
Heid pulled out a gray tablet from her cargo pocket and held it out. “I’ve lost my access on this.”
Sylvian frowned as she looked at it. “This isn’t CUF technology.”
“No, it’s not. It will take a bit more finesse to break, I believe. Can you break through its protocols without losing the files?”
“You need it hacked.”
“Yes. Can you work on it?”
The tech sighed. “That’s not my expertise, but I know the hacker who helped broadcast news of the fungicide last year. She’s known to be one of the best out there.”
Heid nodded. “Thank you. Be very careful. This tablet can bring trouble to our door if we’re not careful.”
Sylvian swallowed before nodding. “Understood, captain.”
Heid imprinted her approvals on the other tablet and handed it back, and Sylvian moved on. When Heid stepped back into the hallway, she saw more people headed her way. How she wished Sebin were here. He could’ve organized Tulan Base without breaking a sweat.
As soon as she thought of him, she chided herself. She couldn’t think of him. After all, she was the one who’d killed him.
Chapter Five
The Devil’s Due
“Spate hasn’t changed one bit. It’s still a hellhole,” Sixx said as he looked out the window of the taxi he and Reyne rode in.
“You grew up here.”
“Yeah, so I know firsthand how much of a hellhole it is. The highest crime rate in the Collective, and the highest number of prostitutes per capita in the Collective.”
At that moment, they drove by a string of brothels. Prostitutes stood outside, wearing skimpy dresses or tight shorts, depending on their gender. The masks they wore were painted in bright colors.
“That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Reyne said.
Spate was a lifeless brown rock except for the community gardens protected by massive glass panes; the lush food orchards paralleled the beauty of gardens found on Myr or Alluvia. The only other thing it had going for it was the perfect combination of human-friendly gravity and atmospheric pressure so that only masks had to be worn to make up for air completely devoid of oxygen and carbon.
“This whole place still has that same stale smell. You know the stink that old gravity booths have, like sweaty socks left in a locker for a few weeks too long? That smell.”
Reyne pointed to the rat-like rodents that scoured the surface. “I always attributed it to the vigs. Have you ever gotten a whiff of one of those things up close?”
“Too many times. I learned the hard way that when you’re just a scrawny kid and you decide to chase one of them for fun, the whole herd just may decide to chase you back. And those furry little bastards can move fast.” Sixx cringed. “I don’t know how some people eat those things. They are the devil’s spawn.”
“Desperation is my guess.”
They passed by a caravan of wombies pulling wagons filled with supplies from the docks. The small bumps on their stomachs always made Reyne recoil, but he had to respect how each planet changed the humans who dared to colonize it…sometimes in as little as a couple hundred years.
Wombies, mutated from generations of Spatens who’d survived chiefly on blue tea, had developed an almost camel-like ability to store what little water they took in on the dry world. They were living, shambling reminders that while blue tea could help humans survive on much less water, there were repercussions for playing with human nature. He’d made eye contact with a wombie once, and he could’ve sworn there’d been no intelligence, let alone humanity, left in those eyes. He looked away from the caravan and checked the time.
“Why did Lincoln have to move the stationhouse so far from the docks?” Reyne muttered. “The old one worked just fine. We’re burning over an hour each way that we shouldn’t have to.”
Sixx chuckled. “Because he wants to take as much money as possible from anyone who lands at Devil Town. All those brothels we passed back there? Notice how the taxi automatically slowed by them? It’s not a coincidence so many of Devil Town’s diverse services are located on the main road between the docks and the stationhouse.”
“At last we’re here. Finally,” Reyne said.
The taxi followed a line of taxis into a huge circular drive. The stationhouse was a mountain, built out of local brown stone and taller than anything else in Devil Town except for the space docks. Any and all interplanetary business and trading took place at the stationhouse.
When they reached the front entrance, the taxi relayed instructions. “You have arrived at your destination, the Devil Town stationhouse. The transport charge is thirty-one credits. Please hold your wrist comm under the scanner for payment.”
Reyne frowned as held out his left forearm, which had his comm strapped on it, below the taxi’s flashing scanner. “Thirty-one credits? That’s robbery.”
“You could have three girls for that and still have a credit left over,” Sixx said before adding, “Just a guess.”
The taxi doors unlocked. “Thank you for your payment, Mr. Smyth,” it said, calling Reyne by his cover name. “Remember to don your breather masks, and have a nice day.”
The two men slid their masks over their faces and emerged from the hovercraft. They had just stepped out before the taxi’s next fare rushed past them and hopped in. As with all stationhouses, the structure was packed with people during business hours. Reyne didn’t miss the CUF drones hovering over the crowd at intervals of thirty feet, give or take. He suddenly found himself thankful for the need to wear breather masks that hid their faces.
The two men moved with the crowd toward the large entrance. Advertisements played on the walls and ceilings as they made slow headway with the herd through the tunnel. Many ads were for blue tea, but there were also ads for prostitutes, sweet soy, and the ever-popular adventure tours through Spate’s deserts and canyons.
Other than brands and logos, no advertisements showed words of any kind. Like all fringe colonies, education was a luxury when it was a constant effort to find enough food and water. Generally, only the small minority of colonists who served in the CUF—like Reyne—had learned to read. It was a skill he’d taught to his entire crew.
When they approached the end of the tunnel, the screens transitioned from advertisements to a clip of a beautiful woman removing her mask and inhaling sensually.
Reyne delayed, wishing they could afford cloned skin disguises to hide their identities. Tense, he pulled off his mask and tucked it into his belt. “Be careful not to look up at any screens. They log either one of our faces, we’re done for.”
“Here goes nothing,” Sixx said quietly before sliding off his mask.
They stepped from the tunnel and into a wide-open hall filled with vendors. The smell of food and incense overloaded Reyne’s senses, heightened by too many years in space, and he breathed through his mouth. No longer shoulder to shoulder with other traders and customers, the pair strode forward to stand in
line before a row of scanners that were mounted across the floor like a series of fence posts. Fortunately, the lines moved quickly as people made appointments with particular traders or vendors, or purchased reservations to the higher-end restaurants or brothels.
When a scanner opened up, Reyne pulled out the pass-card Critch had given him and swiped it over the scanner. The scanner flashed, and a thin computer stick dropped into the tray. Reyne grabbed the stick.
“Welcome to the Devil Town stationhouse, Mr. Smyth, where you’re guaranteed to leave satisfied,” the stick’s sexy, automated voice said. “Proceed to the door indicated on the map to begin your adventure.”
A map hologram displayed from the stick. Reyne shot Sixx a quick glance before they moved in unison, weaving around the crowd, careful to give any dromadiers patrolling the area a wide berth.
When they reached a door, the stick spoke again. “I am your key, Mr. Smyth. Please insert me into the lock. It may be tight, but I’m sure you can make it fit.”
Reyne did as instructed. When he slid the stick into the small opening, the stick emitted a moan of ecstasy.
“Oh, yes. That hits the spot. Thank you, Mr. Smyth. You may now proceed. May your visit to Devil Town fulfill all your fantasies.”
The door opened, and the two men stepped through. Whereas the great hall behind them was a bustle of activity, they now found themselves in an empty, winding corridor. Their boot steps echoed as they walked. When a third pair of boot steps joined the echoes, Reyne tensed and noticed Sixx placed his hand over his holster.
The hallway curved, and they then saw the man who was walking toward them. He was tall and well built, similar in size to Sixx, and had the look of a guard about him.
The man sized them quickly up and down. “Follow me.” He turned on his heel without waiting for a response.
“I think I liked our last guide better,” Sixx said quietly. “I found her to be much more pleasant.”
They followed the man down the hallway and into a good-sized lobby, likely used for lavish parties—if the crystal chandeliers, polished floor, and abundance of cushioned loungers and sofas were any indication. Three beautiful women, all skimpily dressed, stopped chatting with one another when the men arrived. Each woman threw a practiced glance at Reyne and Sixx, though their gazes lingered enticingly on Sixx.
“Lincoln will see you now.” The guard swiped a pass-card over a scanner on the wall, and a door opened. He motioned for the pair to enter, which they did, and Reyne heard him step inside to stand behind them and alongside two other guards who were already in the office.
If the outer room was lavish, this office was pure opulence. Myrad silver decorated the room from floor to ceiling. Even the gargantuan desk that sat as a centerpiece in the office had silver inlays.
Reyne’s gaze fell on the man sitting at the desk. “I see being a stationmaster suits you. I saw a few lovely ladies from your own personal brothel out there.”
“I prefer to call it my harem. I like the ring of that better. They service me and my staff in exchange for the safest work environment around, and the most comfortable living in all of Spate’s colonies.” The paunchy man smiled. “However, I suppose you’d prefer to talk about the other services I provide, Mr. Smyth. Or, may I call you Captain Reyne now?”
Reyne gave a small nod. “It’s been a long time, Lincoln.”
“Too long. You’ve put on a few years. Your hair wasn’t so gray the last time I saw you.”
“And you still had hair the last time I saw you,” Reyne responded.
Lincoln shot Reyne a sideways glance before he stood and walked over to Sixx. Several inches shorter than Reyne’s man, Lincoln had to look up to meet Sixx’s gaze. “You must be the infamous Jeyde Sixx.”
“The one and only,” Sixx replied.
“Curious. I heard rumors of a couple of my girls not charging you for services rendered. Seems they enjoyed your company a bit too much to consider it work.”
Sixx smirked instead of responding.
“Hm. At first, I thought your pretentious Asian features were why I didn’t like you. Now I know. You’re too cocky for my liking. I’ll make sure they charge you double going forward.”
Sixx bristled.
Lincoln returned to his desk. “However, since I know you’ve both been busy, as a courtesy I’ll give you each a complimentary service with one of my harem girls today. No charge.”
“That’s mighty generous of you,” Reyne said. “But we came here to discuss business.”
“That is business.” He motioned to two open chairs. “Have a seat.”
Reyne took a seat, but Sixx continued to stand behind him.
Lincoln began, “I knew you’d be showing up, or at least one of the other two captains, anyway. Your torrent triad has become quite the news lately. Let me guess—Critch is on Terra talking with Seda Faulk in Rebus Station as we speak.”
Reyne narrowed his gaze.
Lincoln shrugged. “Terra is Critch’s home world after all. The way I see it, for your revolution to work, you need access to the fringe stations or else you’ll run out of food, supplies, and—most importantly—volunteers. With Rebus Station and Devil Town the only two viable fringe stations right now, a wombie could’ve figured out you’d be showing up at my door. However, I must admit I’m a bit disappointed. No offense, but I was hoping that commandant-turned-torrent would come here to meet with me instead of you.”
“You mean Captain Heid,” Reyne said.
Lincoln smiled. “Yes, Captain Gabriela Heid. Now she looks like she’d be a fun challenge. Where’s she?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps she’s at Sol Base right now.”
Lincoln belted out a laugh. “Good try. We both know Sol Base is out of the picture. Ausyar has half his armada guarding the Collective’s little treasure trove. Never mind that it’s currently full of rotting corpses, but I’m sure the CUF will just bring in some conscripts to clean up the place once the quarantine from that nasty blight is over. From what I hear, the quarantine coincidentally ends just in time for the cavote harvest.”
“How convenient,” Reyne muttered. “Just in time for the Collective to get their annual cavote supply.”
“I thought so, too.” Lincoln leaned back in his chair. “You know, they’re still selling the story that you torrents dropped the blight on Sol Base.”
Reyne leaned forward. “And what do you think?”
Lincoln guffawed. “Any colonist knows the torrents wouldn’t do anything to take down their own fringe stations. They need them too much. It’s obvious the Alluvians and Myrads think we’re idiots with the stories they feed us through the news. Any colonist with half a brain knows the CUF was behind the blight. They cleared out thousands of colonists who’d been raising quite a stink protesting against Collective control. At the same time, they gained absolute control over the planet’s only fringe station, which in turn gained them absolute control over the planet’s philoseed and cavote crops.”
“Their stationmaster was known to be a bit more fringe-friendly than you,” Reyne said. “I heard that you just upped the blue tea provided freely to the CUF by eight percent last month.”
Lincoln eyed him. “Where did you hear such a thing?”
“It seems that one of your girls talks in her sleep,” Reyne replied.
Lincoln eyed Sixx for a moment before he continued. “It’s all business. I was worried that Devil Town was going to be the next fringe station hit with the blight, since Ausyar seemed intent on clearing out the fringe. So I suppose I should thank you for dropping the fungicide on Sol Base, even though the Collective took credit for that. Funny how they blame you for what they do and take credit for what you do. They’ve never quite understood how much easier things would be for everyone if they just played it straight from the beginning.”
Reyne lifted his chin. “It doesn’t matter. The Darions in the other colonies outside Sol Base know the truth. They’ll never trade willingly with the Collective
again.”
“I’m sure they do, but it won’t do you any good. I bet you’ve been trying to reach them, but all you get is radio silence. Am I right?”
He didn’t answer.
Lincoln’s brushed him off. “Don’t worry. I’m not digging for information. I know it’s true, because I’ve been trying to reach them, too. The CUF has drones in orbit blocking all communications. I believe Ausyar is making sure that if they don’t trade with the Collective, their crops will rot in the fields.”
“Why are you trying to contact the Darions? You don’t need to negotiate. Your gardens feed everyone here.”
“That’s the problem. The gardens only feed everyone here. Our population is always limited on Spate by the sizes of our gardens. The more food we can import, the more and larger colonies we can build.”
“And the richer you become.”
Lincoln smiled. “Diversification is always a smart move. A man could always use more credits, especially when they can be used to build space docks.”
Reyne frowned. “Why would you build more docks? You already have Devil Town, the largest fringe station in the Collective.”
“Redundancies, captain.” He paused. “Aren’t you from Ice Port?”
His jaw tightened. “I am.” I was.
“Then you of all people understand the value of redundancies firsthand. When the CUF bombed Ice Port, what happened to Playa’s entire support infrastructure? That’s right; it collapsed. Unlike here, where we can build protected gardens, Playa’s climate is too miserable to support anything. Without any way to import or export, I imagine all of Playa’s other colonies have gone extinct by now from starvation. There can’t be more than a few thousand Playans left. As a Playan yourself, that makes you a bit of a rarity, doesn’t it?”
