Star Marque Rising

by Shami Stovall

  The last punk attempted to attack her from behind, but Endellion—not even looking in his direction—stepped aside, evaded his strike, and kicked him. The force of her boot to his gut caused the man to vomit as he sailed back and hit a nearby doorframe. He couldn't stand. Instead, he curled in on himself, his jumpsuit bloody from the kick, like Endellion had ruptured his skin with her unnatural strength.

  He attempted to crawl away, whimpering something that not even I could hear over the emergency sirens. While he writhed and sobbed, Endellion walked over to the door and hit her palm on the control screen. The heavy, metal door slammed down before the guy got through, severing his legs from his body in one quick blow.

  The detached limbs, filled with electronics, blood, and synthetic muscle, squirmed across the hall as they twitched. Left without direction, the cybernetics went haywire, until their power reserves drained. The two stumpy legs were at either end of the hall before they were done flailing.

  Slaight, like the idiot he was, rolled to his feet and attempted to limp away.

  Endellion lifted her rifle, but I got my hand in the air before she could fire.

  “He knows things,” I said. “We want to question that one.”

  She put her rifle down and ran Slaight down like a dog. Within seconds, she had her rifle so far up his ass, he was choking on it. Slaight didn't resist as she restrained him with steel-cord cuffs.

  The sirens stopped, and although water still gushed into the area, quietness settled over the corridors. The other maintenance workers had booked it out of there, and the chem-toting thugs were nothing more than corpses. The red emergency lights added a satisfying tint to the gore.

  “What happened to the others?” Slaight asked.

  “Don't worry,” I said. “They died doing what they loved most—being stupid fuckin' gangsters.”

  Slaight shook his head. “Don't kill me. I got credits. I got—”

  “You're under arrest,” Endellion said. “The overseer and his justiciars will see to your hearing and sentence.”

  Slaight blubbered something else, but nothing worth noting.

  I glanced over at Endellion, stunned by how quickly she had dispatched those fools. She didn't mess around. One shot, dead. Second shot, dead. Another shot, dead. Door-to-legs, dead—or at least, bleeding out. It made me a little nervous—I was usually the one with all the tricks, all the advantages.

  She was like me. She had to be. So why was she so much better? What did she have that I didn't? I had never met anyone with her capabilities before.

  But I would deal with that later.

  I stepped past Slaight and Endellion and headed to the electromagnetic generator room. The door was locked, but I grabbed the key card hanging from one of the corpses. He wasn't going to need it anymore.

  Once the door opened, I strode in. The hum of the generator could be heard from half a kilometer away, and I gritted my teeth, wishing my helmet wasn't busted. I walked into the massive room and found the machine whirling at high speeds, the moving parts exposed to the world without guardrails or shielding. A shield would have stifled the electric effect, but Capital Station wasn't known for its safety protocols.

  It wasn't hard to see why everyone had run. Five mobile kitchens sat parked around the generator, but they didn't cook food anymore—they cooked chems. The powerful chemical stench could kill roaches, and I was sure I lost a handful of brain cells from a single whiff. Those piece-of-shit labs made all sorts of toxic concoctions.

  I returned to the hall and inspected the carnage. Most thugs had machinery and wires embedded in their system. Their mechanical parts were hidden underneath their jumpsuits, but now that they were sprawled out on the floor, it was easy to see the lumps.

  Cyborgs disgusted me. They disgusted everyone on Capital Station, really. Most of their implants were taken from corpses, and it was a stereotype that only the desperate submitted themselves to the hack-job doctors. It was like a payday advance loan. One cyborg implant led to medical problems, which led to more implants, which led to more problems, and so on. Anyone stupid enough to take the quick enhancements was destined to die in a maintenance hall, forgotten.

  “Pathetic,” I said as I scratched my chin. “Cyborg scum crop up more and more these days.”

  Endellion turned to me, her visor a black mirror that reflected my image.

  “Cyborg scum?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

  “I've never known a cyborg that wasn't a complete dumpster fire. They get those machine bits to rise up to mediocrity because they couldn't do it any other way.”

  “Such disdain. You disappoint me, Clevon. I figured you, of all people, would see the vast potential of cybernetic enhancements.”

  “Whatever. Put your money where your mouth is. If you think it's so wonderful, why aren't you shoving machines into your body left and right?”

  Endellion peeled back her helmet and allowed her dark, braided hair to spill over her shoulder. She smiled, her face and teeth perfect and proportionate in every way, but her eyes—I swore they said more than the rest of her. They said she was amused, like a parent entertained by a child.

  “Clevon, I'm more machine than flesh. I've had over a hundred procedures.”

  I examined her a second time.

  No. She wasn't a cyborg. She was perfect in every way. Sleek. Powerful. Her skin unmarred by surgery scars. Over one hundred procedures?

  “Bullshit,” I said.

  Endellion laughed, but it sounded forced.

  Other black-suited Star Marque enforcers entered the hall. A couple climbed over the piles of cement foam and sprayed it with dissolving liquid. Lee thanked them as two pried him from his prison. I heard Lysander barking orders, but I didn't have any fucks to give him.

  “You're genetically modified, right?” I asked Endellion. “Like me. You started at a higher base. Those machines don't do that much for you.”

  “It's rare to find someone like you, Clevon. I wasn't so lucky.” She hauled Slaight to his feet. “There's more to the universe than Capital Station. The superhumans have perfected cybernetic enhancement. Their doctors produce cyborgs with unparalleled talents.”

  “You had superhuman doctors perform your enhancements?”

  I couldn't hold back the shock in my voice. How? They almost never enhanced Homo sapiens. And getting into one of their hospitals was unheard of.

  “Uncomfortable with superhumans?” she asked.

  “I've never met one before.”

  “Then steel yourself. We're reporting to one in a few hours.”

  * * *

  “You really saved my ass back there,” Lee whispered to me.

  “I got you into that mess,” I said in a hushed tone. “Let's call it a wash. Besides, Endellion came in and finished things up, anyway.”

  “Still. I'm impressed. You move like her. I've never seen anyone else do things like that.”

  Lysander peered over his shoulder, giving me and Lee a prolonged glower. He said to keep quiet, but what the fuck was the point? We were the only ones waiting in the conference room.

  And this place wasn't something I was used to. Luxury accommodations weren't found in the slums of Section Six. I was almost in disbelief that this place existed inside Capital Station, but the more I glanced around, the more I came to terms with it. The floors sparkled, the table had clear water pitchers and actual food—even the air smelled sweet. The overseer and vice-overseer had decent quarters, but this outclassed everything else.

  I leaned over in my seat—a soft, fine-weave chair that swiveled, super-fancy shit—and I got closer to Lee. “How did Endellion know where we were?”

  Lee replied, “Sawyer monitors our comms at all times. She must have reported our actions to Endellion.”

  “But I switched my comms to personal. And I walked around without my helmet on for a bit.”

  “It doesn't matter. Sawyer hears everything, even with the helmet down. I, uh, discovered that the hard way.”
/>
  Lee grew red and silent.

  “She didn't report our activities to Lysander?” I asked. “It would've saved him a heart attack.”

  “She doesn't like communicating with anyone other than Endellion.”

  I stared at Sawyer. She sat in her posh chair, her feet on the seat, her legs up and pressed against the edge of the conference room table. With undivided concentration, she stared at the PAD on her arm, poking away at the touchscreen and typing with one hand. With her disheveled, red hair falling in front of her face, she didn't look too professional, but I guessed it didn't matter. Endellion didn't reprimand her.

  Me, Lysander, Lee, Endellion, and Sawyer… and there was another woman I didn't recognize who'd joined us. She sat next to Endellion, her black hair spun into tiny braids and held back in a collective ponytail. Her enviro-suit marked her as some sort of subcommander.

  Lee elbowed my arm. “I see you checkin' out Quinn.”

  I gave Lee a sidelong glance. “Who is she?”

  “She's the starfighter subcommander for the Star Marque.”

  A starfighter. So, she was a combat pilot.

  Lee leaned in closer. “How would you rate her? A ten, right?”

  I didn't realize we were buddy-buddy, but ever since we'd exited the maintenance halls, Lee had been chatting it up like he would die if he didn't get enough conversation in his life.

  I returned my gaze to Quinn. She was athletic, but feminine. Small earrings adorned the edge of her ear, her skin had a clean smoothness, and her eyes had an inner light of intelligence. The enviro-suit hugged the curve of her muscles—not too bulky, but capable.

  “A nine,” I said.

  Endellion, though… it was a shame Quinn was sitting next to her. Even without the accessories, Endellion demanded attention.

  “So, you agree Quinn's smokin' hot?” Lee asked.

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  Lee ran a hand over his face, attempting to hide his smile but failing miserably.

  “You gonna hit on her or something?” I asked.

  “She's my wife.”

  I snorted and held back a laugh. What a dog. And he looked so pleased with himself, too.

  My mirth irritated Lysander. He shot me another glare, but I ignored him. We were still waiting on the damn superhuman—the one who owned all of Capital Station and MF Grain—Maccarus Felseven. Everyone else, right down to the station's overseer, was just his underpaid minion.

  “Anyone here ever met this superhuman?” I asked the group.

  Sawyer, Lysander, and Quinn flinched at the sound of my gruff voice, betraying their high-strung nerves. They shook their heads, but Endellion didn't react. Her gaze remained locked on the far door.

  “I've heard Maccarus Felseven over the comms systems on the ship,” Sawyer said. “But I've never met him in person. He made it quite clear he doesn't like wasting time with hired guns.”

  “He doesn't like enforcers? Or he doesn't want to mingle with lessers?”

  “Lessers?” Endellion intoned.

  She swiveled her chair around and faced me. A cold silence settled over the room, like the others had caught and held their breath.

  I chuckled and shrugged. “Everyone here knows superhumans are in a league of their own. Don't pretend otherwise. They're off governing quadrants of space while we're here playing cops and robbers with the filth of Capital Station.”

  “Have you met one?” Sawyer asked.

  “No. But that's common knowledge.”

  Only members of Homo superior governed. Period.

  They governed quadrants, planets, asteroid fields. Homo sapiens lost that privilege when they lost the war. Even major military positions within the Federation were now exclusively held by superhumans. And why would it be different? Everyone knew of their outrageous talents. There was a hierarchy of genetics—Homo superior at the top, Homo sapiens mucking around the middle, and the mutants and deformed got shafted.

  I didn't write the rules. I just reported them.

  No one else said anything. They gave Endellion fleeting glances as she swiveled her chair back around and resumed her staring. I couldn't help but feel I was missing something crucial.

  “Has anyone here met a superhuman?” I asked. “Besides Endellion?”

  Sawyer raised her hand. Again, no one else said anything.

  “And they look different?”

  Sawyer nodded with a smirk. “If you've never seen one, you're in for a treat.”

  I knew that. Everyone knew that. Superhumans were different. Perfect, or so people said. Imposing without effort, intelligence on par with a station mainframe, sleek and fit. Humans had five senses. They had six.

  What did that even look like?

  As if on cue, the door to the conference room opened. Endellion stood, her jaw tight, and her shoulders squared. Everyone else followed suit, and I did the same.

  For the first time in a long time, nerves got the better of me, and I found myself tense.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  GOVERNOR

  A fat slob masquerading as a person walked into the conference room.

  That was no superhuman. It was Overseer Tobin Grank.

  I had seen his giant mug all over Capital Station's monitors. He delivered speeches, announced the appointment of new justiciars, and his recordings sounded every six hours, reminding people to report crimes.

  Not that he gave a shit.

  His apathy washed through the room in waves as he waddled over to the nearest chair, his brow set low in a scowl. His attendant—a thin man a third his size—kept the PAD on his left forearm close. He must have been the overseer's personal accountant. That or he was the PR guy. Overseer Grank wasn't known for his even temper.

  “Where is Maccarus Felseven?” Endellion asked, not even bothering to greet the overseer.

  “He's busy,” Overseer Grank croaked.

  His fussy little assistant typed away on his PAD. Definitely a PR guy. This whole meeting was being recorded—it was this guy's job to spin everything to shine a good light on Overseer Grank.

  Endellion turned. “Then we'll return when he's available.”

  “Hmpf,” the overseer grunted. “Don't bother. Felseven's busy every day you're free.”

  Everyone at the table gave each other subtle glances. I was surprised Lysander hadn't interjected himself into the conversation, but he sat stiller than the rest.

  “I completed Felseven's assignments,” Endellion said. “All of them. And all within half the allotted time.”

  “You found the individuals involved in smuggling on Dock Seven?” the overseer asked.

  “I have.”

  “Impossible.” Overseer Grank almost sounded irritated. It wouldn't have surprised me to find he was fueling half the crime on Capital Station. I knew my old boss had gotten “permission” to run drugs through certain sections. And the overseer looked like the type of guy who needed extra credits for his frequent trips to the buffet.

  “We got a lucky break,” Endellion said, her calm façade never wavering. “We found a few maintenance workers wrapped up in the cooking of illegal chems. Fortunately for us, they're the type to squeal the moment we applied pressure. My enforcers have already rounded up over a hundred criminals. Dock Seven has been secured—long before any other team of enforcers said they could do it.”

  Lucky break, my ass. That was all me. I was the one with the contacts. I was the one who knew the movers and shakers. I was the one who'd lived on Capital Station for—

  My thoughts ground to a halt.

  Son of a bitch.

  Endellion had placed me on Dock Seven just so I would find those smugglers for her. No training? A tiny team? Had she wanted me to wander off and handle things myself? Or had it all been a coincidence? No. Endellion had my rap sheet. She'd banked on my insubordination.

  “Felseven thanks you for your services,” Overseer Grank said with a sneer. “You've done remarkably well. Your payment has already been transferred.”
/>
  “And what further assignments can I complete for Felseven?”

  “There are none.”

  Overseer Grank's lips twitched upward into a slimy smile. He took way too much pleasure in his response, like he wouldn't mind slipping a hand into his pants while he said it. It was the attitude of a man accustomed to ruling an empire of trash. If everything else was shitty, his filth didn't look half-bad by comparison.

  “We've never failed to complete a task within the given timeframe,” Endellion said. “Felseven said he would meet with me once these were completed. He said we had more important arrangements to discuss.”

  “Felseven doesn't want to associate with an overreaching cyborg.”

  Endellion didn't reply.

  “He's gotten wind of your governorship petition, and he's already voiced his disapproval. Felseven doesn't see the point to this charade. You can stop your begging and sniveling.”

  I didn't know what Endellion was petitioning for, but the situation was now clear. This was a snub. A petty, political snub. Endellion must have agreed to take care of a few things under budget, and faster than expected, in exchange for Felseven's favor. And then he decided he wasn't going to give it to her. He should have at least had the balls to reject Endellion himself, rather than sending a human trash bag in his stead.

  Lysander crossed his arms and his fingers dug into the black mesh of his enviro-suit. The others stood with stiff postures, each quiet, but I could sense them seething. The PR guy stopped poking at his PAD as the silence thickened.

  Endellion gave the overseer a nod. “Then our business is concluded. Have a nice day, Overseer.”

  She turned on her heel and motioned to us with a jut of her chin. I followed, but Lysander jumped to her side before I could say anything. Once out of the conference room and back into the grimy halls of Capital Station, he huffed.

  “We can submit a formal complaint,” he said. “The Vectin High Governor can—”

  “There's no point,” Endellion interjected.

  “You're on good terms with the high governor. He might intervene.”

  “I won't be calling in any favors over this. Felseven will regret crossing me, but now isn't the time.”