“We did all this work for next-to-nothing. He took advantage of us!”
Endellion gave him a sidelong glance. “Patience is a virtue. And I have other matters to deal with.”
Her tone carried a finality that killed the conversation.
I stepped up to her other side, my curiosity burning all other thoughts. “You sent me to Dock Seven hoping I'd finish your assignment, didn't you?”
“It was a calculated risk,” Endellion replied. “And you didn't disappoint.”
“I could've ditched the team. It would've been easy.”
“You gave it serious thought, I see.”
“Of course he did,” Lysander said through clenched teeth.
“I could still do it,” I said, half-wanting to see her reaction.
Lysander shook his head. “I told you he'd be like this.”
Endellion silenced Lysander with a wave of her hand. When we reached the lift, she glanced to me, a half-smile on her face. “Look around, Clevon. Day one and you're dealing with the highest levels of Capital Station. Imagine day two. Imagine day four hundred.”
The lift doors opened. Lysander and Endellion stepped through. I stood in the doorframe as Sawyer, Quinn, and Lee took their time catching up. They entered without a word, no doubt lost in their own thoughts.
Imagine day four hundred, huh?
* * *
I was surprised by how much access I had been granted on the Star Marque. If I were in charge, I wouldn't have been nearly as trusting with new recruits, especially not men like me. Not that I wanted to do anything to the Star Marque, but I was more than capable.
The cold duralumin and steel alloy of the ship gave it a dark color. Even with the full force of the lights, walking through the halls was like walking through space itself. There was light, but there was always darkness. Always.
I walked by the mess hall as cheering permeated that entire section of the ship. I glanced in, taken aback by the merriment. Groups of enforcers crowded tables that had been pushed together to form a circle. Whisky, beer, rum, and brandy pouches of all flavors were being liberally passed around the group. Half the enforcers were still in their enviro-suits while the other half were dressed down in nothing but pants and a tank top.
One table sat in the middle, like a stage. Lee stood next to it, one foot on a bench and a brandy pouch in hand. He was a showboat who shouted at the top of his lungs, gesturing to the crowd like a damn ringside entertainer.
“—and then the emergency foam gushed out of the valves!” Lee said with a slur. But then he spotted me. “There he is! That's the guy!”
I tensed, waiting for the inevitable. Lysander had probably gotten to the crew before me. They would be chanting “criminal” any second, which was exactly why I'd separated myself from the other enforcers the moment we loaded up to leave Capital Station.
“He saved my life,” Lee said, removing his foot from the bench. “And he's the one who tracked down the smugglers.”
One by one, the enforcers held up their shiny aluminum pouches, toasting me as I stood in the doorway of the mess hall.
“Join us,” someone shouted from the crowd. There must have been over 60 people in the room.
“Yeah,” another person chimed in. “Lee's been telling us all about you.”
The jovial atmosphere enticed me. Back on Capital Station, getting drunk meant fucking or fighting—sometimes both—and it never ended pretty. PADs went missing. People wound up dead. It seemed different here on the Star Marque, almost like everyone was enjoying themselves, even if they were tipsy.
I entered the room, but I kept my wits about me.
Lee motioned me close, and I sauntered up to his impromptu stage. Some lady tossed me a pouch. I caught it, turned it over, and examined the date. There was always a good chance shit was expired on Capital Station.
The Star Marque must have had quality suppliers, though. My pouch didn't expire for another two years. I cracked open the straw nozzle and took a drink. Fresh and crisp. That was a new experience. The pouches were meant to keep liquid contained in case of a gravity failure, but I had always found the damn things made it too difficult to get a good mouthful of anything. Not that it mattered. My enhanced metabolism made it difficult to get buzzed regardless.
Lee staggered to me and threw an arm over my shoulder. “This guy. This guy. He had my back. Six—no, ten—guys came to rough us up. Cyborg thugs. You should've seen this guy move. He fights like Endellion. Super-fast. Duckin' and weavin'.”
In a pathetic attempt to mimic my fighting style, Lee pushed away from me and spun around. If I didn't know he was drunk, I would've said he was having a seizure. The enforcers got a kick out of it, laughing and cheering him on, and I couldn't help but chuckle.
“Guys, come meet, uh,” Lee thought for a moment. “What's your name again?”
“Clevon Demarco.”
“Right. Yeah. Meet my usual crew. Quinn, Mara, Advik, Yuan! Get over here!”
Quinn emerged from the crowd of enforcers, still adorned in her enviro-suit. “Okay, babe. It's time to take a seat. Let someone else tell a story.” She handled her husband with gentle gestures until he was leaning his weight on her shoulder. “You were starting to sound like a lunatic.”
Quinn motioned with a jerk of her head, and I followed her into the group, away from the “stage.” Enforcers patted me on the shoulder, either offering quick nods of approval or outright stating I did a good job for my first day. I half-smiled, rubbing my face to conceal it from the others. I wasn't used to camaraderie. Capital Station thugs would shoot up and get high to celebrate, but there was a good chance everything they owned would be looted the second they lost consciousness. Not the best environment for teamwork.
“I got a story,” some large woman said as she stepped up to the center table. “I chased after three smugglers that defeated themselves, basically. After two minutes of running, they all had to vomit up that cardboard paste they ate for lunch. Then they keeled over!”
The laughter got to me. I joined in, amused by the stupid kids who thought they could run around after ingesting sludge.
Quinn grabbed the front of my enviro-suit and pulled me to the only table left in the corner of the mess hall. I wanted to rip my suit out of her grip, but I stopped once I spotted the mirth in her smile. She wasn't attacking me. This was some sort of playful gesture.
She allowed Lee to slide onto a bench. The four others at the table—who I assumed were Lee's usual crew—toasted his arrival.
“Thank you,” Quinn said.
I cocked an eyebrow. “For?”
“For keeping Lee off the deceased list.” She pushed me toward the bench. “And thank you for getting Endellion those smugglers. You made us look like titans.”
I took a seat and downed another mouthful of my brandy pouch. Good shit.
Quinn motioned to the four around the table. “Clevon, meet Mara, Advik, Yuan, and Noah. Everyone, this is Clevon.”
“Call me Demarco,” I said.
“I thought only thugs went by their last names?” Lee asked. He gulped down the last of his drink and tossed the empty pouch onto the table.
I chuckled. “Yeah, well, I have a rap sheet from here to Galvis-4 and back. I think that classifies me as a ‘thug.’”
Quinn hit me on the shoulder with more oomph than I thought possible from a girl her size. “You're not a thug anymore. You're an enforcer on the Star Marque. That makes you one of the crew.”
The others at the table nodded, each uttering, “Hear, hear.” All except for Noah, who kept his mouth shut and his eyes glued to the table.
But was that it? Was it over? They didn't care about my history?
“I mean it,” I said. “I've done some messed-up shit in my life.”
Quinn took a swing from her pouch and shrugged. “I used to hustle the defects on Midway Station. A real racketeering gig to make them pay all sorts of credits. I'm not proud of it, but Endellion knew talent when she saw it.
Same with you.” She motioned to the others. “Same with most of us.”
Another round of, “Hear, hear.”
“You must have a lot of faith in Endellion,” I said.
“She's the greatest captain in the quadrant.” Quinn smiled, and her volume increased. “And the best commodore. And soon-to-be the best—and first—human governor!”
The mere mention of Endellion's successes got the whole room cheering. Silver pouches were thrust into the air, people chanted her name, and another round was passed between the enforcers.
“Humans can't be governors,” I said, my voice reaching Quinn but dying shortly after in the cacophony of cheers.
Quinn hit my shoulder again. “That's the thing. Endellion's petitioned the Vectin superhumans to grant her special permission. She's going to govern a planet. And we're all going to retire to a small piece of planetside property.”
“She's going to govern a planet?”
“That's right. She's going be the first human to do it all.”
“Why?” I asked.
Why would anyone want that kind of responsibility? It was hard work and effort, and she was going to get rejected.
Lee shook his head. “Endellion said that's what she wanted. And she's got the drive to make it happen.”
Endellion could petition the superhumans from here to Earth and back, and it wouldn't make a difference. They would never let a human govern. Never.
I was no master of history, but every child got told the same damn thing in their earliest years of schooling. Colonists from Earth took the long trip to four sectors of space, each sector a close collection of 12-15 stars, ruled over by the antiquated United-Earth Governance.
But that didn't last long.
Human defects sprouted up at an all-time high. Mismanagement of planetside resources led to stalled construction and loss of countless lives. And once superhumans came into the picture, people saw them as a threat. Superhumans didn't develop genetic defects, and each one was three times as capable as any human. For every seat in the government a superhuman took, and for every company a superhuman controlled or created, more and more infighting occurred amongst the old rulers of the United-Earth Governance.
At first, superhumans took districts and turned them around. Then superhumans became governors and reformed their designated systems. When they called for a federation conference—a formal meeting to redesign the Cygnus Sector's constitution and change it into a federation of governors and planets, rather than one failing government—war broke out between the old United-Earth Homo sapiens and the supporters of the new Federation.
Needless to say, the Federation—those under the guidance of Grand Admiral Lone, a superhuman strategist with no equal—won the day.
Since then, superhumans had been at the top of all power structures, and they made rules to make sure it stayed that way. Most asshole instructors cited the failings of the United-Earth Governance as the reason the Cygnus Sector almost collapsed. The “old ways” were disastrous, and the Homo superior saved us from destruction—a justification for why humans didn't have much in the way of influence. That was what they said, day in and day out.
Restrictions were made after the United-Earth War.
Humans didn't even have the option to purchase planetside property—not unless they had a special invitation from a planetary governor.
If Endellion planned on using her influence to grant her crew property, that was an extraordinary reward. No wonder everyone was content with her dealings.
Fuck, I would have been satisfied living in one of those rent-a-box apartment complexes meant for menial workers. Anything to set foot on a planet. Endellion wanted to rule over one? She didn't shoot for mediocrity, did she? She had her sights set for heights most people couldn't fathom.
Quinn sat down on Lee's lap and locked her mouth with his. He ran his hands down her back and got a handful of her ass with no shame.
I liked Lee more and more. He was my kind of guy.
Lee detached his lips and gave me a half-smile. “Are you lookin' at my wife? It's okay to admit you're jealous.”
Quinn ran her fingers through Lee's shiny, black hair. “Everyone's jealous, babe. No one knows passion like ours.”
“Yeah, we're filled with passion.”
Again, they mashed their faces together, like they wanted to choke one another with their tongues. I didn't mind watching if they were willing to put on a show, but the others at the table weren't as open-minded. One girl threw an empty pouch and hit Lee in the back of the head.
“You have your own quarters,” the girl said as she motioned to the back door. “Besides, one more drink and you're gonna pass out.”
Lee tore himself away from his wife and snorted. “Nah. I'm good.”
“I think they're right,” Quinn said. “We should go.”
Before Lee could offer any more protests, she dragged him from his seat and headed for the door. Quinn knew what she wanted, and she wasn't going to get it from a limp noodle that passed out in the middle of the mess hall, that was for sure.
I took another long drink. I could get used to this. The atmosphere. The crew. This couldn't have been an elaborate trick—the camaraderie must have been real. Their faith in their captain was genuine.
Everything I'd heard about Endellion made me question my own capabilities. I had a ton of natural advantages, thanks to my genetic modification. Those advantages helped me in all sorts of situations, but I never thought outside of my limited personal goals.
400 days was a long time. How long had Endellion been reaching for her goals?
I turned to Mara, a cute little woman with short black hair and a button nose. “Hey. Endellion was born into some high-class family, right? One of the old human lines from the first mass transports?”
Mara shook her head. “No. Endellion was born on Ucova.”
I caught my breath. Ucova? The prison planet?
Mara continued, “She lived there until her parents died in the mines.”
“They were criminals?”
“No. Just blue-collar workers brought aboard to do mining and shipping.”
The others at the table nodded, as though the story were common knowledge.
“She came from nothing?” I asked. No secret fortune? No family connections?
“That's right. She got her first job on Midway Station. Then she became an enforcer, and she's basically been the best ever since. Everyone knows it. We get extra consideration when we put in bids because of Endellion's reputation. She always delivers.”
I turned away and finished the last of my brandy.
Endellion.
I couldn't stand being such a schmoe compared to her. It made me want to try that much harder. To show the others I was just as talented. Or maybe I only wanted her recognition. To impress her.
Maybe that was what I'd do.
CHAPTER SIX
EVALUATION
Time passed differently on the Star Marque.
Lights in the barracks dimmed and shone, depending on the schedule of the occupants. I stared at the fluorescent lighting as it transformed from black to full brightness over the course of 30 minutes. I think it was meant to simulate a planetside sunrise, but I didn't know. I had never seen one.
Capital Station wasn't so kind. Each section had its own “nighttime” and “daytime.” The transition was a harsh switch between 40% lighting to 100% lighting. Nothing in between.
I kicked open the door to my capsule and slid out.
Everyone got their own little room on the Star Marque. It was two-and-a-half meters deep, one-and-a-half meters wide, and two meters tall. Not enough room for me to stand and almost not enough room for me to stretch out. It didn't matter, since the capsules were solely for sleeping, but it was not something I was used to. Fortunately, every capsule came with its own monitor and entertainment, and the doors sealed to keep the snores of the others from penetrating my dreams.
It was like living in my own perso
nal soup can.
I rotated my arms. Everyone said it would take six months before we reached our destination—Vectin-14, capital planet for the whole quadrant. Six months was a long time to dick around on a starship. I was supposed to report to Sawyer, but first I wanted to bathe.
The others dressed in casual jumpsuits and headed out of the barracks in groups of four to six. I didn't have a crew of my own, and although the other enforcers were friendly, they didn't go out of their way to strike up a conversation or show me around.
That was fine. I could find my own way around the damn ship. I left without consulting anyone. I had seen enough of the interior to make it to the showers with little difficulty. I walked there in a few short minutes, realizing the starship paled in comparison to the size of Capital Station.
I stopped once I crossed the threshold of the shower room and was hit with a wall of steam and the smell of shampoo.
The first thing I noticed—probably because I'm a dog—was that the showers were co-ed. There hadn't been many women signing up to be gunrunners, so it wasn't like I'd worked with many on Capital Station. Men, on the other hand, were easy to come by. Tell a guy he was about to get laid, and he would be undressed before the end of the sentence, which made women more of a rarity for me.
But that was in the past. Although I wouldn't have minded getting to know my new enforcers in an intimate way, I kept to myself and locked my gaze on the floor—and my mind on dead orphans. If I was going to live in a polite society, I needed to at least attempt to be polite myself.
I undressed, left my jumpsuit in a locker, and headed into the open room of showerheads, some mounted to the bulkhead, and some mounted to floor-to-ceiling pipes scattered throughout the area. I walked past a few individuals and took up showering in the corner.
The showers—like those on Capital Station—had been set up to recycle water in the most efficient manner. The floor had drains that poured into a filtering system, which rerouted everything back to the showerheads. Every few minutes, I was hit with the same water from earlier—though unlike Capital Station, the filters actually worked. Nothing beat crisp water, free of particles and piss.
Star Marque Rising Page 7
