Star Marque Rising

by Shami Stovall

  “You ever watch those old educational vids they show to kids?” I asked, recalling my first few days in a classroom. “They talked about space travel, and time dilation, and spatial fluctuation, and all the many ways you'd die if your rig got fucked-up.”

  “I didn't see those,” Sawyer said as she adjusted the needle.

  “There was a vid on the importance of companionship. It warned about deep-space delirium and the irrational thoughts that come with listlessness. Or the paranoia and severe depression that often lead to suicide. Even one relationship can cut the possibility of those outcomes in half.”

  “Let me translate. Something, something, something—justification for getting laid. Did I miss anything?”

  What a smartass. But she had a point.

  “That's about the gist of it,” I said.

  Sawyer grabbed a vial marked Liquid Skin and dropped a dot of it over the needle wound on my arm. The drop congealed within seconds, stopping the blood flow. While I examined the new skin, Sawyer patted my arm down with a clean rag, removing the last traces of evidence that she'd ever fucked with my identification chip.

  Blub sailed over, and after another toot, toot, toot, he descended onto the countertop in front of Sawyer, demanding her attention by blocking her view. She appeased the creature and stroked its scales with a feather-light touch of her fingertips.

  The damn fish was the size of my forearm, and its fins moved about as though caught in an invisible current. The longer I stared at Blub, the more I was tempted to touch him, but I restrained myself. I still didn't like the thing. I had never interacted with animals. The foreignness of the situation bothered me more than anything else.

  “Your new identification chip is clean,” Sawyer said as she continued to graze the scales of her fish. “Once we reach Vectin-14, you should be able to use it at any terminal without issue.”

  “Thank you.”

  I rotated my arm a few times before turning away. Sawyer held up a hand, and I paused.

  “You don't have anything else?” she asked.

  “Like what?”

  “What about what you'll tell the other genetically-modified person? What else would you say? What would you discuss? Is there something only you two will understand?”

  I hadn't thought about it. All I knew was that life had been different for me. Everyone was envious. Everyone who was important wanted me as their pawn. Was that how it always went? That's what I wanted to ask.

  “I'd talk about life experiences,” I said. “Maybe we went through similar hardships. You know how it goes. Humans tend to be tribal.”

  “Your mother must have been lucky. Most… people like you… are made by superhumans who craft individuals to specialize in a certain field. In essence, determining what they'll most excel at in life, be it fine-motor control for artists, or physical capability for bodyguards… or improving the beauty of fish for decoration.”

  Blub relaxed under Sawyer's touch.

  “Mara said something similar,” I muttered.

  “It's true. The other genetically-altered individual on the Star Marque was constructed to better serve superhumans.”

  “So, there is someone? Not just the fish?”

  “That's right.”

  “Who is it?” I asked. I thought I could find them myself, but I didn't want to wait any longer.

  Sawyer didn't answer. Instead, she scooped Blub into her arms and held the fish like a baby. The creature didn't object, but it did offer a tiny toot as it blinked into a restful state. I had never seen a fish blink, but I supposed modifying the fish required tweaking its ability to survive above water.

  Silent seconds ticked on.

  The longer I stared, the more I realized Sawyer had similarities to the fish. Her red hair—a color I had never seen on Capital Station—matched the red of Blub's bioluminescence. The way her freckles covered the bridge of her nose in a splattered but controlled mess paralleled Blub's black spots. They were random only to an untrained eye and placed in an appealing pattern to highlight other aspects of her beauty.

  “It's you,” I said, more accusatory than I'd wanted.

  “Took you long enough to piece that together,” she said. “I could almost hear the motors in your brain, frying under the strain.”

  “What did they design you for?”

  “Isn't it obvious?”

  Sawyer motioned to the room with a wide sweep of her arm. I glanced around, taking in the horror show of machines and equipment. They'd crafted her to be a computer specialist and engineer? I supposed someone had to do the maintenance on their ships, and most superhumans wouldn't want to stoop to such a “dirty” level.

  “I need a fourth the amount of sleep a normal human needs,” Sawyer said. “I have an eidetic memory. I was meant to be a worker for computers and coding, working long hours. Endellion doesn't have many officers, so she asked me to also be the mechanic, fixing the starships and machines aboard the Star Marque. I can handle it all—thanks to my advantages—but I'll never be able to do anything else, really.”

  “Your parents let this happen?” I asked.

  “What parents?”

  It was my turn to be silent. She had to have parents. Didn't she?

  “I was cloned, essentially,” Sawyer said as she stared up at me.

  I'd never noticed before, but even her eyes were an unusual shade of grayish-blue. Someone really had put in the time to design her the way they saw fit.

  “They took the DNA of a human on record, pieced together the zygote, and then altered it from there,” she said. “I don't have a mother or a father. Just a tube, a lab, and a fish for a brother.”

  Sawyer rocked Blub back and forth.

  The screens on the back wall flashed red. I snapped my attention to the pulse-quickening color, my body tensing with a dump of adrenaline. Sawyer walked over, no haste in her step, and tapped through the various messages. There weren't any alarms, but I could practically hear the Capital Station sirens ringing in my ears. What was going on?

  She jabbed the PAD mounted on her forearm. “Endellion. There's an arrest warrant for a group of rebellion corsairs. They've made off with half a hospital's worth of medical supplies and genetic material.”

  The comms in the room cracked to life, and Endellion's voice rang clear through them. “You're sure they're rebellion corsairs?”

  “Positive. They have two light cruisers under their control, both designated United-Earth affiliation.”

  Rebellion, huh? I hadn't heard of them in a while.

  The rebellion was the leftover United-Earth faction—Homo sapiens who disagreed with the reworked Federation constitution and argued against superhumans' control. There weren't many rebellion sympathizers on Capital Station, but the few I'd met had the same damn thing to say every time: “Superhumans were a mistake. They're here to phase us out. A slow form of genocide they hide through laws, regulations, and control.”

  I didn't know the rebellion still operated in groups large enough to have control over light cruisers. I heard rumors they still controlled a few asteroid mines and moons around a gas giant on the edge of the Cygnus Sector, but was that enough to do anything other than slowly wilt away? They were their own form of genocide.

  “Who issued the warrant for their arrest?” Endellion asked.

  Sawyer tapped through the screen. “It's from Minister Virri Ontwenty herself. Apparently, this is her personal property.”

  “Are we en route?”

  “We're close. 30 minutes away, tops. Even with deceleration.”

  “Send the coordinates.”

  Sawyer let go of Blub and tapped at the screens a second time, sending the new route to the pilots. As she typed in the recommended speed, the screens reverted back to their default white, and she backed away with a curse.

  Across each screen read the message: You have entered Commodore Cho's zone of control and will be redirected to his command ship, the Relentless Nova, effective immediately.

  �
��Endellion,” Sawyer said. “Do you want me to—”

  “No. Join me on the bridge.”

  “Right away.” Sawyer gave me a quick glance before motioning to the door.

  “What's going on?” I asked.

  “We're being forced to dock on Commodore Cho's dreadnaught-class carrier, the Relentless Nova.”

  “Even though we should be going for the guy with his name on an arrest warrant?”

  Sawyer walked past me and exited the room without answering. I jogged after her, curious and irritated that I didn't know what was going on. She hustled down the hall past the conference room where I'd first met Endellion, and all the way to the most intricate door on the vessel. The plate next to the entrance read: Bridge.

  We entered together, but in the back of my mind, I knew I shouldn't be there.

  The bridge, set up in a semi-circle of terminals and stations, was already manned by Endellion herself, along with a handful of pilots at their respective stations. Lysander stood at Endellion's side, as did Quinn. The main screen sat in the middle of the room for all to see—it was a flat, two-way hologram that could be viewed from any station in the room.

  The screen pulsed to life with the same message: You have entered Commodore Cho's zone of control and will be redirected to his command ship, the Relentless Nova, effective immediately.

  I glanced out the main window that made up one of the room's walls. The dreadnaught-class starship—a behemoth of metal alloys shaped like a diamond—floated in the void of space. Twenty other ships—all a fraction of its size—buzzed around it, each slowing to dock. The Star Marque turned in its direction, steadily decelerating.

  “The Relentless Nova is forcing us to dock?” I asked.

  Sawyer nodded, but Lysander turned on his heel and glared the moment he recognized who I was.

  “You shouldn't be here,” he said. “Return to your post.”

  Endellion stood with her hands clasped behind her back. “Clevon can stay. I want everyone else at their stations. Commodore Cho will hail us any moment.”

  “What is Cho doing?” Quinn asked, parroting my inner thoughts.

  “He's controlling the situation. He'll assign an enforcer team to handle the warrant.”

  “Does he even have the authority to do that? You're a commodore as well.”

  “We've never been able to determine our pecking order.”

  The way Endellion spoke made me think Commodore Cho wasn't going to be happy to see us.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CORSAIRS

  I lingered in the shadows around the edge of the room, observing the situation as Endellion waited patiently to be hailed. The screens pulsed a second time, and the hailing frequencies flashed on the main terminal.

  A man appeared on screen, his black enviro-suit decorated with a star over the collarbone, the same as Endellion. The mark of a commodore.

  His salt-and-pepper hair and small eyes gave him a worn-out appearance, but his muscled frame and straight stance told me he wouldn't be a chump in a fight. Still human, though. I thought there might be a chance he could be superhuman, but I supposed I would never get to see one—not when the universe liked to keep everything from me.

  The moment Commodore Cho spotted Endellion, his lip twitched, and he narrowed his eyes. “Commodore Voight, I didn't expect you to return to Vectin-14 quite so quickly.”

  Endellion smiled. “Governor Felseven no longer requires my assistance.”

  “He sent word along the relays that he was displeased with your service. Said you were a little too concerned with your own glory. You do the enlisted men a disservice when you prioritize your pride over the HSN Corps.”

  What a joke.

  Endellion did everything Felseven asked—better than he could have hoped—but he said one negative thing about her attitude, and she needed to be reprimanded? I figured war hounds like Commodore Cho didn't have the time—or fucks to give—to investigate the issue themselves. All he wanted was praise from his superhuman superiors, I would bet my life on it.

  “I wasn't aware Felseven was so derisive with his comments,” Endellion said.

  “I figured you would have traveled to the edges of the Vectin Quadrant to bide your time in hiding before the governors held their hearing—especially given that so many find your presence unpalatable.”

  “I believe Minister Barten and Admiral Vanine would disagree with your assessment, Commodore, but I don't have time to talk ballroom politics. Release control of my ship. I have corsairs to apprehend.”

  While I could sense the tension in the room—especially from Lysander's stiff posture and Quinn's gritted teeth—Endellion remained calm, almost amused. Commodore Cho waved away the comment, mirroring Endellion's cool demeanor. The two were having fun with this.

  “I'm afraid the situation is beyond your capability,” he said. “These corsairs have seized a cargo vessel and have command of two light cruisers. A single vanguard ship will likely be destroyed. I would be negligent in sending the Star Marque.”

  “As the captain of my vessel, I alone know its capabilities. The Star Marque is capable of dealing with two light cruisers.”

  “That's not necessary. I'll be sending two of my frigates to deal with the situation. They'll escort the stolen cargo vessel back to the Vectin-14 station.”

  Endellion glanced at the readouts on the edge of the screen. “I see no frigates.”

  “They'll arrive in due time.”

  “Then you may send them to catch up to me.”

  Commodore Cho laughed aloud. “You forget yourself, Commodore Voight. Your honorary title holds little power here. You'll get no favors with that attitude.”

  He terminated the line of communication. A second after the screen went blank, a message pulsed to life. It read: Your placement in the docking queue has been moved to the highest priority. Prepare for docking procedures.

  I didn't know the Federation Navy kept control over the enforcer ships that way. It made sense—considering enforcer captains and their crews weren't actually enlisted men, and the Federation would have wanted a failsafe to control enforcer actions—but I was still surprised. Commodore Cho's dreadnaught had total command over the Star Marque, ripping Endellion's authority away simply for flying too close.

  “Sawyer,” Endellion said. “I trust you've done as I asked.”

  Sawyer offered a hesitant nod. “Yes.”

  “Then disengage us from the Relentless Nova.”

  “Of course.”

  Focused, Sawyer exited the bridge. I wanted to go after her, but I held back and watched Endellion speak to the Star Marque's pilots. They set a course in their star charts, and Endellion opened the intercoms for the whole ship.

  “Enforcers of the Star Marque,” she said. “This is your captain speaking. Regardless of what the computer terminals say, do not start docking procedures. You are to prepare for a hard jump and ready yourself for combat. That is all.”

  A “hard jump” was a nice way of saying the Star Marque would accelerate much faster than it did on a normal trip. It would jerk forward after an initial burst from the engines, much like how the starfighters operated their speedy acceleration. Sawyer said it wasn't the safest option, but I figured it would give us a good head start. I heard vanguard-class starships were the fastest in the Federation fleet. They were meant to dive in first and take the enemy by surprise, so I was sure this would be an experience.

  Then again, I didn't know the protocols for a hard jump, and that hit me like a steel bar to the face. Should I be standing around when we made the leap forward? My gut answered with a solid no.

  I exited the bridge and jogged down the hall until I got to Sawyer's little hideaway workspace. I caught her typing away at the computers, fiddling with things foreign to my comprehension. There was an anxious energy in the air, like the whole ship shuddered with anticipation. Even Sawyer seemed a little jittery, her hands trembling as she worked.

  “Where are we supposed to go for the ha
rd jump?” I asked.

  Sawyer waved her hand around. “Buckle down my equipment, would you?”

  I glanced over the dim room and noticed most of the large pieces of machinery had belts capable of being secured to the floor. Although I had never done anything like this before, it seemed simple enough. I strapped down the machines nearest to me.

  “What's going on?” I asked.

  “We're breaking Federation law by altering the control code.”

  “But why does Endellion have to answer to that asshole? Quinn is right. Endellion's also a commodore.”

  “Endellion was an enforcer captain first, and was then given the honorary title of commodore by Admiral Vanine—which isn't unheard of, but it's rare. Most traditionally promoted commodores don't care for that, and I think Cho is willing to take the reprimand for disregarding her authority.”

  Her typing never slowed, even while she explained.

  I buckled a third piece of equipment. “Do you need me to stop talking? For concentration?”

  “I told you—I was designed for this. Talking to you isn't the distraction it would be for an unaltered human.”

  I knew the feeling. So many things came easy to me, despite how difficult they were for others. Sawyer might well have been my genetic equal.

  But amidst my nervous anticipation for the immediate future—and my admiration for Sawyer—my curiosity burned through. “Why?” I asked. “Why did she even become a commodore if she isn't going to command ships or act in a military capacity? Why stay an enforcer captain?”

  “I'll explain later,” Sawyer said. She turned to her PAD. “Endellion, you should be able to disengage.”

  The Star Marque quaked as I belted down an engine block.

  “Thank you, Sawyer,” Endellion said over the comms.

  “How long until we leave?”

  “You have thirty seconds.”

  Sawyer whipped around, her eyes searching the room. She dashed over and grabbed Blub out of the air. The fish squeaked in response as she rushed to the wall and opened a section of steel paneling to reveal an emergency storage space. The closet-shaped room wasn't spacious, but Sawyer motioned me over with a quick jerk of her head.