“For what?”
“For things like taking genetically-defective crewmembers or covering up the crimes of felons.” Endellion narrowed her eyes. “You're aware I bend the rules. But if I lose my title, I lose everything. Do you understand?”
The story didn't quell my anger. If anything, it was worse than before. No one seemed to give a shit about Mara. Endellion just wanted her end goal, and Yuan apparently just wanted a happy-go-lucky playmate.
“Can Mara even think for herself?” I asked. “How can she? If she's deliriously happy all the time?” And she was, too. I'd known it was unnatural, I just thought she was a weirdo.
“What does it matter?” Endellion asked.
The lift door opened, but I slammed the button and shut it once again. Endellion met my gaze with cold anger.
“It's fucking disturbing,” I said. “It's like Yuan is controlling her thoughts. Can Mara even say no? To anything? And you just let this happen?”
“What would you rather I do?”
“Fuck Yuan. I know you've broken the law, but I'm sure you can keep Yuan in check with something else. Don't let her overset Mara's implant.”
“Then Mara's a risk to herself and deeply unhappy with life.”
I gritted my teeth. Before I could formulate a response, Endellion narrowed her eyes. “What's best for Mara?” Endellion asked, almost a little too icily for the situation. “With this outcome, she'll enjoy life, have a relationship, and be a productive member of society. If we do things your way, she'll cut and bleed herself dry, wallowing in depression she can't shake. Tell me, which one of us is doing her a disservice?”
“But my way, she gets to choose,” I said, fixated on the things Mara had lost to gain such an outcome. Surely there was another way for her to find happiness. There had to be.
“So, you're saying that allowing people to choose poorly is a benefit to them?” Endellion asked, almost laughing. “Design is always a better outcome. You were designed, and you're better than most. Superhumans were designed, and they're clearly superior. Society is designed, and it's better than chaos. Even I've designed myself to be better than I was before.”
“But—”
“I never heard you complain that you were made physically fit without exercise. Your mother chose that for you. Shouldn't you have been allowed to be a fat slob, unable to move? Now think of Mara. Perhaps eliminating all negative choice is what's objectively best. And there's no benefit to Mara's unhappiness or her death.”
I stood in front of the lift door, grappling with ethics I hadn't known I would ever have to deal with. How could Endellion be so confident her analysis was right? Or was she just manipulating me?
“You designed yourself,” I said. “It's not a fair comparison. You made decisions.”
“Some people can't make those decisions. They're stupid, or weak-willed, or born to a chem whore, or whatever reason you wish to attribute to their failings. Is it not benevolence to rig the game in their favor? To make sure they have no wrong choices?”
“And this coincidently works out for you, doesn't it?” I asked. “Because now you have two starfighters. Your reasoning isn't contingent on that, is it?”
“Endellion, Demarco,” Sawyer said over the comms. “You don't even have time to do a systems check on your starfighters at this point. You have to get to your stations. We're engaging the enemy.”
Endellion motioned to the lift door. “Perhaps we can talk about this a different time.”
I stepped aside, still uncertain. She was right. Now wasn't the time. I should've investigated the situation earlier.
We made our way down the hall and stopped at our starfighters. Endellion jumped into hers, and I got into mine, hoping nothing was wrong with the systems. The cockpit closed, suffocating me in darkness and suctioning around my legs. I grabbed the two side-sticks and took a deep breath. The computer screens lit up, but the user interface was different than it had been before. It was clunky, took up more space, and didn't display the information I was used to.
“What is this?” I asked.
“An operating system used by most rebellion starfighters,” Sawyer responded over the comms.
“I have to fight with this?”
“Yes. If you had been at your station earlier, I could've gone over it, but as it stands, you need to detach from the Star Marque immediately.”
My starfighter quaked, and I shook back and forth, my shoulders bruised. “What was that?”
“The Star Marque is under attack. We've taken heavy fire.”
What? Already?
Using the Star Marque's main comms line, Endellion said, “Noah and Yuan, disable Cruiser A.”
Noah and Yuan? Noah was the weakest pilot, and Yuan was distraught. Should they be a team? What was Endellion thinking?
“Lee, Quinn, and Advik, disable Cruiser B,” Endellion continued. “Clevon and I will target the enemy fighters.”
I didn't wait to hear confirmations. I performed my undocking procedures and pulled away from the Star Marque as fast as possible. Typically, I would have gotten a readout of everyone else's status. I would have been Starfighter Eight, Endellion would have been Starfighter One… but in this situation, Endellion and I were separate, and I couldn't see anyone else's information. When I glanced at the navigation I saw dots—the Star Marque fighters were in green, the rebellion fighters were in red—but no direct communication. I had lost the Star Marque's main comms line the moment I detached.
“I have to go,” Sawyer said. “Don't die, because I won't be able to whisper those sweet nothings if you do.”
“Wait. I—”
“I can't. I'm sorry.”
Her transmission ended. I had only one communication channel, and it was straight to Endellion's fighter.
“Clevon,” Endellion said. “Focus. Destroy the enemy fighters as fast as possible.”
I counted the red dots. 37. And that wasn't including the two light cruisers. The Star Marque started to engage, but the opening round went to the enemy, that was for sure. The cruisers must've headed straight for us the moment they'd spotted the Star Marque on their long-range scanners.
I had two hyperweapon bolts, and 20 torpedoes. Not enough to handle every enemy.
Without another moment of hesitation, I punched my starfighter forward.
5Gs. 7Gs. 9Gs.
The acceleration crushed me back into my seat, but I had developed a sick enjoyment of it. The thrill of fighting in space. Kill or be killed. Nothing compared.
I overtook three enemy fighters within a couple seconds. I fired three torpedoes while breathing down their necks. No possibility of dodging, but the debris from the impact registered on my scanners, warning me of possible collision. I tilted the side-stick and got by, but the narrow window for success made me sweat more than I should have at that point.
I needed to watch that.
There was nothing to hide behind. Our fighting arena consisted of nothing but open space, devoid of asteroids and scrap metal.
9.5Gs. 9.6Gs.
Gray seeped into my vision as I looped around and overtook two more enemy fighters. I fired four torpedoes, missing with two, but ultimately clearing two enemies off the battlefield. If Sawyer had been with me, I was sure she would have urged me to decelerate, but I couldn't.
My screen lit up, warning me that the docking port I'd left had been destroyed. Sure enough, when I looked at the information I had on the Star Marque, a large section on its side has been decimated by the enemy. My only solace came from a light cruiser's bridge going up in a blazing pyre of glory. Someone had gotten a fantastic hit with their hyperweapons, taking one light cruiser from the battle.
I whipped around and dove toward another enemy starfighter. My single-minded focus almost prevented me from keeping track of all the dots, but my mind was fast enough to take everything in.
One green dot disappeared—destroyed.
Five more red dots—destroyed.
Another hit to the
Star Marque.
I gritted my teeth. Unlike the last battle—which we had planned out in advance—this time, we were slipping. I fired off five more torpedoes, taking out two more enemy fighters. I wasn't worried for my safety, despite my impaired vision. My heart seized the moment I thought of the others.
Lee, Quinn, Advik, Noah, Yuan…
Another green dot vanished from my screen. Two of them were dead.
9.7Gs. 9.8Gs.
I had never felt so frustrated, so powerless. I would rather it have been me versus 37 enemies than have to watch another starfighter from the Star Marque disappear. I fired four more torpedoes, destroying three rebellion fighters.
“Clevon,” Endellion said, her voice icy. “Increase your acceleration and take out the last cruiser. It's turning for a second barrage on the Star Marque.”
I was already at my limit. Everything in my cockpit flashed red, and the burn in my system came from the lack of proper blood flow. Didn't matter. Those rebellion assholes would be wiped from the universe in a matter of minutes.
I headed in, aware of the cruiser's point-defense systems. If I got too close, they would destroy me, so I flew in at an angle, my breathing weak. I knew what Sawyer would have said. Breathe deep. So, I did that. I forced myself to.
At the last moment—before I collided with the invisible wall of destruction that surrounded the cruiser—I fired my hyperweapon and pulled up. The blinding light of plasma flared for a few seconds as the bolt melted through the enemy bridge, killing everyone at the helm.
Another five red dots disappeared.
My grip slipped off the side-sticks. On the ragged edge of unconsciousness, I released the throttle. I couldn't handle the G-force any longer. An enemy fighter locked onto my position, and my screen flashed a warning. I didn't have the reflexes to move in time.
But the enemy starfighter exploded in a bright flash. Endellion had fired one of her own hyperweapons to remove the threat. She streaked by, and I tightened my grip on my side-sticks.
“Focus,” she commanded.
I accelerated to match her. Four red dots remained, but one by one, they disappeared—undoubtedly handled by the last of the Star Marque fighters—as I circled around our combat zone. I breathed easier, though it didn't relax me. Two Star Marque starfighters had died, and who knew what had happened to everyone on the main ship?
“We're heading for Outpost Station,” Endellion said, dragging my thoughts back to the immediate moment. “Keep close.”
I exhaled and did as I was instructed. Still, the doubt and worry wouldn't leave me. I had never experienced anything like it before. I had never been so shaken. Tons of people had died on Capital Station. Tons. People I'd known. People I'd run guns with. I hadn't cared. Maybe I'd thought about them once or twice, when I got bored. It had never been like this. My chest and gut hurt, like they were twisted in on each other. It was so hard to articulate.
“Endellion,” I said, needing someone to talk to. “Two of the Star Marque starfighters were destroyed.”
“I saw.” She was terse, but at least there was some emotion.
I took a deep breath. “I fucked up. I'm better than that.”
“Enough.”
“I should've acted faster.”
“You'll never be fast enough for everything,” she said with a hint of softness—but only a hint. “But we made it through. That's all that matters. Do you understand me? If you get caught up in the middle, if you lose sight of your goal or wallow in the decisions you make in between, you'll unravel.”
“This isn't helping.”
“The only thing that will help is getting better.”
Maybe. But I hated thinking about it. All I wanted was a stiff drink. Or some sleep. Anything to stop my thoughts. What about the Star Marque? Was everyone safe? We wouldn't know for a while.
“It'll be a few hours before we reach Outpost Station,” Endellion said. “Try not to dwell until then.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EMISSARY BARTEN
The trek left me with nothing but time.
Pensive and uncertain about the future, I stared at the screens of my starfighter. I thought about Sawyer, and I missed her voice in my ear. Endellion refused to speak, even when I asked questions.
We had almost reached Outpost Station. Fuel would be at half, giving us just enough to make it back to the Star Marque, once everything was said and done. That was if we could get it done.
The comms on my screen lit up a half-second before Endellion spoke. “We're almost at our destination.”
“I know,” I said.
“When we dock at Outpost Station, you'll change your attire. An enviro-suit has been stored in the compartment behind your chair. From there, we'll limit our communication to the bare minimum. Under no circumstance can you mention our names, the Star Marque, or the purpose of our visit.”
“I take it all communication will be monitored once we're there?”
“When the inevitable investigation begins, I would rather not leave any evidence which can tie this back to us.”
I agreed, but each second spent in silence killed a little more of me. I had never had that problem before. I hated the feeling of isolation. All I could think about was the Star Marque and its crew, and I yearned to return. Even Lysander's company would have been better than the dark starfighter floating through the void of lifeless space.
“Clevon,” Endellion said. “You understand that we cannot get caught, correct? No witnesses. You can't let a man wallow in the corner of the room because you feel sorry for him.”
“I won't make the same mistake twice.”
The rebellion bastard that had cut Endellion was the last bit of mercy I'd had for any of them.
“Clevon.” Her voice was somber.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“This will likely be the last dirty assignment I'll need completed before I become governor.”
“Good.”
“I can tell you're worried about the others, but just get through this for me, and their futures will be secure. We can't afford failure.”
“This'll be over quick?”
“That's the plan. In and out in less than ten minutes.”
No room for error. In and out. It would be for the best.
“Why this guy?” I asked, needing to know the answer. I thought I had figured it out, but confirmation would help my troubled thoughts.
“Felseven has threatened to change the requirements for planet governor so that I'll never qualify. Minister Ontwenty has promised me she'll keep the requirements the same, so long as the emissary is eliminated. If we kill him and escape without a trail, the rebellion will be blamed for Barten's death. Ontwenty wants this most of all. After this, she'll never be forced to sell her medical research to the United-Earth faction.”
“And if the requirements stay the same, you'll get your planet?”
“Almost every piece of the puzzle is in place, Clevon. Once the emissary is gone, all I'll have to do is wait for the vote. I've secured enough favor from other planet governors to assure my victory. This step is crucial.”
Then there was no getting around it. We had to off the guy.
Outpost Station flashed on my screen. The starfighter highlighted open ports, and I set a course. It would have been hard to miss Outpost Station. The entire facility was built into a C-type asteroid, one with hydrated minerals present throughout its dark and porous core. The asteroid itself could have been a small moon.
Sawyer had told me all about it.
Although starfighters didn't typically dock outside a starship, they were still equipped to do so for emergencies. Endellion and I sent in our requests, and we were granted access. The moment my ship hooked to the dock, I released the seal on my legs and pulled out my new enviro-suit.
It was white. The same low-quality bullshit the rebellion guys wore. They were the cheapest enviro-suits on the market, mass-produced and easily torn. And they looked stiff as fuck. Nothing about
them seemed comfortable. I had been spoiled by the Star Marque's advanced suits.
Didn't matter. I ripped off my clothing and shimmied into my new suit. Before I exited my starfighter, I pulled the hood-helmet over my head and secured it into place. The visor flickered to life and gave me readouts of the area, but the information wasn't as detailed as my old suit, and it half-blocked my sight. Not the best design, that was for sure.
The hatch opened, and I jumped out, my muscles tense for a fight.
Some dockhand walked up to my starfighter and motioned to it with a jut of his chin.
“What's this?” he asked. “Why aren't you with a carrier ship?”
Endellion hadn't gone over the procedure for this. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't even bother trying to fumble out an excuse. The dockhand—dressed in an olive jumpsuit, his face smeared with sweat and dust—gave me a glare.
Endellion exited her ship, her perfectly-curved body accentuated by her tight enviro-suit. She got the dockhand's attention with zero effort.
“Excuse me, Ma'am,” he said. “But why are you two separate from your carrier ship?”
Funny how his tone changed in the presence of a beautiful woman.
“We're docking between rendezvous,” Endellion said. “We'll be leaving within an hour.”
The dockhand hemmed and hawed, but then replied, “Fine, but be quick. You're taking up valuable dock space with your tiny fighters.”
I followed Endellion off our dock and into the general loading area. Hundreds of people pushed and shoved their way from one place to the next, their jumpsuits stained with more than grease from the machines. Outpost Station was built for a smaller number of people. I guessed it was a tenth of the size of Capital Station, and it showed.
Although the area swarmed with bodies, I stood a third of a meter taller than the rest. I shuffled between them, my eyes glued to Endellion. An easy target, considering we were about the same height.
Star Marque Rising Page 29
